Dear Lucy, you know what my wish… I hate all your Frenchified fuss: Your silly entrées and made dishes Were never intended for us. No footman in lace and in ruffles

Dear Jack, this white mug that wi… And drink to the health of sweet… Was once Tommy Tosspot’s, as jovi… As e’er drew a spigot, or drain’d… In drinking all round ’twas his jo…

Seventeen rosebuds in a ring, Thick with sister flowers beset, In a fragrant coronet, Lucy’s servants this day bring. Be it the birthday wreath she wear…

Ho! pretty page, with the dimpled… That never has known the Barber’s… All your wish is woman to win; This is the way that boys begin— Wait till you come to Forty Year.

I seem, in the midst of the crowd, The lightest of all; My laughter rings cheery and loud, In banquet and ball. My lip hath its smiles and its sne…

A street there is in Paris famous… For which no rhyme our language yi… Rue Neuve de petits Champs its na… The New Street of the Little Fie… And there’s an inn, not rich and s…

[The Poet describes the city and… A thousand years ago, or more, A city filled with burghers stout, And girt with ramparts round about… Stood on the rocky Dnieper shore.

Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink, By the light of the star, On the blue river’s brink, I heard a guitar. I heard a guitar,

Riding from Coleraine (Famed for lovely Kitty), Came a Cockney bound Unto Derry city; Weary was his soul,

Untrue to my Ulric I never could… I vow by the saints and the blesse… Since the desolate hour when we st… And your dark galley waited to car… My faith then I plighted, my love…

Aux gens atrabilaires Pour exemple donne, En un temps de miseres Roger-Bontemps est ne. Vivre obscur a sa guise,

By fate’s benevolent award, Should I survive the day, I’ll drink a bumper with my lord Upon the last of May. That I may reach that happy time

‘A surgeon of the United States’… the Captain of his company, he fou… had enlisted on account of some fe… Ye Yankee Volunteers! It makes my bosom bleed

Under the stone you behold, Buried, and coffined, and cold, Lieth Sir Wilfrid the Bold. Always he marched in advance, Warring in Flanders and France,

When the moonlight’s on the mounta… And the gloom is on the glen, At the cross beside the fountain There is one will meet thee then. At the cross beside the fountain;