A short time since my wife and I
A short call had to make,
And giving me a _kiss_, she said--
"A _buss_ you'd better take!"
We journey'd on--two lively cads,
Were for our custom triers;
And in a twinkling we were fix'd
Fast by this _pair of pliers_!
My wife's arm I had lock'd in mine,
But soon they forced her from it;
And she was lugg'd into the _Sun_,
And I into the _Comet_!
Jamm'd to a jelly, there I sat,
Each one against me pushing;
And my poor gouty legs seem'd made
For each one's _pins--a cushion_!
My wife some time had gone before:
I urged the jarvey's speed,
When all at once the bus set off
At fearful pace, indeed!
I ask'd the coachee what caused this?
When thus his story ran:--
"Vy, _a man shied at an oss_, and so
_An oss shied at a man_!"
Oh, fearful crash! oh, fearful smash!
At such a rate we run,
That presently the _Comet_ came
In contact with the _Sun_.
At that sad time each body felt,
As parting with its soul,
We were, indeed, _a little whirl'd_,
And shook from _pole to pole_!
* * * * *
Dunn, the miller of Wimbledon, has recently given his infant the
_Christian_ name of Cardigan.
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