The Ingoldsby Legends or, Mirth and Marvels. By Thomas Ingoldsby [i.e. R. H. Barham] |
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 | The Ingoldsby Legends |  |
I've stood in Margate, on a bridge of size
Inferior far to that described by Byron,
Where “palaces and pris'ns on each hand rise,—”
That too's a stone one, this is made of iron—
And little donkey-boys your steps environ,
Each proffering for your choice his tiny hack,
Vaunting its excellence; and should you hire one,
For sixpence, will he urge, with frequent thwack,
The much-enduring beast to Buenos Ayres and back.
Inferior far to that described by Byron,
Where “palaces and pris'ns on each hand rise,—”
That too's a stone one, this is made of iron—
And little donkey-boys your steps environ,
Each proffering for your choice his tiny hack,
Vaunting its excellence; and should you hire one,
For sixpence, will he urge, with frequent thwack,
The much-enduring beast to Buenos Ayres and back.
And there, on many a raw and gusty day,
I've stood and turn'd my gaze upon the pier,
And seen the crews, that did embark so gay
That self-same morn, now disembark so queer;
Then to myself I've sigh'd and said, “Oh dear!
Who would believe yon sickly looking man's a
London Jack Tar,—a Cheapside Buccaneer!—”
But hold my Muse! for this terrific stanza,
Is all too stiffly grand for our Extravaganza.
I've stood and turn'd my gaze upon the pier,
And seen the crews, that did embark so gay
That self-same morn, now disembark so queer;
Then to myself I've sigh'd and said, “Oh dear!
Who would believe yon sickly looking man's a
London Jack Tar,—a Cheapside Buccaneer!—”
But hold my Muse! for this terrific stanza,
Is all too stiffly grand for our Extravaganza.
| The Ingoldsby Legends | |