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One end he tied around a beam,
And then removed his pegs,
And, as his legs were off, of course
He soon was off his legs!

And there he hung till he was dead

As any nail in town,—

For though distress had cut him up,
It could not cut him down!

A dozen men sat on his corpse,

To find out why he died—

And they buried Ben at four cross-roads,

With a stake in his inside!

Thomas Hood [1799-1845]

FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN

YOUNG Ben he was a nice young man,

A carpenter by trade;

And he fell in love with Sally Brown,
That was a lady's maid.

But as they fetched a walk one day,

They met a press-gang crew; And Sally she did faint away,

Whilst Ben he was brought to.

The boatswain swore with wicked words

Enough to shock a saint,

That, though she did seem in a fit,

'Twas nothing but a feint.

"Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head,

He'll be as good as me;

For when your swain is in our boat

A boatswain he will be."

So when they'd made their game of her,

And taken off her elf,

She roused, and found she only was

A coming to herself.

Faithless Sally Brown

"And is he gone, and is he gone?"
She cried, and wept outright;
"Then I will to the water-side,
And see him out of sight."

A waterman came up to her;
"Now, young woman," said he,
"If you weep on so, you will make
Eye-water in the sea.'

"Alas! they've taken my beau, Ben,
To sail with old Benbow;"
And her woe began to run afresh,
As if she'd said, Gee woe!

Says he, "They've only taken him
To the tender-ship, you see."
"The tender-ship," cried Sally Brown,
"What a hardship that must be!

"O, would I were a mermaid now,
For then I'd follow him!
But O, I'm not a fish-woman,
And so I cannot swim.

"Alas! I was not born beneath
The Virgin and the Scales,
So I must curse my cruel stars,
And walk about in Wales."

Now Ben had sailed to many a place
That's underneath the world;
But in two years the ship came home,
And all her sails were furled.

But when he called on Sally Brown,
To see how she got on,

He found she'd got another Ben,

Whose Christian name was John.

2061

"O Sally Brown! O Sally Brown!
How could you serve me so?
I've met with many a breeze before,
But never such a blow!"

Then, reading on his 'bacco box,
He heaved a heavy sigh,
And then began to eye his pipe,
And then to pipe his eye.

And then he tried to sing, "All's Well!"
But could not, though he tried;

His head was turned,-and so he chewed
His pigtail till he died.

His death, which happened in his berth,
At forty-odd befell;

They went and told the sexton, and

The sexton tolled the bell.

Thomas Hood [1799-1845]

"PLEASE TO RING THE BELLE"

I'LL tell you a story that's not in Tom Moore:
Young Love likes to knock at a pretty girl's door:
So he called upon Lucy-'twas just ten o'clock—-
Like a spruce single man, with a smart double knock.

Now a hand-maid, whatever her fingers be at,
Will run like a puss when she hears a rat-tat:
So Lucy ran up-and in two seconds more
Had questioned the stranger and answered the door.

The meeting was bliss, but the parting was woe;
For the moment will come when such comers must go.
So she kissed him, and whispered-poor innocent thing-
"The next time you come, love, pray come with a ring."
Thomas Hood (1799-1845]

Old Grimes

2063

OLD GRIMES

OLD Grimes is dead; that good old man
We never shall see more:

He used to wear a long black coat,
All buttoned down before.

His heart was open as the day,
His feelings all were true;

His hair was some inclined to gray-
He wore it in a queue.

Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burned;
The large, round head upon his cane
From ivory was turned.

Kind words he ever had for all;

He knew no base design:

His eyes were dark and rather small,

His nose was aquiline.

He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true;
His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.

Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes

He passed securely o'er,
And never wore a pair of boots

For thirty years or more.

But good old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown:
He wore a double-breasted vest-
The stripes ran up and down.

He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert:
He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.

His neighbors he did not abuse-
Was sociable and gay:

He wore large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.

His knowledge, hid from public gaze,
He did not bring to view,

Nor made a noise, town-meeting days,
As many people do.

His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances,
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.

Thus undisturbed by anxious cares,

His peaceful moments ran;

And everybody said he was

A fine old gentleman.

Albert Gorton Greene. [1802-1868]

THE ANNUITY

I GAED to spend a week in Fife—
An unco week it proved to be-
For there I met a waesome wife

Lamentin' her viduity.

Her grief brak out sae fierce and fell,

I thought her heart wad burst the shell,
And, I was sae left tae mysel,—
I sell't her an annuity.

The bargain lookit fair eneugh-
She just was turned o' saxty-three;
I couldna guessed she'd prove sae teugh,
By human ingenuity.

But years have come, and years have gane,

And there she's yet as stieve 's a stane--
The limmer's growin' young again,

Since she got her annuity.

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