Old Time is a regular glutton,
Something dainty for ever he's munching;
The leg of a Statue's his dinner,
And the wing of a Palace his luncheon.
Rhodes' Colossus is merely a chicken,
In the maw of this greedy old soul;
And Stonehenge only rashers of granite,
And Pompeii a "toad in the hole."
Trajan's Column to him's a Poloney,
And the Pyramids Omelettes Soufflées;
Irish stew are ould Erin's Round Towers,
And a nice little hash is Herne Bay.
But of late, he'd had little worth eating,
So one day he—inclin'd for a treat—
At the Board of Works called to inquire
What new buildings they'd got he could eat.
The Commissioners said, "They were sorry
They'd got nothing nice for him; but
There's the Wellington Statue just up, Sir,
And Westminster Bridge in low cut.
"Nelson's Monument wasn't quite ready"
For old Edax Rerum to swallow;
"But he might have the National Gallery,
With Trafalgar Square Fountains to follow."
But though he lik'd things in bad odour,
The Gallery pleas'd not his whim;
For though very fair game was the building,
'Twasn't rotten enough yet for him.
"On the ruins of Greece have I feasted,"
Cried Old Time, with contemptuous raillery;
"And having a taste for the Parthenon,
How the deuce can I stomach that Gallery?"
[Illustration:
COME, MOVE ON THERE, MY MAN.
]
THE STAGE COACHMAN AND THE POST BOY.
AN IMAGINARY CONVERSATION.
STAGE COACHMAN (_meeting Post Boy_).
Vy! who'd a thought o' seeing you! Vell! how's your vife and fammerly?
and how do you find yourself, Muster Joe?