Nay, do not start, Mary;
Nor let your heart, Mary,
Be disturb'd in its innocent purity;
I'm sure that _you_
Wouldn't have me do
My friend--my bail--my security!
That tearful eye, Mary,
Seems to ask me why, Mary,
I can wait till sunset on'y.
Ah! turn not away;
I am out for the day
On a _Fleet_ and fleeting _pony_.
Your wide open mouth, Mary,
With its breath like the south, Mary,
Seems to ask for an explanation.
Well, though not of the schools,
I live within _rules_,
And am subject to observation.
But come to my arms, Mary;
Let no dread alarms, Mary,
In our present happiness warp us!
I've not the least doubt
Of soon getting out,
By a writ of _habeas corpus_.
Away with despair, Mary;
Let us cast in the air, Mary,
His dark and gloomy fetters.
Why _should_ we be rack'd,
When we think of the Act
For relieving Insolvent Debtors.
* * * * *
A MAYOR'S NEST.
Our friend the Sir Peter Laureate wishes to know whether the work upon
"Horal Surgery" is not a new-invented description of almanack, as it is
announced as
[Illustration: CURTIS ON THE EAR[1]]
[1] _Qy_.
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