When, to evade Destruction's hand, To hide they all proceeded, No soldier in that gallant band Hid half as well as he did. He lay concealed throughout the war, And so preserved his gore, O! That unaffected, Undetected, Well connected Warrior, The Duke of Plaza-Toro! In every doughty deed, ha, ha! He always took the lead, ha, ha! That unaffected, Undetected, Well connected Warrior, The Duke of Plaza-Toro! When told that they would all be shot Unless they left the service, That hero hesitated not, So marvellous his nerve is. He sent his resignation in, The first of all his corps, O! That very knowing, Overflowing, Easy-going Paladin, The Duke of Plaza-Toro! To men of grosser clay, ha, ha! He always showed the way, ha, ha! That very knowing, Overflowing, Easy-going Paladin, The Duke of Plaza-Toro! [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BABY'S VENGEANCE Weary at heart and extremely ill Was PALEY VOLLAIRE of Bromptonville, In a dirty lodging, with fever down, Close to the Polygon, Somers Town. PALEY VOLLAIRE was an only son (For why? His mother had had but one), And PALEY herited gold and grounds Worth several hundred thousand pounds. But he, like many a rich young man, Through this magnificent fortune ran, And nothing was left for his daily needs But duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds. Shabby and sorry and sorely sick, He slept, and dreamt that the clock's "tick, tick" Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife, Snicking off bits of his shortened life. He woke and counted the pips on the walls, The outdoor passengers' loud footfalls, And reckoned all over, and reckoned again, The little white tufts on his counterpane. [Illustration] A medical man to his bedside came (I can't remember that doctor's name), And said, "You'll die in a very short while If you don't set sail for Madeira's isle." "Go to Madeira? goodness me! I haven't the money to pay your fee!" "Then, PALEY VOLLAIRE," said the leech, "good-bye; I'll come no more, for you're sure to die." He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast; "Oh, send," said he, "for FREDERICK WEST, Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim: I've a terrible tale to whisper him!" Poor was FREDERICK'S lot in life,-- A dustman he with a fair young wife, A worthy man with a hard-earned store, A hundred and seventy pounds--or more. [Illustration]