The Book of Humorous Verse
Chapter 14 : OF ONE ELEVEN YEARS IN PRISON I Whene'er with haggard eyes I view This dungeon tha

OF ONE ELEVEN YEARS IN PRISON

I

Whene'er with haggard eyes I view This dungeon that I'm rotting in, I think of those companions true Who studied with me at the U niversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen.

[Weeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief, with which he wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds--

II

Sweet kerchief, check'd with heavenly blue, Which once my love sat knotting in!-- Alas! Matilda _then_ was true!

At least I thought so at the U niversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen.

[At the repet.i.tion of this line he clanks his chains in cadence.

III

Barbs! Barbs! alas! how swift you flew, Her neat post-wagon trotting in!

Ye bore Matilda from my view; Forlorn I languish'd at the U niversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen.

IV

This faded form! this pallid hue!

This blood my veins is clotting in, My years are many--they were few When first I entered at the U niversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen.

V

There first for thee my pa.s.sion grew, Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottengen!

Thou wast the daughter of my tu tor, law professor at the U niversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen.

VI

Sun, moon and thou, vain world, adieu, That kings and priests are plotting in; Here doom'd to starve on water gru el, never shall I see the U niversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen.

[During the last stanza he dashes his head repeatedly against the walls of his prison; and, finally, so hard as to produce a visible contusion; he then throws himself on the floor in an agony. The curtain drops; the music still continuing to play till it is wholly fallen.

_George Canning._

LYING

I do confess, in many a sigh, My lips have breath'd you many a lie, And who, with such delights in view, Would lose them for a lie or two?

Nay--look not thus, with brow reproving: Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving!

If half we tell the girls were true, If half we swear to think and do, Were aught but lying's bright illusion, The world would be in strange confusion!

If ladies' eyes were, every one, As lovers swear, a radiant sun, Astronomy should leave the skies, To learn her lore in ladies' eyes!

Oh no!--believe me, lovely girl, When nature turns your teeth to pearl, Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire, Your yellow locks to golden wire, Then, only then, can heaven decree, That you should live for only me, Or I for you, as night and morn, We've swearing kiss'd, and kissing sworn.

And now, my gentle hints to clear, For once, I'll tell you truth, my dear!

Whenever you may chance to meet A loving youth, whose love is sweet, Long as you're false and he believes you, Long as you trust and he deceives you, So long the blissful bond endures; And while he lies, his heart is yours: But, oh! you've wholly lost the youth The instant that he tells you truth!

_Thomas Moore._

STRICTLY GERM-PROOF

The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up; They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised;-- It wasn't Disinfected and it wasn't Sterilized.

They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease; They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees; They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope And washed it in permanganate with carbolated soap.

In sulphureted hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears; They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears; They donned their rubber mittens and they took it by the hand And 'lected it a member of the Fumigated Band.

There's not a Micrococcus in the garden where they play; They bathe in pure iodoform a dozen times a day; And each imbibes his rations from a Hygienic Cup-- The Bunny and the Baby and the Prophylactic Pup.

_Arthur Guiterman._

THE LAY OF THE LOVER'S FRIEND

|Air|--"_The days we went a-gipsying_."

I would all womankind were dead, Or banished o'er the sea; For they have been a bitter plague These last six weeks to me: It is not that I'm touched myself, For that I do not fear; No female face hath shown me grace For many a bygone year.

But 'tis the most infernal bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago.

Whene'er we steam it to Blackwall, Or down to Greenwich run, To quaff the pleasant cider cup, And feed on fish and fun; Or climb the slopes of Richmond Hill, To catch a breath of air: Then, for my sins, he straight begins To rave about his fair.

Oh, 'tis the most tremendous bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago.

In vain you pour into his ear Your own confiding grief; In vain you claim his sympathy, In vain you ask relief; In vain you try to rouse him by Joke, repartee, or quiz; His sole reply's a burning sigh, And "What a mind it is!"

O Lord! it is the greatest bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago.

I've heard her thoroughly described A hundred times, I'm sure; And all the while I've tried to smile, And patiently endure; He waxes strong upon his pangs, And potters o'er his grog; And still I say, in a playful way-- "Why you're a lucky dog!"

But oh! it is the heaviest bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago.

I really wish he'd do like me When I was young and strong; I formed a pa.s.sion every week, But never kept it long.

But he has not the sportive mood That always rescued me, And so I would all women could Be banished o'er the sea.

For 'tis the most egregious bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago.

_William E. Aytoun._