'What's in the paper?' Oh, it's dev'lish dull:
There's nothing happening at all-a lull
After the war-storm. Mr. Someone's wife
Killed by her lover with, I think, a knife.
A fire on Blank Street and some babies-one,
Two, three or four, I don't remember, done
To quite a delicate and lovely brown.
A husband shot by woman of the town
The same old story. Shipwreck somewhere south.
The crew, all saved-or lost. Uncommon drouth
Makes hundreds homeless up the River Mud
Though, come to think, I guess it was a flood.
'T is feared some bank will burst-or else it won't
They always burst, I fancy-or they don't;
Who cares a cent?-the banker pays his coin
And takes his chances: bullet in the groin
But that's another item-suicide
Fool lost his money (serve him right) and died.
Heigh-ho! there's noth-Jerusalem! what's this:
Tom Jones has failed! My God, what an abyss
Of ruin!-owes me seven hundred clear!
Was ever such a damned disastrous year!