TO A WELSH LADY.
Reading edition
(Written at Clovelly.)
The reason why I leave unsung Your praises in the Cymric tongue You know, sweet Nelly; You recollect your poet's crime— How, when he tried to sing "the time," He made "the place" and "loved one" rhyme, You and Dolgelly! But now, although a shocking dunce, I've learnt, in part, the Welsh pronunc- iation deathly. I dream of you in this sweet spot, And for your sake I call it what Its own inhabitants do not— That is "Clovethly"!
At Whitby.—Visitor (to Ancient Mariner, who has been relating his experiences to crowd of admirers). Then do you mean to tell us that you actually reached the North Pole?
Ancient Mariner. No, sir; that would be a perwersion of the truth. But I seed it a-stickin' up among the ice just as plain as you can this spar, which I plants in the sand. It makes me thirsty to think of that marvellous sight, we being as it were parched wi' cold.
[A. M.'s distress promptly relieved by audience.