Tom Gad has stray'd to a masquerade,
Where there's row enough for a wake;
All dress'd up false, he begins to valse,—
Oh, what a precious rake!
If your wife knew, Tom Gad, Tom Gad, now!
Upon my word you are too bad now!
* * * * *
Real Pain.
1. Chimney-sweeping Act in force.—Machines
put up, boys put down.
Ice-Cream.
Vell! gone is all the profit as I reaps;
A _sveeping_ clause has done avay vith _sveeps_;
Our lads vill into hevil courses rush,
The boys has got the _sack_, and mustn't _brush_.
Their hindignation's most uncommon hot,
Because they mustn't go no more to _pot_;
Scraping's guv up—but, in a many shapes
They'll be a getting into other _scrapes_.
Dominoes.
I puts my young 'un in a bran new suit,
And when he's rigg'd, the gallows little brute
Goes rolling _on the bed_.
"Ullo," says I, "you're spiling of your togs;"
Says he, "D'ye see,
It's all along of love for the old trade:
Tongue and Chicken.
Father, I vos a sweep, as vonce you knew,
And still I likes to be _all over flue_."
Census return. All the madmen included.
O! facilis _decensus_—easy 'tis
From intellect to go down into madness,
Which now's reflected in its every phiz,
And every form of goodness and of badness
Return'd before us at the land's expense,
A _census_ true of all its want of _sense_!