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MELANCHOLETTA.
89
I need not tell of soup and fish
In solemn silence swallowed,
The sobs, that ushered in each dish
And its departure followed,
Nor yet my suicidal wish
To be the cheese I hollowed.
Some desperate attempts were made
To start a conversation;
"Madam," the lively Jones essayed,
"Which kind of recreation,
Hunting or fishing, have you made
Your special occupation?"
Her lips curved downwards instantly,
As if of india-rubber,
"Hounds in full cry I like," said she,
(Oh how I longed to snub her!)
"Of fish, a whale 's the one for me,
It is so full of blubber!"
