Verse And Worse

AMONG a company of cheerful Irishmen, in the neighborhood of St. Giles,

it was proposed by the host to make a gift of a couple of fowls to him

that, off-hand, should write six lines in poetry of his own composing.

Several of the merry crew attempted unsuccessfully to gain the prize. At

length the wittiest among them thus ended the contest:--

Good friends, as I'm to make a po'm,

Excuse me, if I just step home;

Two lines already!--be not cru'l,

Consider, honeys,--I'm a fool.

There's four lines!--now I'll gain the fowls,

With which I soon shall fill my bow'ls.