The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

95
"But, brother sinner, pray explain
How 'tis that you are not in pain:
What pow'r hath work'd a wonder for YOUR toes:
While _I_, just like a snail am crawling,
Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling,
While not a rascal comes to ease my woes?
"How is't that YOU can like a greyhound go,
Merry, as if that naught had happen'd, burn ye?"
"Why," cried the other, grinning, "you must know,
That just before I ventur'd on my journey,
To walk a little more at ease,
I took the liberty to boil MY peas.'"
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE CAT,
DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLDFISHES.
THOMAS GRAY.
'Twas on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow,
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw, and purred applause.
Still had she gaz'd, but, 'midst the
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The Genii of the stream:
Their scaly armor's Tyrian hue,
Through richest purple, to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.