Comes a Bishop, maybe, or a solemn D.D.— Oh, beware of his anger provoking! Better not pull his hair—don’t stick pins in his chair; He won’t understand practical joking. If the jests that you crack have an orthodox smack, You may get a bland smile from these sages; But should it, by chance, be imported from France, Half-a-crown is stopped out of your wages! It’s a general rule, Though your zeal it may quench, If the Family Fool Makes a joke that’s _too_ French, Half-a-crown is stopped out of his wages! Though your head it may rack with a bilious attack, And your senses with toothache you’re losing, And you’re mopy and flat—they don’t fine you for that If you’re properly quaint and amusing! Though your wife ran away with a soldier that day, And took with her your trifle of money; Bless your heart, they don’t mind—they’re exceedingly kind— They don’t blame you—as long as you’re funny! It’s a comfort to feel If your partner should flit, Though _you_ suffer a deal, _They_ don’t mind it a bit— They don’t blame you—so long as you’re funny! SANS SOUCI I CANNOT tell what this love may be That cometh to all but not to me. It cannot be kind as they’d imply, Or why do these gentle ladies sigh? It cannot be joy and rapture deep, Or why do these gentle ladies weep? It cannot be blissful, as ’tis said, Or why are their eyes so wondrous red? If love is a thorn, they show no wit Who foolishly hug and foster it. If love is a weed, how simple they Who gather and gather it, day by day! If love is a nettle that makes you smart, Why do you wear it next your heart? And if it be neither of these, say I, Why do you sit and sob and sigh? A RECIPE TAKE a pair of sparkling eyes, Hidden, ever and anon, In a merciful eclipse— Do not heed their mild surprise— Having passed the Rubicon. Take a pair of rosy lips; Take a figure trimly planned— Such as admiration whets (Be particular in this); Take a tender little hand, Fringed with dainty fingerettes, Press it—in parenthesis;— Take all these, you lucky man— Take and keep them, if you can. Take a pretty little cot— Quite a miniature affair— Hung about with trellised vine, Furnish it upon the spot With the treasures rich and rare I’ve endeavoured to define. Live to love and love to live— You will ripen at your ease, Growing on the sunny side— Fate has nothing more to give. You’re a dainty man to please If you are not satisfied. Take my counsel, happy man: Act upon it, if you can!