Cries the showman, "Turn 'em out!
Dim the lights! there, that will do;
Come again to-morrow, boys;
Bring your little sister, too."
Exit mother, half distraught,
Exit father, muttering "Bore!"
Exit children blubbering still,
"Want to see the monkeys more!"
J. Honeywell.
BIDDY'S PHILOSOPHY.
What would I do if you was dead?
And when do you think of dying?
I'd stand by your bed, and hold your head,
And cry, or pretind to be crying!
There's many a worser man nor you—
If one knew where to find him—
And mebbe many a better, too,
With money to leave behind him!
But you, if I was dying to-day,
(I saw you now when you kissed her!)
I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at—
You'd marry your widdy's sister!
You'd make an illigant corpse, indade,
Sleeping so sound and stiddy;
If you could see yourself as you laid,
You'd want to come back to Biddy!
You would be dressed in your Sunday best,
As tidy as I could make you,
With a sprig of something on your breast,
And the boys would come to wake you.
But you, if I was dead in your stead,
(Do you think I never missed her?)
I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at—
You'd marry your widdy's sister!
The undertaker would drive the hearse
That has the big black feather;
If there was no money left in your purse,
Your friends would club together.
