Rejected Addresses: Or, The New Theatrum Poetarum

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George Routledge and Sons, 1888 - English poetry - 254 pages
 

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Page 132 - E'en Higginbottom now was posed, For sadder scene was ne'er disclosed ; Without, within, in hideous show, Devouring flames resistless glow, And blazing rafters downward go, And never halloo " Heads below ! " Nor notice give at all. The firemen terrified are slow To bid the pumping torrent flow, For fear the roof should fall. Back, Robins, back ! Crump, stand aloof ; Whitford, keep near the walls ! Huggins, regard your own behoof, For, lo ! the blazing rocking roof Down, down, in thunder falls ! An...
Page 51 - And brushed it with a broom. My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes, Came in at six to black the shoes, (I always talk to Sam :) So what does he, but takes, and drags Me in the chaise along the flags, And leaves me where I am. My father's walls are made of brick, But not so tall and not so thick, As these ; and, goodness me ! My father's beams are made of wood, But never, never half so good As those that now I see.
Page 67 - Alike in ignorance, his reason such Whether he thinks too little or too much; Chaos of thought and passion, all confused; Still, by himself abused or disabused; Created half to rise and half to fall; Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all, Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled, The glory, jest, and riddle of the world...
Page 128 - London's sons in nightcap woke, In bedgown woke her dames, For shouts were heard mid fire and smoke, And twice ten hundred voices spoke,
Page 47 - Why, Affectation, why this mock grimace? Go, silly thing, and hide that simp'ring face. Thy lisping prattle, and thy mincing gait, All thy false mimic fooleries I hate; For thou art Folly's counterfeit, and she Who is right foolish hath the better plea; Nature's true idiot I prefer to thee.
Page 134 - Mid blazing beams and scalding streams, Through fire and smoke he dauntless broke, Where Muggins broke before. But sulphury stench and boiling drench Destroying sight o'erwhelmed him quite, He sunk to rise no more. Still o'er his head, while Fate he braved, His whizzing water-pipe he waved; "Whitford and Mitford, ply your pumps, You, Clutterbuck, come, stir your stumps, Why are you in such doleful dumps? A fireman, and afraid of bumps!— What are they fear'd on? fools: 'od rot 'em!
Page 49 - Jack's in the pouts, and this it is, — He thinks mine came to more than his; So to my drawer he goes, Takes out the doll, and, oh, my stars!
Page 171 - MY pensive Public, wherefore look you sad? I had a grandmother, she kept a donkey To carry to the mart her crockery ware, And when that donkey look'd me in the face, His face was sad ! and you are sad, my Public ! Joy should be yours : this tenth day of October Again assembles us in Drury Lane.
Page 130 - Each sought his ponderous hobnailed shoes ; But first his worsted hosen plied. Plush breeches next, in crimson dyed, His nether bulk embraced; Then jacket thick of red or blue, "Whose massy shoulder gave to view The badge of each respective crew, In tin or copper traced. The engines thundered through the street, Fire-hook, pipe, bucket, all complete ; And torches glared, and clattering feet Along the pavement paced.
Page 164 - Oh ! then there was glitter and fire in. each eye, For two living coals were the symbols ; His teeth were calcined, and his tongue was so dry, It rattled against them as though you should try To play the piano in thimbles.

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