Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/102

 JOHN FINLEY. [1830-40. If any possess the above requisitions, And wish to be bound by the conjugal band, They will please to step forward, they know the conditions ; — Inquire of the printer, I'm always at hand. BACHELOR'S HALL. (in imitation op the IRISH.) Bachklor's Hall ! What a quare lookin' place it is ! Kape me from sich all the days of my life! Sure, but I think what a burnin' disgrace it is, Niver at all to be gettin' a wife. See the old Bachelor, gloomy and sad enough. Placing his tay-kettle over the fire ; Soon it tips over — Saint Patrick ! he's mad enough (If he were present) to fight wid the Squire. Then, like a hog in a mortar-bed wallowing Awkward enough, see him knading his dough ; Troth ! if the bread he could ate widout swallowing, How it would favor his palate, you know ! His dish-cloth is missing — the pigs are de- vouring it, In the pursuit he has battered his shin ; A plate wanted washing — Grimalkin is scouring it. Thunder and turf! what a pickle he's in ! His meal being over, the table's left setting so ; Dishes, take care of yourselves, if you can ! But hunger returns, — then he's fuming and fretting so, Och ! Let him alone for a baste of a man ! Pots, dishes, pans, and such grasy commodi- ties. Ashes and prata-skins, kiver the floor ; His cupboard's a storehouse of comical oddities, Sich as had niver been neighbors before. Late in the night, then, he goes to bed shiverin', Niver the bit is the bed made at all ! He crapes like a tarrapin under the kiv- erin', — Bad luck to the picter of Bachelor's HaU! TO MY OLD COAT. Ajstd must we part — my good old friend ? Ah, me ! — it grieves me sorely ; I can no more thy tatters mend, The stitches hold so poorly. Thou wast my father's wedding coat, And I have heard him mention, He wore thee, buttoned to the throat. To catch the girls' attention ; — For then the martial figure stood In highest estimation ; No wonder, with a coat so good. He raised their admiration. Five times in fashion thou hast been, Twice turned and often mended ; The like of thee I ne'er have seen. Though now thy days are ended. When first I wore thee " every day," It brought to mind my mother ; " Tim, save that coat," she used to say, " Thou'lt ne'er get such another." Yes ! I'll preserve thy relics still, And learn by that example. My every duty to fulfill, Though fate should on me trample.