What if the lark does carol in the sky, Soaring beyond the sight to find him out-- Wherefore am I to rise at such a fly?

I'm not a trout.

Talk not to me of bees and such like hums, The smell of sweet herbs at the morning prime-- Only lee long enough, and bed becomes A bed of _time_.

To me Dan Phoebus and his car are nought, His steeds that paw impatiently about,-- Let them enjoy, say I, as horses ought, The first turn-out!

Right beautiful the dewy meads appear Besprinkled by the rosy-finger'd girl; What then,--if I prefer my pillow-beer To early pearl?

My stomach is not ruled by other men's, And grumbling for a reason, quaintly begs "Wherefore should master rise before the hens Have laid their eggs?"

Why from a comfortable pillow start To see faint flushes in the east awaken?

A fig, say I, for any streaky part, Excepting bacon.

An early riser Mr. Gray has drawn, Who used to haste the dewy grass among, "To meet the sun upon the upland lawn"-- Well--he died young.

With charwomen such early hours agree, And sweeps, that earn betimes their bit and sup; But I'm no climbing boy, and need not be "All up--all up!"

So here I'll lie, my morning calls deferring, Till something nearer to the stroke of noon;-- A man that's fond precociously of _stirring_, Must be a spoon.

A PLAIN DIRECTION.

"Do you never deviate?"

_John Bull_.

In London once I lost my way In faring to and fro, And ask'd a little ragged boy The way that I should go;

He gave a nod, and then a wink, And told me to get there "Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

I box'd his little saucy ears, And then away I strode; But since I've found that weary path Is quite a common road.

Utopia is a pleasant place, But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

I've read about a famous town That drove a famous trade, Where Whittington walk'd up and found A fortune ready made.

The very streets are paved with gold; But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

I've read about a Fairy Land, In some romantic tale, Where Dwarfs if good are sure to thrive And wicked Giants fail.

My wish is great, my shoes are strong, But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

I've heard about some happy Isle, Where ev'ry man is free, And none can lie in bonds for life For want of L. S. D.

Oh that's the land of Liberty!

But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square,"

I've dreamt about some blessed spot, Beneath the blessed sky, Where Bread and Justice never rise Too dear for folks to buy.

It's cheaper than the Ward of Cheap, But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

They say there is an ancient House, As pure as it is old, Where Members always speak their minds And votes are never sold.

I'm fond of all antiquities, But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

They say there is a Royal Court Maintain'd in noble state, Where ev'ry able man, and good, Is certain to be great!

I'm very fond of seeing sights, But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

They say there is a Temple too, Where Christians come to pray; But canting knaves and hypocrites, And bigots keep away.

Oh that's the parish church for me!

But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

They say there is a Garden fair, That's haunted by the dove, Where love of gold doth ne'er eclipse The golden light of love--

The place must be a Paradise, But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

I've heard there is a famous Land For public spirit known-- Whose Patriots love its interests Much better than their own.

The Land of Promise sure it is!

But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

I've read about a fine Estate, A Mansion large and strong; A view all over Kent and back, And going for a song.

George Robins knows the very spot, But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

I've heard there is a Company All formal and enroll'd, Will take your smallest silver coin And give it back in gold.

Of course the office door is mobb'd, But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

I've heard about a pleasant Land, Where omelettes grow on trees, And roasted pigs run crying out, "Come eat me, if you please."

My appetite is rather keen, But how shall I get there?

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."