SONG OF THE ELECTION. VOTE not, vote not for me, I pray, There's fatal weakness in your vaunted powers, My foes will laugh, my friends will slink away Soon as they hear that you are one of ours. Vote not! Vote not! Vote not for me! Oh, keep your word to Wild, 'Twill serve me better than if faith you broke, I knew the value of your hate, and smiled, Vote not! Vote not! Oh, warning vainly given ; From Poems of a Life, by Lord Sherbrooke (Robert Lowe.) :0' SOME DAY. (Music by Milton Wellings.) A PARODY. We know not when the day shall be ; We know not how the cost to meet ; What sites to choose, should all agree; Or will our plans work when complete. It may not be till years have passed, Till crowded hordes plague sweeps away. Debate is long-but, poor, at last Our wordy wars may end-Someday. Someday, Someday, Someday we shall house you, Though we know not when or how; though we know not when or how ; Tories first, Tories first-first have said they'd house you; Think of this, Vote for us now, good artisans, Vote for us now. We cared not once your woes to hear, Nor how you died, nor how you live ; Your votes to us we'd have you give ; Have first-rate rooms, almost rent free. Someday, Someday, Someday we shall house you, Though we know not when or how; though we know not when or how; Tories first, Tories first-first have said they'd house you; Think of this, Vote for us now, good artisans, Vote for us REPEALER. now. Set to Music by Claribel. YEARS of chequered life together, All are gone we know not how "Strangers ever-Strangers now! Thorns amid the roses press Earth is but a wilderness; Flitting o'er a fallen race Love can find no resting place. Where his flowers immortal grow Shall we strangers be as now? Once a Week. 1869. :0: "THE BEATING OF MY OWN WIFE." (Air—“The beating of my own heart," by Lord Houghton), I'D melted all my wages, Ere of beer I had my fill, For a bob I asked the Missus The neighbours never stirred, Take WILLIAM SIKES, his word, Punch. November 21, 1874. LOVE AND SCIENCE. [The Sphygmophon is an apparatus connected with the telephone, by the help of which the movements of the pulse and heart may be rendered audible.] I WANDERED by the brookside, The Sphygmophon was fixed there, Its wires ran past the hill. I heeded not the grasshopper, For the beating of my own heart To test this apparatus, I hoped was next his chest. I listened for his footfall, I listened for his word, Still the bumping of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. He came not, no, he came not- And thinking he had tricked me, With joy I grasped the magnet, But the booming of our own hearts Funny Folks. March 29, 1879. MY KING. (After "My Queen." Music by Blumenthal.) Whether his eye be dark or blue, I know not now, but 'twould be engraven I will not dream of him, handsome and strong, He would be noble enough in my sight. But he must be courteous towards the lowly, By nature exalted, and firm, and true. If they love such men as my King, my King! "My Queen," which appeared originally in London Society some time before the above imitation, consisted of four verses, but as arranged by Blumenthal the second verse is omitted: Whether her hair be golden or raven, I know not now but 'twill be engraven, MY SCHEME. (As sung with great success by the L-d Ch-nc-ll-r). WHY and when were we driven to moot it? Have we ever turned out than, "My Scheme, my Scheme !" Punch. July, 12, 1879. And I still keep listening for the words you never more may speak! 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, and the little church stands near, The church where we were wed, Mary-I see the spire from here: But the grave-yard lies between, Mary, and my step might break your rest; For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, with your baby on your breast. I'm very lonely now, Mary, for the poor make no new friends; But oh, they love the better far, the few Our Father sends ! And you were all 1 had, Mary, my blessing and my pride: There's nothing left to care for now, since my poor Mary died! THE TENANT'S FAREWELL. I'M flitting in the style, Mary, And the rents mount up so high; But there's brass upon my cheek, Mary, The place is greatly changed, Mary, We've torn the locks from off each door, And we'll miss our soft warm beds to-night, And the landlord's waiting for the rent I'm very busy now, Mary, The while yon cart attends, For I'm packing up our furniture, And all our odds and ends : For these goods are all we have, Mary And there's nothing left to seize on now, We're bidding now a long farewell, My Mary, to our den; And we'll not forget next Quarter-day To do the same again. Folks say it is but fair to pay One's landlord, I don't care; For I ne'er intend to do so, Diogenes. 1853. THE LAY OF THE HENPECKED. By Lady Sufferin. I'm sitting in a style, Mary, Which doesn't coincide With what I've been accustomed to Since you became my bride; The men are singing comic songs, The lark gets loud and high, For I've ask'd-since you're from home, MaryA party on the sly. The place is rather changed, Mary, Of smoke it slightly smells, And the table and the floor are strewn And the men have marked your damask chairs And they've drawn burnt cork moustaches n I'm very jolly now, Mary, 'Midst old and valued friends, (Though they've in the carpet burnt some holes With their Havannahs' ends). CHANGED FOR THE WORST. I'm sitting at my window, Jack, In life's thoughtless, gay spring tide, When we thought more of pleasure, Jack, Than three per cents or four: Ah, those were pleasant days, my boy- This place is greatly changed, Jack, The shady lanes through which we strolled " Duke," My house is flanked by a "Dun Cow," "Solitude" is now "Victoria-street," A cab-stand's near "Our Lady's Well," A church and schools in "Lovers' Walk " We're treated to all "London cries From morn till dewy eve, And strong-lunged preachers in the streets Beseech us to "believe; We're taxed for water, streets, and gas, But, worse than all, the weather, Jack, I cannot leave the house, Jack, Ah, the weather's not the same, boy, And I am greatly changed, Jack, As when each day beheld us At pic-nic, race, or fête; My hair has grown quite thin, Jack, I've rheumatism, lumbago, gout, I think if I'd a wife, Jack, She'd make me soon all right, Of beauty, youth, and wealth, Who wants a husband sound at heart, The Hornet. June 21, 1871. THE CHURCHYARD STILE. I LEFT thee young and gay, Mary, I went upon my way, Mary, And all the world seemed bright; For though my love had ne'er been told, Yet, yet I saw thy form Beside me in the midnight watch; And many a blissful dream I had, Just as it came when last we leaned I'm here to seek thee now, Mary, As all I love the best; To fondly tell thee how, Mary, I've hid thee in my breast. I came to yield thee up my heart, And crown with Manhood's honest faith I breathed thy name, but every pulse For I was told thou wert asleep THE LOW-BACKED CAR. WHEN first I saw sweet Peggy, A low-back'd car she drove, and sat But when that hay was blooming grass, But just rubb'd his old poll, THE LOW-NECK'D DRESS. WHEN first I saw Miss Clara, A west-end ball 'twas at, A low-neck'd dress she wore, and near But when that door was thriving oak, So much, 'twas ne'er As the blooming girl I mean, As she sat in her low-neck'd dress, For of all the men round, Not one could be found, But looked after the low-neck'd dress. The polka's tumult over, The fondest of mammas Her daughter calls, and hints at shawls; From Clara (artiul goddess!) The kind proposal meet- She fairly reels She never could bear the heat! So she sits in her low-neck'd dress; But the heat would have troubled her less, For long weeks will have roll'd Ere she's rid of her cold, That she caught from the Low-neck'd dress, I'd rather see those shoulders 'Neath dowdy cloak of fur, Or pilot coat, and round that throat A ploughman's comforter; For I'd know that tender bosom And the heart so sweet Would much longer beat Than I now feel sure it will While she clings to her low-neck'd dress I've proposed, and she answer'd “ Next week it's to be, But make sure I shall see Diogenes. October, 1853. 'yes." ELIZA COOK. THE DINING CAR. WHEN first I used the railway, 'Twas in Mugby Junction days, |