1830.] Carthaginian Comicalities. 283 



Of porter, Tim could carry much, 



Though not as porters stout; 

 But ale he seldom dared to touch, 



It ailed with the gout. 



Yet Tim was called a bragging elf, 



And lied beyond belief; 

 For oft-times he would pique himself 



On drinking Teneriffe. 



As happy as the king was Tim, 



Nor feared his royal frown, 

 And boasted he would not give him, 



Six shillings for his crown. 



But yet Tim was a loyal chap, 



And he, to shun all harms, 

 Would always take his nightly nap, 



Fast locked in the King's Arms. 



And that the king oft thought of him, 



By many folks 'twas said ; 

 For every day this loyal Tim 



Would run in the King's Head. 



Though fat as any prize-show pig, 



Tim's mind on wedlock ran ; 

 But, ah ! the girls thought him too big 



To be a single man. 



And Tim, who never in his life 



Through courtship liked to wade, 

 Wished a maid ready for a wife, 



But no wife ready made. 



Poor Tim was taken ill at last, 



No hopes could physic give : 

 Said he, " Alas ! my die is cast, 



And long I cannot live." 



The doctors came, and looked full wise, 



Which proved Tim's ills no jest; 

 His pipe of port within him lies, 



Turned water in the chest. 



He, therefore, ere the ills he bore 



Too much his health had sapped, 

 Or Death tapped at his chamber-door, 



Must have his body tapped. 



" Ah, no !" quoth Tim, " I'll ne'er agree 



To be the butt and'scoff 

 Of fools, and have a cock in me, 



To draw the liquor off. 



" Besides, when I've a vessel tapped, 



In one short week at most, 

 To fly away the spirit's apt, 



Or else give up the ghost !" 



As nought could Tim's resolve subdue, 



'Gainst tapping in the side, 

 He day by day more weakly grew, 



And in a fortnight died. 



No pompous funeral he had 



No friend to shed a tear ; 

 Six tapsters were his mourners sad, 



Six porters bore his bier ! 



2 O 2 



