C HLOE seven husbands had,
In the churchyard laid 'em,
On the stone the record sad,
All their names engraved 'em;
Then added — " Chloi's work you see.
O what delicious naivete!

Do you think that this man, whom your generous board
Has got you for friend, can true friendship afford?
It's your oysters and mullet he loves, sir, not you:
If my dinners were good, he would be my friend too.

Thou hast a name which tells of vernal hours
When Attic bees lay waste the short-lived flowers:
Which Venus with her pen would joy to write
Or broider with soft silk and needle bright;
Which should be made with pearls from India's land
Or amber balls warmed by a virgin's hand;
Which cranes with flying wing to heaven bear,
And finds its rightful place with Caesar here.

If I got my name from autumn, I Oporinos should be:
Winter stars would give another, then Chimerinos you'ld see:
Therinos the months of summer would for me as title bring:
Tell me now what you should call me when I take my name from Spring?

Y OU'RE very glad with friends to dine,
Yet there you bawl, backbite, and blether.
Such ways, good sir, you'd best resign:
Free speech and greed go ill together.

Not a penny from Fabius, though every year,
Fifty pounds' worth of presents you gave!
Never mind: we are all in the same boat, I fear,
And in future that money you'll save.

Now you're home from your travels in lands far away,
For a week I've been wanting to bid you good-day.
" He's engaged," " he's asleep"; that has been my reply:
That's enough; if you won't have — " good-day," here's — " good-bye."

Clever Jenny wants to wed,
Wants to marry Joe.
Master Joseph shakes his head:
Joe is clever too.

A COUPLE of pound hasn't much of a sound, but for everyday use it's enough;
If you want something more you will have to pay four and for that you get really hot stuff.
Some people give ten, but the inference then is of black-mailers they are afraid,
And betwixt you and me, as I think you'll agree, what they pay for is — " Not a word said ."

The anguish'd doubt broods over Eden; night
hangs her rent banners thro' the viewless height;
trophies and glories whence a trouble streams
of lamentable valour in old dreams:
out of its blank the watcher's soul is stirr'd
to take unto itself some olden word: