Volume 158 — THE PALACE AND THE COTTAGE.
Reading edition
(After Ann and Jane Taylor.)
High on a mountain’s haughty steep Lord Hubert’s palace stood; Before it rolled a river deep, Behind it waved a wood. Low in an unfrequented vale A peasant had his cell; Sweet flowers perfumed the cooling gale And graced his garden well. But proud Lord Hubert’s house and lands, Of which he’d fain be rid, Long linger on the agents’ hands— He cannot get a bid. On sauces rich and viands fine Lord Hubert’s father fed; Lord Hubert, when he wants to dine, Eats margarine and bread. How diff’rent honest William’s lot! He’s cheerful and content; He always lets his humble cot At thrice its yearly rent. His dapple-cow and garden-grounds Produce him ample spoil; His lodgers pay him pounds and pounds, He has no need to toil. Lord Hubert sits in thrall and gloom And super-taxes grim Pursue him to his marble tomb, And no one grieves for him. But, when within his narrow bed Old William comes to lie, They’ll find (I mean when William’s dead) A tidy bit put by.
Navvy on girders (soliloquising). “’Eaven ’elp them poor perishers underneaf if this ’ere chain breaks!”