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| John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919. |
| Page 593 |
| Thomas Hood. (1799–1845) (continued) |
| 6074 |
| Straight down the crooked lane, And all round the square. |
| A plain Direction. |
| 6075 |
| For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying. |
| Morning Meditations. |
| 6076 |
| A man that’s fond precociously of stirring Must be a spoon. |
| Morning Meditations. |
| 6077 |
| Seem’d washing his hands with invisible soap In imperceptible water. |
| Miss Kilmansegg. Her Christening. |
| 6078 |
| O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head! |
| Her Dream. |
| 6079 |
| He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles. |
| Her Dream. |
| 6080 |
| There’s a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon. 1 |
| Her Honeymoon. |
| 6081 |
| Home-made dishes that drive one from home. |
| Her Honeymoon. |
| 6082 |
| Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold. |
| Her Moral. |
| 6083 |
| Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old To the very verge of the churchyard mould. |
| Her Moral. |
| 6084 |
| How widely its agencies vary,— To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless,— As even its minted coins express, Now stamped with the image of Good Queen Bess, And now of a Bloody Mary. |
| Her Moral. |
| 6085 |
| Another tumble! That’s his precious nose! |
| Parental Ode to my infant Son. |
| 6086 |
| Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves. |
| The Season. |
| Note 1. See Wordsworth, page 474: The swan on still St. Mary’s lake Float double, swan and shadow! [back] |
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