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“Sometimes you may him grave behold,
“ And dressed in drab. so oddly! “ He, like the puritans of old,
“ Affects to be so godly!
“ He next becomes a joyous elf,
“ And tries to dance and caper; “And next he really thinks himself,
“ A ruined linen draper !”
The doctor added, “Sir, you will
“Not at your treatment wonder, “Since, though we've really used you ill,
“ The lady caused the blunder.”
The Quaker groans,-too late he sees
How deep the scheme and artful; He takes his hat, and homeward flies
With pockets light, but heart full.
And tells his sire in woful strain,
With tears his optics swimming, How, when all arts were tried in vain
By men, he's duped by women!
WRITTEN DURING A VERY STORMY NIGHT, WHEN THE AUTHOR
WAS PREVENTED FROM SLEEPING BY THE CHIMNEY TOP, WHICH VEERING CONTINUALLY ROUND IN THE WIND, RAISED THE MOST ANNOYING SOUNDS THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT.
Thou fickle, noisy, fluttering thing,
Whose tongue invades my wearied ear,
Thy music here!
These sounds of fear.
Restless I turn from side to side,
And Morpheus, balmy god, invoke;
With gentle stroke,
Scared by thy croak!
Poor Tantalus ! I feel for thee,
Condemned neck-deep in Stygian lake, By cruel Pluto's stern decree,
Thy post to take; And though mid plenty, never free:
Thy thirst to slake.
Thus I, unhappy wight! require
Some portion of the Morphean store, While pillow soft and bed conspire
To make me snoreBut all is vain, yon chimney spire
Won't cease to roar !
O Æolus ! I prithee fly
Thy cheek-inflated crew to stop; Or let them blow eight furlongs high
Yon chimney top; And when far hence in distant sky,
Thou mayst it drop.
Exhausted, wearied, almost dead,
I vow, than hear thine odious croak; I'd rather bear what many dread,
House full of smoke, And scolding wife, which things are said
To be no joke.
I should, at least, enjoy some peace,
When fire was out and ceased from smoking, And wife asleep, but thou wilt cease
Thy horrid croaking, Not till the gentlest winds decrease
Thou imp provoking!