The Common-place Book of Humorous Poetry: Consisting of a Choice Collection of Entertaining Original and Selected PiecesT. Tegg, 1826 - 376 pages |
Contents
| 81 | |
| 87 | |
| 150 | |
| 157 | |
| 164 | |
| 172 | |
| 179 | |
| 186 | |
| 194 | |
| 200 | |
| 209 | |
| 211 | |
| 220 | |
| 282 | |
| 291 | |
| 300 | |
| 306 | |
| 314 | |
| 324 | |
| 332 | |
| 339 | |
| 346 | |
| 352 | |
| 356 | |
| 363 | |
| 373 | |
Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
Alderman Bailie Beelzebub Bolus Brown call'd Chloe COCKNEY cried d'ye dame David Jones dear delight devil dine dinner Doctor door E'en e'er ev'ry exclaim'd eyes face fair Farewell fate fear fellow folks fool Friend of Humanity gave give gout gown hand head hear heard heart honest horse Jehu John Bull joke King lady latitat live London look look'd Lord Madam maid marriage Mistress mortal ne'er neighbours never night nose Numps o'er once parson pass'd PINDAR pleas'd poor pray pretty quoth replied resolv'd rhyme round Saint Patrick Sare scarce Scott seem'd sigh sing sizar smile soon soul Stamp'd Stilton cheese stood Styx sure sweet tale tell thee there's thing thou thought Tinker took town turn'd twas Twizzle vex'd wife wine wish'd Zounds
Popular passages
Page 171 - E'en Higginbottom now was posed, For sadder scene was ne'er disclosed; Without, within, in hideous show, Devouring flames resistless glow, And blazing rafters downward go, And never halloo ' Heads below !' Nor notice give at all. The firemen terrified are slow To bid the pumping torrent flow, For fear the roof should fall. Back, Robins, back ! Crump, stand aloof !: Whitford, keep near the walls ! Huggins, regard your own behoof, For, lo ! the blazing rocking roof Down, down, in thunder falls ! An...
Page 170 - Ran till he stopp'd at Vin'gar Yard. The burning badge his shoulder bore, The belt and oil-skin hat he wore, The cane he had, his men to bang, Show'd foreman of the British gang. His name was Higginbottom ; now 'Tis meet that I should tell you how The others came in view : The Hand-in-Hand the race begun, Then came the Phoenix and the Sun, Th...
Page 302 - He had a patient lying at death's door, Some three miles from the town — it might be four ; To whom one evening Bolus sent an article In pharmacy, that's called cathartical, And, on the label of the stuff, He wrote this verse, Which one would think was clear enough, And terse : " When taken, To be well shaken.
Page 303 - Bolus said, John shook his head. " Indeed ! — hum ! — ha ! — that's very odd ! " He took the draught ? — John gave a nod. " Well — how? What then? speak out, you dunce. " Why then," says John, " we shook him once." " Shook him ! how?" Bolus stammer'd out.
Page 176 - Squire? Or Parson of the Parish? Or the Attorney? Was it the Squire for killing of his Game? Or Covetous Parson for his Tythes distraining? Or roguish Lawyer made you lose your little All in a law-suit? (Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?) Drops of compassion tremble on my eye-lids, Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your pitiful story.
Page 325 - I've let lodgings ten years, — I'ma baker to boot; " In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven; " And your bed is immediately — over my oven." "The oven!!!" — says Will ;— says the host, "Why this passion ? " In that excellent bed died three people of fashion.
Page 234 - twas serpentine. He worked with sinuosities, along, Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a cork, Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong, a fork. At length, with near four bottles in his pate, He saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate, When reading, " Please to ring the bell," And being civil beyond measure, " Ring it !" says Toby — " Very well ; "I'll ring it with a deal of pleasure.
Page 234 - woke Isaac in a fright, Who, quick as lightning, popping up his head, Sat on his head's antipodes, in bed, Pale as a parsnip, — bolt upright. At length, he wisely to himself...
Page 314 - This rascal stole the razors, I suppose. "No matter if the fellow be a knave, Provided that the razors shave; It certainly will be a monstrous prize.
Page 176 - Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order — Bleak blows the blast ; — your hat has got a hole in't, So have your breeches. Weary Knife-grinder ! little think the proud ones Who in their coaches roll along the turnpikeroad, what hard work 'tis crying all day, " Knives and Scissors to grind O!