Partingtonian patchwork Blifkins the martyr : the domestic trials of a model husband. The modern syntax : Dr. Spooner's experiences in search of the delectable. Partington papers : strippings of the warm milk of human kindness. New and old dips from an unambitious inkstand. Humorous, eccentric, rhythmical |
 | THE BLIFKINS PAPERS. |
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33
THE BLIFKINS PAPERS.
TO A CAT.
On finding one turned up in a corner of my front yard very dead.
Thou howling, yowling, growling pussy,
Thou night and day disturbing hussy,
No more thou'lt wake the feeling fussy
With thy fierce clamor,
Driving the quietest to curse thee,
Like tongs and hammer.
Thou night and day disturbing hussy,
No more thou'lt wake the feeling fussy
With thy fierce clamor,
Driving the quietest to curse thee,
Like tongs and hammer.
Full many a night thou'st kept me waking,
My nerves like aspen leaflets shaking,
Till, some convenient missile taking,—
A jug or boot,—
I've dashed it in among ye, raking,
And made ye scoot.
My nerves like aspen leaflets shaking,
Till, some convenient missile taking,—
A jug or boot,—
I've dashed it in among ye, raking,
And made ye scoot.
Thy voice I knew, when fiercely bawling,
'Bove all thy brother's notes appalling,
There, 'mid my flowers, pulling and hauling,
And mischief making;
But thou hast stopped thy caterwauling,
And no mistaking.
'Bove all thy brother's notes appalling,
There, 'mid my flowers, pulling and hauling,
And mischief making;
But thou hast stopped thy caterwauling,
And no mistaking.
34
And yet I'm sad to see thee lying,
Though long my patience thou'st been trying;
I look upon thee, no denying,
With feeling sickening,
And wonder how thou felt'st when dying
Of sudden strychnine.
Though long my patience thou'st been trying;
I look upon thee, no denying,
With feeling sickening,
And wonder how thou felt'st when dying
Of sudden strychnine.
Didst thou look back with thought regretful
At making people vexed and fretful,
Or that thy horn of joy, not yet full,
Should be capsizen?
Or grieve that thou wert such a great fool
As eat the pizen?
At making people vexed and fretful,
Or that thy horn of joy, not yet full,
Should be capsizen?
Or grieve that thou wert such a great fool
As eat the pizen?
Alas! like many a fool that's human,—
Seen every day, or man or woman,
Who grasp at pleasures fair and bloomin',—
Thou'st reckless bitten,
And found too soon that sin's consumin'
To man and kitten.
Seen every day, or man or woman,
Who grasp at pleasures fair and bloomin',—
Thou'st reckless bitten,
And found too soon that sin's consumin'
To man and kitten.
73
MY TWENTY-FIRST WEDDING DAY.
Twenty-one years!—and it weren't at all strange
If in that time had happened many a change;
The jolly young boy, in waist but a span,
Is now a married and corpulent man;
And my wife, then a damsel so tender and shy,
Is as fat as a seal, and equally spry.
If in that time had happened many a change;
The jolly young boy, in waist but a span,
Is now a married and corpulent man;
And my wife, then a damsel so tender and shy,
Is as fat as a seal, and equally spry.
I've sown my wild oats; I've cut all the crew
With whom in my youth I put matters through;
I gave up cigars as a tribute to love,
And punch, that I prized all comforts above;
I have put all pleasures of old under ban,
Determined to life like a true married man.
With whom in my youth I put matters through;
I gave up cigars as a tribute to love,
And punch, that I prized all comforts above;
I have put all pleasures of old under ban,
Determined to life like a true married man.
With my children around me, my wife by my side,
Who's as dear to me now as when first my bride,
I envy not those who are soaking their clay,
Or are burning their lives in tobacco away,
Content to remain here just as I am,
As happy as is at high water a clam.
Who's as dear to me now as when first my bride,
I envy not those who are soaking their clay,
Or are burning their lives in tobacco away,
Content to remain here just as I am,
As happy as is at high water a clam.
Let fate do its best, or its worst, as it may;
All luck is but accident, just, of a day;
The good and the bad, the sorrows and joys,
Are nothing at all but trifles and toys;
I'll sit at my ingle, and say, as they fly,
I'm watching the harvest to come by and by.
All luck is but accident, just, of a day;
The good and the bad, the sorrows and joys,
Are nothing at all but trifles and toys;
I'll sit at my ingle, and say, as they fly,
I'm watching the harvest to come by and by.
| Partingtonian patchwork | |