Markham, one guinea." "Have you all filled your glasses?" Here's a health to good lasses. The subscription still skinny-- "Mr. Franklin--one guinea." Franklin looks like a ninny; "Mr, Boreham, one guinea-- Mr. Blogg, Mr. Finney, Mr. Tempest--one guinea, Mr. Merrington--twenty," Rough music, in plenty. Away toddles Chairman, The little dark spare man, Not sorry at ending, With white sticks attending, And some vain Tomnoddy Votes in his own body To fill the void seat up, And get on his feet up, To say, with voice squeaking, "Unaccustomed to speaking." Which sends you off seeking Your hat, number thirty-- No coach--very dirty. So hungry and fever'd Wet-footed, spoilt-beaver'd, Eyes aching in socket, Ten pounds out of pocket, To Brook Street the Upper You haste home to supper. SALLY SIMPKIN'S LAMENT; OR, JOHN JONES'S KIT-CAT-ASTROPHE. "He left his body to the sea, And made a shark his legatee." BRYAN AND PERENNE. "Oh! what is that comes gliding in, And quite in middling haste? It is the picture of my Jones, And painted to the waist. "It is not painted to the life, For where's the trowsers blue? Oh Jones, my dear!--Oh dear! my Jones, What is become of you?" "Oh! Sally dear, it is too true,-- The half that you remark Is come to say my other half Is bit off by a shark! "Oh! Sally, sharks do things by halves, Yet most completely do! A bite in one place soems enough, But I've been bit in two. "You know I once was all your own, But now a shark must share! But let that pass--for now, to you I'm neither here nor there." "Alas! death has a strange divorce Effected in the sea, It has divided me from you, And even me from me! "Don't fear my ghost will walk o' nights To haunt, as people say; My ghost _can't_ walk, for, oh! my legs Are many leagues away! "Lord! think when I am swimming round, And looking where the boat is, A shark just snaps away a _half_, Without a '_quarter's_ notice.' "One half is here, the other half Is near Columbia placed; Oh! Sally, I have got the whole Atlantic for my waist. "But now, adieu--a long adieu! I've solved death's awful riddle, And would say more, but I am doomed To break off in the middle!" ODE TO SIR ANDREW AGNEW, BART.[33] "At certain seasons he makes a prodigious clattering with his bill."--SELBY. "The bill is rather long, flat, and tinged with green."--BEWICK. [Footnote 33: A Scotch baronet, and the once well-known promoter of Sabbatarian legislation. Sir Andrew identified himself in the House of Commons with the efforts of an English Association, the "Lord's Day Society," and introduced a Bill to prohibit all open labour on Sunday, excepting "works of necessity and mercy,"--a measure bound, under any scheme of working, to inflict the direst hardship and injustice. After three defeats, the Bill was actually carried in 1837, but was afterwards allowed to drop.]