Thou enviable being! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, Play on, play on, My elfin John! Toss the light ball--bestride the stick-- (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) With fancies, buoyant as the thistle-down, Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, With many a lamb-like frisk, (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) Thou pretty opening rose! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) Balmy and breathing music like the South, (He really brings my heart into my mouth!) Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star,-- (I wish that window had an iron bar!) Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove,-- (I'll tell you what, my love, I cannot write, unless he's sent above!) IV. A SERENADE. "Lullaby, oh, lullaby!" Thus I heard a father cry, "Lullaby, oh, lullaby!" The brat will never shut an eye; Hither come, some power divine! Close his lids, or open mine! "Lullaby, oh, lullaby! What the devil makes him cry? Lullaby, oh, lullaby! Still he stares--I wonder why, Why are not the sons of earth Blind, like puppies, from the birth?" "Lullaby, oh, lullaby!" Thus I heard the father cry; "Lullaby, oh, lullaby! Mary, you must come and try!-- Hush, oh, hush, for mercy's sake-- The more I sing, the more you wake!" "Lullaby, oh, lullaby! Fie, you little creature, fie! Lullaby, oh, lullaby! Is no poppy-syrup nigh? Give him some, or give him all, I am nodding to his fall!" "Lullaby, oh, lullaby! Two such nights, and I shall die! Lullaby, oh, lullaby! He'll be bruised, and so shall I,--" "How can I from bedposts keep, When I'm walking in my sleep?" "Lullaby, oh, lullaby! Sleep his very looks deny-- Lullaby, oh, lullaby; Nature soon will stupefy-- My nerves relax,--my eyes grow dim-- Who's that fallen--me or him?" THE GREEN MAN. Tom Simpson was as nice a kind of man As ever lived--at least at number Four, In Austin Friars, in Mrs. Brown's first floor, At fifty pounds,--or thereabouts,--per ann. The Lady reckon'd him her best of lodgers, His rent so punctually paid each quarter,-- He did not smoke like nasty foreign codgers-- Or play French horns like Mr. Rogers-- Or talk his flirting nonsense to her daughter.-- Not that the girl was light behaved or courtable-- Still on one failing tenderly to touch, The Gentleman did like a drop too much, (Tho' there are many such) And took more Port than was exactly portable. In fact,--to put the cap upon the nipple, And try the charge,--Tom certainly _did_ tipple. He thought the motto was but sorry stuff On Cribb's Prize Cup--Yes, wrong in ev'ry letter-- That "D----d be he who first cries _Hold Enough!_" The more cups hold, and if enough, the better. And so to set example in the eyes Of Fancy's lads, and give a broadish hint to them, All his cups were of such ample size That he got into them.