Oh Peace, oh come with me and dwell—­
  But stop, for there’s the bell. 
Oh Peace! for thee I go and sit in churches
  On Wednesday, when there’s very few
     In loft or pew—­
Another ring, the tarts are come from Birch’s. 
Oh Peace! for thee I have avoided marriage—­
  Hush! there’s a carriage. 
Oh Peace! thou art the best of earthly goods—­
  The five Miss Woods! 
Oh Peace! thou art the goddess I adore—­
  There come some more. 
Oh Peace! thou child of solitude and quiet—­
That’s Lord Dunn’s footman, for he loves a riot!

     Oh Peace! 
  Knocks will not cease. 
Oh Peace! thou wert for human comfort plann’d—­
  That’s Weippert’s band. 
Oh Peace! how glad I welcome thy approaches—­
  I hear the sound of coaches. 
Oh Peace! oh Peace! another carriage stops—­
  It’s early for the Blenkinsops.

Oh Peace! with thee I love to wander,
But wait till I have showed up Lady Squander,
And now I’ve seen her up the stair,
Oh Peace!—­but here comes Captain Hare. 
  Oh Peace! thou art the slumber of the mind,
Untroubled, calm and quiet, and unbroken,—­
If that is Alderman Guzzle from Portsoken,
  Alderman Gobble won’t be far behind. 
Oh Peace! serene in worldly shyness,—­
Make way there for his Serene Highness!

Oh Peace! if you do not disdain
To dwell amongst the menial train,
I have a silent place and lone,
That you and I may call our own;
Where tumult never makes an entry—­
Susan! what business have you in my pantry?

Oh Peace! but there is Major Monk,
  At variance with his wife—­Oh Peace! 
And that great German, Vander Trunk,
  And that great talker, Miss Apreece;
Oh Peace! so dear to poet’s quills—­
Oh Peace! our greatest renovator;
I wonder where I put my waiter—­
Oh Peace! but here my Ode I’ll cease,
I have no peace to write of Peace!

III.

A FEW LINES ON COMPLETING FORTY-SEVEN.

When I reflect with serious sense,
  While years and years run on,
How soon I may be summoned hence—­
  There’s cook a-calling John.

Our lives are built so frail and poor,
  On sand and not on rocks,
We’re hourly standing at Death’s door—­
  There’s some one double knocks.

All human days have settled terms,
  Our fates we cannot force;
This flesh of mine will feed the worms—­
  They’re come to lunch of course!

And when my body’s turned to clay,
  And dear friends hear my knell,
Oh let them give a sigh and say—­
  I hear the upstairs bell!

IV.

TO MARY HOUSEMAID, ON VALENTINE’S DAY.

Mary, you know I’ve no love nonsense,
  And though I pen on such a day,
I don’t mean flirting, on my conscience,
  Or writing in the courting way.