But has not Hamlet his opinion given—­
  O Hamlet had a heart for Drapers’ servants! 
“That custom is”—­say custom after seven—­
  “More honor’d in the breach than the observance.”

O come then, gentle ladies, come in time,
  O’erwhelm our counters, and unload our shelves;
Torment us all until the seventh chime,
  But let us have the remnant to ourselves!

We wish of knowledge to lay in a stock,
  And not remain in ignorance incurable;—­
To study Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, Locke,
  And other fabrics that have proved so durable.

We long for thoughts of intellectual kind,
  And not to go bewilder’d to our beds;
With stuff and fustian taking up the mind,
  And pins and needles running in our heads!

For oh! the brain gets very dull and dry,
  Selling from morn till night for cash or credit;
Or with a vacant face and vacant eye,
  Watching cheap prints that Knight did never edit.

Till sick with toil, and lassitude extreme,
  We often think, when we are dull and vapoury,
The bliss of Paradise was so supreme,
  Because that Adam did not deal in drapery.

THE BACHELOR’S DREAM.

My pipe is lit, my grog is mix’d,
My curtains drawn and all is snug;
Old Puss is in her elbow-chair,
And Tray is sitting on the rug. 
Last night I had a curious dream,
Miss Susan Bates was Mistress Mogg—­
What d’ye think of that, my Cat? 
What d’ye think of that, my Dog?

She look’d so fair, she sang so well,
I could but woo and she was won,
Myself in blue, the bride in white,
The ring was placed, the deed was done! 
Away we went in chaise-and-four,
As fast as grinning boys could flog—­
What d’ye think of that, my Cat? 
What d’ye think of that, my Dog?

What loving tete-a-tetes to come! 
But tete-a-tetes must still defer! 
When Susan came to live with me,
Her mother came to live with her! 
With sister Belle she couldn’t part,
But all my ties had leave to jog—­
What d’ye think of that, my Cat? 
What d’ye think of that, my Dog?

The mother brought a pretty Poll—­
A monkey too, what work he made! 
The sister introduced a Beau—­
My Susan brought a favorite maid. 
She had a tabby of her own,
A snappish mongrel christen’d Gog—­
What d’ye think of that, my Cat? 
What d’ye think of that, my Dog?

The Monkey bit—­the Parrot scream’d
All day the sister strumm’d and sung;
The petted maid was such a scold! 
My Susan learn’d to use her tongue: 
Her mother had such wretched health,
She sate and croak’d like any frog—­
What d’ye think of that, my Cat? 
What d’ye think of that, my Dog?

No longer Deary, Ducky, and Love,
I soon came down to simple “M!”
The very servants cross’d my wish,
My Susan let me down to them. 
The poker hardly seem’d my own,
I might as well have been a log—­
What d’ye think of that, my Cat? 
What d’ye think of that, my Dog?