THE ASSISTANT DRAPERS' PETITION.[36]

"Now's the time and now's the hour,"--BURNS.

"Seven's the main."--CROCKFORD.

[Footnote 36: The exquisite wit and fancy of these verses need not blind us to their touching earnestness. They might well be printed and circulated still in the service of the great cause of Early Closing.

The "Knight" mentioned was, of course, the excellent Charles Knight, pioneer and forerunner of all subsequent movements for cheapening and popularizing good literature.]

Pity the sorrows of a class of men, Who, though they bow to fashion and frivolity, No fancied claims or woes fictitious pen, But wrongs ell-wide, and of a lasting quality.

Oppress'd and discontented with our lot, Amongst the clamorous we take our station; A host of Ribbon Men--yet is there not One piece of Irish in our agitation.

We do revere Her Majesty the Queen, We venerate our Glorious Constitution; We joy King William's advent should have been, And only want a Counter Revolution.

'Tis not Lord Russell and his final measure, 'Tis not Lord Melbourne's counsel to the throne, 'Tis not this Bill, or that, gives us displeasure, The measures we dislike are all our own.

The Cash Law the "Great Western" loves to name; The tone our foreign policy pervading; The Corn Laws--none of these we care to blame, Our evils we refer to over-trading.

By Tax or Tithe our murmurs are not drawn; We reverence the Church--but hang the cloth!

We love her ministers--but curse the lawn!

We have, alas! too much to do with both!

We love the sex:--to serve them is a bliss!

We trust they find us civil, never surly; All that we hope of female friends is this, That their last linen may be wanted early.

Ah! who can tell the miseries of men That serve the very cheapest shops in town?

Till faint and weary, they leave off at ten, Knock'd up by ladies beating of 'em down!

But has not Hamlet his opinion given-- O Hamlet had a heart for Drapers' servants!

"That custom is"--say custom after seven-- "More honor'd in the breach than the observance."

O come then, gentle ladies, come in time, O'erwhelm our counters, and unload our shelves; Torment us all until the seventh chime, But let us have the remnant to ourselves!

We wish of knowledge to lay in a stock, And not remain in ignorance incurable;-- To study Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, Locke, And other fabrics that have proved so durable.

We long for thoughts of intellectual kind, And not to go bewilder'd to our beds; With stuff and fustian taking up the mind, And pins and needles running in our heads!

For oh! the brain gets very dull and dry, Selling from morn till night for cash or credit; Or with a vacant face and vacant eye, Watching cheap prints that Knight did never edit.

Till sick with toil, and lassitude extreme, We often think, when we are dull and vapoury, The bliss of Paradise was so supreme, Because that Adam did not deal in drapery.

THE BACHELOR'S DREAM.

My pipe is lit, my grog is mix'd, My curtains drawn and all is snug; Old Puss is in her elbow-chair, And Tray is sitting on the rug.

Last night I had a curious dream, Miss Susan Bates was Mistress Mogg-- What d'ye think of that, my Cat?

What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

She look'd so fair, she sang so well, I could but woo and she was won, Myself in blue, the bride in white, The ring was placed, the deed was done!

Away we went in chaise-and-four, As fast as grinning boys could flog-- What d'ye think of that, my Cat?

What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

What loving tete-a-tetes to come!

But tete-a-tetes must still defer!

When Susan came to live with me, Her mother came to live with her!

With sister Belle she couldn't part, But all _my_ ties had leave to jog-- What d'ye think of that, my Cat?

What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

The mother brought a pretty Poll-- A monkey too, what work he made!

The sister introduced a Beau-- My Susan brought a favorite maid.

She had a tabby of her own, A snappish mongrel christen'd Gog-- What d'ye think of that, my Cat?

What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

The Monkey bit--the Parrot scream'd All day the sister strumm'd and sung; The petted maid was such a scold!

My Susan learn'd to use her tongue: Her mother had such wretched health, She sate and croak'd like any frog-- What d'ye think of that, my Cat?

What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

No longer Deary, Ducky, and Love, I soon came down to simple "M!"

The very servants cross'd my wish, My Susan let me down to them.

The poker hardly seem'd my own, I might as well have been a log-- What d'ye think of that, my Cat?

What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

My clothes they were the queerest shape!

Such coats and hats she never met!

My ways they were the oddest ways!

My friends were such a vulgar set!

Poor Tomkinson was snubb'd and huff'd-- She could not bear that Mister Blogg-- What d'ye think of that, my Cat?

What d'ye think of that, My Dog?

At times we had a spar, and then Mamma must mingle in the song-- The sister took a sisters part-- The Maid declared her Master wrong-- The Parrot learn'd to call me "Fool!"

My life was like a London fog-- What d'ye think of that, my Cat?

What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

My Susan's taste was superfine, As proved by bills that had no end-- _I_ never had a decent coat-- _I_ never had a coin to spend!

She forced me to resign my Club, Lay down my pipe, retrench my grog-- What d'ye think of that, my Cat?

What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

Each Sunday night we gave a rout To fops and flirts, a pretty list; And when I tried to steal away, I found my study full of whist!

Then, first to come and last to go, There always was a Captain Hogg-- What d'ye think of that, my Cat?

What d'ye think of that, my Dog?