No. I
I�ve something of the bull-dog in my breed,
The spaniel is developed somewhat less;
While life is in me I can fight and bleed,
But never the chastising hand caress.
You say the stroke was well intended. �True.�
You mention �It was meant to do me good.�
�That may be.� �You deserve it.� �Granted, too.�
�Then take it kindly.� �No, I never could.�
– – – – – –
How many a resolution to amend
Is made, and broken, as the years run round!
And how can others on your word depend,
When faithless to ourselves we�re often found?
I�ve often swore, �Henceforward I�ll reform,
And bid my vices, follies, all take wing.�
To keep my promise, �mid temptation�s storm,
I�ve always found was quite another thing.
– – – – – –
I saw a donkey going down the road
The other day; a boy was on his back,
Who on the long-eared quadruped bestowed,
With a stout cudgel, many a hearty thwack;
But lazier and lazier grew the beast,
Until he dwindled to a step so slow
That I felt sure �twould take him, at the least,
Full half-an-hour one blessed mile to go.
Soliloquising on this state of things,
�That moke�s like me,� I muttered, with a sigh;
�He might go faster if he�d got some wings,
But Nature�s made him better off than I;
For though I�ve all his obstinacy, aye! all,
His sullen spirit, and his dogged ways,
I�ve not one particle, however small,
Of that praiseworthy patience he displays.�
No. II
A man is independent of the world,
And little recks of strife or angry brawl,
If �gainst a host his banner be unfurled,
Be his heart stout, it matters not at all.
With woman �tis not so; for she seems hurled
From hand to hand, as is a tennis ball.
How queer that such a difference should be
Between a human he and human she.
No. III
�Tis a wicked world we live in;
Wrong in reason, wrong in rhyme;
But no matter: we�ll not give in
While we still can come to time.
Strength�s a shadow; Hope is madness,
Love, delusion; Friendship, sham;
Pleasure fades away to sadness,
None of these are worth a d–n.
There is naught on earth to please us;
All things at the crisis fail.
Friends desert us, bailiffs tease us,
(To such foes we give leg-bail).
But a stout heart still maintaining,
Quells the ills we all must meet,
And a spirit fear disdaining
Lays our troubles at our feet.
So we�ll ne�er surrender tamely
To the ills that throng us fast.
If we must die, let�s die gamely;
Luck may take a turn at last.