Short Poems

Doll she so soone began the wanton trade;
She ne'r remembers that she was a maide.

All are not ill Plots, that doe sometimes faile;
Nor those false vows, which oft times don't prevaile.

To seek of God more then we well can find,
Argues a strong distemper of the mind.

A farmer once planted some little brown seeds
With a pit-a-pit, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pat.
He watered them often and pulled up the weeds,
With a tug-tug at this and a tug-tug at that.
The little seeds grew tall and green in the sun,
With a push-push up here, and a push-push up there,
And a beautiful plant grew from every one,
With a hey diddle, holding their heads in the air.

A folding darkness hangs before the dawn,
Twin curtain with our sleep;
And when they part, with mystic, dreamy sweep,
The Day smiles in our face, and we awake,
Ready once more life's noisy ways to take
Till by sweet Night the folds again are drawn.

The Lady Fortune is both friend and foe;
Of poor she maketh rich, of rich poor also,
She turneth woe all into weal and weal all into woe,
Nor trusteth man to this weal, the wheel it turneth so.

All flesh is grass—Important truth!
Nor dare we boast of health or youth,
The nuptial bed I scarce had trod,
'Ere summon'd forth to meet my God ,
Compell'd to leave my weeping bride,
Sunk from her tender arms, and dy'd.

Just seven little notes,—
(For the notes of the scale are seven),
Yet up from their whiteness floats
All passion from hell to heaven.

Naked I came, naked I leave the scene,
And naked was my pastime in between.

‘Give me’, sang Mr. Fox,
‘To wanton with thy locks.’
‘That I will never permit!’
Exclaimed Mr. Pitt.