Has ARTHUR loosed him? He thinks he knows best,
But a nasty spill _now_!--nothing well could be sadder
Brutes always rub their broad backs and stiff bristles
Against--anything that comes handy. Oh lor!
How the brute shoulders, and snorts, grunts and whistles!
Off to the gutter, you big Irish boar!

Not he! He nears me! It _is_ ARTHUR's pet.
Light ladder this; would capsize in a jiffy.
His bristles he'd scrape and his tusks he would whet
Against it, I wish he were drowned in the Liffey!
_Whisht_! Get away! He's so heavy and big.
There! round the ladder he's playing the fooler.
Ah! there's the rub. PATRICK scumfish that Pig!
If he doesn't mean deviltry I'm a--Home Ruler!
[_Left fidgetting._

* * * * *

UNASKED.

Unasked, the Tax-Collector wild
Presents to smirking MARY his
Demand--on what the Roman styled
"_Kalendis Januariis_."

Unasked, a Christmas-box to gain,
Sweeps, lamplighters, and postmen come;
Unasked--too often to remain--
The wife's mammas of most men come.