LITTLE I ask; my wants are few; I only wish a hut of stone, (A very plain brown stone will do,) That I may call my own;→ And close at hand is such a one, In yonder street that fronts the sun. Plain food is quite enough for me; Thank Heaven for three. Amen! i I care not much for gold or land;— I only ask that Fortune send A little more than I shall spend. Honors are silly toys, I know, And titles are but empty names; I'm very sure I should not care Jewels are baubles; 'tis a sin To care for such unfruitful things;One good-sized diamond in a pin,— Some, not so large, in rings, A ruby, and a pearl, or so, Will do for me;-I laugh at show. My dame should dress in cheap attire; (Good heavy silks are never dear;)— I own perhaps I might desire Some shawls of true Cashmere,Some marrowy crapes of China silk, Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk. I would not have the horse I drive Suits me; I do not care; Perhaps, for just a single spurt, Of pictures, I should like to own Titians and Raphaels three or four,- Of books but few, some fifty score Some little luxury there Of red morocco's gilded gleam, And vellum rich as country cream. Busts, cameos, gems, such things as these, Which others often show for pride, I value for their power to please, And selfish churls deride;— One Stradivarius, I confess, Two meerschaums, I would fain possess. The Boys Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn, Nor ape the glittering upstart focl;— Give grasping pomp its double share,- 1745 Thus humble let me live and die, THE BOYS HAS there any old fellow got mixed with the boys? We're twenty! .We're twenty! Who says we are more? He's tipsy, young jackanapes!-show him the door! "Gray temples at twenty?"-Yes! white if we please! Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there's nothing can freeze! Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake! We want some new garlands for those we have shed,- We've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told,-. That boy we call "Doctor," and this we call "Judge;" That fellow's the "Speaker,"-the one on the right; "Mr. Mayor," my young one, how are you to-night? That's our "Member of Congress," we say when we chaff; There's the "Reverend" What's his name?-don't make me laugh. That boy with the grave mathematical look So they chose him right in; a good joke it was, too! There's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain, When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire, And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith,— You hear that boy laughing?-You think he's all fun; Yes, we're boys, always playing with tongue or with pen,- Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray! THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE TWAS a jolly old pedagogue, long ago, |