He'd have given the world, to get up out of that, But a tantalising sprite, Had taken possession of him, you see, In the early part of the night. The fact of it is, that he couldn't get up, If she gave him a kingly crown, And all he could do, was give her a grin, From the spirit, that held him down! Twas woe! to see an attractive maid, So slurred, by a knightly bard, A misery this, for her plaint of love, To be grinned at, snubbed, and marred! Yet ever again, did she give him a kiss, And a lingering, coaxing smile, But the spirit within, still held him down, In a magical sort of style! "O come get up out of that!" she cried, And gave his collar a shake, With a kick in the ribs, that bustled him up, And startled him wide awake! And her raiment shrunk to the belted blue, Of a burly man, said he, "Yer out very late, in a dress like that, So track it along with me." "Get up out of that," the constable cried, "And don't make no delay," But the spirit within, still held him down, In a magical sort of way. The spirit within, still held him down, But the constable bent his back, And hooshed him up, and carried him off, At once to the beaten track. [Illustration] The troubadour, came into the dock Next day, in a crowded court, And the rig of his garb, to the modern herd, Was a source of evil sport. But the modern beak had no romance, And the sum of a couple of crown, He fined the unfortunate troubadour, For the spirit that held him down! HIS FUTURE STATE. I FOUND him, sitting on a seat, With sad reflective mien, A drowsing pathos, in his eye, Tinged with a tint of green, I sat him by "good friend" I said, "Of pilgrims, the resort, Is this a church?" "I wish it wor!" Cried he, "It's Bow Street Court!" [Illustration] And then again, I looked at him, Once more, I spoke him kind, "Thy far off gaze, doth indicate, Some presence, on thy mind, Some haunting thought, of grave import, Connected with the fate, Perchance, that thou, mayhap, may meet, When in the future state. O speak the burden of thy heart, That I may note it down," "It be's I was a boozin', and I'm fined a quid and crown, My far off look, is for that fine, To dodge the prison gate, And warders' lock on fourteen days, That quads my future state. [Illustration: A FIGHT IN THE PHOENIX PARK]