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'Tis true in one way they prove rather embarrassing,

For his heels are so light,

That with all of his might, He finds getting his head over water most harassing, But at length, after several minutes' submersion, He succeeds, though in truth nearly dead from exertion ;

And then how he swims,

Oh! my eyes and my limbs ! Through the waves like a porpoise he gallantly skims; Skims, though indeed he's as tired as can be, And longs for the aid of humane Captain Manby.

When his boots he takes off,

For he's fearful of cough,
And don't like to incur any risk of catarrh,
In a place where from medical aid he's so far ;

And this being done,

He lies down in the sun, Not feeling the least disposition for fun;

Where in less than a minute, He's soundly asleep as a thrush or a linnet,

And remains in that state,

'Till awaked by the prate Of some parrots, next morning, at half after eight.





A council, which well as the best of them suits, Mr. President Crusoe, his hat, and his boots.

Soon as Crusoe arises, refreshed by his sleep (Though his bed was not soft, yet his slumbers were deep,

Ne'er on straw pailliass,

Nor on curled hair mattrass,
Did he sleep as he slept all that night on the grass).
As soon as he rises, his


first care, When he thinks where he is, and the way he came thereIs to survey

the spot,
Into which he has got,
And try—he knows well that he can't get away-
What sort of inducement he has there to stay.

He gets to the top of a rising ground,
Whence he looks around,
With an air profound,
No traces of man can be anywhere found.

Plenty of trees,
Around him he sees,
But no signs of a house
That would shelter a mouse ;
No rural police

For preserving the peace,
And finding offenders are on the increase ;
No notice to trespassing coves to withdraw,
Under pain of the "uttermost rigour of law.”
And he says to himself, “ What a blest destination


the vexation
Of civilisation.
If I find but a wife-

But if not—why, odds life!
There will soon be an end to the isle's population."
Which he sure would have thought the most pleasing of facts,
Had he only read Malthus' and Martineau's tracts.

He feels much perplexed,

As to what he 'll do next,
Till he hits on a method that none can pronounce ill,
That 'is to say, he assembled his council-

Many councils, indeed, are composed the same way

A president who

Adopts his own view,
And councillors who have got nothing to say.
Besides, perhaps Crusoe had got in his head,
What Charles the Twelfth to the deputies said,

When they sadly complained,
That he so long remained
Away from his kingdom—as if he disdained

The state and the people whose monarch he reigned,
And he offered to send them his boot in his stead !
For a boot, if it answers the place of a king,
As a councillor must be an excellent thing.
The President, having pronounced his opinions,

And freely discussed them, he makes up his mind

That, as 't was his fortune the island to find, He should henceforth comprise it within his dominions ;


That the kingdom, of which he has thus occupation,
Is a desert—because it has no population.
And being a desert, his next resolution,
Is that it just now can want no constitution;
But that, letting the isle's constitution alone,
'Tis perfectly proper to look to his own.
And then to prevent any chance of disputes,
He quietly puts on his hat and his boots,
And walks off, most anxiously hoping to meet,
Some sort of a thing he can manage to eat;
The poor fellow not having broken his fast, ,
Since first on the shore of the isle he was cast.

But no, 'Tis no go,

It would make a man look very meagre and squalid,
If he, for a week, got no diet more solid;
And I must say, to do common justice to Crusoe,
'Tis not what he'd choose, were he not forced to do so ;
Yet, even a smoke, though it has n't much gristle,
As a dinner is better by chalks than a whistle;
Which Crusoe remembering, never repines,
But out of his pipe like a gentleman dines.
Having finished his dinner and duly said grace,

He just gives a yawn,

And strolls out on his lawn,
Long sitting not being the way of the place;
And he too had adopted the tee-total notion
Since the day of his lucky escape from the ocean;
And although he reigned then an absolute prince,
Had tasted of nothing but cold water since.

He walks to and fro,
Not an eatable thing does he meet high or low;

He tries all the shore,

What a terrible bore (Not a boar; had he met one 't would be much mistaken, If it thought that from Crusoe 't would then save its bacon): But a desperate bore, not to find any shell-fish.

He thinks of a bird,

But the notion's absurd,
For the birds of the place are uncommonly selfish ;
And clearly not caring for Crusoe's condition,
Are occupied solely with their own nutrition !

He would like to stop

At some pastry-cook's shop;
He'd like a grilled kidney, or even a chop;
He'd like—at the thought how his own chops he licks—
A rump-steak as they cook it at Dolly's or Dick's.
He'd like many good things, but just now on the rocks,
He begins to think them "sour grapes,” like the fox ;
And at last, though he'd relish much better a snipe,
He finds he must dine on a smoke of his pipe.

Now it is no joke
To dine on smoke,
Though some callous folk
It to laughter provoke ;

Crusoe does n't well see how to finish his "day;"

He can't go to the play,

To his grief and dismay, For his disposition at all times is gay.

He has no evening papers

To drive off the vapours, He can't see the Standard, the Courier, or Globe,

And that evening's Sun

Has its course nearly run. His position would ruffle the patience of Job. In vain does he ponder—in vain scratched his head, He has nothing to do but to go-to his bed.

Go to his bed—this is all very fine,-
But where is the bed upon which to recline ?-

'Tis true on the grass

He last night did pass, For which he now thinks he must have been an ass; When he only reflects that some horrible beast Might have made on his pitiful carcase a feast,–

And though no such dread

Had entered his head,
He was so very drowsy when going to bed ;

Yet now he 'll take care

That no jackall or bear,
Or other wild beast his poor body shall tear,—
And so he climbs in

a very
And fixes himself to his comfort and glee,
Hung up from the end of a branch by the breech,
Quite out of all mischievous quadrupeds' reach, -


tall tree,

A position not perfectly easy 't is true,
But yet at the same time consoling and new.




Next morning, at six, Mr. Crusoe awakes,
Descends from his tree in a couple of shakes ;
And, as soon as terra firma he reaches,
Finds a detainer 's been lodged on his breeches :

Then looks on the sea,

And much to his glee, Sees the wreck of the vessel in which he set sail, Just driven ashore by the force of the gale. And soon as he's down he goes off to the wreck,

Where, stretched on the deck,

His enjoyment to check, His captain he finds-whom he takes by the neck,



And mournfully raising him up from the plank,
Inters with the honours due to his rank.
His captain interred, his time he now spends,
In collecting the relics of all his late friends;

He picks all the locks,
Opens every box,

And when he has made up a pretty good store,

He sets off for shore,
In a large sea-chest, filled well with clothing and prog,
Drawn by the late captain's favorite dog :
The sole brute except Crusoe that had not been drowned,
And which he on board of the vessel had found,

Robinson having made daily a trip,
Or more, in this way to the wreck of the ship,
In a very short time supplies himself well,
With more conveniences than we can tell ;

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And piling his trunks in a snug situation,
Makes for himself a pro tem. habitation ;
Which being his first architectural feat,
It gives him much pleasure to view when complete;

But it is not the thing

For an absolute king,
So he quickly resolves upon building a better;
And having his tastes tied by no kind of fetter,

With plenty of land

Besides, ready at hand, And labour for nothing, both at his command ; And what is moreover quite pleasant and funny, Having neither to pay window-tax nor heath money ; With a foresight becoming the very shrewd head of his, He builds up a mighty magnificent edifice ; Eight bed-rooms, a drawing-room, parlour, and kitchen,

With stables and coach-houses, all very fine,

And a cellar for coals, and a vault for his wine, And a dog-house for keeping his Newfoundland bitch in; And not being bless 'd with a family yet, Resolves, save one parlour and bed-room, to let

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