(_Written at Clovelly_)
The reason why I leave unsung
Your praises in the Cymric tongue
You know, sweet Nelly;
You recollect your poet's crime--
How, when he tried to sing "the time,"
He made "the place" and "loved one" rhyme,
You and Dolgelly!
But now, although a shocking dunce,
I've learnt, in part, the Welsh pronunc-
iation deathly.
I dream of you in this sweet spot,
And for your sake I call it what
Its own inhabitants do not--
That is "Clovethly"!
* * * * *
AT WHITBY.--_Visitor_ (_to Ancient Mariner, who has been relating his
experiences to crowd of admirers_). Then do you mean to tell us that you
actually reached the North Pole?
_Ancient Mariner._ No, sir; that would be a perwersion of the truth. But
I seed it a-stickin' up among the ice just as plain as you can this
spar, which I plants in the sand. It makes me thirsty to think of that
marvellous sight, we being as it were parched wi' cold.
[_A. M.'s distress promptly relieved by audience._
* * * * *