 Thomas Adresto Mare, Ere, O' Mary, Heave Aside for Me, by Jonathan Swift. From the world's best poetry, Volume 9, Tragedy and Humour, Part 2. Read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Yau. Thomas Adresto Mare. O' Mare, Eve, Asifone, For me, O' Tony True, I am Becum, Asimandum, O' Let Hymen Promptu, M'hi, Asvetas, Annese, Ashumano, Erebi, O' Let Me, Cummaritote, O' Eta, Beta, Pi. Elas, Plano, More, Meritix, Miado, Veuno, Inferiam, O' Re Artes, Pase, Tolerat, Me Urebo, Ame, Veara, Siliket, Ve, Laude, Vim, Inthos, Hiatus, Asirandum, Sex, Iluk, Ionicus. Hio, Sed, Hio, Vix, En, Imago, Mai, Mrs. Mare, Sta, O' Cantu, Redit, In Michi, Hibernas, Arida, Averi, Rafa, Herisi, Michi, Resolves, Indu, Totios, O' Let Hymen Comptu, Akseptah, Tony True, End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Irishman and the Lady by William McGinn, From the World's Best Poetry, Volume 9, Tragedy and Humour, Part 2, Read for LibriVox.org by Thomas Peter. The Irishman and the Lady. There was a lady lived at Leith, a lady very stylish man, And yet, in spite of all her teeth, She fell in love with an Irishman, A nasty, ugly Irishman, A wild, tremendous Irishman, A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, Ranting, roaring Irishman. His face was no ways beautiful, For with smallpox'd was scarred across, And the shoulders of the ugly dog Were almost double a yard across. Oh, the lumbel than Irishman, The whiskey devouring Irishman, The great hero with his wonderful brook, The fighting, rioting Irishman. One of his eyes was bottle-green, And the other eye was out, my dear, And the calves of his wicked-looking legs Were more than two feet about, my dear. Oh, the great big Irishman, The rattling, battling Irishman, The stamping, ramping, swaggering, staggering, Leathering swash of an Irishman. He took so much of Lundyfoot that he used to snort and snuffle, And in shape and size the fellow's neck Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo. Oh, the horrible Irishman, The thundering, blundering Irishman, The slashing, dashing, smashing, Lashing, thrashing, hashing Irishman. His name was a terrible name, indeed, Being Timothy Thaddee Mulligan, And whenever he emptied his tumbler of punch, He'd not rest till he filled it full again. The boozing, bruising Irishman, The toxicated Irishman, The whiskey, frisky, rummy, gummy, Brandy, no dandy Irishman. This was the lad the lady loved, Like all the girls of quality, And he broke the skulls of the men of leth, Just by the way of jollity. Oh, the leathering Irishman, The barbarous, savage Irishman, The hearts of the maids, And the gentlemen's heads were bothered, I'm sure, By this Irishman. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Recruit by Robert William Chambers From the world's best poetry, volume nine, Tragedy and Humour, part two. Read for Liberfox.org by Thone as the narrator. And Thomas Peter as Corporal Madden. The Recruit says Corporal Madden to Private McFadden. Hey, Dad, you're a badden. Now turn out your doors. Your belt is unhugged. Your cap is uncrooked. You may not be drunk, but be jabbers, you look it. One, two, one, two. Your monkey face deviled jolly through. One, two, time, mark. You march like the eagle in Central Park. Says Corporal Madden to Private McFadden. Ascent at its saddened drill, such a mug. Eyes front, ye baboon ye. Chin up, ye grassoon ye. You have jaws like a goat. Halt, ye leather-lipped loon ye. One, two, one, two. Ye whiskered or rangatang, I'll fix ye. One, two, time, mark. You have eyes like a bat. Can ye see in the dark? Says Corporal Madden to Private McFadden. Your figure wants pen. Sure, man, you've no shape. Behind ye your shoulders stick out like two boulders. Your shins is as thin as a pair of pen holders. One, two, one, two. Your belly belongs on your back ye Jew. One, two, time, mark. I'm dry as a dog. I can't spake, but I bark. Says Corporal Madden to Private McFadden. My heart titted gladdened to blacken your eye. You're getting too bold ye compel me to scold ye. It is halt, that I say. Will ye heed what I told ye? One, two, one, two. Be jabbers I'm drier than Brian Borough. One, two, time, mark. What's work for chickens a spot for the lark? Says Corporal Madden to Private McFadden. I'll not stay a-gatton with daggers like you. I'll travel no farther. I'm dyin' for water. Come on, if ye like. Can ye loan me a quarter? Yes, ye what? Two, and ye'll pay the poteen. Here a daisy, whew, ye'll do. Whist, mark. The regimen's flattered only in this spark. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Ritter Hugo by Charles Gottfried Leland From the world's best poetry, volume nine, Tragedy and Humour, part two. Read for LibriVox.org by Sonya S. The Narrator. Phone as The Mermaid. And Jason in Canada as Ritter Hugo. Ritter Hugo. The noble Ritter Hugo, von Schwillen-Sanfenstein, rode out with spear and helmet, and he come to the pangs of the Rhine. And up there rose a mare-maid, what hadn't got noddings on. And she say, Oh, Ritter Hugo, there you go smith yourself alone. And he says, I ride in the greenwood, with helmet and with spear, till I come into a gasthouse. On there I drink some beer. And then I'll spoke the maiden, what hadn't got noddings on. I don't think much of bibles, that goes with themselves alone. You'd better come down in the water, where there's heaps of things to see, and have a splendid dinner, and travel along with me. There you see the fish are swimming, and you catch them every one. So sang this was a maiden, what hadn't got noddings on. There is drunks all full with money, in ships that fan down of old, and you help yourself by dunder, to shimmering crowns of gold. Just look at these spoons and watches, just look at these diamond rings, come down and fill your pockets, and I'll kiss you like every things. What you find with your snaps and your lager? Come down into the rain. There is pottles of the Kaiserschallemagne, once filled with gold red wine. That fetched him, he stood all spellbound, she pulled his coat tails down, she draw him under the water, dismayed with noddings on. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. She had hair as brown as a pretzel, her eyes was Himmelplu, and when they looked in the mine, they split my heart in two. Hans Breitmann gave a party, I went there, you'll be found, I volced with my dildo yin, and when spinnin round and round, the poultiest fraulein in the house, she weighed about two hundred pound, and every time she give a chump, she make the windows sound. Hans Breitmann gave a party, I douse you at custom, dear, they rolled in more as seven cakes of fust-read lager beer, and whenever they knockedish picket in, the Deutscher's gives a cheer, I think that so whine a Barty, never come to a head this year. Hans Breitmann gave a party, they're all was saus and braus, when the super-comedin, the company didn't make themselves to haus, they ate das Brott und Gensi Brust, der Bratwurst und Bratenwein, and washed their ebbendessen down pearls of knackerwein. Hans Breitmann gave a party, we all got drunk asch pigs, I put them in mout to a pearl of beer, und emptied it up mith a schvicks, und then a gist mediled the yin, und she slog me on the cop, und the gumbany fitted me dapple legs, dill the kunstable maid us stop. Hans Breitmann gave a party, where is dat Barty nah, where is the lovely golden cloud that float on the mountains brow, where is the himmelstrahlende stern, the star of the spirits light, all gone the fey mit the lager beer, a fey in the ewekeit. End of poem. This recording is in a public domain. Lidl Jorkups Traus by Charles Follin-Adams from the world's best poetry, volume nine, Tragedy and humour, part two. Read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Yeah. I have fun funny Lidl poi, fun gums schust to mein kni, der queerest chap, der creatis rogue, as ever you did see. He runs, und schumps, und schmasses things in all barts off their house, but fort of dot, he was mein san, mein Lidl Jorkups Traus. He gets their measles, und der mums, und everything dots out. He spills mein glas of lager beer, put snuf in dor mein kraut. He fills mein pipe mit Limberg schies, dot was der Raffeschaus. I take dot from no oder poi, but Lidl Jorkups Traus. He takes der Milchbahn vor er drum, und cuts mein Kain in two, to make their sticks to beat it mit, mein Kreisches, dot was trü. I think my head was schlipp der Brat, he kicks up such a thos, but never mind, der poi svers few, like dot young Jorkups Traus. He ask me questions such as those, who paints my nose so red, who was it cuts the schmutz blass out from the hair upon my head, und wer der Plasgus from der Lamp, wenn er der Glimm eidaus, how can I hold those things explain, to dot schmull Jorkups Traus. I sometimes think I shall go wild mit such a crazy poi, und wisch once more I could have rest, und peaceful dimes inschoi. But when he was a schlippen bet, so quiet as a mouse, I praise the Lord. Take any things, but lief dot Jorkups Traus. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Long Handled Dipper by Charles Follon Adams from the world's best poetry volume 9, Tragedy in humour part 2, read for LibriVox.org by Sonya. The Long Handled Dipper The poet may sing of the old Oaken Bookit, und in sweetest language its virtues may tell, und how, when a poi, he mit ecstasy dug it, when dripping with coolness it rose from the well. I don't take some stock in dot manner of drinking. It was too much like horses and cattle, I think. There was more satisfactions in my way of dinking with dot Long Handled Dipper that hangs by the sink. How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it. That would sound pretty good if it only was true. The vader spills over, you better believe it, and runs down your sleeve and slops into your shoe. Then down on your nose comes dot old iron handle, und makes your eyes water so quick as a wink, I tell you dot Bookit, don't hold the candle to dot Long Handled Dipper that hangs by the sink. How nice it must been in the rough winter weather when it settles right down to a cold freezing rain to have dot rope come up so light as a feather, und find dot the Bookit was broke off the chain. Then down in the well with a pole you go fishing, to your back comes an old fashioned king. I bet you mine life all the dime you was wishing for dot Long Handled Dipper that hangs by the sink. How handy it was just to turn on the faucet where the water flows down from the spring on the hill. I just was the sharp dot will always endorse it, especially nights when the weather was chill. When fife was old well and the snow was all covered und he wades through the snowdrift to get him a drink, I slips from the house where the chilton was hovered to dot Long Handled Dipper that hangs by the sink. Then give up the Bookits and pales to the horses of microbes and tadbols just give them their fill, give me dot pure water dot all the time courses to those pipes that run down from the spring on the hill and if the good things of this world I get rich in and friends all around me their glasses shall clink I still will remember that old country kitchen and dot Long Handled Dipper that hangs by the sink. End of poem This recording is in the public domain. The Jack-Daw of Reims by Richard Harris Barham Thomas Ingalls B. Esquire from the world's best poetry, Volume 9 Tragedy and Humour, Part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Sonya Eston-Narrator Lianyao as the Jack-Daw Thomas Peter as the Priests and Jason in Canada as the Abbott The Jack-Daw of Reims The Jack-Daw set on the Cardinals chair Bishop and Abbott and Pryor were there many a monk and many a friar many a knight and many a squire with a great many more of lesser degree in sooth a goodly company and they served a lord primate on bandit knee. Never I wean was a prouder scene read of in books or dreamt of in dreams than the cardinal Lord Archbishop of Reims. In and out through the motley route that little Jack-Daw kept hopping about here and there like a dog in a fair over comfits and kates and dishes and plates Cowell and Cope and Rochard and Paul Mitre and Crozier he hopped upon all. With a saucy air he perched on the chair where in state the great Lord Cardinal set in the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat and he peered in the face of his lordship's grace with a satisfied look as if he would say we too are the greatest folks here today and the priests with awe as such freaks they saw said the devil must be in that little Jack-Daw. The feast was over the board was cleared the flaunts and the custards had all disappeared and six little singing-boys dear little souls in nice clean faces and nice white stoles came in order to you two by two marching that grand factory through. A nice little boy held a golden ewer embossed and filled with water as pure as any that flows between reams and Namur which a nice little boy stood ready to catch in a fine golden hand-basin made to match. Two nice little boys rather more grown carried lavender water and odor colloin and a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap worthy of washing the hands of the pope. One little boy more a napkin-bore of the best white diaper fringed with pink and a cardinal's head marked in permanent ink. The great lord cardinal turns at the sight of these nice little boys dressed all in white from his finger he draws his costly turquoise and not thinking at all about little Jack-Daws deposits it straight by the side of his plate while the nice little boys on his eminence wait till when nobody's dreaming of any such thing that little Jack-Daw hops off with the ring. There's a cry and a shout and a juice of a rout and nobody seems to know what they're about but the monks have their pockets all turned inside out the friars are kneeling and hunting and feeling the carpet, the floor and the walls and the ceiling the cardinal drew off each plum-colored shoe and left his red stockings exposed to the view he peeps and he feels in the toes and the heels they turn up the dishes they turn up the plates they take up the poker and poke out the grates they turn up the rugs they examine the mugs but no, no such thing they can't find the ring and they ever declared that when nobody twigged it some rascal or other had popped in and pricked it the cardinal rose with a dignified look he called for his candle his bell and his book in holy anger and pious grief he solemnly cursed that rascally thief he cursed him at board he cursed him in bed from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head he cursed him in sleeping that every night he should dream of the devil and wake in a fright he cursed him in eating he cursed him in drinking he cursed him in coughing and sneezing and winking he cursed him in sitting in standing in lying he cursed him in walking in riding in flying he cursed him living he cursed him dying never was heard such a terrible curse but what gave rise to no little surprise nobody seemed any to worse the day was gone the night came on the monks and the friars they searched till dawn when the sacristons saw on crumpled claw come limping a poor little lame jack-daw no longer gay as on yesterday his feathers all seemed to be turned the wrong way his pinions drooped he could hardly stand his head was as bald as the palm of your hand his eyes so dim so wasted each limb that heedless of grammar they all cried that's him that's the scamp that has done the scandalous thing that's the thief that has got my lord cardinal's ring the poor little jack-daw when the monks he saw feebly gave then to the ghost of a car and turned his bald head as much as to say pray be so good as to walk this way slower and slower he limped on before till they came to the back of the bell-free door where the first thing they saw midst the sticks and the straw was the ring in the nest of that little jack-daw then the great lord cardinal called for his book and off that terrible curse he took the mute expression served in lieu of confession and being thus coupled with full restitution that jack-daw got plenary absolution when those words were heard that poor little bird was so changed in a moment it was really absurd he grew sleek and fat in addition to that a fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat his tail waggled more even than before but no longer it wagged with an impudent air no longer he purged on the cardinal's chair he hopped now about with a gate devout at Matins, at Vespers he never was out and so far from any more pilfering deeds he always seemed telling the confessor's beats if anyone lied or if anyone's war or slumbered in prayer time and happened to snore that good jack-daw would give a great as much as to say don't do so any more while many remarked as his manners they saw never had known such a pious jack-daw he long lived the pride of that countryside and at last in the odor of sanctity died when as words were to faint his merits to paint the conclave determined to make him a saint and on newly made saints and popes as you know it is the custom of Rome new names to bestow so they canonized him in the name of Jim Crow end of poem this recording is in the public domain American from A Fable for Critics by James Russell Lowell from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Yao American there are truths you Americans need to be told and it never will refute him to swagger and scold looking over the Atlantic in cola at your aptness for trade says you worship the dollar but a score the dollar tries what very few do and John goes to that church as often as you do no matter what John says don't try to outgrow him just enough to go quietly on and outgrow him like most fathers ball hates to see number one displacing himself in the mind of his son and attests the same thoughts in himself he neglected when he sees them again in his child's glass reflected to love one another you're too like by half if he is a ball you are a pretty stout calf and tear your own pasture for naught but to show what a nice pair of horns you're beginning to grow there are one or two things I should just like to hint for you don't often get the truth told you in print the most of you this is what strikes all beholders have a mental and physical stoop in the shoulders though you ought to be free as the winds and the waves you've the gate and the manner of runaway slaves though you brag of your new world you don't half believe in it and as much of the old as possible weave in it your goddess of freedom a tight box and girl with lips like a cherry and teeth like a pearl with eyes bored as Harry's and hair floating free and full of the sun as the spray of the sea who can sing at a husking or romper to shearing who can trip through the forests alone without fearing who can drive home the cows with a song through the grass keeps glancing aside into Europe's cracked glass hides her red hands and gloves, pinches up her life waste and makes herself wretched with transmarine taste she loses her fresh country charm when she takes any mirror except her own rivers and lakes end of poem this recording is in the public domain what Mr Robinson thinks from the Bigelow papers number three by James Russell Lowell from the world's best poetry volume nine, tragedy in humour part two read for LibriVox.org by Craig Franklin what Mr Robinson thinks from the Bigelow papers number three Governor B is a sensible man he stays to his home and looks after his folks he draws his furrow as straight as he can and into nobody's tater patch pokes but John P Robinson he says he won't vote for Governor B my ain't it terrible what shall we do we can't never choose him a course that's flat guess we shall have to come round don't you and go in for thunder and guns and all that for John P Robinson he says he won't vote for Governor B General C is a dreadful smart man he's been on all sides that give places or pelth but consistency still was a part of his plan he's been true to one party and that is himself so John P Robinson he says he shall vote for General C General C has gone in for the war he don't value principle more than an old cudd what did God make us for but glory and gunpowder plunder and blood so John P. Robinson he says he shall vote for General C we were getting on nicely up here to our village with good old ideas of what's right and what ain't we kind of thought Christ went again war and pillage and that epaulets weren't the best mark of a saint but John P. Robinson he says this kind of thing is an exploded idea the side of our country must always be took and President Polk you know he is our country and the angel that writes all our sins in a book puts the debit to him and to us the poor country and John P. Robinson he says this is his view of the things to a T pass and Wilbur he calls all these arguments lies says they're nothing on it but just fee for thumb and that all this big talk of our destinies is half of it ignorance and to other half rum but John P. Robinson he says it ain't no such thing and of course so must we pass and Wilbur says he never heard in his life that the apostles rigged out in their swallowtail coats in front of a drum and a fife to get some on him office and some on him votes but John P. Robinson he says they didn't know anything down in Judea well it's a marsy we've got folks to tell us the rights and the wrongs of these matters I vow God sends country lawyers and otherwise fellers to drive the world's team when it gets in a slow the John P. Robinson he says the world will go right if he hollows out G end of poem this recording is in the public domain swells soliloquy by anonymous from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humor part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Thomas Peter swells soliloquy I don't approve this Howard war those dreadful banners halt my eyes and guns and drums are such a bar why don't the parties compromise of course the toilet has its charms but why must all the vulgar crowd persist in spouting uniforms in colour so extremely loud and then the ladies precious dears I mark the change on every brow by jove I really have my fears they water like the Howard war to hear the charming creatures talk like patrons of the bloody wing of war and all its dowdy walk it doesn't seem a proper thing I called at mrs greens last night to see a niece miss Mary Hertz and found her making question site the wettest kind of flannel shirts of course I was and sought the door with fire flashing from my eyes I can't approve this Howard war why don't the parties compromise end of poem this recording is in the public domain the compliment by Eugene field from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Craig Franklin as Charlie and Leanne Yao as Sue the compliment arrayed in snow white pants and vest and other Raymond's fair to view I stood before my sweetheart Sue the charming creature I love best tell me and does my costume suit I asked that apple of my eye and then made reply yes you do look awful cute although I frequently had heard my sweetheart venture pleasure so I must confess I did not know the meaning of that favourite word but presently at windowside we stood and watched the passing throng and soon a donkey passed along with ears like wings extended wide and gazing at the doleful brutes my sweetheart Mary cry I quote her language with a sigh oh Charlie 80 awful cute end of poem this recording is in the public domain the Nantucket Skipper by James Thomas Fields from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Jason in Canada as the narrator Thomas Peter as Jotham Marden and Craig Franklin as the Nantucket Skipper the Nantucket Skipper many along long year ago Nantucket Skippers had a plan of finding out though lying low how near New York their schooners ran they greased the lead before it fell and then by sounding through the night knowing the soil that stuck so well they always guessed their reckoning right a skipper gray whose eyes were dim could tell by tasting just the spot and so below he doused the glim after of course his something hot snug in his birth at 8 o'clock this ancient skipper might be found no matter how his craft would rock he slept for skipper's naps are sound the watch on deck would now and then run down and wake him led he'd up and haste and tell the men how many miles they went ahead one night was Jotham Marden's watch a curious wag the peddler's son and so he mused the wanton wretch tonight I'll have a grain of fun we're all a set of stupid fools to think the skipper knows by tasting what ground he's on Nantucket schools don't teach such stuff with all their basting and so he took the well greased lead and rubbed it over a box of earth that stood on deck a parsnip bed and then he sought the skipper's birth where are we now sir please to taste the skipper yawned put out his tongue open his eyes in wondrous haste and then upon the floor he sprung the skipper stormed and wore his hair hauled on his boots and roared to Marden Nantucket sunk and here we are ride over old mom Hankett's garden end of poem this recording is in the public domain the one-horse shade or the deacons masterpiece a logical story by Oliver Wendell Holmes from the world's best poetry volume nine tragedy and humour part two read for Libervox.org by Phon as the narrator Thomas Peter as the deacon and Jason in Canada as the parsnip the one-horse shade or the deacons masterpiece a logical story have you heard of the wonderful one-horse shade that was built in such a logical way it ran a hundred years to a day and then of a sudden it but stay I'll tell you what happened without delay scaring the parson into fits frightening people out of their wits have you ever heard of that I say 1755 Georgius Secundus was then alive Snuffield Drone from the German Hive that was the year when Lisbon Town saw the earth open and gulp her down and Braddock's army was done so brown left without a scarp to its crown it was on the terrible earthquake day that a deacon finished the one-horse shade now in the building of shazes I tell you what there was always somewhere a weakest spot in hub tire fellow and spring or thill in panel bar or floor or sill in screw bolt thorough brace lurking still find it somewhere you must and will above or below or within or without and that's the reason beyond the doubt a shade breaks down but doesn't wear out but the deacons swore as deacons do with an I do them or an I tell you he would build one shade to beat the town and the county of all the country round it should be so built that it couldn't break down for said the deacon smarty plain that the weakest place must and the strain the way to fix it as I maintain is only just to make that place as strong as the rest so the deacon inquired of the village folk where he could find the strongest oak that couldn't be split nor bent nor broke that was for spokes and doors and sills he sent for launchwood to make the thills the crossbars were ash from the straightest trees the panels of whitewood that cuts like cheese but lost like iron for things like these the hubs of logs from the settler's elan last of its timber they couldn't sell them never an axe had seen their chips and the wedges flew from between their lips their blunt ends frizzled like celery tips step and prop iron bolt and screw spring tire axle and linchpin too steel of the finest bright and blue thorough brace bison skin white boot top dasher from tough old hide found in the pit when the tanner died that was the way he put her through there set the deacon now she'll do do I tell you I rather guess she was a wonder and nothing less cold screw horses beards turned gray deacon and deaconess dropped away the grandchildren where were they but there stood the stout old one-horse shea as fresh as on Lisbon earthquake day 1800 it came and found the deacons masterpiece strong and sound 1800 increased by 10 handsome carriage they called it then 1820 came running as usual much the same 30 and 40 at last arrive and then came 50 and 55 little of all we value here wakes on the mourn of its hundredth year without both feeling and looking queer in fact there's nothing that keeps its youth so far as I know but a tree and truth this is a moral that runs at large take it you're welcome no extra charge first of November the earthquake day there are traces of age in the one-horse shea general flavor of mild decay but nothing local as one may say there couldn't be for the deacons art have made it so like in every part that there wasn't a chance for one to start for the wheels were just as strong as the thills and the floor was just as strong as the cells and the panels just as strong as the floor and the whipple tree neither less nor more and the back crossbar as strong as the four and spring and axle and hub encore and yet as a whole it is passed out in another hour it will be worn out first of November 55 this morning the person takes a drive now small boys get out of the way here comes a wonderful one-horse shea drawn by a rattled ewe necked bay heard up said the person off when they the person was working his Sunday's text had got to fifthly and stopped perplexed at what the Moses was coming next all at once the horse stood still close by the meeting-house on the hill first the shiver and then a thrill and something decidedly like a spill and the person was sitting upon a rock half-bossed nine by the meeting-house clock just the hour of the earthquake shock what do you think the person found when he got up and stared around the poor old shea's in a heap or mound as if it had been to the mill and ground you see of course if you're not a dunce how it went to pieces all at once all at once and nothing first just as bubbles do when they burst end of the wonderful one-horse shea logic is logic that's all I say end of poem this recording is in the public domain greek speestation by James Whitcomb Riley from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Craig Franklin greek speestation perhaps got his patent right and rich as all creation but where's the peace and comfort that we all had before let's go a visiting back to greek speestation back where we used to be so happy and so poor the likes of us are living here it's just a mortal pity to see us in this great big house with carpets on the stairs and the city city city and nothing but the city all around us ever wears climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple and never see a robin nor a beech or elm tree and right here in earshot of at least a thousand people and none that neighbors with us or we want to go and see let's go a visiting back to greek speestation back where the latch strings are hanging from the door of a neighbor round the places dear as a relation back where we used to be so happy and so poor i want to see the wigginsies the whole kitten billing are driving up from shalliford to stay the sunday through and i want to see a mitchin at the sunning laws and pilling out there at lizzie ellens like they used to do i want to see the peace quilts that jones's girls is making and i want to pestilori a freckled hired hand and joker about the widow she can pert night a-taking till her gap got his pension loading time to save his land let's go a visiting back to greek speestation back where there's nothing aggravating any more shed away safe in the woods around the old location back where we used to be so happy and so poor i want to see marindy an apple with her sewing loving of her man that's dead and gone and stand up with immanuel to show me how he's growing and smile as i have saw her for she put her mourning on and i want to see the samples on the old lower eighty where john our oldest boy he was took and buried for his own sake in katies and i want to cry with katie as she reads all his letters over ripped from the war what's all this grand life in theory pink nor hollyhock blooming at the door let's go a visiting back to greek speestation back where we used to be so happy and so poor end of poem this recording is in the public domain he'd had no show joe b would set upon a keg down to the grocery store and throw one leg right over the other leg and swear he'd never had no show ah no said joe hate had no show and shift his quid to the other joe and chore and chore and chore and chore he said he got no start in life didn't get no money from his dad the washing took in by his wife earned all the funds he ever had oh no said joe hate had no show and then he'd look up at the clock and talk and talk and talk and talk i've waited twenty years let's see years twenty four never struck although i've sat round patiently the first tarnation streak of luck ah no said joe hate had no show then stuck leg mucilage to the spot and sucked and sucked and sucked and sucked i've come down regular every day for twenty years the piper store i've sat here in a patient way see, hate that piper piper swore i tell you joe two during patient the whole raft just left and left and left and left end of poem this recording is in the public domain the mystified quaker in new york by anonymous from the world's best poetry volume nine tragedy and humour part two read for LibriVox.org by thomas peter as the quaker lian yao as the youth jason in canada as the jehu and sonya as the crowd the mystified quaker in new york respected wife by these few lines my whereabouts they'll learn moreover i'm part to thee my serious concern the language of this people is a riddle unto me for words with them are figments of a reckless mockery since i left the cars a youth with smuddy faith said shine nay i'll not shine i said except with inward grace what's inward grace said this young turk a liquid or paste hi daddy how does the old thing work i then said to a jehu whose breath suggested gin friend can they take me to a reputable inn but this man's gross irrelevance i shall not soon forget instead of simply yay or nay he gruffly said you bet nay nay i will not bet i said for that would be a sin why dost not answer plainly can they take me to an inn thy vehicle is doubtless made to carry folks about in why then prevaricate said he aha well now you're shouting i did not shout i said my friend surely my speech is mild but thine i grieve to say it with falsehood is defiled they ought to be admonished to rid thy heart of guile look here my lovely moak said he you sling on too much style i've had these plain drab garments twenty years or more said i and when they says i sling on style they tells a willful lie with that he pranced about as though a bee were in his bonnet and with hostile demonstrations inquired if i was on it on what till thee explain i cannot tell i said but he swore that something was too thin moreover it was plain but all his antics were surpassed in wild absurdity by threats profanely emphasized to put ahead on me no son of billial i said that miracle can do with that he fell upon me with incurses too but failed to work that miracle if such was his design instead of putting on ahead he strove this might of mine he knows that i profess the peaceful precepts of our sect but this man's axe worked on me to a curious effect and when he knocked my broad brim off and said how's that for I it roused the atom in me and I spoke him hip and thigh this was a signal for the crowd for calamity broke loose they said i'd snatched him bald-headed and likewise cooked his goose but yet i do affirm that i had not pulled his hair nor had i cooked his poultry for he had no poultry poultry there they called me bully boy though I have seen full three-score year and they said that I was lightning when I got upon my ear and when I asked if lightning climbed its ear and dressed in drab you know how it is yourself said one insolent young blab so I left them in disgust the king spoken men like me with such perverters of our tongue can have no unity end of poem this recording is in the public domain to the sextant by arabell n wilson from the world's best poultry volume nine tragedy and humour part two read for librafox.org by phone to the sextant o sextant of the meeting house which sweeps and dust or is supposed to and makes fires and lights the gas and sometimes leaves his crew loose in which case it smells awful worse than lamp owl and rings the bell and tolls it when men dies to the grief of surviving partners and sweeps paths and for the services gets a hundred dollars per annum which then the things dear let them try it getting up before starlight in all weathers and kindling fires when the weather is as cold as zero and like is not green wood for kindling I wouldn't be higher to do it for no sum but o sextant there are one commodity which is more than gold one cause nothing worth more than anything except the soul of man I mean pure are sextant I mean pure are oh it is plenty out of doors so plenty you don't know what on earth to blue with itself but flies about scattering leaves and blowing off men's hearts in short it's just as free as are outdoors but o sextant in our church scares as booty scares as bank bills when against bags for mischants which some say is pretty often take nothing to me what I give ain't nothing to nobody but o sextant you shed five hundred men women and children specially the latter up in a tight place and every one of them breathes in and out and out and in say fifteen times a minute twenty and a half breaths an hour now how long will a church full of are last at that rate I ask you say fifteen minutes and then what's to be did why then they must breath it all over again and then again and so on till each has took it down at least ten times and let it up again and what's more the same individual don't have the privilege of breathing his own are each one must take whatever comes to him o sextant don't you know our lungs is bellises to blow to fire in life and keep it from going out an outcome bellises blow without wind and ain't wind are I put it to your conscience are is the same to us as milk to babies or water is to fish or pen limbs to clocks or roots and herbs and to an engine doctor or little pills and to an own path or boys to girls are is for us to breath what signifies who preaches if I can breath what's pull what's pull us to sinners who are dead dead is for want of breath why sextant when we die it's only because we can't breath no more that's all and now o sextant let me beg of you to let a little are into our church pure are is certain proper for the pews and do it weekdays and sunday too it ain't much trouble only make a hole and the are will come of itself it loves to come in where it can get warm and oh how it will rouse the people up and spare it up the preacher and stop garps and jawns and figs as effect to all as wind on the dry bones the prophet tells of end of poem this recording is in the public domain jim bloodsow of the prairie bell pike county ballads by john hay from the world's best poetry volume nine tragedy and humor part two read for libraevox.org by sonja as the narrator and craig franklin as jim bloodsow jim bloodsow of the prairie bell pike county ballads well no i can't tell where he lives because he don't live you see at least ways he's got out of the habit of living like you and me where have you been for the last three years that you haven't heard folks tell how jim bloodsow passed in his checks the night of the prairie bell he weren't no saint them engineers is all pretty much alike one wife in natures under the hill and another one here in pike a careless man in his talk was jim and an awkward hand in a row but he never flunked and he never lied i reckon he never knowed how and this was all the religion he had to treat his engine well never be passed on the river to mind the pilots bell and if ever the prairie bell took fire a thousand times he swore he'd hold her nozzle again the bank till the last soul got ashore all boats has their day on the missus hip and her day come at last the mover star was a better boat but the bell she wouldn't be passed and so she come tearing along that night the oldest craft on the line with a nigger squat on her safety valve and her furnace crammed rosin and pine the fire bust out as she cleared the bar and burned a hole in the night and quick as a flash she turned and made for that willow bank on the right there was running and cursing but jim yelled out over all the inferna roar i'll hold her nozzle again the bank till the last galutes ashore through the hot black breath of the burning boat jim bloodsows voice was heard and they all had trust in his cousiness a note he would keep his word and sure as you're born they all got off before the smokestacks fell this ghost went up alone in the smoke of the prairie bell he weren't no saint but a judgment i'd run my chance with jim alongside of some pious gentleman that wouldn't shook hands with him he seen his duty a dead sure thing and went for it there and then and christ ain't going to be too hard on a man that died for men end of poem this recording is in the public domain to the pliacine skull a geological address by brethart from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for libervox.org by thomas peter as the narrator phone as the daily paper and craig franklin as the skull to the pliacine skull a geological address a human skull has been found in california a geological address has been found in california in the pliacine formation this skull is the remnant not only of the earliest pioneer of this state but the oldest known human being the skull was found in a shaft 150 feet deep 2 miles from angels in calaveras county by a miner named james mattson who gave it to mr scribner a merchant and he gave it to dr jones who sent it to the state geological survey the published volume of the state survey on the geology of california states that the man existed contemporaneously with the mastodon but this brussel proves that he was here before the mastodon was known to exist daily paper speak o man less recent fragmentary fossil primal pioneer of pliacine formation hidden lowest drifts below the earliest rattan of volcanic tufa older than the beasts the oldest paleoetherium older than the trees the oldest cryptogamia older than the hills those infantile eruptions of earth's epidermis eo myo plio the most vacant sockets filled with awe and wonder where the shores divonian or silurian beaches tell us thy strange story or has the professor slightly antedated by some thousand years I advent on this planet giving thee an air that somewhat better fitted for cold blooded creatures what thou true spectate of that mighty forest when above thy head the stately sigillaria reared its column trunks in that remote and distant carboniferous epoch tell us of that scene the dim and watery woodland songless silent hushed with never burl or insect veiled with spreading fronds and screened with tall club mosses like a pudesia when beside they walked the solemn plesiosaurus and around they crept the festive icfiosaurus or from time to time above they flew encircled cheerful pterodactyls tell us of thy food those half marine reflections crinoids on the shell in brachipod's own naturel cuttlefish to which the pierva of victor hugo seems a periwinkle speak thou awful vestige of the earth's creation solitary fragment of remains organic tell the wondrous secrets of thy past existence speak thou oldest primate even as I gazed a thrill of the maxilla and a lateral movement of the condeloid process with post-pliocene sounds of healthy mastication ground the teeth together and from that imperfect dental exhibition stained with expressed juices of the weed nicotine came these hollow accents blend with softer mermas of expectation which my name is Bowers in my crust was bursted falling down a shaft in Calaveras County but I'd take it kindly if you'd send the pieces home to old Missouri End of poem this recording is in the public domain Little Bridges A Pike County View of Special Providence by John Hay from the world's best poetry tragedy and humour part two read for librafox.org by Phon as the narrator and Jason in Canada as Little Gabe Little Bridges A Pike County View of Special Providence I don't go much on religion I never ain't had no show but I've got a middle and tight grip sir on the handful of things I know I don't pan out on the prophets and free will and that sort of thing but believing God and the angels ever sends one night last spring I come into town with some turnips and my little Gabe come along no four year old in a county could beat him for pretty and strong pert and chipper and sassy always ready to swear and fight and I'd learned him through child tobacco just to keep his milk teeth white the snow come down like a blanket as I passed by Taggart's store I went in for a jug of molasses and left the team at the door they scared at something and started I heard one little squall and held to split over to prairie went team Little Bridges and all held to split over to prairie I was almost froze with scare but reroused up some torches and searched for him far and near at last we struck horses and wagon snowed under a soft white mound a psalm dead bee but of little Gabe no hide nor hair was found and hear all hopes out on me of my fellow critters aid I just flopped down on my marrow bones crotch deep in the snow and prayed by this the torches was played out and me and Israel Parr went off for some wood to a sheepfold that he said was somewhere Dhar we found it at last in a little shed where they shut up the lands at night we looked in and seen them huddled Dhar so warm and sleavy and white and Dhar saw little Bridges and chirped as purred as ever you see I want a jar of tobacco and that's what's the matter of me how did he get Dhar angels he could never have walked in that storm they just scooped down and tutored him to war it was safe and warm and they think that saving a little child and bringing him to his own is a darn sight better business on loafing around a throne and the poem this recording is in the public domain Jim say there perhaps some on you chaps might know Jim Weil well no offense there ain't no sense in getting rile Jim was my chum up on the bar that's why I come down from up there looking for Jim thank you sir you ain't of that crew blessed if you are money not much that ain't my kind I ain't so much rum I don't mind seeing it's you well this your Jim did you know him just about your size same kind of eyes well that is strange why it's two years since he come here sick for a change well here's to us say the deuce you say dead that little cuss what makes you star you over there can't a man drop his glass in your shop but must you rare it wouldn't take darned much to break you in your bar dead poor little Jim why there was me Jones and Bob Lee Harry and Ben no account men then to take him well there goodbye no more sir I a what's that you say why darn it show no yes by Joe so sold why you limb you ornery darn old long legged Jim Bret Hart end of poem this recording is in the public domain Bounty Tim by John Hay from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humor part 2 read for LibreFox.org by phone Bounty Tim remarks of Sergeant Tillman Joy to the white man's committee of Spunky Point Illinois I reckon I get your drift gents below the boy shan't stay this is a white man's country your Democrats you say and whereas and seein' and war the times being all at a gent the nigger has got too mosey from the limits a Spunky Pint let's reason the thing a minute I'm an old fashioned Democrat too though I laid my politics out of the way for to keep till the war was through but I come back here allowing to vote as I used to do though it gravels me like the devil to train along a such fools as you now dog my cats if I can see in all the light of the day what you've got to do with the question if Tim shall go or stay and further than that I give notice if one of you touches the boy he can check his trunks to a warmer climb than he'll find in Illinois why blame your heart just hear me you know that ungodly day when our left struck Vicksburg Heights how ripped and torn and tattered they when the rest retreated I stayed behind for reason sufficient to me with a rib caved in and a leg on a strike I sprawled on that cursed glacey Lord how the hot sun went for us and broiled and blistered and burned how the rebel bullets whizzed round us when a cuss in his death grip turned till along toward dusk I seen a thing I couldn't believe for a spell that nigger that Tim was a crawling to me through that fireproof gild edged hell the rebel seen him as quick as me and the bullets buzzed like bees but he jumped from me and shouldered me though a shot brought him once to his knees but he staggered up and packed me off with a dozen stumbles and falls till safe in our lines he draped us both his black-eyed riddle with bulls so my gentle gazelles dars my answer and here stays Banty Tim he trumped death's ace from me that day and I'm not going back on him you may resolute till the cows come home but if one of you touches the boy he'll wrestle his hash tonight in hell or my name's not Tillman Joy end of poem just recording as in a public domain Down's Flat by Brett Hart From the world's best poetry Volume 9 Tragedy and Humour Part 2 Read for LibriVox.org by Craig Franklin Down's Flat Down's Flat, that's its name and I reckon that you were a stranger the same well I thought it was true for there as in the man on the river can't spot the place at first view it was called after Down which the same was in the s and as to the how that the thing came to pass just tie up your hearts to the buck eye in the city down here in the grass you see this you Down hit the worst kind of luck he slipped up somehow on each thing that he struck why if he'd straddle at fence rail the damn thing it get up and buck he mined on the bar till he couldn't pay rates he was smashed by a car when he tunneled with baits and right on top of his trouble came his wife and five kids from the states it was rough, mighty rough but the boys they stood by and they brought him the stuff for a house on the slide and the old woman, well she did washing and took on when no one was nigh but this year luck of Down's was so powerful mean that the spring near his house was right up on the green and he sank 40 feet down for water but nary had dropped to be seen then the bar petted out and the boys wouldn't stay and the chills got about and his wife fell away but Down and his well kept a pegging in his usual ridiculous way one day it was June and a year ago just this Down came at noon to his work like the rest shovel and pick on his shoulder and a derringer hid in his breast he goes to the well and he stands on the brink and stops for a spell just to listen and think for the sun in his eyes just like this sir you see kind of make the cusp blink his two ragged girls in the gulch were at play and a gown that was sales kind of flapped on a bay not much remained to be leaving but his all as I've heard the folks say and it's a pert host that you've got ain't it now what might be her cost eh oh well then Down let's see well that 40 foot grave wasn't his sir that day anyhow for a blow of his pick sort of caved in the side and he looked and turned sick then he trembled and cried for you see the dern curse had struck water beg your pardon young man there you lied it was gold in the quartz and it ran all alike and I reckon 5 oz was the worth of that strike and that house with cupolos hidden which the same isn't bad for a pike that's why it's dowels flat and the thing of it is that he kind of got that through sheer contrariness for to his water the dern curse was seekin' and his luck made him certain to miss that's so that's your way to the left a yarn tree but a look he has say would you come up to tea no well then the next time you passin' and ask after dowel and that's me end of poem this recording is in the public domain the society upon the Stanislaus by Brett Hart from the world's best poetry volume 9 Tragedy and Humour part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Jason in Canada the society upon the Stanislaus I reside at Table Mountain and my name is Truthful James I am not up to small deceit or any sinful games I dwell in simple language what I know about the row that broke up our society upon the Stanislaus but first I would remark that is not a proper plan for any scientific gent to wail his fellow man and if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim to lay for that same member for to put ahead on him now nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see six months proceedings of that same society till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones that he found within a tunnel near the tenement of Jones then Brown he read a paper and he reconstructed there from those same bones an animal that was extremely rare and Jones then asked the chair for a suspension of the rules till he could prove that those same bones was one of his lost mules then Brown he smiled a bitter smile and he said he was at fault it seemed he had been trespassing on Jones' family vault he was a most sarcastic man this quiet Mr. Brown and on several occasions he had cleaned out the town now I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent to say another is an ass at least to all intent nor should the individual who happens to be meant reply by heaving rocks at him to any great extent then Abner Dean of Angels raised a point of order when a chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen and he smiled a kind of sickly smile and curled upon the floor and the subsequent proceedings interested him no more for in less time than I could write it every member did engage in a warfare with the remnants of a Paleozoic age and the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a sin till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in and this is all I have to say of these improper games for I live at Table Mountain and my name is Truthful James and I've told in simple language what I know about the row that broke up our society upon the Stanislaw Red Heart End of poem this recording is in the public domain from Truthful James popularly known as the heathen chinny which I wish to remark and my language is plain that the ways that are dark and for tricks that are vain the heathen chinny is peculiar which the same I would rise to explain ah sin was his name and I shall not deny in regard to the same what that name might imply but his smile it was pensive and childlike as I frequent remark to Bill Nye it was August the 3rd and quite soft was the skies which it might be inferred that our sin was likewise yet he played it that day upon William and me in a way I despise which we had a small game and our sin took a hand it was Yooka the same he did not understand but he smiled as he sat by the table with a smile that was childlike and bland yet the cards they were stocked that I grieve and my feelings were shocked at the state of Nye's sleeve which was stuffed full of aces and bowers and the same with intent to deceive but the hands that were played by that heathen chinny and the points that he made were quite frightful to see till at last he put down a right bower which the same Nye had dealt onto me then I looked up at Nye and he gazed upon me and he rose with a sigh and said can this be we are ruined by Nye's cheap labour and he went for that heathen chinny in the scene that ensued I did not take a hand but the floor it was strewed like the leaves on the strand but the cards that our sin had been hiding in the game he did not understand in his sleeves which were long he had twenty four jacks which was coming it strong yet I staged but the facts and we found on his nails which were taper what is frequent in tapers that's wax which is why I remark and my language is plain that's for ways that are dark and for tricks that are vain the heathen chinny is peculiar which the same I am free to maintain end of poem this recording is in the public domain A Plantation Diddy by Frank Lubby Stanton from the world's best poetry volume nine Tragedy and Humour part two read for LibriVox.org by Thomas Peter as the narrator and Leon Yao as the Grey Owl A Plantation Diddy The Grey Owl sing from the chimbley top is you and I say good lord it's this poor me and I ain't quite ready for the jaspercy I'm poor and sinful and you lord I'd be oh wait good lord twelve tomorrow the Grey Owl sing from the cypress tree oh it's you and I say good lord if you look you'll see it ain't nobody but this poor me and I like to stay till my time is free oh wait good lord oh wait good lord twelve tomorrow end of poem this recording is in the public domain The First Banjo by Irwin Russell from the world's best poetry volume nine Tragedy and Humour part two read for LibriVox.org by Craig Franklin as the narrator Jason in Canada as Noah and Thomas Peter as him The First Banjo go away fiddle folks is tired of hearing you are squawking keep silent for your bed as don't you hear the banjo talking about the possum's tales she's going to lecture ladies listen about the hares what isn't there and why the hair is missing Dar is going to be a overflow said Noah looking solemn for Noah tucked the herald and he read the ribber column and he said the ribber column and so he sought his hands to work a clear and timber patches and lord he's going to build a boat to beat the steam and thatches oh Noah kept a nailing and a chipping and a sewing and all the wicked neighbors kept a laughing and a bush showing but Noah didn't mind him knowing what was going to happen and forty days and forty nights the rain it kept dropping now Noah had done catch a lot of every sort of pieces of all the shows the traveling he beat them all to pieces he had a mark and called in a simple head of jazzy cattle and drove him aboard the ark as soon as he heard the thunder rattle then said and though the fell of rain it came so awful heavy the ribber raised immediately and busted through the levy the people all was drowned out said Noah and the critters and man he'd hired to work the boat and won to mix the bitters the ark she kept the sailing and the sailing and the sailing the lion got his dander up and liked to brook the pailing the sapons hissed the painters yelled tell what with all the fussing he could hardly hear the mate of Boston round now him the only nigger what was running on the packet got lonesome in the barbershop and couldn't stand the racket and so for to muse himself he steamed some wood and bent it and soon he had a banjo made the first that was invented he wet the letter, stretched it on made bridge and screws in apron and fitted in a proper neck to his berry lung and tapering he ducked some tin and twisted him a thimble further ring it and then the mighty question was how was he going to string it the possum had as fine a tail as this that is a thingin the hair so long and thick and strong disfit for banjo stringin that nigger shaved him off a shortest wash day dinner graces and sewed it up and bought the size at least the bases he strung her, tuned her struck a jig to us never mind the weather she sound like 40 leopons banned a playin all together some went to patin some to dancing no a cold the figures and him he sat and knocked the tune the happiest of niggers now since that time it's mighty strange this knot the slide is shown up any hair at all upon the possum's tail grown and kill his tool that niggers weighs his people never lost him for where you find the nigger there's the banjo and the possum end of poem this recording is in the public domain perils of thinking by anonymous from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humor part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Jason in Canada perils of thinking a centipede was happy quite until a frog in fun said pray which leg comes after which this raised her mind to such a pitch she lay distracted in the ditch considering how to run anonymous end of poem this recording is in the public domain Nebuchadnezzar by Irwin Russell from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humor part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Phong Nebuchadnezzar you Nebuchadnezzar whoa sir where are you trying to go sir I'd have you for to know sir eyes are holding up the lines better stop that prancing use powerful fond of dancing but I'll bet my years advancing that I'll cure you of your shines look here mule better mine out first thing you know you'll find out how quick I'll wear this line out on your ugly stubborn back you needn't try to steal up and life that precious heal up you's got to plow this feel up you have sir thark thar that's the way to do it he's coming right down to it just watch him plowing through it this nigger ain't no fool some folks they would have beat him now that would only heat him I know just how to treat him you must reason with a mule he mines me like a nigger if he was only bigger he'd fought you mighty figure he would I tell you yes sir see how he keeps a clickin he's as gentle as a chicken and never thinks a kickin woda never good nether is this him me or not me or is the devil got me was that a cannon shot me have I laid here more than a week that mule do kick amazing the beast was spiled and raisin but now I suspect he's raisin on the other side creek end of poem this recording is in the public domain a life's love by anonymous from the world's best poetry volume nine tragedy and humour part two read for liprevox.org by Craig Franklin a life's love I loved him in my dawning years far years divinely dim my bly this smile my saddest tears were ever more for him my dreaming when the day began my latest thought I had was still some little loving plan to make my darling glad they deemed he lacked the conquering wiles that other children wear to me his face in frowns or smiles was never ought but fair they said that self was all his goal he knew no thought beyond to me I know no living soul was half so true and fond in loves eclips in friendships dearth in grief and feud and bail my heart has learnt the sacred worth of one that cannot fail and come what must and come what may nor powers nor praise nor pelf shall lure my faith from thee to stray my sweet my own my self end of poem this recording is in the public domain Darwin by Mortimer Collins from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Craig Franklin Darwin there was an ape in the days that were earlier centuries past and his hair grew curlier centuries more gave him a thumb to his wrist then he was a man and a positivist end of poem this recording is in the public domain owed for a social meeting with slight alterations by A.T. Todler by Oliver Wendell Holmes from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Sonja owed for a social meeting with slight alterations by A.T. Todler come fill a fresh bumper for why should we go while the nectar scratch logwood still reddens our cups as they flow pour out the rich juices scratch decoction still bright with the sun till over the brimmed crystal the rubies scratch die stuff shall run the purple globed clusters scratch half ripened apples their life dues have bled how sweet is the breath scratch taste of the fragrance they shared scratch dead for summer's last roses scratch rank poisons lie hidden the wines scratch wines three exclamation marks that were garnered by maidens who laughed through the vines scratch stable boys smoking long nines then a smile scratch and a glass scratch howl and a toast scratch scoff and a cheer scratch sneer for all the good wine and we've got some of it here scratch streak nine and whiskey and redspain and beer in cellar in pantry in attic in hall long live the gay servant that laughs for us all scratch down, down with the tyrant that masters us all end of poem this recording is in the public domain hollow hospitality from satire's book three satire three by dr. joseph hall from the world's best poetry volume nine tragedy and humor part two read for LibriVox.org by sonia as the narrator and phone as the host hollow hospitality from satire's book three satire three the courteous citizen bade me to his feast with hollow words and overly request come, will ye dine with me this holiday I yielded though he hoped I would say nay for I had made and it as many use loath for to grant but loather to refuse elect sir I will loath another day I should but trouble you pardon me if you may no pardon should I need for to depart he gives me leave and thanks too in his heart two words for money darby sherry and wise that's one too many is a naughty guys who looks for double biddings to a feast may dine at home for an importune guest I went, then saw and found the great expense the phasen fashions of our citizens O Cleopatricle what wanteth there for curious cost and wondrous choice of cheer beef that urged hercules held for finest fare pork for the fat beotian or the hair for marshal fish for the venetian goose-liver for the liquorous Roman the Athenian's goat quail Iolus cheer the hen for asculap and the passion deer grapes for RC Silas figs for Pluto's mouth and chestnuts fare for Amaryllis tooth hadst thou such cheer were thou ever there before never I thought so nor come there no more for so meant all that cost never hence take me for thy second host for whom he means to make an often guest one dish shall serve and welcome make the rest end of poem this recording is in the public domain volume 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for LibriVox.org by phone a recipe roasted sucking pig cooks who'd roast a sucking pig purchase one not over big coarse ones are not worth a fig so a young one buy see that he is scalded well that is done by those who sell therefore on that point to dwell were absurdity sage and bread mix just enough salt and pepper quantum stuff and to pigs interior stuff with the whole combined to a fire that's rather high lay it till completely dry then to every part apply cloth with butter lined dredge with flour or and or till the pig will hold no more then do nothing else before tis for serving fit then scrape off the flour with care then a buttered cloth prepare rub it well then cut not tear off the head of it then take out and mix the brains with the gravy it contains while it on the spit means cut the pig in two chop the sage and chop the bread fine as very finest shred or it melted butter spread stinginess won't do when it in the dish appears garnish with the jaws and ears and when the dinner hour nears ready let it be who can offer such a dish may dispense with fowl and fish and if he a guest should wish let him send for me end of poem this recording is in a public domain a recipe for Salad by Sydney Smith from the world's best poetry volume nine tragedy and humour part two read for librafox.org by phone as the narrator and the Yan Yao as the epicure a recipe for Salad to make this condiment your poet begs the pounded yellow of two heart-boiled eggs two boiled potatoes passed through kitchen-sive smoothness and softness to the salad give let onion-atoms lurk within the bowl and half suspected animate the whole of mordant mustard add a single spoon of condiment that bites so soon but deem it not the man of herbs a fault to add double quantity of salt four times the spoon with oil from Lucca crown and twice with vinegar procured from town and lastly word a flavoured compound toss a magic souson of anchovy sauce oh green and glorious oh herbaceous treat to attempt to dying anchorite to eat back to the world he turned his fleeting soul and plunged his fingers in the salad bowl serenely full the epicure would say fate cannot harm me I have dined today end of poem this recording is in the public domain Ode to Tobacco by Charles S. Calverly from the world's best poetry volume 9 Tragedy and humour part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Thomas Peter Ode to Tobacco thou who when fierce attack bids them avant and black care at the horseman's back perching unseetest sweet when the morn is grey sweet when they've cleared away lunch and at close of day possibly sweetest I have a liking old for thee though manifold stories I know are told not to thy credit how one or two at most drops make a cat a ghost useless except to roast doctors have said it how they who use fuses all grow by slow degrees brainless as chimpanzees meager as lizards go mad and beat their wives plunge after shocking lives razors and carving knives into their gizzards confound such navish tricks yet know I five or six smokers who freely mix still with their neighbours Jones who I'm glad to say asked leave of Mrs. J daily absorbs a clay after his labours cats may have had their goose cooked by tobacco juice still why deny its use thoughtfully taken we're not as tabby's are smith take a fresh cigar Jones the tobacco jar here's to thee bacon end of poem this recording is in the public domain a farewell to tobacco by Charles Lamb from the world's best poetry page 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for liberfox.org by phone a farewell to tobacco made a Babylonish curse straight confound my stammering verse if I can a passage see in this word perplexity or a fit expression find or a language to my mind still the phrase is wide scant to take leave of thee great plant or in any terms relate half my love or half my hate for I hate yet love thee so that whichever thing I show the plain truth will seem to be a constrained hyperbole and the passion to proceed more from a mistress than a weed such a retainer to divine Bacchus' black servant negro fine sorcerer that maketh this dot upon thy begrim'd complexion and for thy pernicious sake more and greater oaths to break than reclaimed lovers take against women thou dost see each dost lay much too in the female way while thou suckst labouring breath faster than kisses than death thou in such a cloud dost bind us that our worst foes cannot find us and ill fortune that would thwart us shoots at rovers shooting at us while each man through thy heightening steam does like a smoking edna seam and all about us does express fancy and wit in riches dress fruitfulness thou through such a mist dost show us that our best friends do not know us and for those allowed features due to reasonable creatures likenst us to fell chimeras monsters that who see us fear us worse than Cerberus or Garion or who first loved a cloud excion back us we know and we allow his tipsy rites but what art thou that but by reflex can show what his deity can do as the false Egyptian spell aped the true Hebrew miracle some few vapours thou mayst raise the weak brain may serve to amaze but to the reins and nobler heart can nor life nor heat impart brother of Bacchus later born the old world was sure for Lorne wanting thee that aidest more the gods victories than before all his panthers and the brawls of his piping bacchanals these as stale we disallow or judge of thee meant only thou his true Indian conquest art and for ivory round his dart reformed god now weaves a finer therses of thy leaves sent to match thy rich perfume kemic art did nare presume through her quaint alembic strain none so sovereign to the brain nature that did in thee excel framed again no second smell roses, violets but toys for the smaller boys or for greener damsels meant thou art the only manly scent stinkingest of the stinking kind filth of the mouth and fog of the mind Africa that brags her foison breeds no such prodigious poison henbane nightshade both together hemlock aconite nay rather plant divine of rarest virtue blisters on the tongue would hurt you it was but in a sort I blamed thee none air prospered who defamed thee irony all and feigned abuse such as perplexed lovers use at a need when in despair to paint forth their fairest fair or in part but to express that exceeding comeliness which their fancies doth so strike they borrow language of dislike and instead of dearest miss jewel, honey, sweetheart, bliss and those forms of old admiring call her cockatrice and siren basilisk and all that's evil witch hyena mermaid devil aethiope wench and blackamore monkey ape and 20 more friendly traitorous loving foe not that she is truly so but no other way they know the contentment to express border so upon excess that they do not rightly want whether it be from pain or not or as men constrained to part with what's nearest to their heart while their sorrows at the height lose discrimination quite and their hasty wrought let fall to appease their frantic goal on the darling thing whatever whence they feel it death to sever though it be as they perforce guiltless of the sad divorce for I must not let it grieve thee friendliest of plans that I must leave thee would do anything but die and but seek to extend my days long enough to sing thy praise but as she who once has been a king's concert is a queen ever after nor will bait any titl of her state though a widow or divorced so I from thy converse forced the old name and style retain a right Catherine of Spain and a seed too amongst the blessed tobacco boys where though I by sour physician and the barred to full fruition of thy favours I may catch some collateral sweets and snatch sight long odours that give life like glances from a neighbour's wife and still live in the by places and the suburbs of thy graces and in thy borders take the light of a conquered Canaanite end of poem this recording is in the public domain too great a sacrifice by anonymous from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Jason in Canada as the narrator and Lian Yao as the maid too great a sacrifice the maid as by the papers doth appear whom $50,000 made so dear to test Lothario's passion simply said but he when thus she brought him to the scratch lit his cigar and threw away his match end of poem this recording is in the public domain from love sonnets of a hoodlum by Wallace Irwin from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for LibriVox.org by Thomas Peter from love sonnets of a hoodlum prologue wouldn't it draw you wouldn't it make you sore to see the poet when the goods play out roll off of poor old Pegasus and tout his skate to two-step sonnets off galore then when the plug a dead one can no more shake ragtime than a biscuit write about the poem butcher turns with gleeful shout and sends a batch of sonnets to the store the sonnet is a very easy mark a James P. Dandy as a carry-all for brain-fag recs want to keep it dark just why their crop of things is running small on the low down, dear main my looty loo that's why I've cooked this batch of rhymes for you epilogue to just one girl I've turned my sad bazoo stringing my pipe dream off as it occurred and as I've tipped the straight talk every word if you don't like it you know what to do perhaps you think I've handed out to you an idle jest a touch me not absurd as any sky blue pink canary bird billed for a record season at the zoo if that's your guess you'll have to guess again for thus I fizzled in a burst of glory and this rhythmic side show doth contain the sum and substance of my hard-luck story showing how vanity is still on deck and humble virtue gets in the neck end of poem this recording is in the public domain a saddened tramp by anonymous from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for librafox.org by phon as the narrator and jason in canada as the master a saddened tramp now unto yonder woodpile go where toil till I return feel how proud a thing it is the livelihood to earn a saddened look came o'er the tramp he seemed like one bereft he stowed away the vitals cold he saw the wood and left end of poem this recording is in the public domain the modern house that jack built by anonymous from the world's best poetry volume 9 tragedy and humour part 2 read for librafox.org by phon the modern house that jack built behold the mansion reared by deedle jack see the malt stored in many a plethoric sack in the proud cirque of ivan's bewuak mark how the rats felonious fangs invade the golden stores in john's pavilion laid anon with velvet foot and tarquan strides subtle gremalkan to his quarry glides gremalkan grim that slewed fierce rodent his tooth insidious yohan's suckloth rent lo now to deep mouth canine foes assault that vexed the avenger of the stolen malt stored in the hallow precincts of the hall that rose complete at jack's creative coal here stalks the impetuous cow with the crumpled horn whereon the exacerbating hound was torn who bade the feline slaughter-beast that slew the rat predatious whose keen fangs ran through the textile fibers that involve the grain that lay in Hans's inviolate domain here walks forlorn the damsel crowned with rue lactiferous spoils from vaccine-dugs who drew of that carniculate beast whose tortuous horn tossed to the clouds in fierce vindictive scorn the harrowing hound whose braggart bark and stir arched the lithe spine and reared the indignant fur of pus that with firmacidal claw struck the weird rat in whose insatiate mole lay reeking malt that earthed in Ivan's quartz we saw robed in senescent garb that seemed in sooth too long a prey to Cronus' iron tooth behold the man whose amorous lips incline with young Eros' osculative sign to the lorn maiden whose laculbic hands drew albu-lactic wealth from lactial glands of the immortal bovine by whose horn distort to realm aetherial was born the beast cthulian vexer of that sly Ulysses quadrupedal who made die the old mordacious rat that dared the vower still in John's domestic bower lo here with her suit honours doft succinct of saponaceous lux the priest who linked in hymen's golden bands the torn unthrift whose means exiduous stared from many a rift even as he kissed the virgin all forlorn who milked the cow with the implicated horn canine torturer scythe that dared to vex the insiduous mirazide who let auroral effluence through the pelt of the sly rat that robbed the palace jack had built the loud cantankerous Shanghai comes at last whose shouts arouse the shorn ecclesiast who sealed the vows of hymen's sacrament to him who robed hymen's indigent exosculates the damsel lacrimose the emulgator of that hornet brute morose that tossed the dog that worried the cat that killed the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that jack built end of poem this recording is in the public domain