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That night I saw them in my dreams, How changed from what I knew them!

The dews had steeped their faded threads,

The winds had whistled through them!

I saw the wide and ghastly rents Where demon claws had torn them;

A hole was in their amplest part,
As if an imp had worn them.

I have had many happy years,
And tailors kind and clever,

I saw them straddling through the air, But those young pantaloons have Alas! too late to win them;

I saw them chase the clouds, as if The devil had been in them; They were my darlings and my pride, My boyhood's only riches, "Farewell, farewell," I faintly cried: "My breeches! O my breeches!"

gone

Forever and forever!

And not till fate has cut the last

Of all my earthly stitches,

This aching heart shall cease to

mourn

My loved, my long-lost breeches!

THOMAS HOOD.

TO MY INFANT SON.

THOυ happy, happy elf!

In love's dear chain so bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents;-(Drat the boy!

(But stop; first let me kiss away that There goes my ink.)

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Thou cherub, but of earth;

(My love, he's poking peas into his Fit playfellow for fairies, by moon

ear.)

Thou merry, laughing sprite,

With spirits, feather light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin.

(My dear, the child is swallowing a pin!)

Thou little tricksy Puck!

With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air,

(The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!)

Thou darling of thy sire!

(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!)

Thou imp of mirth and joy!

light pale,

In harmless sport and mirth, (That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail!)

Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey

From every blossom in the world that blows,

Singing in youth's Elysium ever

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The bar-maid of the Crown he loved, From whom he never ranged;

For though he changed his horses there,

His love he never changed.

He thought her fairest of all fares,
So fondly love prefers;
And often, among twelve outsides,
Deemed no outside like hers.

One day, as she was sitting down
Beside the porter-pump,

He came, and knelt with all his fat,
And made an offer plump.

Said she, "My taste will never learn
To like so huge a man,

So I must beg you will come here
As little as you can."

But still he stoutly urged his suit,

With vows, and sighs, and tears, It could not pierce her heart, although

He drove the "Dart" for years.

In vain he wooed, in vain he sued;
And sent him off to Coventry,
The maid was cold and proud,

While on his way to Stroud.

He fretted all the way to Stroud,
And thence all back to town;
The course of love was never smooth,
So his went up and down.

At last her coldness made him pine
To merely bones and skin,
But still he loved like one resolved
To love through thick and thin.
"O Mary! view my wasted back,
And see my dwindled calf;
Though I have never had a wife,
I've lost my better half.”

Alas! in vain he still assailed,

Her heart withstood the dint; Though he had carried sixteen stone, He could not move a flint. Worn out, at last he made a vow To break his being's link; For he was so reduced in size At nothing he could shrink.

Now some will talk in water's praise, And waste a deal of breath,

But John, though he drank nothing else,

He drank himself to death.

The cruel maid that caused his love,
Found out the fatal close,
For looking in the butt, she saw
The butt-end of his woes.

There's Mr. Wick at Number Nine,
But he's intent on pelf;
And though he's pious, will not love
His neighbor as himself.

At Number Seven there was a sale--
The goods had quite a run!
And here I've got my single lot
On hand at Number One!

My mother often sits at work, And talks of props and stays,

Some say his spirit haunts the Crown, And what a comfort I shall be

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Yet arts that thrive at Number Five I wish he had a gun!
Don't take at Number One.

'Tis hard, with plenty in the street,
And plenty passing by,-
There's nice young men at Number
Ten,

But only rather shy;

And Mrs. Smith across the way
Has got a grown-up son,

But, la! be hardly seems to know
There is a Number One!

But if he had he'd never deign To shoot with Number One!

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I'M NOT A SINGLE MAN.
WELL, I confess, I did not guess
A simple marriage vow
Would make me find all women-kind
Such unkind women now!
They need not, sure, as distant be
As Java or Japan,-

Yet every Miss reminds me this
I'm not a single man!

If they had hair in papers once, Bolt up the stairs they ran; They now sit still in dishabille – I'm not a single man!

Miss Mary Bond was once so fond
Of Romans and of Greeks;
She daily sought my cabinet

To study my antiques.

Well, now she doesn't care a dump
For ancient pot or pan,

Once they made choice of my bass Her taste at once is modernized

voice

To share in each duet;

So well I danced, I somehow chanced To stand in every set:

They now declare I cannot sing,

And dance on Bruin's plan; Me draw!-me paint!-me anything!

I'm not a single man!

Once I was asked advice, and tasked
What works to buy or not,
And would I read that passage out
I so admired in Scott?
They then could bear to hear one read;
But if I now began,
How they would snub, "My pretty
page,❞—

I'm not a single man!

One used to stitch a collar then,
Another hemmed a frill;

I had more purses netted then
Than I could hope to fill.
I once could get a button on,
But now I never can -

My buttons then were Bachelor's -
I'm not a single man!

Oh, how they hated politics

Thrust on me by papa:

But now my chat-they all leave that
To entertain mamma:
Mamma, who praises her own self,
Instead of Jane or Ann,
And lays her girls" upon the shelf-
I'm not a single man!

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Ah me, how strange it is, the change,
In parlor and in hall,
They treat me so, if I but go
To make a morning call.

I'm not a single man!

My spouse is fond of homely life,
And all that sort of thing;

I go to balls without my wife,
And never wear a ring:

And yet each Miss to whom I come,
As strange as Genghis Khan,
Knows by some sign I can't divine -
I'm not a single man!

Go where I will, I but intrude,

I'm left in crowded rooms, Like Zimmerman on Solitude,

Or Hervey at his Tombs. From head to heel they make me feel Of quite another clan; Compelled to own, though left alone, I'm not a single inan!

Miss Towne the toast, though she can boast

A nose of Roman line,
Will turn up even that in scorn
At compliments of mine:

She should have seen that I have been
Her sex's partisan,

And really married all I could
I'm not a single man!

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