Volume 150 — THE JOY TAX.

Now Spring comes laughing down the sky To see her buds all busy hatching; With tender green the woods are gay, And birds, as is their April way, Chirp merrily on the bough, and I Chirp, too, because it's catching. Full many a joy I must eschew And to the tempter's voice "No! No!" say; With taxes laid on all delights Must miss, with other mirthful sights, On Monday next my annual view Of England's Art Exposé. I must forgo (and bear the worst With what I can of noble calm) a Pure bliss from which I only part With horrid pain about the heart— I mean the humour unrehearsed Of serious British drama. But, thank the Lord, I need not miss The birds that in their leafy nook coo; Young Spring is mine to taste at large, The Ministry has made no charge For earth that warms to April's kiss; They haven't taxed the cuckoo!