p. 19

 

p. 21I

p. 21

With storms a-weather, rocks a-lee, The dancing skiff puts forth to sea. The lone dissenter in the blast Recoils before the sight aghast. But she, although the heavens be black, Holds on upon the starboard tack, For why? although to-day she sink, Still safe she sails in printer’s ink, And though to-day the seamen drown, My cut shall hand their memory down.

 

p. 23II

p. 23

The careful angler chose his nook At morning by the lilied brook, And all the noon his rod he plied By that romantic riverside. Soon as the evening hours decline Tranquilly he’ll return to dine, And, breathing forth a pious wish, Will cram his belly full of fish.

 

p. 25III

p. 25

The Abbot for a walk went out, A wealthy cleric, very stout, And Robin has that Abbot stuck As the red hunter spears the buck. The djavel or the javelin Has, you observe, gone bravely in, And you may hear that weapon whack Bang through the middle of his back. Hence we may learn that Abbots should Never go walking in a wood.

 

p. 27IV

p. 27

The frozen peaks he once explored, But now he’s dead and by the board. How better far at home to have stayed Attended by the parlour maid, And warmed his knees before the fire Until the hour when folks retire! So, if you would be spared to friends, Do nothing but for business ends.

 

p. 29V

p. 29

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