ut be correct and recollect
I'm not a single man.

Pray only think, for pen and ink
How hard to get along,
That may not turn on words that burn
Or Love, the life of song!

Nine Muses, if I chooses, I
May woo all in a clan,
But one Miss S---- I daren't address--
I'm not a single man.

Scribblers unwed, with little head
May eke it out with heart,
And in their lays it often plays
A rare first-fiddle part.

They make a kiss to rhyme with bliss,
But if _I_ so began,
I have my fears about my ears--
I'm not a single man.

Upon your cheek I may not speak,
Nor on your lip be warm,
I must be wise about your eyes,
And formal with your form;

Of all that sort of thing, in short,
On T.H. Bayly's plan,
I must not twine a single line--
I'm not a single man.

A watchman's part compels my heart
To keep you off its _beat_,
And I might dare as soon to swear
At _you_, as at your feet.

I can't expire in passion's fire
As other poets can--
My life (she's by) won't let me die--
I'm not a single man.

Shut out from love, denied a dove,
Forbidden bow and dart,
Without a groan to call my own,
With neither hand nor heart;

To Hymen vow'd, and not allow'd
To flirt e'en with your fan,
Here end, as just a friend, I must--
I'm not a single man.

THE SUPPER SUPERSTITION.

A PATHETIC BALLAD.

"Oh flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!"--MERCUTIO

I.

'Twas twelve o'clock by Chelsea chimes,
When all in hungry trim,
Good Mister Jupp sat down to sup
With wife, and Kate, and Jim.

II.

Said he, "Upon this dainty cod
How bravely I shall sup"--
When, whiter than the tablecloth,
A GHOST came rising up!

III.

"O father dear, O mother dear,
Dear Kate, and brother Jim--
You know when some one went to sea--
Don't cry--but I am him!"

IV.

"You hope some day with fond embrace
To greet your absent Jack,
But oh, I am come here to say
I'm never coming back!"

V.

"From Alexandria we set sail,
With corn, and oil, and figs,
But steering 'too much Sow,' we struck
Upon the Sow and Pigs!"

VI.

"The ship we pumped till we could see
Old England from the tops;
When down she went with all our hands,
Right in the Channel's Chops."

VII.

"Just give a look in Norey's chart,
The very place it tells;
I think it says twelve fathom deep,
Clay bottom, mixed with shells."

VIII.

"Well, there we are till 'hands alof