As office boy I made such a mark
  That they gave me the post of a junior clerk. 
  I served the writs with a smile so bland,
  And I copied all the letters in a big round hand. 
    I copied all the letters in a hand so free,
    That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee!

  In serving writs I made such a name
  That an articled clerk I soon became;
  I wore clean collars and a brand-new suit
  For the Pass Examination at the Institute. 
    And that Pass Examination did so well for me,
    That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee!

  Of legal knowledge I acquired such a grip
  That they took me into the partnership. 
  And that junior partnership, I ween,
  Was the only ship that I ever had seen,
    But that kind of ship so suited me,
    That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee!

  I grew so rich that I was sent
  By a pocket borough into Parliament. 
  I always voted at my party’s call,
  And I never thought of thinking for myself at all. 
    I thought so little, they rewarded me,
    By making me the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee!

  Now, landsmen all, whoever you may be,
  If you want to rise to the top of the tree,
  If your soul isn’t fettered to an office stool,
  Be careful to be guided by this golden rule—­
    Stick close to your desks and never go to sea,
    And you all may be Rulers of the Queen’s Navee!

WHEN A MERRY MAIDEN MARRIES.

When a merry maiden marries, Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries; Every sound becomes a song, All is right and nothing’s wrong!  From to-day and ever after Let your tears be tears of laughter—­ Every sigh that finds a vent Be a sigh of sweet content!  When you marry merry maiden, Then the air with love is laden; Every flower is a rose, Every goose becomes a swan, Every kind of trouble goes Where the last year’s snows have gone!  Sunlight takes the place of shade When you marry merry maid!

  When a merry maiden marries
  Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;
    Every sound becomes a song,
    All is right, and nothing’s wrong. 
  Gnawing Care and aching Sorrow,
  Get ye gone until to-morrow;
    Jealousies in grim array,
    Ye are things of yesterday! 
  When you marry merry maiden,
  Then the air with joy is laden;
    All the corners of the earth
      Ring with music sweetly played,
    Worry is melodious mirth. 
      Grief is joy in masquerade;
    Sullen night is laughing day—­
    All the year is merry May!

THE SUICIDE’S GRAVE.

  On a tree by the river a little tomtit
    Sang “Willow, titwillow, titwillow!”
  And I said to him, “Dicky-bird, why do you sit
    Singing ‘Willow, titwillow, titwillow?’
  Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?” I cried,
  “Or a rather tough worm in your little inside?”
  With a shake of his poor little head he replied,
    “Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!”