The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe
General
The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe
American poetry; American wit and humor; English poetry; English wit and humor; Humorous poetry, American; Humorous poetry, English
LORD WAITHAM, who long since withdrew
From Mansion House to cot in town;
Adorn'd with chair of ormolu,
All darkly grand, like Prince Lee Boo,
Lectures on FREE TRADE at the U-
niversity we've Got in town--
niversity we've Got in town.
Fat F----, with his coat of blue,
Who speeches makes so hot in town,
In rhetoric, spells his lectures through,
And sounds the V for W,
The VAY THEY SPEAKS it at the U-
niversity we've Got in town--
niversity we've Got in town.
Then H----E comes, who late at New-
gate Market, sweetest spot in town!
Instead of one clerk popp'd in two,
To make a place for his ne-phew,
Seeking another at the U-
niversity we've Got in town--
niversity we've Got in town.
There's Captain ROSS, a traveler true,
Has just presented, what in town-
's an article of great VIRTU
(The telescope he once peep'd through,
And 'spied an Esquimaux canoe
On Croker Mountains), to the U-
niversity we've Got in town--
niversity we've Got in town.
Since MICHAEL gives no roast nor stew,
Where Whigs might eat and plot in town,
And swill his port, and mischief brew--
Poor CREEVY sips his water gru-
el as the beadle of the U-
niversity we've Got in town--
niversity we've Got in town,
There's JERRY BENTHAM and his crew,
Names ne'er to be forgot in town,
In swarms like Banquo's long is-sue--
Turk, Papist, Infidel and Jew,
Come trooping on to join the U-
niversity we've Got in town--
niversity we've Got in town.
To crown the whole with triple queue--
Another such there's not in town,
Twitching his restless nose askew,
Behold tremendous HARRY BROUGH-
AM! Law Professor at the U-
niversity we've Got in town--
niversity we've Got in town.
GRAND CHORUS:
Huzza! huzza! for HARRY BROUGH-
AM! Law Professor at the U-
niversity we've Got in town--
niversity we've Got in town.
DOMESTIC POEMS.
THOMAS HOOD.
I.
GOOD-NIGHT.
The sun was slumbering in the west, my daily labors past;
On Anna's soft and gentle breast my head reclined at last;
The darkness closed around, so dear to fond congenial souls,
And thus she murmured in my ear, "My love, we're out of coals.
"That Mister Bond has called again, insisting on his rent;
And all the Todds are coming up to see us, out of Kent;
I quite forgot to tell you John has had a tipsy fall;--
I'm sure there's something going on with that vile Mary Hall!
"Miss Bell has bought the sweetest milk, and I have bought the rest--
Of course, if we go out of town, Southend will be the best.
I really think the Jones's house would be the thing for us;
I think I told you Mrs. Pope had parted with her NUS--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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