"Blow, blow, thou winter wind,"
In verse some call thee wind.
Though Thursday's crowd was thinned
By blasts so unrefined,
And men in armour, tinned
Like lobsters, mutely pined--
They, later, "wined" and "ginned,"
Whilst guests superbly dined
On turtle, fish (that's finned),
Joints, game of matchless kind,
And wines, rare, old, long-binned.
Blow clear, before, behind,
The streets where lately dinned
The band--each man, defined,
Of _Vaterland_ the _kind_--
And sightless singers whined
Not much like _Jenny Lind_;
Would they were dumb, not blind!
Whilst grinders grimly grinned,
And ground their graceless grind.
I swore; perhaps I sinned.
But now they seem to find
Their rags, just tied and pinned,
Let in thy blast unkind,
By which they're almost skinned.
Then blow, I do not mind,
Thou rough November wind--
Pronounced by many, wind.
* * * * *
Seasonable.
When garden lawns are a green bog,
And shrubbery vistas veiled in fog,
Reload revolvers, let dogs run!
The Burglar Season has begun!
* * * * *
[Illustration: "RULE, BRITANNIA!" (?)
SHADE OF COBDEN (_quoting from his own speech at Rochdale, June 26,
1861_). "I AM NOT ONE TO ADVOCATE THE REDUCING OF OUR NAVY IN ANY
DEGREE BELOW THAT PROPORTION TO THE FRENCH NAVY WHICH THE EXIGENCIES
OF OUR SERVICE REQUIRE. WE HAVE A LEGITIMATE PRETENSION TO HAVE A
LARGER NAVY THAN FRANCE.... IF THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT SHOWED A SINISTER
DESIGN TO INCREASE THEIR NAVY TO AN EQUALITY WITH OURS, I _SHOULD
VOTE A HUNDRED MILLIONS STERLING_ RATHER THAN ALLOW THAT NAVY TO BE
INCREASED _TO A LEVEL WITH OURS...._ I HAVE SAID SO IN THE HOUSE OF
COMMONS, AND I REPEAT IT TO _YOU_."]
* * * * *