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HEADING A MOB, COCKNEY SONNETS.

73

I listen'd! and the sound became more clear,
Too clear for doubt-it was a dying groan !
I started from my bed! and softly crept

Adown the creaking stairs. At length I found

The room whence did proceed the piteous sound. By Heaven ! 'twas where my aged mother slept !!! Oh God! oh God! oh God!-I burst the door in! And there I found her-fast asleep and snoring.

No. IV.

WRITTEN BY A GENTLEMAN ON BEING REQUESTED TO

WRITE A SONNET IN A LADY'S ALBUM.

Write in your album !-Well! What shall I do?
A sonnet! fourteen lines !--And here are two!
Two from fourteen! Oh Heaven! a dozen more!
What shall I say to fill them ?-Come, that's four.
Aid me, Oh Muse! Ah! there the poet sticks.
Aid me, Oh Muse, I say!—Well! this makes six.
Six done! Almost the half, at any rate!
Courage, my pen! courage!—see! here are eight.
Only six more !-'twill soon be finish'd then!
Thank Heaven! and this line will make up ten.

74

COCKNEY SONNETS.

But four to do! Hear it, Oh Muse! but four!

Two other couplets—and the task is o'er

The Muse be prais'd! Another! and I've done it! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! I've written a sonnet.

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