The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

408
Silence, ye gods! to keep your tongue in awe,
The Muse shall tell an accident she saw.
Pat Jennings in the upper gallery sat,
But, leaning forward, Jennings lost his hat:
Down from the gallery the beaver flew,
And spurned the one to settle in the two.
How shall he act? Pay at the gallery-door
Two shillings for what cost, when new, but four?
Or till half-price, to save his shilling, wait,
And gain his hat again at half-past eight?
Now, while his fears anticipate a thief,
John Mullins whispers, "Take my handkerchief."
"Thank you," cries Pat; "but one won't make a line."
"Take mine," cries Wilson; and cries Stokes, "Take mine."
A motley cable soon Pat Jennings ties,
Where Spitalfields with real India vies.
Like Iris' bow, down darts the painted clew,
Starred, striped, and spotted, yellow, red, and blue,
Old calico, torn silk, and muslin new.
George Green below, with palpitating hand
Loops the last 'kerchief to the beaver's band--
Up soars the prize! The youth, with joy unfeigned,
Regained the felt, and felt the prize regained;
While to the applauding galleries grateful Pat
Made a low bow, and touched the ransomed hat.
A TALE OF DRURY LANE
[Footnote: "From the parody of Sir Walter Scott we know not what to
select--It Is all good. The effect of the fire on the town, and the
description of a fireman in his official apparel, may be quoted as
amusing specimens of the MISAPPLICATION of the style and meter of Mr.
Scott's admirable romances."--Quarterly Review.
"'A Tale of Drury.' by Walter Scott, is, upon the whole, admirably
execuated; though the introduction is rather tame. The burning is
described with the mighty minstrel's characteristic love of
localitics. The catastrophe is described with a spirit not unworthy of
the name so ventureously assumed by the describer"--Edinburg Review.]