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The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

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509<br />

Know <strong>the</strong>n that I have burnt my throat<br />

With this confounded pie!<br />

II.<br />

OM MY REFUSING ANGELINA A KISS UNDER THE MISTLETOE<br />

Nay, fond one, shun that misletoe,<br />

Nor lure me 'neath its fatal bough:<br />

Some o<strong>the</strong>r night 't were joy to go,<br />

But ah!I must not, dare not now!<br />

'Tis sad, I own, to see thy face<br />

Thus tempt me with its giggling glee,<br />

And feel I can not now embrace<br />

<strong>The</strong> opportunity--and <strong>the</strong>e.<br />

'Tis sad to think that jealousy's<br />

Sharp scissors may our true love sever;<br />

And that my coldness now may freeze<br />

Thy warm affection, love, forever.<br />

But ah! to disappoint our bliss,<br />

A fatal hind'rance now is stuck:'Tis not that I am loath to kiss,<br />

But, dearest, list--I DINED OFF DUCK!<br />

III.<br />

ON MY FINDING ANGELINA STOP SUDDENLY IN A RAPID AFTER-SUPPER<br />

POLKA AT<br />

MRS. TOMPKINS'S BALL.<br />

EDWIN. "Maiden, why that look <strong>of</strong> sadness?<br />

Whence that dark o'erclouded brow?<br />

What hath stilled thy bounding gladness,<br />

Changed thy pace from fast to slow?<br />

Is it that by impulse sudden<br />

Childhood's hours thou paus'st to mourn?<br />

Or hath thy cruel EDWIN trodden<br />

Right upon thy favorite corn?<br />

"Is it that for evenings wasted<br />

Some remorse thou 'gin'st to feel?

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