_An Easter Eclogue._
_Chloe_ Miss HODGE
_Corydon_ H. H. F-WL-R
_Strephon_ J. G. G-SCH-N.
_Corydon_ (_smirking_). I have found out a gift for _my_ fair,
Such as sugary SHENSTONE ne'er found!
_Strephon_ (_aside, sniffing_). His bowpot's made up, I declare,
Half of flowers he's filched from _my_ ground!
_Chloe_ (_pirouetting_). Oh la! What a lovely bokay!
That for _me!_ Oh, you're awfully kyind!
_Corydon_ (_ogling_). Ah! I've loved you this many a day!
_Strephon_ (_sighing_). And for years you've been first in my mind!
_Chloe_ (_aside_). My! Isn't it nice to be courted like this?
I believe I could buy 'em both up with a kiss!
_Corydon_ (_gloating_). Love, you dance just as PERDITA danced!
You must be a Princess in disguise.
_Strephon_ (_aside_). And not long since he swore that she pranced
Likes a clown who contends for a prize.
_Chloe_ (_bridling_). _Me_ a Princess? Oh la! that's your fun.
You know that my feyther was HODGE!
_Strephon_ (_aside_). Of course; but, providing she's won,
He'll descend to the paltriest dodge.
_Corydon_ (_effusively_).
You're the Pride of the Village, and fashioned to rule
In the Cottage, the Council, the Church, and the School!
_Chloe_ (_coyly_). You're a flattering of me, young man!
_Corydon_ (_ardently_). If I am, maay I forfeit your--Vote!
_Chloe._ Well, of course, I will do what I can,
As the Parish-princess, to promote
The--what is it you want me to do?
Yes, the Poor--and the Ditches--and Drains,
The Rates--I do hope _they_'ll be few!
The Allotments--I trust they'll be gains!
But the Squire and the Parson? Oh! CORYDON mine,
When _they_ hear what you've done, _won't_ they kick up a shine?
_Corydon_ (_brusquely_). Oh! the Squire and the Parson be--blowed!
All too long they've been cocks o' the walk.
_Strephon_ (_eagerly_). Quite right! How this buzzum has glowed
Your twin tyrants to baffle and baulk!
_Corydon_ (_contemptuously_). You've dissembled your--hate for them well,
Master STREPHON! It never leaked out
Till _we_ made PATIENT GRIZZEL a _belle!_
_Now_ you'd like to cut in, I've no doubt.
_Chloe_ (_coquettishly_). La sakes! do not quarrel!
You're both very kyind,
But--I fancy dear CORYDON'S most to my mind.
[_Beams on him, and accepts the Bouquet._
_Strephon_ (_suppressing himself_). Well, well, 'tis the fortune of war!
As it's holiday season, let's sing,
Should Shepherds at Eastertide jar?
Suave SHENSTONE would scout such a thing.
I wish you and CORYDON luck--
The posy he's plucked you looks fine;
Though I must say my fancy it struck,
It was not wholly new--in design.
However, dear CHLOE, you're sweet; 'tis fair weather;
So, CORYDON, let's sing her praises--together--
_They sing_:--
Her charms--since she possessed the Vote--
Are things on which the swains all dote.
Fearing to flout or slight.
She dances, having now her way,
No bygone Easter holiday
E'er saw so fine a sight!
Our village _Belle_ with _anyone_
Dares now to make comparison.
Fair nymph, this Easter fun done,
With proudest County Toast, though fair,
You may compete or charms compare
With the haughtiest "Pride of London!"
* * * * *
ASTOUNDING REPORT.--There is no foundation whatever for the report
of the resignation of Lord HERSCHELL. It probably arose from some
incautious and slangy person speaking of him in his office of LORD
CHANCELLOR as having "got the sack." Obviously the Wool-sack was
intended.
* * * * *