One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly Young, and so fair!
Thomas HoodWhen Eve upon the first of Men The apple press’d with specious cant, Oh! what a thousand pities then That Adam was not adamant!
Thomas HoodO bed! O bed! delicious bed!That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
Thomas HoodOf horn and morn, and hark and bark,And echo's answering sounds,All poets' wit hath ever writIn dog-rel verse of hounds.
Thomas HoodStraight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square.
Thomas HoodNever go to France Unless you know the lingo, If you do, like me, You will repent, by jingo.
Thomas HoodFor my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
Thomas HoodWork! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof! And work work work, Till the stars shine through the roof!
Thomas HoodWhen he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
Thomas HoodOh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!
Thomas HoodThere's a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
Thomas HoodPity it is to slay the meanest thing.
Thomas HoodNo solemn sanctimonious face I pull, Nor think I'm pious when I'm only bilious; Nor study in my sanctum supercilious, To frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a Bull.
Thomas HoodEach cloud-capt mountain is a holy altar; An organ breathes in every grove; And the full heart's a Psalter, Rich in deep hymn of gratitude and love.
Thomas HoodOver the brink of it Picture it think of it, Dissolute man. Lave in it drink of it Then, if you can.
Thomas HoodOh, God! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap!
Thomas HoodWell, something must be done for May, The time is drawing nigh To figure in the Catalogue, And woo the public eye. Something I must invent and paint; But oh my wit is not Like one of those kind substantives That answer Who and What?
Thomas HoodThe moon, the moon, so silver and cold, her fickle temper has oft been told. Now shady now bright and sunny. But of all the lunar things that change, the one that shows most fickle and strange, and takes the most eccentric range, is the moon so called of honey!
Thomas HoodThere's a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
Thomas HoodIt was not in the winter Our loving lot was cast: It was the time of roses We pluck'd them as we pass'd.
Thomas HoodPoor Peggy hawks nosegays from street to street Till think of that who find life so sweet! She hates the smell of roses.
Thomas HoodThe tulip is a courtly quean, Whom, therefore, I will shun.
Thomas HoodNow, really, this appears the common case Of putting too much Sabbath into Sunday But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?
Thomas Hood'Tis strange how like a very dunce, Man, with his bumps upon his sconce, Has lived so long, and yet no knowledge he Has had, till lately, of Phrenology A science that by simple dint of Head-combing he should find a hint of, When scratching o'er those little pole-hills The faculties throw up like mole hills.
Thomas HoodThe pea is but a wanton witch In too much haste to wed, And clasps her rings on every hand.
Thomas HoodUp wi' the flowers o' Scotland, The emblems o' the free, Their guardians for a thousand years, Their guardians still we'll be. A foe had better brave the de'il Within his reeky cell, Than our thistle's purple bonnet, Or bonny heather bell.
Thomas Hood