The Book of Humorous Verse
Chapter 50 : Sharp-snouted pikes, Who keep fighting like tikes, Now swam up harmonious To hear Saint

Sharp-snouted pikes, Who keep fighting like tikes, Now swam up harmonious To hear Saint Antonius.

No sermon beside Had the pikes so edified.

And that very odd fish, Who loves fast-days, the cod-fish,-- The stock-fish, I mean-- At the sermon was seen.

No sermon beside Had the cods so edified.

Good eels and sturgeon, Which aldermen gorge on, Went out of their way To hear preaching that day.

No sermon beside Had the eels so edified.

Crabs and turtles also, Who always move low, Made haste from the bottom As if the devil had got 'em.

No sermon beside The crabs so edified.

Fish great and fish small, Lords, lackeys, and all, Each looked at the preacher Like a reasonable creature.

At G.o.d's word, They Anthony heard.

The sermon now ended, Each turned and descended; The pikes went on stealing, The eels went on eeling.

Much delighted were they, But preferred the old way.

The crabs are backsliders, The stock-fish thick-siders, The carps are sharp-set-- All the sermon forget.

Much delighted were they, But preferred the old way.

_Abraham a Sancta-Clara._

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM

It was a summer's evening; Old Casper's work was done, And he before his cottage-door Was sitting in the sun; And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, That he beside the rivulet In playing there had found.

He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Casper took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh, "'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory.

"I find them in the garden, for There's many here about; And often, when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out; For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in the great victory."

"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"

Young Peterkin he cries; And little Wilhelmine looks up, With wonder-waiting eyes: "Now tell us all about the war, And what they kill'd each other for."

"It was the English," Casper cried, "That put the French to rout; But what they kill'd each other for, I could not well make out; But everybody said," quoth he, "That 'twas a famous victory.

"My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by; They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly; So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head.

"With fire and sword the country round, Was wasted far and wide, And many a childing mother then And new-born infant died.

But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory.

"They say it was a shocking sight, After the field was won, For many a thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun.

But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene."

"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"

Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory;

"And everybody praised the duke, Who such a fight did win."

"But what good came of it at last?"

Quoth little Peterkin.

"Why, that I cannot tell," said he; "But 'twas a famous victory."

_Robert Southey._

THE THREE BLACK CROWS

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand, One took the other briskly by the hand; "Hark-ye," said he, "'tis an odd story, this, About the crows!" "I don't know what it is,"

Replied his friend. "No! I'm surprised at that; Where I came from it is the common chat; But you shall hear--an odd affair indeed!

And that it happened, they are all agreed.

Not to detain you from a thing so strange, A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change, This week, in short, as all the alley knows, Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows."

"Impossible!" "Nay, but it's really true; I have it from good hands, and so may you."

"From whose, I pray?" So, having named the man, Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.

"Sir, did you tell"--relating the affair.

"Yes, sir, I did; and, if it's worth your care, Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me.

But, by the bye, 'twas two black crows--not three."

Resolved to trace so wondrous an event, Whip, to the third, the virtuoso went; "Sir"--and so forth. "Why, yes; the thing is fact, Though, in regard to number, not exact; It was not two black crows--'twas only one; The truth of that you may depend upon; The gentleman himself told me the case."

"Where may I find him?" "Why, in such a place."

Away goes he, and, having found him out, "Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt."

Then to his last informant he referred, And begged to know if true what he had heard.

"Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?" "Not I."

"Bless me! how people propagate a lie!

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one; And here, I find, all comes, at last, to none.

Did you say nothing of a crow at all?"

"Crow--crow--perhaps I might, now I recall The matter over." "And pray, sir, what was't?"

"Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last, I did throw up, and told my neighbor so, Something that was--as black, sir, as a crow."

_John Byrom._

TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE

BY A MISERABLE WRETCH