POETRY.

VOX VENTURA.

WRIT.LL I do wi' my vote, when I've got it? Nay, don't yer ask!

Tapping your beer's no good, till yer've got your beer in the cask ; Votin' agin my Sqnoire sounds all very moity an' grand, . But 1'11 not talk o' my vote till I've got my vote i' my hand.

Harkee, however, my friend ! Ye're makin' a speech, yer say "Got to get up yer case." Well ! can keep a secret ? Aye ! Then look here! Sit down ! A pipe an' a pottle o' ale P Well, doa't mind if I do. Here's to yer ! And now, my tale !

Fust, my house ! As I am, a pig fares better nor I; Feeds as well, do!sn't worlr, and lives in a fuat-rate stye. We've one room fer all. And wi' that, there's none as can Bring up a family decent ; no, not if he's twoice a man.

Then my garden ! See, I'd like it just twoice as big ; Handy when work is slack, and room enough for a pig; "Muck is money," yer know, and then, a pig '11 eat What yer.cannot, or won't, an' he turns it all to meat.

Then, my childern ! Bob, an' Sal, an' ten of 'em more ; Like enough they seem, please Heaven, to reach a score ; Parson says I man pay their schoolin', but I don't see Why I should pay a penny. Why can't yer teach 'em free ?

Then tbere's a cow, an' grass. The young uns look thin an' pale ; Wife, she says it's the want o' milk. Why, it's dearer nor ale. Farmers send theirs to Lunnun. 0' coorse they do ; it pays. So I'll go for a cow an' a acre o' land, to graze.

Politics ? Well, see here ! I were oilers loyal an' true, An' when beer were plenty my colours, were anus " Blue ;" Fought for it, too, like a man, au' I made the old town ring Hollering Church and State, au' all that sort of thing.

Jem, he voted "Yeller," an' talked o' cheapenin' bread.

Radical chap were Jem ; how I used to punch 'is 'ead !

But, when I've got a vote, can't say, but p'raps I'll go

An' vote along wi' Jem. Yer must tbove with the times, yor

know.

Work ? Nay, I don't mind workin', as long as it ain't too bard. Wages ? I don't want nothin' as isn't a fair reward. But my idee and the farmers' they don't agree alway They want yer to work ten hours, and get two shillin' a day.

No, Sir ! That won't do. A slave is a slave, and lives . Just where his master tells him, an' takes what his master gives. But when l've a vote, I'll show 'em,—I'll let my master see If he do nothing for I, then I'll do nothing for he.

Time for more ? Well then, when a man's grown old, an' past Work, then I say it's a shame he should go to "the House" at last ;

Tied up there like a dog, an' never go out unless Master gives yer leave, an' then in a pauper dress !

Sir, l'm an English-man, d'ye hear? an' I'd just as lief Go to H-11 as "the House," so I'll have outdoor relief ; Four an' sixpence a week, an' a loaf a day, an' a ton 0' the best o' Coal at Xmas,—an' more when that is done.

There, now yer've got it all; but don't yer say its fro' me : Squoire, he don't-like folk as speaks their minds too free. Now I mun stand wi' my hat in my hand, as he goes by : P'raps there is some as '11 stand wi' their hat to me, by-an'-bye.