DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16516#0009
UNCH'S PROLOGUE TO HIS THIRD VOLUME.
A mystic Number, is Number Three ! And I've come to assist at 'Puxch,' Volume Three,
For are we not told And then without pausing a single minute,
By Pliny of old He has leap'd to the throttle
That three, and but three, were the Sibyllse s Of our little ink-bottle,
Three were the books they left behind ; And just like a dabchick, has soused himself in it.
(A second edition who can find ?) Help ! help ! he will surely be drown'd,
Three are the thimbles, and only three, And what will the coroner say when he's found ?
"We've poked all about with our pen, but 0 la !
We can fish nothing up but his chapeau de bras !
The other sprite
That have covered the wonderful little pea.
The Poor-law Commissioners are no more ;
Their spell would be broken if they were four
And never again could the poor be fed
On a ha'porth of cheese and a ha'porth of bread. I Doth noJ
Fatal that Number has been, for we ^4 A° _m_?"r?. ' What rtre>'OU at
Married our wife from Number Three
And won't the next year as ever is, be
Eighteen hundred and forty-three ?
Over the paper and on to our quill,
Jumping from table to window sill,
Are two little imps,
As lively as shrimps
Before they are boil'd—Will they never be still ?
One has settled at last—such a strange little prig—
In a square-cut coat and a full-bottom'd wig,
And under his arm he has placed, ha ! ha !
Such a queer little three-corner'd chapeau de bras;
The buckles are silver he wears in his shoes,
Which were made when they used to be square at the toes.
Bless us and save us ! how changed he appears,
His pucker'd-up face seems the text-book of years,
And no one would think that a moment ago,
11 e was skipping about like Ma'amselle Cerito !
With his toes turn'd out as tho' he had stood
In the wooden box,
'Yclept the stocks,
.... I:
0 my ! what a pair of luminous eyes,
We never saw any so bright for their size,
And so wide awake,
0 wouldn't they make
Two " Union-pins" for a satin cravat,
With one of the <l Albert ties 2"
Gingerly over the table he trips,
Swaying his body about from the hips,
As much as to say
If you wish to convey
To the world that you're made out of porcelain clajs
You'll own that my style is the right time o' day J
" I'm Wit," says he,
" So, Signior P—,
'Twill be rather hard if we cannot agree.
" You've occasioned some sport
In my own joyous court,
So I've come to assist in your Volume Three ;
And, to prove my good will,
Let me creep in your quill,
And each word shall sparkle that flows from its tip.
Which is used to turn naughty girls into good; We can surely devise
He hands us a card which we never can hope To be witty and wise,
To decipher without we'd a microscope ; For Wisdom lies hid in the fount where you dij t1
But the little sprite
Presto!
Just so—
Now does the polite,
And stepping: up with a gentle hem !
bays, « The name you see, belongs to me, time wm, if anything, shorter-
It's Doubleu-i-s-dee-o-m.» ? * few 1° our Pen>,
« Wisdom !—Are you that hoary sage ? And its nib we saw then—
Really you seem very small for your age." ^ ^ a Sem °/ the yelT first water.
Says he • • g0; tho> -wondrous the tomes that we've written may
« X be, ' I Y«3*H hud they '11 be nothing to Volume Three !
Von. 3. t
A mystic Number, is Number Three ! And I've come to assist at 'Puxch,' Volume Three,
For are we not told And then without pausing a single minute,
By Pliny of old He has leap'd to the throttle
That three, and but three, were the Sibyllse s Of our little ink-bottle,
Three were the books they left behind ; And just like a dabchick, has soused himself in it.
(A second edition who can find ?) Help ! help ! he will surely be drown'd,
Three are the thimbles, and only three, And what will the coroner say when he's found ?
"We've poked all about with our pen, but 0 la !
We can fish nothing up but his chapeau de bras !
The other sprite
That have covered the wonderful little pea.
The Poor-law Commissioners are no more ;
Their spell would be broken if they were four
And never again could the poor be fed
On a ha'porth of cheese and a ha'porth of bread. I Doth noJ
Fatal that Number has been, for we ^4 A° _m_?"r?. ' What rtre>'OU at
Married our wife from Number Three
And won't the next year as ever is, be
Eighteen hundred and forty-three ?
Over the paper and on to our quill,
Jumping from table to window sill,
Are two little imps,
As lively as shrimps
Before they are boil'd—Will they never be still ?
One has settled at last—such a strange little prig—
In a square-cut coat and a full-bottom'd wig,
And under his arm he has placed, ha ! ha !
Such a queer little three-corner'd chapeau de bras;
The buckles are silver he wears in his shoes,
Which were made when they used to be square at the toes.
Bless us and save us ! how changed he appears,
His pucker'd-up face seems the text-book of years,
And no one would think that a moment ago,
11 e was skipping about like Ma'amselle Cerito !
With his toes turn'd out as tho' he had stood
In the wooden box,
'Yclept the stocks,
.... I:
0 my ! what a pair of luminous eyes,
We never saw any so bright for their size,
And so wide awake,
0 wouldn't they make
Two " Union-pins" for a satin cravat,
With one of the <l Albert ties 2"
Gingerly over the table he trips,
Swaying his body about from the hips,
As much as to say
If you wish to convey
To the world that you're made out of porcelain clajs
You'll own that my style is the right time o' day J
" I'm Wit," says he,
" So, Signior P—,
'Twill be rather hard if we cannot agree.
" You've occasioned some sport
In my own joyous court,
So I've come to assist in your Volume Three ;
And, to prove my good will,
Let me creep in your quill,
And each word shall sparkle that flows from its tip.
Which is used to turn naughty girls into good; We can surely devise
He hands us a card which we never can hope To be witty and wise,
To decipher without we'd a microscope ; For Wisdom lies hid in the fount where you dij t1
But the little sprite
Presto!
Just so—
Now does the polite,
And stepping: up with a gentle hem !
bays, « The name you see, belongs to me, time wm, if anything, shorter-
It's Doubleu-i-s-dee-o-m.» ? * few 1° our Pen>,
« Wisdom !—Are you that hoary sage ? And its nib we saw then—
Really you seem very small for your age." ^ ^ a Sem °/ the yelT first water.
Says he • • g0; tho> -wondrous the tomes that we've written may
« X be, ' I Y«3*H hud they '11 be nothing to Volume Three !
Von. 3. t