The horrors of an omnibus,
Indeed, I’ve cause to curse;
And if I ride in one again,
I hope ’twill be my hearse.
If you a journey have to go,
And they make no delay,
’Tis ten to one you’re serv’d like curds,
They spill you on the WHEY.
A short time since my wife and I
A short call had to make,
And giving me a kiss, she said—
“A buss you’d better take!”
We journey’d on—two lively cads,
Were for our custom triers;
And in a twinkling we were fix’d
Fast by this pair of pliers!
My wife’s arm I had lock’d
But soon they forced her from it;
And she was lugg’d into the Sun,
And I into the Comet!
Jamm’d to a jelly, there I sat,
Each one against me pushing;
And my poor gouty legs seem’d made
For each one’s pins—a cushion!
My wife some time had gone before:
I urged the jarvey’s speed,
When all at once the bus set off
At fearful pace, indeed!
I ask’d the coachee what caused this?
When thus his story ran:—
“Vy, a man shied at an oss, and so
An oss shied at a man!”
Oh, fearful crash! oh, fearful smash!
At such a rate we run,
That presently the Comet came
In contact with the Sun.
At that sad time each body felt,
As parting with its soul,
We were, indeed, a little whirl’d,
And shook from pole to pole!
* * * * *
Dunn, the miller of Wimbledon, has recently given his infant the Christian name of Cardigan. If there is truth in the adage of “give a dog a bad name and hang him,” the poor child has little else in perspective than the gallows.
* * * * *
PRAY DON’T TELL THE GOVERNOR.
A SONG OF TON.
Why, y-e-s—’twas rather
late last night;
In fact, past six this morning.
My rascal valet, in a fright,
Awoke, and gave me warning.
But what of that?—I’m very young.
And you’ve “been in the Oven,” or,
Like me, you’re wrong’d by rumour’s tongue,
So—pray don’t tell the Governor.
I dined a quarter after seven,
With Dashall of the Lancers;
Went to the opera at eleven,
To see the ballet-dancers.
From thence I saunter’d to the club—
Fortune to me’s a sloven—or,
I surely must have won one rub,
But—mind! don’t tell the Governor!
I went to Ascot t’other day,
Drove Kitty in a tandem;
Upset it ’gainst a brewer’s dray—
I’d dined, so drove at random.
I betted high—an “outside” won—
I’d swear its hoofs were cloven, or
It ne’er the favourite horse had done,
But—don’t you tell the Governor.