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LESSON X.

SOUR GRAPES.

ANONYMOUS,

1. My love, thou'rt fairer than the dawn Of April's brightest day,

And the beauty of thy cheek outvies
The loveliest tints of May!

2 The odoriferous perfumes
That load the spicy gale,
To thy sweet, life-inspiring breath,
Are virtueless, and stale.

3. O, how enchantingly around
That polished neck of thine,
Those artless raven-tresses bright,
In glossy ringlets twine!

4. And then they wave so feelingly
O'er fields of purest pearl,

Ten thousand beauties sport around
Each captivating curl!

5. Those eyes, do turn them, dear, away
So ravishingly they roll,
Those sun-eclipsing diamonds,
They pierce my inmost soul.

6. Those lips, how do they sparkle forth The ruby's brightest glow,

And thy neck outshines in purity
The winter's drifted snow!

7. Thy voice, O how divinely sweet,
'Tis like the seraph's note,

And, fairy-like, an angel form

Seems in the air to float.

8. Words cannot tell, nor thought can dream
The pangs I undergo

For thee-and wilt thou not be mine
My lovely angel! No!

9. Zounds! you red-haired, freckled thing—
You garlic-breathed old maid!

You raw-boned, crooked, overgrown,
Ungainly, croaking jade!

10. What! rid of thee? Ye lucky stars
I'm thunder-struck with joy!

I wouldn't marry such a chub
For all the wealth of Troy!

LESSON XI.

TRAGIC FATE OF MRS. CAUDLE.

ANONYMOUS

1. MR. CAUDLE had a scolding wife,

(A most uncommon thing in life;)

His days and nights were spent in strife unceasing.

Her tongue went glibly all day long,

Sweet contradiction, still her song,

And all the poor man did was wrong, and ill-done.

2. A truce without doors, or within,

From speeches long as tradesmen spin

Or rest from her eternal din, he found not.

He every soothing art displayed;

Tried of what stuff her skin was made:

Failing in all, to Heaven he prayed, to take her.

3. Once, walking by a river's side,

In mournful terms "My dear!" he cried,

"No more let feuds our peace divide-I'll end them.

Weary of life, and quite resigned,

To drown I have made up my mind,

So tie my hands as fast behind as can be,—

4. "Or nature may assert her reign,

My arms assist, my will restrain,

And, swimming, I once more regain my troubles."

With eager haste the dame complies,

While joy stands glistening in her eyes;

Already, in her thoughts, he dies before her.

5. "Yet, when I view the rolling tide,
Nature revolts"-he said; "beside,
I would not be a suicide, and die thus.
It would be better, far, I think,
While close I stand upon the brink,

You push me in,-nay, never shrink-but do it.

6. To give the blow the more effect,

Some twenty yards she ran direct,

And did what she could least expect she should do.
He slips aside himself to save,

So souse! she dashes in the wave,

And gave, what ne'er before she gave-much pleasure. "Dear husband, help! I sink!" she cried;

"Thou best of wives "-the man replied,

"I would, but you my hands have tied-Heaven help you."

LESSON XII.

LAMENT OF A YOUNG LADY.

ANONYMOUS.

1. Ir's really very singular,
I cannot make it out,

I've many beaux, yet none propose-
What are they all about?
There's Mr. Bailey comes here daily,
To dinner and to doze;

He siniles and sighs, looks very wise,
And yet he don't propose.

2. I'ın sonnetized, I'm poetized,

I'm paragraphed on paper;

They vow, although I'm very stout,

My waist is very taper;
That I've a very Grecian face,

And rather a Grecian nose,
Yet seeing this, it's quite amiss,
That none of them propose.

3. That Colonel Tancers, of the Lancers,
Sometimes looks speechless things;
He smiles and sighs, and coal black eyes
And O, the songs he sings!
He does not want encouragement,
Enough of that, Heaven knows!

And then his air, so militaire

O, if he would propose!

4. They steal my pocket handkerchief

They pray for locks of hair—

They ask me for my hand- -to dance,
They praise my grace and air;

There's Mr. Dyson, fond of hyson,
I wonder he don't close:

I make his tea, he smiles on me,
And yet he don't propose!

5. At park or play, by night or day,
They follow me about;

Riding or walking, singing or talking,

At revel, masque, or rout!

My father thinks it very hard,

That out of all the beaux,

Who come to dine, and drink his wine,
None of them will propose.

6. Yes, it is very singular,

I've half a mind to pout;

Of all the beax, none will propose-
What do they dream about?
However, now my mind's resolved:
In poetry or prose,

Whate'er ensue, or false or true,

One of them shall propose.

LESSON XIII.

THE OLD BACHELOR.

BY A MAD POET.

1. In the vast flower-field of human affection, there is not a more miserable being than the old bachelor. He is the very scare-crow of human happiness. He scares away the little birds of love that come to steal the hemlock seeds of loneliness and despair. See him come home at night, wet and hungry; he finds a cold hearth, a barren table, and a lonely pillow, that looks like the white urn of earthly enjoyment.

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