case.

  Pollock, C.B., charged the Jury; said the woman's guilt was clear:

  That was not the point, however, which the Jury came to hear;

  But the damage to determine which, as it should true appear,

  This most tender-hearted husband, who so used his lady dear--

  Beat her, kicked her, caned her, cursed her, left her starving,

  year by year,

  Flung her from him, parted from her, wrung her neck, and boxed her

  ear--

  What the reasonable damage this afflicted man could claim,

  By the loss of the affections of this guilty graceless dame?

  Then the honest British Twelve, to each other turning round,

  Laid their clever heads together with a wisdom most profound:

  And towards his Lordship looking, spoke the foreman wise and sound;--

  "My Lord, we find for this here plaintiff, damages two hundred

  pound."

  So, God bless the Special Jury! pride and joy of English ground,

  And the happy land of England, where true justice does abound!

  British jurymen and husbands, let us hail this verdict proper:

  If a British wife offends you, Britons, you've a right to whop her.

  Though you promised to protect her, though you promised to defend her,

  You are welcome to neglect her: to the devil you may send her:

  You may strike her, curse, abuse her; so declares our law renowned;

  And if after this you lose her,--why, you're paid two hundred pound.

  THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY.

  There's in the Vest a city pleasant

  To vich King Bladud gev his name,

  And in that city there's a Crescent

  Vere dwelt a noble knight of fame.

  Although that galliant knight is oldish,

  Although Sir John as gray, gray air,

  Hage has not made his busum coldish,

  His Art still beats tewodds the Fair!

  'Twas two years sins, this knight so splendid,

  Peraps fateagued with Bath's routines,

  To Paris towne his phootsteps bended

  In sutch of gayer folks and seans.

  His and was free, his means was easy,

  A nobler, finer gent than he

  Ne'er drove about the Shons-Eleesy,

  Or paced the Roo de Rivolee.

  A brougham and pair Sir John prowided,

  In which abroad he loved to ride;

  But ar! he most of all enjyed it,

  When some one helse was sittin' inside!

  That "some one helse" a lovely dame was

  Dear ladies you will heasy tell--

  Countess Grabrowski her sweet name was,

  A noble title, ard to spell.

  This faymus Countess ad a daughter

  Of lovely form and tender art;

  A nobleman in marridge sought her,

  By name the Baron of Saint Bart.

  Their pashn touched the noble Sir John,

  It was so pewer and profound;

  Lady Grabrowski he did urge on

  With Hyming's wreeth their loves to crownd.

  "O, come to Bath, to Lansdowne Crescent,"

  Says kind Sir John, "and live with me;

  The living there's uncommon pleasant--

  I'm sure you'll find the hair agree.

  "O, come to Bath, my fair Grabrowski,

  And bring your charming girl," sezee;

  "The Barring here shall have the ouse-key,

  Vith breakfast, dinner, lunch, and tea.

  "And when they've passed an appy winter,

  Their opes and loves no more we'll bar;

  The marridge-vow they'll enter inter,

  And I at church will be their Par."

  To Bath they went to Lansdowne Crescent,

  Where good Sir John he did provide

  No end of teas and balls incessant,

  And hosses both to drive and ride.

  He was so Ospitably busy,

  When Miss was late, he'd make so bold

  Upstairs to call out, "Missy, Missy,

  Come down, the coffy's getting cold!"

  But O! 'tis sadd to think such bounties

  Should meet with such return as this;

  O Barring of Saint Bart, O Countess

  Grabrowski, and O cruel Miss!

  He married you at Bath's fair Habby,

  Saint Bart he treated like a son--

  And wasn't it uncommon shabby

  To do what you have went and done!

  My trembling And amost refewses

  To write the charge which Sir John swore,

  Of which the Countess he ecuses,

  Her daughter and her son-in-lore.

  My Mews quite blushes as she sings of

  The fatle charge which now I quote:

  He says Miss took his two best rings off,

  And pawned 'em for a tenpun note.

  "Is this the child of honest parince,

  To make away with folks' best things?

  Is this, pray, like the wives of Barrins,

  To go and prig a gentleman's rings?"

  Thus thought Sir John, by anger wrought on,

  And to rewenge his injured cause,

  He brought them hup to Mr. Broughton,

  Last Vensday veek as ever waws.

  If guiltless, how she have been slandered!

  If guilty, wengeance will not fail:

  Meanwhile the lady is remanded

  And gev three hundred pouns in bail.

  JACOB HOMNIUM'S HOSS.

  A NEW PALLICE COURT CHANT.

  One sees in Viteall Yard,

  Vere pleacemen do resort,

  A wenerable hinstitute,

  'Tis call'd the Pallis Court.

  A gent as got his i on it,

  I think 'twill make some sport.

  The natur of this Court

  My hindignation riles:

  A few fat legal spiders

  Here set & spin their viles;

  To rob the town theyr privlege is,

  In a hayrea of twelve miles.

  The Judge of this year Court

  Is a mellitary beak,

  He knows no more of Lor

  Than praps he does of Greek,

  And prowides hisself a deputy

  Because he cannot speak.

  Four counsel in this Court--

  Misnamed of Justice--sits;

  These lawyers owes their places to

  Their money, not their wits;

  And there's six attornies under them,

  As here their living gits.

  These lawyers, six and four,

  Was a livin at their ease,

  A sendin of their writs abowt,

  And droring in the fees,

  When their erose a cirkimstance

  As is like to make a breeze.

  It now is some monce since,

  A gent both good and trew

  Possest an ansum oss vith vich

  He didn know what to do:

  Peraps he did not like the oss;

  Peraps he was a scru.

  This gentleman his oss

  At Tattersall's did lodge;

  There came a wulgar oss-dealer,

  This gentleman's name did fodge,

  And took the oss from Tattersall's

  Wasn that a artful dodge?

  One day this gentleman's groom

  This willain did spy out,

  A mounted on this oss

  A ridin him about;

  "Get out of that there oss, you rogue,"

  Speaks up the groom so stout.

  The thief was cruel whex'd

  To find himself so pinn'd;

  The oss began to whinny,

  The honest gloom he grinn'd;

  And the raskle thief got off the oss

  And cut avay like vind.

  And phansy with what joy

  The master did regard

  His dearly bluvd lost oss again

  Trot in the stable yard!

  Who was this master good

  Of whomb I makes these rhymes?

  His name is Jacob Homnium, Exquire;

  And if I'd committed crimes,

  Good Lord I wouldn't ave that mann

  Attack me in the Times!

  Now shortly after the groomb

  His master's oss did take up,

  There came a livery-man

  This gentleman to wake up;

  And he handed in a little bill,

  Which hangered Mr. Jacob.

  For two pound seventeen

  This livery-man eplied,

  For the keep of Mr. Jacob's oss,

  Which the thief had took to ride.

  "Do you see anythink green in me?"

  Mr. Jacob Homnium cried.

  "Because a raskle chews

  My oss away to robb,

  And goes tick at your Mews

  For seven-and-fifty bobb,

  Shall I be call'd to pay?--It is

  A iniquitious Jobb."

  Thus Mr. Jacob cut

  The conwasation short;

  The livery-man went ome,

  Detummingd to ave sport,

  And summingsd Jacob Homnium, Exquire,

  Into the Pallis Court.

  Pore Jacob went to Court,

  A Counsel for to fix,

  And choose a barrister out of the four,

  An attorney of the six:

  And there he sor these men of Lor,

  And watch'd 'em at their tricks.

  The dreadful day of trile

  In the Pallis Court did come;

  The lawyers said their say,

  The Judge look'd wery glum,

  And then the British Jury cast

  Pore Jacob Hom-ni-um.

  O a weary day was that

  For Jacob to go through;

  The debt was two seventeen

  (Which he no mor owed than you),

  And then there was the plaintives costs,

  Eleven pound six and two.

  And then there was his own,

  Which the lawyers they did fix

  At the wery moderit figgar

  Of ten pound one and six.

  Now Evins bless the Pallis Court,

  And all its bold ver-dicks!

  I cannot settingly tell

  If Jacob swaw and cust,

  At aving for to pay this sumb;

  But I should think he must,

  And av drawn a cheque for L24 4s. 8d.

  With most igstreme disgust.

  O Pallis Court, you move

  My pitty most profound.

  A most emusing sport

  You thought it, I'll be bound,

  To saddle hup a three-pound debt,

  With two-and-twenty pound.

  Good sport it is to you

  To grind the honest pore,

  To pay their just or unjust debts

  With eight hundred per cent. for Lor;

  Make haste and get your costes in,

  They will not last much mor!

  Come down from that tribewn,

  Thou shameless and Unjust;

  Thou Swindle, picking pockets in

  The name of Truth august:

  Come down, thou hoary blasphemy,

  For die thou shalt and must.

  And go it, Jacob Homnium,

  And ply your iron pen,

  And rise up, Sir John Jervis,

  And shut me up that den;

  That sty for fattening lawyers in,

  On the bones of honest men.

  PLEACEMAN X.

  THE SPECULATORS.

  The night was stormy and dark,

  The town was shut up in sleep:

  Only those were abroad who were out on a lark,

  Or those who'd no beds to keep.

  I pass'd through the lonely street,

  The wind did sing and blow;

  I could hear the policeman's feet

  Clapping to and fro.

  There stood a potato-man

  In the midst of all the wet;

  He stood with his 'tato-can

  In the lonely Hay-market.

  Two gents of dismal mien,

  And dank and greasy rags,

  Came out of a shop for gin,

  Swaggering over the flags:

  Swaggering over the stones,

  These shabby bucks did walk;

  And I went and followed those seedy ones,

  And listened to their talk.

  Was I sober or awake?

  Could I believe my ears?

  Those dismal beggars spake

  Of nothing but railroad shares.

  I wondered more and more:

  Says one--"Good friend of mine,

  How many shares have you wrote for,

  In the Diddlesex Junction line?"

  "I wrote for twenty," says Jim,

  "But they wouldn't give me one;"

  His comrade straight rebuked him

  For the folly he had done:

  "O Jim, you are unawares

  Of the ways of this bad town;

  I always write for five hundred shares,

  And THEN they put me down."

  "And yet you got no shares,"

  Says Jim, "for all your boast;"

  "I WOULD have wrote," says Jack, "but where

  Was the penny to pay the post?"

  "I lost, for I couldn't pay

  That first instalment up;

  But here's 'taters smoking hot--I say,

  Let's stop, my boy, and sup."

  And at this simple feast

  The while they did regale,

  I drew each ragged capitalist

  Down on my left thumbnail.

  Their talk did me perplex,

  All night I tumbled and tost,

  And thought of railroad specs,

  And how money was won and lost.

  "Bless railroads everywhere,"

  I said, "and the world's advance;

  Bless every railroad share

  In Italy, Ireland, France;

  For never a beggar need now despair,

  And every rogue has a chance."

  A WOEFUL NEW BALLAD

  OF THE PROTESTANT CONSPIRACY TO TAKE THE POPE'S LIFE.

  (BY A GENTLEMAN WHO HAS BEEN ON THE SPOT.)

  Come all ye Christian people, unto my tale give ear,

  'Tis about a base consperracy, as quickly shall appear;

  'Twill make your hair to bristle up, and your eyes to start and glow,

  When of this dread consperracy you honest folks shall know.

  The news of this consperracy and villianous attempt,

  I read it in a newspaper, from Italy it was sent:

  It was sent from lovely Italy, where the olives they do grow,

  And our holy father lives, yes, yes, while his name it is No NO.

  And 'tis there our English noblemen goes that is Puseyites no

  longer,

  Because they finds the ancient faith both better is and stronger,

  And 'tis there I knelt beside my lord when he kiss'd the POPE his

  toe,

  And hung his neck with chains at St. Peter's Vinculo.

  And 'tis there the splendid churches is, and the fountains playing

  grand,

  And the palace of PRINCE TORLONIA, likewise the Vatican;

  And there's the stairs where the bagpipe-men and the piffararys

  blow.

  And it's there I drove my lady and lord in the Park of Pincio.

  And 'tis there our splendid churches is in all their pride and

  glory,

  Saint Peter's famous Basilisk and Saint Mary's Maggiory;

  And them benighted Prodestants, on Sunday they must go

  Outside the town to the preaching-shop by the gate of Popolo.

  Now in this town of famous Room, as I dessay you have heard,

  There is scarcely any gentleman as hasn't got a beard.

  And ever since the world began it was ordained so,

  That there should always barbers he wheresumever beards do grow.

  And as it always has been so since the world it did begin,

  The POPE, our Holy Potentate, has a beard upon his chin;

  And every morning regular when cocks begin to crow,

  There comes a certing party to wait on POPE PIO.

  There comes a certing gintlemen with razier, soap, and lather,

  A shaving most respectfully the POPE, our Holy Father.

  And now the dread consperracy I'll quickly to you show,

  Which them sanguinary Prodestants did form against NONO.

  Them sanguinary Prodestants, which I abore and hate,

  Assembled in the preaching-shop by the Flaminian gate;

  And they took counsel with their selves to deal a deadly blow

  Against our gentle Father, the Holy POPE PIO.

  Exhibiting a wickedness which I never heard or read of;

  What do you think them Prodestants wished? to cut the good Pope's

  head off!

  And to the kind POPE'S Air-dresser the Prodestant Clark did go,

  And proposed him to decapitate the innocent PIO.

  "What hever can be easier," said this Clerk--this Man of Sin,

  "When you are called to hoperate on His Holiness's chin,

  Than just to give the razier a little slip--just so?--

  And there's an end, dear barber, of innocent PIO!"

  The wicked conversation it chanced was overerd

  By an Italian lady; she heard it every word:

  Which by birth she was a Marchioness, in service forced to go

  With the parson of the preaching-shop at the gate of Popolo.

  When the lady heard the news, as duty did obleege,

  As fast as her legs could carry her she ran to the Poleege.

  "O Polegia," says she (for they pronounts it so),

  "They're going for to massyker our Holy POPE PIO.

  "The ebomminable Englishmen, the Parsing and his Clark,

  His Holiness's Air-dresser devised it in the dark!

  And I would recommend you in prison for to throw

  These villians would esassinate the Holy POPE PIO?

  "And for saving of His Holiness and his trebble crownd

  I humbly hope your Worships will give me a few pound;

  Because I was a Marchioness many years ago,

  Before I came to service at the gate of Popolo."

  That sackreligious Air-dresser, the Parson and his man

  Wouldn't, though ask'd continyally, own their wicked plan--

  And so the kind Authoraties let those villians go

  That was plotting of the murder of the good PIO NONO.

  Now isn't this safishnt proof, ye gentlemen at home,

  How wicked is them Prodestants, and how good our Pope at Rome?

  So let us drink confusion to LORD JOHN and LORD MINTO,

  And a health unto His Eminence, and good PIO NONO.

  THE LAMENTABLE BALLAD OF THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH.

  Come all ye Christian people, and listen to my tail,

  It is all about a doctor was travelling by the rail,

  By the Heastern Counties' Railway (vich the shares I don't desire),

  From Ixworth town in Suffolk, vich his name did not transpire.

  A travelling from Bury this Doctor was employed

  With a gentleman, a friend of his, vich his name was Captain Loyd,

  And on reaching Marks Tey Station, that is next beyond Colchest-

  er, a lady entered into them most elegantly dressed.

  She entered into the Carriage all with a tottering step,

  And a pooty little Bayby upon her bussum slep;

  The gentlemen received her with kindness and siwillaty,

  Pitying this lady for her illness and debillaty.

  She had a fust-class ticket, this lovely lady said,

  Because it was so lonesome she took a secknd instead.

  Better to travel by secknd class, than sit alone in the fust,

  And the pooty little Baby upon her breast she nust.

  A seein of her cryin, and shiverin and pail,

  To her spoke this surging, the Ero of my tail;

  Saysee you look unwell, Ma'am, I'll elp you if I can,

  And you may tell your ease to me, for I'm a meddicle man.

  "Thank you, Sir," the lady said, "I only look so pale,

  Because I ain't accustom'd to travelling on the Rale;

  I shall be better presnly, when I've ad some rest:"

  And that pooty little Baby she squeeged it to her breast.

  So in the conwersation the journey they beguiled,

  Capting Loyd and the meddicle man, and the lady and the child,

  Till the warious stations along the line was passed,

  For even the Heastern Counties' trains must come in at last.

  When at Shoreditch tumminus at lenth stopped the train,

  This kind meddicle gentleman proposed his aid again.

  "Thank you, Sir," the lady said, "for your kyindness dear;

  My carridge and my osses is probibbly come here.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14