bumpety, bump!
And vowed he would serve them the same the next day;
Lumpety, lumpety, lump!
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AN ELEGY
ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX
MRS. MARY BLAIZE
BY
DR. OLIVER GOLDSMITH
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Good people all,
with one accord,
Lament for
Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted
a good word--
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_From those_
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_who spoke her praise._
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The needy seldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor--
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_Who left_
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_a pledge behind._
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She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
And never follow'd wicked ways--
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_Unless when she was sinning._
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At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumber'd in her pew--
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_But when she shut her eyes._
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Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The King himself has follow'd her--
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_When she has walk'd before._
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But now, her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short-all:
The Doctors found, when she was dead,
_Her last disorder mortal_.
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Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
For Kent Street well may say,
That had she lived a twelvemonth more,--
_She had not died to-day_.
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THE GREAT PANJANDRUM
HIMSELF
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So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf
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to make
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an apple-pie;
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and at the same time a great she-bear, coming down the street, pops its
head into the shop.
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What! no soap?
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So he died,
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and she very imprudently married the Barber:
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and there were present
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the Picninnies,
and the Joblillies,
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and the Garyulies,
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[Illustration]
and the great Panjandrum himself, with
the little round
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