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That ancient plate of willow-pattern blue, Which so absorbed had my every thought, I seemed to live thereon, and slowly grew

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If you're waking, call me early, mother, fine, or wet, or bleak;

To-morrow is the happiest day of all the Ascot week;
It is the Chiswick fête, mother, of flowers and people gay,
And I'll be queen, if I may, mother, I'll be queen, if I may.
There's many a bright barege, they say, but none so bright
as mine,

And whiter gloves, that have been cleaned, and smell of turpentine ;

But none so nice as mine, I know, and so they all will say ; And I'll be queen, if I may, mother, I'll be queen, if I

may.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, If you do not shout at my bedside, and give me a good shake;

For I have got those gloves to trim with blonde and ribbons gay,

And I'm to be queen, if I may, mother; I'm to be queen, if I may.

As I came home to-day, mother, whom think you I should meet,

But Harry-looking at a cab, upset in Oxford Street;

He thought of when we met, to learn the Polka of Miss Rae

They say he wears moustachios, that my chosen he may be ;
They say he's left off raking, mother-what is that to me?
I shall meet all the Fusiliers upon the Chiswick day;
And I will be queen, if I may, mother; I will be queen if I
may.

The night cabs come and go, mother, with panes of mended glass,

And all the things about us seem to clatter as they pass;
The roads are dry and dusty; it will be a fine, fine day,
And I'm to be queen, if I may, mother; I'm to be queen, if
I may.

The weather-glass hung in the hall has turned to "fair" from "showers."

The sea-weed crackles and feels dry, that's hanging 'midst the flowers,

Vauxhall, too, is not open, so 'twill be a fine, fine day;
And I will be queen, if I may, mother; I will be queen, if I

may.

So call me, if you're waking; call me, mother, from my

rest

The "Middle Horticultural" is sure to be the best.
Of all the three this one will be the brightest, happiest day :
And I will be queen, if I may, mother; I will be queen, if
I may.

II. THE DAY AFTER.

[Slow, and with sad expression.]

If you're waking, call me early; call me early, mother dear;
The soaking rain of yesterday has spoilt my dress I fear;
I've caught a shocking cold, mamma, so make a cup for me,
Of what sly folks call, blackthorn, and facetious grocers, tea.
I started forth in floss and flowers to have a pleasant day,
When all at once down came the wet, and hurried all away;
And now there's not a flower but is washed out by the rain:
I wonder if the colours, mother, will come round again.

I have been wild and wayward, but I am not wayward now,
I think of my allowance, and I'm sure I don't know how
I shall make both ends meet. Papa will be so very wild ;
He says, already mother, I'm his most expensive child.
Just say to Harry a kind word, and tell him not to fret ;
Perhaps I was cross, but then he knows it was so very wet;
Had it been fine-I cannot tell he might have had my

arm;

But the bad weather ruined all, and spoilt my toilet's charm.

I'll wear the dress again, mother; I do not care a pin,-
Or, perhaps, 'twill do for Effie, but it must be taken in ;
But do not let her see it yet-she's not so very green,
And will not take it until washed and ironed it has been.

So, if you're waking, call me, when the day begins to dawn;

I dread to look at my barege-it must be so forlorn ;
We'll put it in the rough-dried box: it may come out next

year;

So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear

Light Green, a magazine published at Cam. bridge, in 1872, contained another parody of the same original, it is called "The May Dream,"

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That ancient plate of willow-pattern blue, Which so absorbed had my every thought, I seemed to live thereon, and slowly grew

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