A SCHOOLBOY’S _fruitless_ RAMBLE THROUGH TOWN.
The morning is warm, and the weather is fine,
’Tis too late for school, and too early to dine;
Through the streets as I go for refreshment, or not,
All the dainties to sell are, a--_Penny a Lot_!
Fine pears, by their cheeks, are inviting to taste,
With their tails curling round, like bashaws in the east;
Red apples in heaps, on a wicker-work spot,--
How d’ye sell them?--These--here, are, a--_Penny a Lot_!
But your plums--are they cheap? By their Orlean hues
They belong to the Indigo Warehouse,--the Blues;
And your gages, so green!--are they fresh from the cot?--
From the Garden this morning, sir,--_Penny a Lot_!
Barcelonas in small wooden measures are piled;
How attractive they look to the one-copper child,
With his treasure to spend! But what _there_ have ye got?
Acid Drops! cries a Jew Boy, a--_Penny a Lot_!
Nice slices of cocoa-nut, white as the snow,
Brazil-nuts and almond-nuts all in a row;
Napoleon’s-ribs,--brandy-balls for the sot,
And sweet cakes--what are _these_? Sir, a--_Penny a Lot_.
Groundsel, chickweed, canes, posies, beads, cresses, and grapes,
Currants sodden’d with rains, raisins press’d in their shapes;
Seaweeds, shells, and ornaments, fit for a Grot,
Are all sold at the rate of, a--_Penny a Lot_!
What chance has the Far-thing to burn a hole through?
What chance has the Half-penny, though it were new?
Unbless’d with a purchase, though thirsty and hot,
All the order of sale is, a--_Penny a Lot_.
_P._
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