The Russians they stuck close to him
All on the road from Moscow.
There was Tormazow and Jemalow,
And all the others that end in ow;
Milarodovitch and Jaladovitch,
And Karatschkowitch,
And all the others that end in itch;
Schamscheff, Souchosaneff,
And Schepaleff,
And all the others that end in eff;
Wasiltschikoff, Kostomaroff,
And Tchoglokoff,
And all the others that end in off;
Rajeffsky, and Novereffsky,
And Rieffsky,
And all the others that end in effsky;
Oscharoffsky and Rostoffsky,
And all the others that end in offsky;
And Platoff he play'd them off,
And Shouvaloff he shovelled them off,
And Markoff he marked them off,
And Krosnoff he crossed them off,
And Tuchkoff he touched them off,
And Boraskoff he bored them off,
And Kutousoff he cut them off,
And Parenzoff he pared them off,
And Worronzoff he worried them off,
And Doctoroff he doctored them off,
And Rodionoff he flogged them off,
And, last of all, an admiral came,
A terrible man with a terrible name,
A name which you all know by sight very well,
But which no one can speak, and no one can spell.
They stuck close to Nap with all their might;
They were on the left and on the right,
Behind and before, and by day and by night;
He would rather parlez vous than fight;
But he looked white, and he looked blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!
When parlez vous no more would do,
For they remembered Moscow.
And then came on the frost and snow,
All on the road from Moscow.
The wind and the weather he found, in that hour,
Cared nothing for him, nor for all his power;
For him who, while Europe crouched under his rod,
Put his trust in his Fortune, and not in his God.
Worse and worse every day the elements grew,
The fields were so white and the sky so blue,
Sacrebleu! Ventrebleu!
What a horrible journey from Moscow!
110. HISTORY OF JOHN DAY.-Thomas Hood.
John Day, he was the biggest man
Of all the coachman kind,
With back too broad to be conceived
By any narrow mind.
The very horses knew his weight,
When he was in the rear,
And wished his box a Christmas-box,
To come but once a year.
Alas! against the shafts of love
What armor can avail?
Soon Cupid sent an arrow through
His scarlet coat of mail.
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.
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,
Yet could not pierce her heart, although
He drove the "Dart" for years.
In vain he wooed-in vain he sued,—
The maid was cold and proud,
And sent him off to Coventry
While on the 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.
"Oh, 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.
Some say his spirit haunts the "Crown,"
But that is only talk;
For after riding all his life,
His ghost objects to walk.
111. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.-Oliver Goldsmith.
But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied;
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.
112. TRUTH IN PARENTHESES.-Thomas Hood.
I really take it very kind,—
This visit, Mrs. Skinner;
I have not seen you such an age –
(The wretch has come to dinner!) Your daughters, too, what loves of girls! What heads for painters' easels! Come here, and kiss the infant, dears,(And give it, p'rhaps, the measles!)
Your charming little niece, and Tom,
From Reverend Mr. Russell's;
'Twas very kind to bring them both –
(What boots for my new Brussels!)
What! little Clara left at home!
Well, now, I call that shabby!
I should have loved to kiss her so-
(A flabby, dabby babby!)
And Mr. S., I hope he's well,—
But, though he lives so handy,
He never drops once in to sup -
(The better for our brandy!)
Come, take a seat,— I long to hear
About Matilda's marriage;
You've come, of course, to spend the day-
(Thank Heaven! I hear the carriage!)
What! must you go?- next time, I hope,
You'll give me longer measure:
Nay, I shall see you down the stairs-
(With most uncommon pleasure!)
Good-by! good-by! Remember, all,
Next time you'll take your dinners —
(Now, David, mind,—I'm not at home,
In future, to the Skinners.)
|