Part 13 (1/2)

(Sweet Venus, mother!) Sinks swooning in a lady-swoon (Ah me! ah me!

_Dum diddle dee_!)

What profits it to rise i' the dark?

Ah me! ah me!

(Sweet Venus, mother!) If love but over-soar its mark (Ah me! ah me!

_Hey diddle dee_!)

What boots to fall again forlorn?

Ah me! ah me!

(Sweet Venus, mother!) Scorned by the grinning hound of scorn, (Ah me! ah me!

_Dum diddle dee_!)

Art thou not greater who art less?

Ah me! ah me!

(Sweet Venus, mother!) Low love fulfilled of low success?

(Ah me! ah me!

_Hey diddle dee_!)

_Anonymous_.

THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG

Out on the margin of moons.h.i.+ne land, Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, Out where the whing-whang loves to stand, Writing his name with his tail on the sand, And wiping it out with his oogerish hand; Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.

Is it the gibber of gungs and keeks?

Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, Or what _is_ the sound the whing-whang seeks, Crouching low by the winding creeks, And holding his breath for weeks and weeks?

Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.

Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things!

Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, 'Tis a fair whing-whangess with phosphor rings, And bridal jewels of fangs and stings,

_James W. Riley_

OH! WEARY MOTHER

The lilies lie in my lady's bower, (Oh! weary mother, drive the cows to roost;) They faintly droop for a little hour; My lady's head droops like a flower.