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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/931-0.txt b/931-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..caea7a1 --- /dev/null +++ b/931-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4728 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Bab Ballads, by W. S. Gilbert + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Bab Ballads + + +Author: W. S. Gilbert + + + +Release Date: August 11, 2019 [eBook #931] +[This file was first posted on June 2, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BAB BALLADS*** + + +Transcribed from the 1920 Macmillan and Co. edition of “The Bab Ballads” +(also from “Fifty Bab Ballads” 1884 George Routledge and Sons edition) by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + + + + + THE BAB BALLADS + + + BY + W. S. GILBERT + + [Picture: Baby at piano] + + * * * * * + + MACMILLAN AND CO. LIMITED + ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON + 1920 + + * * * * * + + COPYRIGHT + + _Transferred to Macmillan and Co. Ltd._ 1904 + _Sixth Edition_ 1904 + _Reprinted_ 1906, 1910, 1912, 1914, 1917, 1919, 1920 + + * * * * * + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +CAPTAIN REECE 1 +THE RIVAL CURATES 8 +ONLY A DANCING GIRL 14 +GENERAL JOHN 18 +TO A LITTLE MAID 24 +JOHN AND FREDDY 28 +SIR GUY THE CRUSADER 34 +HAUNTED 39 +THE BISHOP AND THE ’BUSMAN 44 +THE TROUBADOUR 51 +FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA; OR, THE GENTLE PIEMAN 58 +LORENZO DE LARDY 64 +DISILLUSIONED 71 +BABETTE’S LOVE 76 +TO MY BRIDE 82 +THE FOLLY OF BROWN 84 +SIR MACKLIN 94 +THE YARN OF THE “NANCY BELL” 101 +THE BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO 108 +THE PRECOCIOUS BABY 114 +TO PHŒBE 122 +BAINES CAREW, GENTLEMAN 125 +THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE 131 +THE REVEREND MICAH SOWLS 467 +A DISCONTENTED SUGAR BROKER 138 +THE PANTOMIME “SUPER” TO HIS MASK 144 +THE FORCE OF ARGUMENT 475 +THE GHOST, THE GALLANT, THE GAEL, AND THE GOBLIN 148 +THE PHANTOM CURATE 484 +THE SENSATION CAPTAIN 492 +TEMPORA MUTANTUR 501 +AT A PANTOMIME 508 +KING BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO 155 +THE PERIWINKLE GIRL 164 +THOMSON GREEN AND HARRIET HALE 171 +BOB POLTER 176 +THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB 518 +ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN 185 +PETER THE WAG 193 +BEN ALLAH ACHMET; OR, THE FATAL TUM 549 +THE THREE KINGS OF CHICKERABOO 200 +JOE GOLIGHTLY; OR, THE FIRST LORD’S DAUGHTER 528 +TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE 539 +GENTLE ALICE BROWN 205 + + + +CAPTAIN REECE + + + OF all the ships upon the blue, + No ship contained a better crew + Than that of worthy CAPTAIN REECE, + Commanding of _The Mantelpiece_. + + He was adored by all his men, + For worthy CAPTAIN REECE, R.N., + Did all that lay within him to + Promote the comfort of his crew. + + If ever they were dull or sad, + Their captain danced to them like mad, + Or told, to make the time pass by, + Droll legends of his infancy. + + A feather bed had every man, + Warm slippers and hot-water can, + Brown windsor from the captain’s store, + A valet, too, to every four. + + Did they with thirst in summer burn, + Lo, seltzogenes at every turn, + And on all very sultry days + Cream ices handed round on trays. + + Then currant wine and ginger pops + Stood handily on all the “tops;” + And also, with amusement rife, + A “Zoetrope, or Wheel of Life.” + + New volumes came across the sea + From MISTER MUDIE’S libraree; + _The Times_ and _Saturday Review_ + Beguiled the leisure of the crew. + + Kind-hearted CAPTAIN REECE, R.N., + Was quite devoted to his men; + In point of fact, good CAPTAIN REECE + Beatified _The Mantelpiece_. + + One summer eve, at half-past ten, + He said (addressing all his men): + “Come, tell me, please, what I can do + To please and gratify my crew. + + “By any reasonable plan + I’ll make you happy if I can; + My own convenience count as _nil_: + It is my duty, and I will.” + + Then up and answered WILLIAM LEE + (The kindly captain’s coxswain he, + A nervous, shy, low-spoken man), + He cleared his throat and thus began: + + “You have a daughter, CAPTAIN REECE, + Ten female cousins and a niece, + A Ma, if what I’m told is true, + Six sisters, and an aunt or two. + + “Now, somehow, sir, it seems to me, + More friendly-like we all should be, + If you united of ’em to + Unmarried members of the crew. + + “If you’d ameliorate our life, + Let each select from them a wife; + And as for nervous me, old pal, + Give me your own enchanting gal!” + + Good CAPTAIN REECE, that worthy man, + Debated on his coxswain’s plan: + “I quite agree,” he said, “O BILL; + It is my duty, and I will. + + “My daughter, that enchanting gurl, + Has just been promised to an Earl, + And all my other familee + To peers of various degree. + + “But what are dukes and viscounts to + The happiness of all my crew? + The word I gave you I’ll fulfil; + It is my duty, and I will. + + “As you desire it shall befall, + I’ll settle thousands on you all, + And I shall be, despite my hoard, + The only bachelor on board.” + + The boatswain of _The Mantelpiece_, + He blushed and spoke to CAPTAIN REECE: + “I beg your honour’s leave,” he said; + “If you would wish to go and wed, + + “I have a widowed mother who + Would be the very thing for you— + She long has loved you from afar: + She washes for you, CAPTAIN R.” + + The Captain saw the dame that day— + Addressed her in his playful way— + “And did it want a wedding ring? + It was a tempting ickle sing! + + “Well, well, the chaplain I will seek, + We’ll all be married this day week + At yonder church upon the hill; + It is my duty, and I will!” + + The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece, + And widowed Ma of CAPTAIN REECE, + Attended there as they were bid; + It was their duty, and they did. + + + + +THE RIVAL CURATES + + + LIST while the poet trolls + Of MR. CLAYTON HOOPER, + Who had a cure of souls + At Spiffton-extra-Sooper. + + He lived on curds and whey, + And daily sang their praises, + And then he’d go and play + With buttercups and daisies. + + Wild croquêt HOOPER banned, + And all the sports of Mammon, + He warred with cribbage, and + He exorcised backgammon. + + His helmet was a glance + That spoke of holy gladness; + A saintly smile his lance; + His shield a tear of sadness. + + His Vicar smiled to see + This armour on him buckled: + With pardonable glee + He blessed himself and chuckled. + + “In mildness to abound + My curate’s sole design is; + In all the country round + There’s none so mild as mine is!” + + And HOOPER, disinclined + His trumpet to be blowing, + Yet didn’t think you’d find + A milder curate going. + + A friend arrived one day + At Spiffton-extra-Sooper, + And in this shameful way + He spoke to MR. HOOPER: + + “You think your famous name + For mildness can’t be shaken, + That none can blot your fame— + But, HOOPER, you’re mistaken! + + “Your mind is not as blank + As that of HOPLEY PORTER, + Who holds a curate’s rank + At Assesmilk-cum-Worter. + + “_He_ plays the airy flute, + And looks depressed and blighted, + Doves round about him ‘toot,’ + And lambkins dance delighted. + + “_He_ labours more than you + At worsted work, and frames it; + In old maids’ albums, too, + Sticks seaweed—yes, and names it!” + + The tempter said his say, + Which pierced him like a needle— + He summoned straight away + His sexton and his beadle. + + (These men were men who could + Hold liberal opinions: + On Sundays they were good— + On week-days they were minions.) + + “To HOPLEY PORTER go, + Your fare I will afford you— + Deal him a deadly blow, + And blessings shall reward you. + + “But stay—I do not like + Undue assassination, + And so before you strike, + Make this communication: + + “I’ll give him this one chance— + If he’ll more gaily bear him, + Play croquêt, smoke, and dance, + I willingly will spare him.” + + They went, those minions true, + To Assesmilk-cum-Worter, + And told their errand to + The REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER. + + “What?” said that reverend gent, + “Dance through my hours of leisure? + Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?— + Play croquêt? Oh, with pleasure! + + “Wear all my hair in curl? + Stand at my door and wink—so— + At every passing girl? + My brothers, I should think so! + + “For years I’ve longed for some + Excuse for this revulsion: + Now that excuse has come— + I do it on compulsion!!!” + + He smoked and winked away— + This REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER— + The deuce there was to pay + At Assesmilk-cum-Worter. + + And HOOPER holds his ground, + In mildness daily growing— + They think him, all around, + The mildest curate going. + + + + +ONLY A DANCING GIRL + + + ONLY a dancing girl, + With an unromantic style, + With borrowed colour and curl, + With fixed mechanical smile, + With many a hackneyed wile, + With ungrammatical lips, + And corns that mar her trips. + + Hung from the “flies” in air, + She acts a palpable lie, + She’s as little a fairy there + As unpoetical I! + I hear you asking, Why— + Why in the world I sing + This tawdry, tinselled thing? + + No airy fairy she, + As she hangs in arsenic green + From a highly impossible tree + In a highly impossible scene + (Herself not over-clean). + For fays don’t suffer, I’m told, + From bunions, coughs, or cold. + + And stately dames that bring + Their daughters there to see, + Pronounce the “dancing thing” + No better than she should be, + With her skirt at her shameful knee, + And her painted, tainted phiz: + Ah, matron, which of us is? + + (And, in sooth, it oft occurs + That while these matrons sigh, + Their dresses are lower than hers, + And sometimes half as high; + And their hair is hair they buy, + And they use their glasses, too, + In a way she’d blush to do.) + + But change her gold and green + For a coarse merino gown, + And see her upon the scene + Of her home, when coaxing down + Her drunken father’s frown, + In his squalid cheerless den: + She’s a fairy truly, then! + + + + +GENERAL JOHN + + + THE bravest names for fire and flames + And all that mortal durst, + Were GENERAL JOHN and PRIVATE JAMES, + Of the Sixty-seventy-first. + + GENERAL JOHN was a soldier tried, + A chief of warlike dons; + A haughty stride and a withering pride + Were MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN’S. + + A sneer would play on his martial phiz, + Superior birth to show; + “Pish!” was a favourite word of his, + And he often said “Ho! ho!” + + FULL-PRIVATE JAMES described might be, + As a man of a mournful mind; + No characteristic trait had he + Of any distinctive kind. + + From the ranks, one day, cried PRIVATE JAMES, + “Oh! MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN, + I’ve doubts of our respective names, + My mournful mind upon. + + “A glimmering thought occurs to me + (Its source I can’t unearth), + But I’ve a kind of a notion we + Were cruelly changed at birth. + + “I’ve a strange idea that each other’s names + We’ve each of us here got on. + Such things have been,” said PRIVATE JAMES. + “They have!” sneered GENERAL JOHN. + + “My GENERAL JOHN, I swear upon + My oath I think ’tis so—” + “Pish!” proudly sneered his GENERAL JOHN, + And he also said “Ho! ho!” + + “My GENERAL JOHN! my GENERAL JOHN! + My GENERAL JOHN!” quoth he, + “This aristocratical sneer upon + Your face I blush to see! + + “No truly great or generous cove + Deserving of them names, + Would sneer at a fixed idea that’s drove + In the mind of a PRIVATE JAMES!” + + Said GENERAL JOHN, “Upon your claims + No need your breath to waste; + If this is a joke, FULL-PRIVATE JAMES, + It’s a joke of doubtful taste. + + “But, being a man of doubtless worth, + If you feel certain quite + That we were probably changed at birth, + I’ll venture to say you’re right.” + + So GENERAL JOHN as PRIVATE JAMES + Fell in, parade upon; + And PRIVATE JAMES, by change of names, + Was MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN. + + + + +TO A LITTLE MAID +BY A POLICEMAN + + + COME with me, little maid, + Nay, shrink not, thus afraid— + I’ll harm thee not! + Fly not, my love, from me— + I have a home for thee— + A fairy grot, + Where mortal eye + Can rarely pry, + There shall thy dwelling be! + + List to me, while I tell + The pleasures of that cell, + Oh, little maid! + What though its couch be rude, + Homely the only food + Within its shade? + No thought of care + Can enter there, + No vulgar swain intrude! + + Come with me, little maid, + Come to the rocky shade + I love to sing; + Live with us, maiden rare— + Come, for we “want” thee there, + Thou elfin thing, + To work thy spell, + In some cool cell + In stately Pentonville! + + + + +JOHN AND FREDDY + + + JOHN courted lovely MARY ANN, + So likewise did his brother, FREDDY. + FRED was a very soft young man, + While JOHN, though quick, was most unsteady. + + FRED was a graceful kind of youth, + But JOHN was very much the strongest. + “Oh, dance away,” said she, “in truth, + I’ll marry him who dances longest.” + + JOHN tries the maiden’s taste to strike + With gay, grotesque, outrageous dresses, + And dances comically, like + CLODOCHE AND CO., at the Princess’s. + + But FREDDY tries another style, + He knows some graceful steps and does ’em— + A breathing Poem—Woman’s smile— + A man all poesy and buzzem. + + Now FREDDY’S operatic _pas_— + Now JOHNNY’S hornpipe seems entrapping: + Now FREDDY’S graceful _entrechats_— + Now JOHNNY’S skilful “cellar-flapping.” + + For many hours—for many days— + For many weeks performed each brother, + For each was active in his ways, + And neither would give in to t’other. + + After a month of this, they say + (The maid was getting bored and moody) + A wandering curate passed that way + And talked a lot of goody-goody. + + “Oh my,” said he, with solemn frown, + “I tremble for each dancing _frater_, + Like unregenerated clown + And harlequin at some the-ayter.” + + He showed that men, in dancing, do + Both impiously and absurdly, + And proved his proposition true, + With Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly. + + For months both JOHN and FREDDY danced, + The curate’s protests little heeding; + For months the curate’s words enhanced + The sinfulness of their proceeding. + + At length they bowed to Nature’s rule— + Their steps grew feeble and unsteady, + Till FREDDY fainted on a stool, + And JOHNNY on the top of FREDDY. + + “Decide!” quoth they, “let him be named, + Who henceforth as his wife may rank you.” + “I’ve changed my views,” the maiden said, + “I only marry curates, thank you!” + + Says FREDDY, “Here is goings on! + To bust myself with rage I’m ready.” + “I’ll be a curate!” whispers JOHN— + “And I,” exclaimed poetic FREDDY. + + But while they read for it, these chaps, + The curate booked the maiden bonny— + And when she’s buried him, perhaps, + She’ll marry FREDERICK or JOHNNY. + + + + +SIR GUY THE CRUSADER + + + SIR GUY was a doughty crusader, + A muscular knight, + Ever ready to fight, + A very determined invader, + And DICKEY DE LION’S delight. + + LENORE was a Saracen maiden, + Brunette, statuesque, + The reverse of grotesque, + Her pa was a bagman from Aden, + Her mother she played in burlesque. + + A _coryphée_, pretty and loyal, + In amber and red + The ballet she led; + Her mother performed at the Royal, + LENORE at the Saracen’s Head. + + Of face and of figure majestic, + She dazzled the cits— + Ecstaticised pits;— + Her troubles were only domestic, + But drove her half out of her wits. + + Her father incessantly lashed her, + On water and bread + She was grudgingly fed; + Whenever her father he thrashed her + Her mother sat down on her head. + + GUY saw her, and loved her, with reason, + For beauty so bright + Sent him mad with delight; + He purchased a stall for the season, + And sat in it every night. + + His views were exceedingly proper, + He wanted to wed, + So he called at her shed + And saw her progenitor whop her— + Her mother sit down on her head. + + “So pretty,” said he, “and so trusting! + You brute of a dad, + You unprincipled cad, + Your conduct is really disgusting, + Come, come, now admit it’s too bad! + + “You’re a turbaned old Turk, and malignant— + Your daughter LENORE + I intensely adore, + And I cannot help feeling indignant, + A fact that I hinted before; + + “To see a fond father employing + A deuce of a knout + For to bang her about, + To a sensitive lover’s annoying.” + Said the bagman, “Crusader, get out.” + + Says GUY, “Shall a warrior laden + With a big spiky knob, + Sit in peace on his cob + While a beautiful Saracen maiden + Is whipped by a Saracen snob? + + “To London I’ll go from my charmer.” + Which he did, with his loot + (Seven hats and a flute), + And was nabbed for his Sydenham armour + At MR. BEN-SAMUEL’S suit. + + SIR GUY he was lodged in the Compter, + Her pa, in a rage, + Died (don’t know his age), + His daughter, she married the prompter, + Grew bulky and quitted the stage. + + + + +HAUNTED + + + HAUNTED? Ay, in a social way + By a body of ghosts in dread array; + But no conventional spectres they— + Appalling, grim, and tricky: + I quail at mine as I’d never quail + At a fine traditional spectre pale, + With a turnip head and a ghostly wail, + And a splash of blood on the dickey! + + Mine are horrible, social ghosts,— + Speeches and women and guests and hosts, + Weddings and morning calls and toasts, + In every bad variety: + Ghosts who hover about the grave + Of all that’s manly, free, and brave: + You’ll find their names on the architrave + Of that charnel-house, Society. + + Black Monday—black as its school-room ink— + With its dismal boys that snivel and think + Of its nauseous messes to eat and drink, + And its frozen tank to wash in. + That was the first that brought me grief, + And made me weep, till I sought relief + In an emblematical handkerchief, + To choke such baby bosh in. + + First and worst in the grim array— + Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way, + Which I wouldn’t revive for a single day + For all the wealth of PLUTUS— + Are the horrible ghosts that school-days scared: + If the classical ghost that BRUTUS dared + Was the ghost of his “Cæsar” unprepared, + I’m sure I pity BRUTUS. + + I pass to critical seventeen; + The ghost of that terrible wedding scene, + When an elderly Colonel stole my Queen, + And woke my dream of heaven. + No schoolgirl decked in her nurse-room curls + Was my gushing innocent Queen of Pearls; + If she wasn’t a girl of a thousand girls, + She was one of forty-seven! + + I see the ghost of my first cigar, + Of the thence-arising family jar— + Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar, + And I called the Judge “Your wushup!”) + Of reckless days and reckless nights, + With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights, + Unholy songs and tipsy fights, + Which I strove in vain to hush up. + + Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks, + Ghosts of “copy, declined with thanks,” + Of novels returned in endless ranks, + And thousands more, I suffer. + The only line to fitly grace + My humble tomb, when I’ve run my race, + Is, “Reader, this is the resting-place + Of an unsuccessful duffer.” + + I’ve fought them all, these ghosts of mine, + But the weapons I’ve used are sighs and brine, + And now that I’m nearly forty-nine, + Old age is my chiefest bogy; + For my hair is thinning away at the crown, + And the silver fights with the worn-out brown; + And a general verdict sets me down + As an irreclaimable fogy. + + + + +THE BISHOP AND THE ’BUSMAN + + + IT was a Bishop bold, + And London was his see, + He was short and stout and round about + And zealous as could be. + + It also was a Jew, + Who drove a Putney ’bus— + For flesh of swine however fine + He did not care a cuss. + + His name was HASH BAZ BEN, + And JEDEDIAH too, + And SOLOMON and ZABULON— + This ’bus-directing Jew. + + The Bishop said, said he, + “I’ll see what I can do + To Christianise and make you wise, + You poor benighted Jew.” + + So every blessed day + That ’bus he rode outside, + From Fulham town, both up and down, + And loudly thus he cried: + + “His name is HASH BAZ BEN, + And JEDEDIAH too, + And SOLOMON and ZABULON— + This ’bus-directing Jew.” + + At first the ’busman smiled, + And rather liked the fun— + He merely smiled, that Hebrew child, + And said, “Eccentric one!” + + And gay young dogs would wait + To see the ’bus go by + (These gay young dogs, in striking togs), + To hear the Bishop cry: + + “Observe his grisly beard, + His race it clearly shows, + He sticks no fork in ham or pork— + Observe, my friends, his nose. + + “His name is HASH BAZ BEN, + And JEDEDIAH too, + And SOLOMON and ZABULON— + This ’bus-directing Jew.” + + But though at first amused, + Yet after seven years, + This Hebrew child got rather riled, + And melted into tears. + + He really almost feared + To leave his poor abode, + His nose, and name, and beard became + A byword on that road. + + At length he swore an oath, + The reason he would know— + “I’ll call and see why ever he + Does persecute me so!” + + The good old Bishop sat + On his ancestral chair, + The ’busman came, sent up his name, + And laid his grievance bare. + + “Benighted Jew,” he said + (The good old Bishop did), + “Be Christian, you, instead of Jew— + Become a Christian kid! + + “I’ll ne’er annoy you more.” + “Indeed?” replied the Jew; + “Shall I be freed?” “You will, indeed!” + Then “Done!” said he, “with you!” + + The organ which, in man, + Between the eyebrows grows, + Fell from his face, and in its place + He found a Christian nose. + + His tangled Hebrew beard, + Which to his waist came down, + Was now a pair of whiskers fair— + His name ADOLPHUS BROWN! + + He wedded in a year + That prelate’s daughter JANE, + He’s grown quite fair—has auburn hair— + His wife is far from plain. + + + + +THE TROUBADOUR + + + A TROUBADOUR he played + Without a castle wall, + Within, a hapless maid + Responded to his call. + + “Oh, willow, woe is me! + Alack and well-a-day! + If I were only free + I’d hie me far away!” + + Unknown her face and name, + But this he knew right well, + The maiden’s wailing came + From out a dungeon cell. + + A hapless woman lay + Within that dungeon grim— + That fact, I’ve heard him say, + Was quite enough for him. + + “I will not sit or lie, + Or eat or drink, I vow, + Till thou art free as I, + Or I as pent as thou.” + + Her tears then ceased to flow, + Her wails no longer rang, + And tuneful in her woe + The prisoned maiden sang: + + “Oh, stranger, as you play, + I recognize your touch; + And all that I can say + Is, thank you very much.” + + He seized his clarion straight, + And blew thereat, until + A warden oped the gate. + “Oh, what might be your will?” + + “I’ve come, Sir Knave, to see + The master of these halls: + A maid unwillingly + Lies prisoned in their walls.”’ + + With barely stifled sigh + That porter drooped his head, + With teardrops in his eye, + “A many, sir,” he said. + + He stayed to hear no more, + But pushed that porter by, + And shortly stood before + SIR HUGH DE PECKHAM RYE. + + SIR HUGH he darkly frowned, + “What would you, sir, with me?” + The troubadour he downed + Upon his bended knee. + + “I’ve come, DE PECKHAM RYE, + To do a Christian task; + You ask me what would I? + It is not much I ask. + + “Release these maidens, sir, + Whom you dominion o’er— + Particularly her + Upon the second floor. + + “And if you don’t, my lord”— + He here stood bolt upright, + And tapped a tailor’s sword— + “Come out, you cad, and fight!” + + SIR HUGH he called—and ran + The warden from the gate: + “Go, show this gentleman + The maid in Forty-eight.” + + By many a cell they past, + And stopped at length before + A portal, bolted fast: + The man unlocked the door. + + He called inside the gate + With coarse and brutal shout, + “Come, step it, Forty-eight!” + And Forty-eight stepped out. + + “They gets it pretty hot, + The maidens what we cotch— + Two years this lady’s got + For collaring a wotch.” + + “Oh, ah!—indeed—I see,” + The troubadour exclaimed— + “If I may make so free, + How is this castle named?” + + The warden’s eyelids fill, + And sighing, he replied, + “Of gloomy Pentonville + This is the female side!” + + The minstrel did not wait + The Warden stout to thank, + But recollected straight + He’d business at the Bank. + + + + +FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA +OR, THE GENTLE PIEMAN + + +PART I. + + + AT a pleasant evening party I had taken down to supper + One whom I will call ELVIRA, and we talked of love and TUPPER, + + MR. TUPPER and the Poets, very lightly with them dealing, + For I’ve always been distinguished for a strong poetic feeling. + + Then we let off paper crackers, each of which contained a motto, + And she listened while I read them, till her mother told her not to. + + Then she whispered, “To the ball-room we had better, dear, be walking; + If we stop down here much longer, really people will be talking.” + + There were noblemen in coronets, and military cousins, + There were captains by the hundred, there were baronets by dozens. + + Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed them with a blessing, + Then she let down all her back hair, which had taken long in dressing. + + Then she had convulsive sobbings in her agitated throttle, + Then she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her pretty smelling-bottle. + + So I whispered, “Dear ELVIRA, say,—what can the matter be with you? + Does anything you’ve eaten, darling POPSY, disagree with you?” + + But spite of all I said, her sobs grew more and more distressing, + And she tore her pretty back hair, which had taken long in dressing. + + Then she gazed upon the carpet, at the ceiling, then above me, + And she whispered, “FERDINANDO, do you really, _really_ love me?” + + “Love you?” said I, then I sighed, and then I gazed upon her sweetly— + For I think I do this sort of thing particularly neatly. + + “Send me to the Arctic regions, or illimitable azure, + On a scientific goose-chase, with my COXWELL or my GLAISHER! + + “Tell me whither I may hie me—tell me, dear one, that I may know— + Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?” + + But she said, “It isn’t polar bears, or hot volcanic grottoes: + Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker mottoes!” + + + +PART II. + + + “Tell me, HENRY WADSWORTH, ALFRED POET CLOSE, or MISTER TUPPER, + Do you write the bon bon mottoes my ELVIRA pulls at supper?” + + But HENRY WADSWORTH smiled, and said he had not had that honour; + And ALFRED, too, disclaimed the words that told so much upon her. + + “MISTER MARTIN TUPPER, POET CLOSE, I beg of you inform us;” + But my question seemed to throw them both into a rage enormous. + + MISTER CLOSE expressed a wish that he could only get anigh to me; + And MISTER MARTIN TUPPER sent the following reply to me: + + “A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men dread a bandit,”— + Which I know was very clever; but I didn’t understand it. + + Seven weary years I wandered—Patagonia, China, Norway, + Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway. + + There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle, + So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle. + + He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy, + And his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy. + + And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with laughter + hearty— + He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party. + + And I said, “O gentle pieman, why so very, very merry? + Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?” + + But he answered, “I’m so happy—no profession could be dearer— + If I am not humming ‘Tra! la! la!’ I’m singing ‘Tirer, lirer!’ + + “First I go and make the patties, and the puddings, and the jellies, + Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell is; + + “Then I polish all the silver, which a supper-table lacquers; + Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the crackers.”— + + “Found at last!” I madly shouted. “Gentle pieman, you astound me!” + Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me. + + And I shouted and I danced until he’d quite a crowd around him— + And I rushed away exclaiming, “I have found him! I have found him!” + + And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling, + “‘Tira, lira!’ stop him, stop him! ‘Tra! la! la!’ the soup’s a + shilling!” + + But until I reached ELVIRA’S home, I never, never waited, + And ELVIRA to her FERDINAND’S irrevocably mated! + + + + +LORENZO DE LARDY + + + DALILAH DE DARDY adored + The very correctest of cards, + LORENZO DE LARDY, a lord— + He was one of Her Majesty’s Guards. + + DALILAH DE DARDY was fat, + DALILAH DE DARDY was old— + (No doubt in the world about that) + But DALILAH DE DARDY had gold. + + LORENZO DE LARDY was tall, + The flower of maidenly pets, + Young ladies would love at his call, + But LORENZO DE LARDY had debts. + + His money-position was queer, + And one of his favourite freaks + Was to hide himself three times a year, + In Paris, for several weeks. + + Many days didn’t pass him before + He fanned himself into a flame, + For a beautiful “DAM DU COMPTWORE,” + And this was her singular name: + + ALICE EULALIE CORALINE + EUPHROSINE COLOMBINA THÉRÈSE + JULIETTE STEPHANIE CELESTINE + CHARLOTTE RUSSE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE. + + She booked all the orders and tin, + Accoutred in showy fal-lal, + At a two-fifty Restaurant, in + The glittering Palais Royal. + + He’d gaze in her orbit of blue, + Her hand he would tenderly squeeze, + But the words of her tongue that he knew + Were limited strictly to these: + + “CORALINE CELESTINE EULALIE, + Houp là! Je vous aime, oui, mossoo, + Combien donnez moi aujourd’hui + Bonjour, Mademoiselle, parlez voo.” + + MADEMOISELLE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE + Was a witty and beautiful miss, + Extremely correct in her ways, + But her English consisted of this: + + “Oh my! pretty man, if you please, + Blom boodin, biftek, currie lamb, + Bouldogue, two franc half, quite ze cheese, + Rosbif, me spik Angleesh, godam.” + + A waiter, for seasons before, + Had basked in her beautiful gaze, + And burnt to dismember MILOR, + _He loved_ DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE. + + He said to her, “Méchante THÉRÈSE, + Avec désespoir tu m’accables. + Penses-tu, DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE, + Ses intentions sont honorables? + + “Flirtez toujours, ma belle, si tu ôses— + Je me vengerai ainsi, ma chère, + _Je lui dirai de quoi l’on compose_ + _Vol au vent à la Financière_!” + + LORD LARDY knew nothing of this— + The waiter’s devotion ignored, + But he gazed on the beautiful miss, + And never seemed weary or bored. + + The waiter would screw up his nerve, + His fingers he’d snap and he’d dance— + And LORD LARDY would smile and observe, + “How strange are the customs of France!” + + Well, after delaying a space, + His tradesmen no longer would wait: + Returning to England apace, + He yielded himself to his fate. + + LORD LARDY espoused, with a groan, + MISS DARDY’S developing charms, + And agreed to tag on to his own, + Her name and her newly-found arms. + + The waiter he knelt at the toes + Of an ugly and thin coryphée, + Who danced in the hindermost rows + At the Théatre des Variétés. + + MADEMOISELLE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE + Didn’t yield to a gnawing despair + But married a soldier, and plays + As a pretty and pert Vivandière. + + + + +DISILLUSIONED +BY AN EX-ENTHUSIAST + + + OH, that my soul its gods could see + As years ago they seemed to me + When first I painted them; + Invested with the circumstance + Of old conventional romance: + Exploded theorem! + + The bard who could, all men above, + Inflame my soul with songs of love, + And, with his verse, inspire + The craven soul who feared to die + With all the glow of chivalry + And old heroic fire; + + I found him in a beerhouse tap + Awaking from a gin-born nap, + With pipe and sloven dress; + Amusing chums, who fooled his bent, + With muddy, maudlin sentiment, + And tipsy foolishness! + + The novelist, whose painting pen + To legions of fictitious men + A real existence lends, + Brain-people whom we rarely fail, + Whene’er we hear their names, to hail + As old and welcome friends; + + I found in clumsy snuffy suit, + In seedy glove, and blucher boot, + Uncomfortably big. + Particularly commonplace, + With vulgar, coarse, stockbroking face, + And spectacles and wig. + + My favourite actor who, at will, + With mimic woe my eyes could fill + With unaccustomed brine: + A being who appeared to me + (Before I knew him well) to be + A song incarnadine; + + I found a coarse unpleasant man + With speckled chin—unhealthy, wan— + Of self-importance full: + Existing in an atmosphere + That reeked of gin and pipes and beer— + Conceited, fractious, dull. + + The warrior whose ennobled name + Is woven with his country’s fame, + Triumphant over all, + I found weak, palsied, bloated, blear; + His province seemed to be, to leer + At bonnets in Pall Mall. + + Would that ye always shone, who write, + Bathed in your own innate limelight, + And ye who battles wage, + Or that in darkness I had died + Before my soul had ever sighed + To see you off the stage! + + + + +BABETTE’S LOVE + + + BABETTE she was a fisher gal, + With jupon striped and cap in crimps. + She passed her days inside the Halle, + Or catching little nimble shrimps. + Yet she was sweet as flowers in May, + With no professional bouquet. + + JACOT was, of the Customs bold, + An officer, at gay Boulogne, + He loved BABETTE—his love he told, + And sighed, “Oh, soyez vous my own!” + But “Non!” said she, “JACOT, my pet, + Vous êtes trop scraggy pour BABETTE. + + “Of one alone I nightly dream, + An able mariner is he, + And gaily serves the Gen’ral Steam- + Boat Navigation Companee. + I’ll marry him, if he but will— + His name, I rather think, is BILL. + + “I see him when he’s not aware, + Upon our hospitable coast, + Reclining with an easy air + Upon the _Port_ against a post, + A-thinking of, I’ll dare to say, + His native Chelsea far away!” + + “Oh, mon!” exclaimed the Customs bold, + “Mes yeux!” he said (which means “my eye”) + “Oh, chère!” he also cried, I’m told, + “Par Jove,” he added, with a sigh. + “Oh, mon! oh, chère! mes yeux! par Jove! + Je n’aime pas cet enticing cove!” + + The _Panther’s_ captain stood hard by, + He was a man of morals strict + If e’er a sailor winked his eye, + Straightway he had that sailor licked, + Mast-headed all (such was his code) + Who dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed. + + He wept to think a tar of his + Should lean so gracefully on posts, + He sighed and sobbed to think of this, + On foreign, French, and friendly coasts. + “It’s human natur’, p’raps—if so, + Oh, isn’t human natur’ low!” + + He called his BILL, who pulled his curl, + He said, “My BILL, I understand + You’ve captivated some young gurl + On this here French and foreign land. + Her tender heart your beauties jog— + They do, you know they do, you dog. + + “You have a graceful way, I learn, + Of leaning airily on posts, + By which you’ve been and caused to burn + A tender flame on these here coasts. + A fisher gurl, I much regret,— + Her age, sixteen—her name, BABETTE. + + “You’ll marry her, you gentle tar— + Your union I myself will bless, + And when you matrimonied are, + I will appoint her stewardess.” + But WILLIAM hitched himself and sighed, + And cleared his throat, and thus replied: + + “Not so: unless you’re fond of strife, + You’d better mind your own affairs, + I have an able-bodied wife + Awaiting me at Wapping Stairs; + If all this here to her I tell, + She’ll larrup you and me as well. + + “Skin-deep, and valued at a pin, + Is beauty such as VENUS owns— + _Her_ beauty is beneath her skin, + And lies in layers on her bones. + The other sailors of the crew + They always calls her ‘Whopping Sue!’” + + “Oho!” the Captain said, “I see! + And is she then so very strong?” + “She’d take your honour’s scruff,” said he + “And pitch you over to Bolong!” + “I pardon you,” the Captain said, + “The fair BABETTE you needn’t wed.” + + Perhaps the Customs had his will, + And coaxed the scornful girl to wed, + Perhaps the Captain and his BILL, + And WILLIAM’S little wife are dead; + Or p’raps they’re all alive and well: + I cannot, cannot, cannot tell. + + + + +TO MY BRIDE +(WHOEVER SHE MAY BE) + + + OH! little maid!—(I do not know your name + Or who you are, so, as a safe precaution + I’ll add)—Oh, buxom widow! married dame! + (As one of these must be your present portion) + Listen, while I unveil prophetic lore for you, + And sing the fate that Fortune has in store for you. + + You’ll marry soon—within a year or twain— + A bachelor of _circa_ two and thirty: + Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain, + And when you’re intimate, you’ll call him “BERTIE.” + Neat—dresses well; his temper has been classified + As hasty; but he’s very quickly pacified. + + You’ll find him working mildly at the Bar, + After a touch at two or three professions, + From easy affluence extremely far, + A brief or two on Circuit—“soup” at Sessions; + A pound or two from whist and backing horses, + And, say three hundred from his own resources. + + Quiet in harness; free from serious vice, + His faults are not particularly shady, + You’ll never find him “_shy_”—for, once or twice + Already, he’s been driven by a lady, + Who parts with him—perhaps a poor excuse for him— + Because she hasn’t any further use for him. + + Oh! bride of mine—tall, dumpy, dark, or fair! + Oh! widow—wife, maybe, or blushing maiden, + I’ve told _your_ fortune; solved the gravest care + With which your mind has hitherto been laden. + I’ve prophesied correctly, never doubt it; + Now tell me mine—and please be quick about it! + + You—only you—can tell me, an’ you will, + To whom I’m destined shortly to be mated, + Will she run up a heavy _modiste’s_ bill? + If so, I want to hear her income stated + (This is a point which interests me greatly). + To quote the bard, “Oh! have I seen her lately?” + + Say, must I wait till husband number one + Is comfortably stowed away at Woking? + How is her hair most usually done? + And tell me, please, will she object to smoking? + The colour of her eyes, too, you may mention: + Come, Sibyl, prophesy—I’m all attention. + + + + +THE FOLLY OF BROWN +BY A GENERAL AGENT + + + I KNEW a boor—a clownish card + (His only friends were pigs and cows and + The poultry of a small farmyard), + Who came into two hundred thousand. + + Good fortune worked no change in BROWN, + Though she’s a mighty social chymist; + He was a clown—and by a clown + I do not mean a pantomimist. + + It left him quiet, calm, and cool, + Though hardly knowing what a crown was— + You can’t imagine what a fool + Poor rich uneducated BROWN was! + + He scouted all who wished to come + And give him monetary schooling; + And I propose to give you some + Idea of his insensate fooling. + + I formed a company or two— + (Of course I don’t know what the rest meant, + I formed them solely with a view + To help him to a sound investment). + + Their objects were—their only cares— + To justify their Boards in showing + A handsome dividend on shares + And keep their good promoter going. + + But no—the lout sticks to his brass, + Though shares at par I freely proffer: + Yet—will it be believed?—the ass + Declines, with thanks, my well-meant offer! + + He adds, with bumpkin’s stolid grin + (A weakly intellect denoting), + He’d rather not invest it in + A company of my promoting! + + “You have two hundred ‘thou’ or more,” + Said I. “You’ll waste it, lose it, lend it; + Come, take my furnished second floor, + I’ll gladly show you how to spend it.” + + But will it be believed that he, + With grin upon his face of poppy, + Declined my aid, while thanking me + For what he called my “philanthroppy”? + + Some blind, suspicious fools rejoice + In doubting friends who wouldn’t harm them; + They will not hear the charmer’s voice, + However wisely he may charm them! + + I showed him that his coat, all dust, + Top boots and cords provoked compassion, + And proved that men of station must + Conform to the decrees of fashion. + + I showed him where to buy his hat + To coat him, trouser him, and boot him; + But no—he wouldn’t hear of that— + “He didn’t think the style would suit him!” + + I offered him a county seat, + And made no end of an oration; + I made it certainty complete, + And introduced the deputation. + + But no—the clown my prospect blights— + (The worth of birth it surely teaches!) + “Why should I want to spend my nights + In Parliament, a-making speeches? + + “I haven’t never been to school— + I ain’t had not no eddication— + And I should surely be a fool + To publish that to all the nation!” + + I offered him a trotting horse— + No hack had ever trotted faster— + I also offered him, of course, + A rare and curious “old master.” + + I offered to procure him weeds— + Wines fit for one in his position— + But, though an ass in all his deeds, + He’d learnt the meaning of “commission.” + + He called me “thief” the other day, + And daily from his door he thrusts me; + Much more of this, and soon I may + Begin to think that BROWN mistrusts me. + + So deaf to all sound Reason’s rule + This poor uneducated clown is, + You can_not_ fancy what a fool + Poor rich uneducated BROWN is. + + + + +SIR MACKLIN + + + OF all the youths I ever saw + None were so wicked, vain, or silly, + So lost to shame and Sabbath law, + As worldly TOM, and BOB, and BILLY. + + For every Sabbath day they walked + (Such was their gay and thoughtless natur) + In parks or gardens, where they talked + From three to six, or even later. + + SIR MACKLIN was a priest severe + In conduct and in conversation, + It did a sinner good to hear + Him deal in ratiocination. + + He could in every action show + Some sin, and nobody could doubt him. + He argued high, he argued low, + He also argued round about him. + + He wept to think each thoughtless youth + Contained of wickedness a skinful, + And burnt to teach the awful truth, + That walking out on Sunday’s sinful. + + “Oh, youths,” said he, “I grieve to find + The course of life you’ve been and hit on— + Sit down,” said he, “and never mind + The pennies for the chairs you sit on. + + “My opening head is ‘Kensington,’ + How walking there the sinner hardens, + Which when I have enlarged upon, + I go to ‘Secondly’—its ‘Gardens.’ + + “My ‘Thirdly’ comprehendeth ‘Hyde,’ + Of Secresy the guilts and shameses; + My ‘Fourthly’—‘Park’—its verdure wide— + My ‘Fifthly’ comprehends ‘St. James’s.’ + + “That matter settled, I shall reach + The ‘Sixthly’ in my solemn tether, + And show that what is true of each, + Is also true of all, together. + + “Then I shall demonstrate to you, + According to the rules of WHATELY, + That what is true of all, is true + Of each, considered separately.” + + In lavish stream his accents flow, + TOM, BOB, and BILLY dare not flout him; + He argued high, he argued low, + He also argued round about him. + + “Ha, ha!” he said, “you loathe your ways, + You writhe at these my words of warning, + In agony your hands you raise.” + (And so they did, for they were yawning.) + + To “Twenty-firstly” on they go, + The lads do not attempt to scout him; + He argued high, he argued low, + He also argued round about him. + + “Ho, ho!” he cries, “you bow your crests— + My eloquence has set you weeping; + In shame you bend upon your breasts!” + (And so they did, for they were sleeping.) + + He proved them this—he proved them that— + This good but wearisome ascetic; + He jumped and thumped upon his hat, + He was so very energetic. + + His Bishop at this moment chanced + To pass, and found the road encumbered; + He noticed how the Churchman danced, + And how his congregation slumbered. + + The hundred and eleventh head + The priest completed of his stricture; + “Oh, bosh!” the worthy Bishop said, + And walked him off as in the picture. + + + + +THE YARN OF THE “NANCY BELL” + + + ’TWAS on the shores that round our coast + From Deal to Ramsgate span, + That I found alone on a piece of stone + An elderly naval man. + + His hair was weedy, his beard was long, + And weedy and long was he, + And I heard this wight on the shore recite, + In a singular minor key: + + “Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, + And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, + And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite, + And the crew of the captain’s gig.” + + And he shook his fists and he tore his hair, + Till I really felt afraid, + For I couldn’t help thinking the man had been drinking, + And so I simply said: + + “Oh, elderly man, it’s little I know + Of the duties of men of the sea, + And I’ll eat my hand if I understand + However you can be + + “At once a cook, and a captain bold, + And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, + And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite, + And the crew of the captain’s gig.” + + Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which + Is a trick all seamen larn, + And having got rid of a thumping quid, + He spun this painful yarn: + + “’Twas in the good ship _Nancy Bell_ + That we sailed to the Indian Sea, + And there on a reef we come to grief, + Which has often occurred to me. + + “And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned + (There was seventy-seven o’ soul), + And only ten of the _Nancy’s_ men + Said ‘Here!’ to the muster-roll. + + “There was me and the cook and the captain bold, + And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, + And the bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite, + And the crew of the captain’s gig. + + “For a month we’d neither wittles nor drink, + Till a-hungry we did feel, + So we drawed a lot, and, accordin’ shot + The captain for our meal. + + “The next lot fell to the _Nancy’s_ mate, + And a delicate dish he made; + Then our appetite with the midshipmite + We seven survivors stayed. + + “And then we murdered the bo’sun tight, + And he much resembled pig; + Then we wittled free, did the cook and me, + On the crew of the captain’s gig. + + “Then only the cook and me was left, + And the delicate question, ‘Which + Of us two goes to the kettle?’ arose, + And we argued it out as sich. + + “For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, + And the cook he worshipped me; + But we’d both be blowed if we’d either be stowed + In the other chap’s hold, you see. + + “‘I’ll be eat if you dines off me,’ says TOM; + ‘Yes, that,’ says I, ‘you’ll be,— + ‘I’m boiled if I die, my friend,’ quoth I; + And ‘Exactly so,’ quoth he. + + “Says he, ‘Dear JAMES, to murder me + Were a foolish thing to do, + For don’t you see that you can’t cook _me_, + While I can—and will—cook _you_!’ + + “So he boils the water, and takes the salt + And the pepper in portions true + (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot, + And some sage and parsley too. + + “‘Come here,’ says he, with a proper pride, + Which his smiling features tell, + ‘’T will soothing be if I let you see + How extremely nice you’ll smell.’ + + “And he stirred it round and round and round, + And he sniffed at the foaming froth; + When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals + In the scum of the boiling broth. + + “And I eat that cook in a week or less, + And—as I eating be + The last of his chops, why, I almost drops, + For a wessel in sight I see! + + * * * * + + “And I never larf, and I never smile, + And I never lark nor play, + But sit and croak, and a single joke + I have—which is to say: + + “Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, + And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, + And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite, + And the crew of the captain’s gig!’” + + + + +THE BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO + + + FROM east and south the holy clan + Of Bishops gathered to a man; + To Synod, called Pan-Anglican, + In flocking crowds they came. + Among them was a Bishop, who + Had lately been appointed to + The balmy isle of Rum-ti-Foo, + And PETER was his name. + + His people—twenty-three in sum— + They played the eloquent tum-tum, + And lived on scalps served up, in rum— + The only sauce they knew. + When first good BISHOP PETER came + (For PETER was that Bishop’s name), + To humour them, he did the same + As they of Rum-ti-Foo. + + His flock, I’ve often heard him tell, + (His name was PETER) loved him well, + And, summoned by the sound of bell, + In crowds together came. + “Oh, massa, why you go away? + Oh, MASSA PETER, please to stay.” + (They called him PETER, people say, + Because it was his name.) + + He told them all good boys to be, + And sailed away across the sea, + At London Bridge that Bishop he + Arrived one Tuesday night; + And as that night he homeward strode + To his Pan-Anglican abode, + He passed along the Borough Road, + And saw a gruesome sight. + + He saw a crowd assembled round + A person dancing on the ground, + Who straight began to leap and bound + With all his might and main. + To see that dancing man he stopped, + Who twirled and wriggled, skipped and hopped, + Then down incontinently dropped, + And then sprang up again. + + The Bishop chuckled at the sight. + “This style of dancing would delight + A simple Rum-ti-Foozleite. + I’ll learn it if I can, + To please the tribe when I get back.” + He begged the man to teach his knack. + “Right Reverend Sir, in half a crack,” + Replied that dancing man. + + The dancing man he worked away, + And taught the Bishop every day— + The dancer skipped like any fay— + Good PETER did the same. + The Bishop buckled to his task, + With _battements_, and _pas de basque_. + (I’ll tell you, if you care to ask, + That PETER was his name.) + + “Come, walk like this,” the dancer said, + “Stick out your toes—stick in your head, + Stalk on with quick, galvanic tread— + Your fingers thus extend; + The attitude’s considered quaint.” + The weary Bishop, feeling faint, + Replied, “I do not say it ain’t, + But ‘Time!’ my Christian friend!” + + “We now proceed to something new— + Dance as the PAYNES and LAURIS do, + Like this—one, two—one, two—one, two.” + The Bishop, never proud, + But in an overwhelming heat + (His name was PETER, I repeat) + Performed the PAYNE and LAURI feat, + And puffed his thanks aloud. + + Another game the dancer planned— + “Just take your ankle in your hand, + And try, my lord, if you can stand— + Your body stiff and stark. + If, when revisiting your see, + You learnt to hop on shore—like me— + The novelty would striking be, + And must attract remark.” + + “No,” said the worthy Bishop, “no; + That is a length to which, I trow, + Colonial Bishops cannot go. + You may express surprise + At finding Bishops deal in pride— + But if that trick I ever tried, + I should appear undignified + In Rum-ti-Foozle’s eyes. + + “The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo + Are well-conducted persons, who + Approve a joke as much as you, + And laugh at it as such; + But if they saw their Bishop land, + His leg supported in his hand, + The joke they wouldn’t understand— + ’Twould pain them very much!” + + + + +THE PRECOCIOUS BABY. +A VERY TRUE TALE + + + (_To be sung to the Air of the_ “_Whistling Oyster_.”) + + AN elderly person—a prophet by trade— + With his quips and tips + On withered old lips, + He married a young and a beautiful maid; + The cunning old blade! + Though rather decayed, + He married a beautiful, beautiful maid. + + She was only eighteen, and as fair as could be, + With her tempting smiles + And maidenly wiles, + And he was a trifle past seventy-three: + Now what she could see + Is a puzzle to me, + In a prophet of seventy—seventy-three! + + Of all their acquaintances bidden (or bad) + With their loud high jinks + And underbred winks, + None thought they’d a family have—but they had; + A dear little lad + Who drove ’em half mad, + For he turned out a horribly fast little cad. + + For when he was born he astonished all by, + With their “Law, dear me!” + “Did ever you see?” + He’d a pipe in his mouth and a glass in his eye, + A hat all awry— + An octagon tie— + And a miniature—miniature glass in his eye. + + He grumbled at wearing a frock and a cap, + With his “Oh, dear, oh!” + And his “Hang it! ’oo know!” + And he turned up his nose at his excellent pap— + “My friends, it’s a tap + Dat is not worf a rap.” + (Now this was remarkably excellent pap.) + + He’d chuck his nurse under the chin, and he’d say, + With his “Fal, lal, lal”— + “’Oo doosed fine gal!” + This shocking precocity drove ’em away: + “A month from to-day + Is as long as I’ll stay— + Then I’d wish, if you please, for to toddle away.” + + His father, a simple old gentleman, he + With nursery rhyme + And “Once on a time,” + Would tell him the story of “Little Bo-P,” + “So pretty was she, + So pretty and wee, + As pretty, as pretty, as pretty could be.” + + But the babe, with a dig that would startle an ox, + With his “C’ck! Oh, my!— + Go along wiz ’oo, fie!” + Would exclaim, “I’m afraid ’oo a socking ole fox.” + Now a father it shocks, + And it whitens his locks, + When his little babe calls him a shocking old fox. + + The name of his father he’d couple and pair + (With his ill-bred laugh, + And insolent chaff) + With those of the nursery heroines rare— + Virginia the Fair, + Or Good Goldenhair, + Till the nuisance was more than a prophet could bear. + + “There’s Jill and White Cat” (said the bold little brat, + With his loud, “Ha, ha!”) + “’Oo sly ickle Pa! + Wiz ’oo Beauty, Bo-Peep, and ’oo Mrs. Jack Sprat! + I’ve noticed ’oo pat + _My_ pretty White Cat— + I sink dear mamma ought to know about dat!” + + He early determined to marry and wive, + For better or worse + With his elderly nurse— + Which the poor little boy didn’t live to contrive: + His hearth didn’t thrive— + No longer alive, + He died an enfeebled old dotard at five! + + MORAL. + + Now, elderly men of the bachelor crew, + With wrinkled hose + And spectacled nose, + Don’t marry at all—you may take it as true + If ever you do + The step you will rue, + For your babes will be elderly—elderly too. + + + + +TO PHŒBE + + + “GENTLE, modest little flower, + Sweet epitome of May, + Love me but for half an hour, + Love me, love me, little fay.” + Sentences so fiercely flaming + In your tiny shell-like ear, + I should always be exclaiming + If I loved you, PHŒBE dear. + + “Smiles that thrill from any distance + Shed upon me while I sing! + Please ecstaticize existence, + Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!” + Words like these, outpouring sadly + You’d perpetually hear, + If I loved you fondly, madly;— + But I do not, PHŒBE dear. + + + + +BAINES CAREW, GENTLEMAN + + + OF all the good attorneys who + Have placed their names upon the roll, + But few could equal BAINES CAREW + For tender-heartedness and soul. + + Whene’er he heard a tale of woe + From client A or client B, + His grief would overcome him so + He’d scarce have strength to take his fee. + + It laid him up for many days, + When duty led him to distrain, + And serving writs, although it pays, + Gave him excruciating pain. + + He made out costs, distrained for rent, + Foreclosed and sued, with moistened eye— + No bill of costs could represent + The value of such sympathy. + + No charges can approximate + The worth of sympathy with woe;— + Although I think I ought to state + He did his best to make them so. + + Of all the many clients who + Had mustered round his legal flag, + No single client of the crew + Was half so dear as CAPTAIN BAGG. + + Now, CAPTAIN BAGG had bowed him to + A heavy matrimonial yoke— + His wifey had of faults a few— + She never could resist a joke. + + Her chaff at first he meekly bore, + Till unendurable it grew. + “To stop this persecution sore + I will consult my friend CAREW. + + “And when CAREW’S advice I’ve got, + Divorce _a mensâ_ I shall try.” + (A legal separation—not + _A vinculo conjugii_.) + + “Oh, BAINES CAREW, my woe I’ve kept + A secret hitherto, you know;”— + (And BAINES CAREW, ESQUIRE, he wept + To hear that BAGG _had_ any woe.) + + “My case, indeed, is passing sad. + My wife—whom I considered true— + With brutal conduct drives me mad.” + “I am appalled,” said BAINES CAREW. + + “What! sound the matrimonial knell + Of worthy people such as these! + Why was I an attorney? Well— + Go on to the _sævitia_, please.” + + “Domestic bliss has proved my bane,— + A harder case you never heard, + My wife (in other matters sane) + Pretends that I’m a Dicky bird! + + “She makes me sing, ‘Too-whit, too-wee!’ + And stand upon a rounded stick, + And always introduces me + To every one as ‘Pretty Dick’!” + + “Oh, dear,” said weeping BAINES CAREW, + “This is the direst case I know.” + “I’m grieved,” said BAGG, “at paining you— + To COBB and POLTHERTHWAITE I’ll go— + + “To COBB’S cold, calculating ear, + My gruesome sorrows I’ll impart”— + “No; stop,” said BAINES, “I’ll dry my tear, + And steel my sympathetic heart.” + + “She makes me perch upon a tree, + Rewarding me with ‘Sweety—nice!’ + And threatens to exhibit me + With four or five performing mice.” + + “Restrain my tears I wish I could” + (Said BAINES), “I don’t know what to do.” + Said CAPTAIN BAGG, “You’re very good.” + “Oh, not at all,” said BAINES CAREW. + + “She makes me fire a gun,” said BAGG; + “And, at a preconcerted word, + Climb up a ladder with a flag, + Like any street performing bird. + + “She places sugar in my way— + In public places calls me ‘Sweet!’ + She gives me groundsel every day, + And hard canary-seed to eat.” + + “Oh, woe! oh, sad! oh, dire to tell!” + (Said BAINES). “Be good enough to stop.” + And senseless on the floor he fell, + With unpremeditated flop! + + Said CAPTAIN BAGG, “Well, really I + Am grieved to think it pains you so. + I thank you for your sympathy; + But, hang it!—come—I say, you know!” + + But BAINES lay flat upon the floor, + Convulsed with sympathetic sob;— + The Captain toddled off next door, + And gave the case to MR. COBB. + + + + +THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE + + + IN all the towns and cities fair + On Merry England’s broad expanse, + No swordsman ever could compare + With THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE. + + The dauntless lad could fairly hew + A silken handkerchief in twain, + Divide a leg of mutton too— + And this without unwholesome strain. + + On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick, + His sabre sometimes he’d employ— + No bar of lead, however thick, + Had terrors for the stalwart boy. + + At Dover daily he’d prepare + To hew and slash, behind, before— + Which aggravated MONSIEUR PIERRE, + Who watched him from the Calais shore. + + It caused good PIERRE to swear and dance, + The sight annoyed and vexed him so; + He was the bravest man in France— + He said so, and he ought to know. + + “Regardez donc, ce cochon gros— + Ce polisson! Oh, sacré bleu! + Son sabre, son plomb, et ses gigots + Comme cela m’ennuye, enfin, mon Dieu! + + “Il sait que les foulards de soie + Give no retaliating whack— + Les gigots morts n’ont pas de quoi— + Le plomb don’t ever hit you back.” + + But every day the headstrong lad + Cut lead and mutton more and more; + And every day poor PIERRE, half mad, + Shrieked loud defiance from his shore. + + HANCE had a mother, poor and old, + A simple, harmless village dame, + Who crowed and clapped as people told + Of WINTERBOTTOM’S rising fame. + + She said, “I’ll be upon the spot + To see my TOMMY’S sabre-play;” + And so she left her leafy cot, + And walked to Dover in a day. + + PIERRE had a doating mother, who + Had heard of his defiant rage; + _His_ Ma was nearly ninety-two, + And rather dressy for her age. + + At HANCE’S doings every morn, + With sheer delight _his_ mother cried; + And MONSIEUR PIERRE’S contemptuous scorn + Filled _his_ mamma with proper pride. + + But HANCE’S powers began to fail— + His constitution was not strong— + And PIERRE, who once was stout and hale, + Grew thin from shouting all day long. + + Their mothers saw them pale and wan, + Maternal anguish tore each breast, + And so they met to find a plan + To set their offsprings’ minds at rest. + + Said MRS. HANCE, “Of course I shrinks + From bloodshed, ma’am, as you’re aware, + But still they’d better meet, I thinks.” + “Assurément!” said MADAME PIERRE. + + A sunny spot in sunny France + Was hit upon for this affair; + The ground was picked by MRS. HANCE, + The stakes were pitched by MADAME PIERRE. + + Said MRS. H., “Your work you see— + Go in, my noble boy, and win.” + “En garde, mon fils!” said MADAME P. + “Allons!” “Go on!” “En garde!” “Begin!” + + (The mothers were of decent size, + Though not particularly tall; + But in the sketch that meets your eyes + I’ve been obliged to draw them small.) + + Loud sneered the doughty man of France, + “Ho! ho! Ho! ho! Ha! ha! Ha! ha!” + “The French for ‘Pish’” said THOMAS HANCE. + Said PIERRE, “L’Anglais, Monsieur, pour ‘Bah.’” + + Said MRS. H., “Come, one! two! three!— + We’re sittin’ here to see all fair.” + “C’est magnifique!” said MADAME P., + “Mais, parbleu! ce n’est pas la guerre!” + + “Je scorn un foe si lache que vous,” + Said PIERRE, the doughty son of France. + “I fight not coward foe like you!” + Said our undaunted TOMMY HANCE. + + “The French for ‘Pooh!’” our TOMMY cried. + “L’Anglais pour ‘Va!’” the Frenchman crowed. + And so, with undiminished pride, + Each went on his respective road. + + + + +THE REVEREND MICAH SOWLS + + + THE REVEREND MICAH SOWLS, + He shouts and yells and howls, + He screams, he mouths, he bumps, + He foams, he rants, he thumps. + + His armour he has buckled on, to wage + The regulation war against the Stage; + And warns his congregation all to shun + “The Presence-Chamber of the Evil One,” + + The subject’s sad enough + To make him rant and puff, + And fortunately, too, + His Bishop’s in a pew. + + So REVEREND MICAH claps on extra steam, + His eyes are flashing with superior gleam, + He is as energetic as can be, + For there are fatter livings in that see. + + The Bishop, when it’s o’er, + Goes through the vestry door, + Where MICAH, very red, + Is mopping of his head. + + “Pardon, my Lord, your SOWLS’ excessive zeal, + It is a theme on which I strongly feel.” + (The sermon somebody had sent him down + From London, at a charge of half-a-crown.) + + The Bishop bowed his head, + And, acquiescing, said, + “I’ve heard your well-meant rage + Against the Modern Stage. + + “A modern Theatre, as I heard you say, + Sows seeds of evil broadcast—well it may; + But let me ask you, my respected son, + Pray, have you ever ventured into one?” + + “My Lord,” said MICAH, “no! + I never, never go! + What! Go and see a play? + My goodness gracious, nay!” + + The worthy Bishop said, “My friend, no doubt + The Stage may be the place you make it out; + But if, my REVEREND SOWLS, you never go, + I don’t quite understand how you’re to know.” + + “Well, really,” MICAH said, + “I’ve often heard and read, + But never go—do you?” + The Bishop said, “I do.” + + “That proves me wrong,” said MICAH, in a trice: + “I thought it all frivolity and vice.” + The Bishop handed him a printed card; + “Go to a theatre where they play our Bard.” + + The Bishop took his leave, + Rejoicing in his sleeve. + The next ensuing day + SOWLS went and heard a play. + + He saw a dreary person on the stage, + Who mouthed and mugged in simulated rage, + Who growled and spluttered in a mode absurd, + And spoke an English SOWLS had never heard. + + For “gaunt” was spoken “garnt,” + And “haunt” transformed to “harnt,” + And “wrath” pronounced as “rath,” + And “death” was changed to “dath.” + + For hours and hours that dismal actor walked, + And talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, + Till lethargy upon the parson crept, + And sleepy MICAH SOWLS serenely slept. + + He slept away until + The farce that closed the bill + Had warned him not to stay, + And then he went away. + + “I thought _my_ gait ridiculous,” said he— + “_My_ elocution faulty as could be; + I thought _I_ mumbled on a matchless plan— + I had not seen our great Tragedian! + + “Forgive me, if you can, + O great Tragedian! + I own it with a sigh— + You’re drearier than I!” + + + + +A DISCONTENTED SUGAR BROKER + + + A GENTLEMAN of City fame + Now claims your kind attention; + East India broking was his game, + His name I shall not mention: + No one of finely-pointed sense + Would violate a confidence, + And shall _I_ go + And do it? No! + His name I shall not mention. + + He had a trusty wife and true, + And very cosy quarters, + A manager, a boy or two, + Six clerks, and seven porters. + A broker must be doing well + (As any lunatic can tell) + Who can employ + An active boy, + Six clerks, and seven porters. + + His knocker advertised no dun, + No losses made him sulky, + He had one sorrow—only one— + He was extremely bulky. + A man must be, I beg to state, + Exceptionally fortunate + Who owns his chief + And only grief + Is—being very bulky. + + “This load,” he’d say, “I cannot bear; + I’m nineteen stone or twenty! + Henceforward I’ll go in for air + And exercise in plenty.” + Most people think that, should it come, + They can reduce a bulging tum + To measures fair + By taking air + And exercise in plenty. + + In every weather, every day, + Dry, muddy, wet, or gritty, + He took to dancing all the way + From Brompton to the City. + You do not often get the chance + Of seeing sugar brokers dance + From their abode + In Fulham Road + Through Brompton to the City. + + He braved the gay and guileless laugh + Of children with their nusses, + The loud uneducated chaff + Of clerks on omnibuses. + Against all minor things that rack + A nicely-balanced mind, I’ll back + The noisy chaff + And ill-bred laugh + Of clerks on omnibuses. + + His friends, who heard his money chink, + And saw the house he rented, + And knew his wife, could never think + What made him discontented. + It never entered their pure minds + That fads are of eccentric kinds, + Nor would they own + That fat alone + Could make one discontented. + + “Your riches know no kind of pause, + Your trade is fast advancing; + You dance—but not for joy, because + You weep as you are dancing. + To dance implies that man is glad, + To weep implies that man is sad; + But here are you + Who do the two— + You weep as you are dancing!” + + His mania soon got noised about + And into all the papers; + His size increased beyond a doubt + For all his reckless capers: + It may seem singular to you, + But all his friends admit it true— + The more he found + His figure round, + The more he cut his capers. + + His bulk increased—no matter that— + He tried the more to toss it— + He never spoke of it as “fat,” + But “adipose deposit.” + Upon my word, it seems to me + Unpardonable vanity + (And worse than that) + To call your fat + An “adipose deposit.” + + At length his brawny knees gave way, + And on the carpet sinking, + Upon his shapeless back he lay + And kicked away like winking. + Instead of seeing in his state + The finger of unswerving Fate, + He laboured still + To work his will, + And kicked away like winking. + + His friends, disgusted with him now, + Away in silence wended— + I hardly like to tell you how + This dreadful story ended. + The shocking sequel to impart, + I must employ the limner’s art— + If you would know, + This sketch will show + How his exertions ended. + + MORAL. + + I hate to preach—I hate to prate— + I’m no fanatic croaker, + But learn contentment from the fate + Of this East India broker. + He’d everything a man of taste + Could ever want, except a waist; + And discontent + His size anent, + And bootless perseverance blind, + Completely wrecked the peace of mind + Of this East India broker. + + + + +THE PANTOMIME “SUPER” TO HIS MASK + + + VAST empty shell! + Impertinent, preposterous abortion! + With vacant stare, + And ragged hair, + And every feature out of all proportion! + Embodiment of echoing inanity! + Excellent type of simpering insanity! + Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity! + I ring thy knell! + + To-night thou diest, + Beast that destroy’st my heaven-born identity! + Nine weeks of nights, + Before the lights, + Swamped in thine own preposterous nonentity, + I’ve been ill-treated, cursed, and thrashed diurnally, + Credited for the smile you wear externally— + I feel disposed to smash thy face, infernally, + As there thou liest! + + I’ve been thy brain: + _I’ve_ been the brain that lit thy dull concavity! + The human race + Invest _my_ face + With thine expression of unchecked depravity, + Invested with a ghastly reciprocity, + _I’ve_ been responsible for thy monstrosity, + I, for thy wanton, blundering ferocity— + But not again! + + ’T is time to toll + Thy knell, and that of follies pantomimical: + A nine weeks’ run, + And thou hast done + All thou canst do to make thyself inimical. + Adieu, embodiment of all inanity! + Excellent type of simpering insanity! + Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity! + Freed is thy soul! + + (_The Mask respondeth_.) + + Oh! master mine, + Look thou within thee, ere again ill-using me. + Art thou aware + Of nothing there + Which might abuse thee, as thou art abusing me? + A brain that mourns _thine_ unredeemed rascality? + A soul that weeps at _thy_ threadbare morality? + Both grieving that _their_ individuality + Is merged in thine? + + + + +THE FORCE OF ARGUMENT + + + LORD B. was a nobleman bold + Who came of illustrious stocks, + He was thirty or forty years old, + And several feet in his socks. + + To Turniptopville-by-the-Sea + This elegant nobleman went, + For that was a borough that he + Was anxious to rep-per-re-sent. + + At local assemblies he danced + Until he felt thoroughly ill; + He waltzed, and he galoped, and lanced, + And threaded the mazy quadrille. + + The maidens of Turniptopville + Were simple—ingenuous—pure— + And they all worked away with a will + The nobleman’s heart to secure. + + Two maidens all others beyond + Endeavoured his cares to dispel— + The one was the lively ANN POND, + The other sad MARY MORELL. + + ANN POND had determined to try + And carry the Earl with a rush; + Her principal feature was eye, + Her greatest accomplishment—gush. + + And MARY chose this for her play: + Whenever he looked in her eye + She’d blush and turn quickly away, + And flitter, and flutter, and sigh. + + It was noticed he constantly sighed + As she worked out the scheme she had planned, + A fact he endeavoured to hide + With his aristocratical hand. + + Old POND was a farmer, they say, + And so was old TOMMY MORELL. + In a humble and pottering way + They were doing exceedingly well. + + They both of them carried by vote + The Earl was a dangerous man; + So nervously clearing his throat, + One morning old TOMMY began: + + “My darter’s no pratty young doll— + I’m a plain-spoken Zommerzet man— + Now what do ’ee mean by my POLL, + And what do ’ee mean by his ANN?” + + Said B., “I will give you my bond + I mean them uncommonly well, + Believe me, my excellent POND, + And credit me, worthy MORELL. + + “It’s quite indisputable, for + I’ll prove it with singular ease,— + You shall have it in ‘Barbara’ or + ‘Celarent’—whichever you please. + + ‘You see, when an anchorite bows + To the yoke of intentional sin, + If the state of the country allows, + Homogeny always steps in— + + “It’s a highly æsthetical bond, + As any mere ploughboy can tell—” + “Of course,” replied puzzled old POND. + “I see,” said old TOMMY MORELL. + + “Very good, then,” continued the lord; + “When it’s fooled to the top of its bent, + With a sweep of a Damocles sword + The web of intention is rent. + + “That’s patent to all of us here, + As any mere schoolboy can tell.” + POND answered, “Of course it’s quite clear”; + And so did that humbug MORELL. + + “Its tone’s esoteric in force— + I trust that I make myself clear?” + MORELL only answered, “Of course,” + While POND slowly muttered, “Hear, hear.” + + “Volition—celestial prize, + Pellucid as porphyry cell— + Is based on a principle wise.” + “Quite so,” exclaimed POND and MORELL. + + “From what I have said you will see + That I couldn’t wed either—in fine, + By Nature’s unchanging decree + _Your_ daughters could never be _mine_. + + “Go home to your pigs and your ricks, + My hands of the matter I’ve rinsed.” + So they take up their hats and their sticks, + And _exeunt ambo_, convinced. + + + + +THE GHOST, THE GALLANT, THE GAEL, AND THE GOBLIN + + + O’ER unreclaimed suburban clays + Some years ago were hobblin’ + An elderly ghost of easy ways, + And an influential goblin. + The ghost was a sombre spectral shape, + A fine old five-act fogy, + The goblin imp, a lithe young ape, + A fine low-comedy bogy. + + And as they exercised their joints, + Promoting quick digestion, + They talked on several curious points, + And raised this delicate question: + “Which of us two is Number One— + The ghostie, or the goblin?” + And o’er the point they raised in fun + They fairly fell a-squabblin’. + + They’d barely speak, and each, in fine, + Grew more and more reflective: + Each thought his own particular line + By chalks the more effective. + At length they settled some one should + By each of them be haunted, + And so arrange that either could + Exert his prowess vaunted. + + “The Quaint against the Statuesque”— + By competition lawful— + The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque, + The ghost the Grandly Awful. + “Now,” said the goblin, “here’s my plan— + In attitude commanding, + I see a stalwart Englishman + By yonder tailor’s standing. + + “The very fittest man on earth + My influence to try on— + Of gentle, p’r’aps of noble birth, + And dauntless as a lion! + Now wrap yourself within your shroud— + Remain in easy hearing— + Observe—you’ll hear him scream aloud + When I begin appearing!” + + The imp with yell unearthly—wild— + Threw off his dark enclosure: + His dauntless victim looked and smiled + With singular composure. + For hours he tried to daunt the youth, + For days, indeed, but vainly— + The stripling smiled!—to tell the truth, + The stripling smiled inanely. + + For weeks the goblin weird and wild, + That noble stripling haunted; + For weeks the stripling stood and smiled, + Unmoved and all undaunted. + The sombre ghost exclaimed, “Your plan + Has failed you, goblin, plainly: + Now watch yon hardy Hieland man, + So stalwart and ungainly. + + “These are the men who chase the roe, + Whose footsteps never falter, + Who bring with them, where’er they go, + A smack of old SIR WALTER. + Of such as he, the men sublime + Who lead their troops victorious, + Whose deeds go down to after-time, + Enshrined in annals glorious! + + “Of such as he the bard has said + ‘Hech thrawfu’ raltie rorkie! + Wi’ thecht ta’ croonie clapperhead + And fash’ wi’ unco pawkie!’ + He’ll faint away when I appear, + Upon his native heather; + Or p’r’aps he’ll only scream with fear, + Or p’r’aps the two together.” + + The spectre showed himself, alone, + To do his ghostly battling, + With curdling groan and dismal moan, + And lots of chains a-rattling! + But no—the chiel’s stout Gaelic stuff + Withstood all ghostly harrying; + His fingers closed upon the snuff + Which upwards he was carrying. + + For days that ghost declined to stir, + A foggy shapeless giant— + For weeks that splendid officer + Stared back again defiant. + Just as the Englishman returned + The goblin’s vulgar staring, + Just so the Scotchman boldly spurned + The ghost’s unmannered scaring. + + For several years the ghostly twain + These Britons bold have haunted, + But all their efforts are in vain— + Their victims stand undaunted. + This very day the imp, and ghost, + Whose powers the imp derided, + Stand each at his allotted post— + The bet is undecided. + + + + +THE PHANTOM CURATE. +A FABLE + + + A BISHOP once—I will not name his see— + Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional; + From pulpit shackles never set them free, + And found a sin where sin was unintentional. + All pleasures ended in abuse auricular— + The Bishop was so terribly particular. + + Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man, + He sought to make of human pleasures clearances; + And form his priests on that much-lauded plan + Which pays undue attention to appearances. + He couldn’t do good deeds without a psalm in ’em, + Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in ’em. + + Enraged to find a deacon at a dance, + Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity, + He sought by open censure to enhance + Their dread of joining harmless social jollity. + Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety) + The ordinary pleasures of society. + + One evening, sitting at a pantomime + (Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of him), + Roaring at jokes, _sans_ metre, sense, or rhyme, + He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him, + His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it, + A curate, also heartily enjoying it. + + Again, ’t was Christmas Eve, and to enhance + His children’s pleasure in their harmless rollicking, + He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance; + When something checked the current of his frolicking: + That curate, with a maid he treated lover-ly, + Stood up and figured with him in the “Coverley!” + + Once, yielding to an universal choice + (The company’s demand was an emphatic one, + For the old Bishop had a glorious voice), + In a quartet he joined—an operatic one. + Harmless enough, though ne’er a word of grace in it, + When, lo! that curate came and took the bass in it! + + One day, when passing through a quiet street, + He stopped awhile and joined a Punch’s gathering; + And chuckled more than solemn folk think meet, + To see that gentleman his Judy lathering; + And heard, as Punch was being treated penalty, + That phantom curate laughing all hyænally. + + Now at a picnic, ’mid fair golden curls, + Bright eyes, straw hats, _bottines_ that fit amazingly, + A croquêt-bout is planned by all the girls; + And he, consenting, speaks of croquêt praisingly; + But suddenly declines to play at all in it— + The curate fiend has come to take a ball in it! + + Next, when at quiet sea-side village, freed + From cares episcopal and ties monarchical, + He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed, + In manner anything but hierarchical— + He sees—and fixes an unearthly stare on it— + That curate’s face, with half a yard of hair on it! + + At length he gave a charge, and spake this word: + “Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye may; + To check their harmless pleasuring’s absurd; + What laymen do without reproach, my clergy may.” + He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of him, + The curate vanished—no one since has heard of him. + + + + +THE SENSATION CAPTAIN + + + NO nobler captain ever trod + Than CAPTAIN PARKLEBURY TODD, + So good—so wise—so brave, he! + But still, as all his friends would own, + He had one folly—one alone— + This Captain in the Navy. + + I do not think I ever knew + A man so wholly given to + Creating a sensation, + Or p’raps I should in justice say— + To what in an Adelphi play + Is known as “situation.” + + He passed his time designing traps + To flurry unsuspicious chaps— + The taste was his innately; + He couldn’t walk into a room + Without ejaculating “Boom!” + Which startled ladies greatly. + + He’d wear a mask and muffling cloak, + Not, you will understand, in joke, + As some assume disguises; + He did it, actuated by + A simple love of mystery + And fondness for surprises. + + I need not say he loved a maid— + His eloquence threw into shade + All others who adored her. + The maid, though pleased at first, I know, + Found, after several years or so, + Her startling lover bored her. + + So, when his orders came to sail, + She did not faint or scream or wail, + Or with her tears anoint him: + She shook his hand, and said “Good-bye,” + With laughter dancing in her eye— + Which seemed to disappoint him. + + But ere he went aboard his boat, + He placed around her little throat + A ribbon, blue and yellow, + On which he hung a double-tooth— + A simple token this, in sooth— + ’Twas all he had, poor fellow! + + “I often wonder,” he would say, + When very, very far away, + “If ANGELINA wears it? + A plan has entered in my head: + I will pretend that I am dead, + And see how ANGY bears it.” + + The news he made a messmate tell. + His ANGELINA bore it well, + No sign gave she of crazing; + But, steady as the Inchcape Rock, + His ANGELINA stood the shock + With fortitude amazing. + + She said, “Some one I must elect + Poor ANGELINA to protect + From all who wish to harm her. + Since worthy CAPTAIN TODD is dead, + I rather feel inclined to wed + A comfortable farmer.” + + A comfortable farmer came + (BASSANIO TYLER was his name), + Who had no end of treasure. + He said, “My noble gal, be mine!” + The noble gal did not decline, + But simply said, “With pleasure.” + + When this was told to CAPTAIN TODD, + At first he thought it rather odd, + And felt some perturbation; + But very long he did not grieve, + He thought he could a way perceive + To _such_ a situation! + + “I’ll not reveal myself,” said he, + “Till they are both in the Ecclesiastical arena; + Then suddenly I will appear, + And paralysing them with fear, + Demand my ANGELINA!” + + At length arrived the wedding day; + Accoutred in the usual way + Appeared the bridal body; + The worthy clergyman began, + When in the gallant Captain ran + And cried, “Behold your TODDY!” + + The bridegroom, p’raps, was terrified, + And also possibly the bride— + The bridesmaids _were_ affrighted; + But ANGELINA, noble soul, + Contrived her feelings to control, + And really seemed delighted. + + “My bride!” said gallant CAPTAIN TODD, + “She’s mine, uninteresting clod! + My own, my darling charmer!” + “Oh dear,” said she, “you’re just too late— + I’m married to, I beg to state, + This comfortable farmer!” + + “Indeed,” the farmer said, “she’s mine: + You’ve been and cut it far too fine!” + “I see,” said TODD, “I’m beaten.” + And so he went to sea once more, + “Sensation” he for aye forswore, + And married on her native shore + A lady whom he’d met before— + A lovely Otaheitan. + + + + +TEMPORA MUTANTUR + + + LETTERS, letters, letters, letters! + Some that please and some that bore, + Some that threaten prison fetters + (Metaphorically, fetters + Such as bind insolvent debtors)— + Invitations by the score. + + One from COGSON, WILES, and RAILER, + My attorneys, off the Strand; + One from COPPERBLOCK, my tailor— + My unreasonable tailor— + One in FLAGG’S disgusting hand. + + One from EPHRAIM and MOSES, + Wanting coin without a doubt, + I should like to pull their noses— + Their uncompromising noses; + One from ALICE with the roses— + Ah, I know what that’s about! + + Time was when I waited, waited + For the missives that she wrote, + Humble postmen execrated— + Loudly, deeply execrated— + When I heard I wasn’t fated + To be gladdened with a note! + + Time was when I’d not have bartered + Of her little pen a dip + For a peerage duly gartered— + For a peerage starred and gartered— + With a palace-office chartered, + Or a Secretaryship. + + But the time for that is over, + And I wish we’d never met. + I’m afraid I’ve proved a rover— + I’m afraid a heartless rover— + Quarters in a place like Dover + Tend to make a man forget. + + Bills for carriages and horses, + Bills for wine and light cigar, + Matters that concern the Forces— + News that may affect the Forces— + News affecting my resources, + Much more interesting are! + + And the tiny little paper, + With the words that seem to run + From her little fingers taper + (They are very small and taper), + By the tailor and the draper + Are in interest outdone. + + And unopened it’s remaining! + I can read her gentle hope— + Her entreaties, uncomplaining + (She was always uncomplaining), + Her devotion never waning— + Through the little envelope! + + + + +AT A PANTOMIME. +BY A BILIOUS ONE + + + AN Actor sits in doubtful gloom, + His stock-in-trade unfurled, + In a damp funereal dressing-room + In the Theatre Royal, World. + + He comes to town at Christmas-time, + And braves its icy breath, + To play in that favourite pantomime, + _Harlequin Life and Death_. + + A hoary flowing wig his weird + Unearthly cranium caps, + He hangs a long benevolent beard + On a pair of empty chaps. + + To smooth his ghastly features down + The actor’s art he cribs,— + A long and a flowing padded gown. + Bedecks his rattling ribs. + + He cries, “Go on—begin, begin! + Turn on the light of lime— + I’m dressed for jolly Old Christmas, in + A favourite pantomime!” + + The curtain’s up—the stage all black— + Time and the year nigh sped— + Time as an advertising quack— + The Old Year nearly dead. + + The wand of Time is waved, and lo! + Revealed Old Christmas stands, + And little children chuckle and crow, + And laugh and clap their hands. + + The cruel old scoundrel brightens up + At the death of the Olden Year, + And he waves a gorgeous golden cup, + And bids the world good cheer. + + The little ones hail the festive King,— + No thought can make them sad. + Their laughter comes with a sounding ring, + They clap and crow like mad! + + They only see in the humbug old + A holiday every year, + And handsome gifts, and joys untold, + And unaccustomed cheer. + + The old ones, palsied, blear, and hoar, + Their breasts in anguish beat— + They’ve seen him seventy times before, + How well they know the cheat! + + They’ve seen that ghastly pantomime, + They’ve felt its blighting breath, + They know that rollicking Christmas-time + Meant Cold and Want and Death,— + + Starvation—Poor Law Union fare— + And deadly cramps and chills, + And illness—illness everywhere, + And crime, and Christmas bills. + + They know Old Christmas well, I ween, + Those men of ripened age; + They’ve often, often, often seen + That Actor off the stage! + + They see in his gay rotundity + A clumsy stuffed-out dress— + They see in the cup he waves on high + A tinselled emptiness. + + Those aged men so lean and wan, + They’ve seen it all before, + They know they’ll see the charlatan + But twice or three times more. + + And so they bear with dance and song, + And crimson foil and green, + They wearily sit, and grimly long + For the Transformation Scene. + + + + +KING BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO + + + KING BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO + Was a man-eating African swell; + His sigh was a hullaballoo, + His whisper a horrible yell— + A horrible, horrible yell! + + Four subjects, and all of them male, + To BORRIA doubled the knee, + They were once on a far larger scale, + But he’d eaten the balance, you see + (“Scale” and “balance” is punning, you see). + + There was haughty PISH-TUSH-POOH-BAH, + There was lumbering DOODLE-DUM-DEY, + Despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH, + And good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH— + Exemplary TOOTLE-TUM-TEH. + + One day there was grief in the crew, + For they hadn’t a morsel of meat, + And BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO + Was dying for something to eat— + “Come, provide me with something to eat! + + “ALACK-A-DEY, famished I feel; + Oh, good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH, + Where on earth shall I look for a meal? + For I haven’t no dinner to-day!— + Not a morsel of dinner to-day! + + “Dear TOOTLE-TUM, what shall we do? + Come, get us a meal, or, in truth, + If you don’t, we shall have to eat you, + Oh, adorable friend of our youth! + Thou beloved little friend of our youth!” + + And he answered, “Oh, BUNGALEE BOO, + For a moment I hope you will wait,— + TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO + Is the Queen of a neighbouring state— + A remarkably neighbouring state. + + “TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO, + She would pickle deliciously cold— + And her four pretty Amazons, too, + Are enticing, and not very old— + Twenty-seven is not very old. + + “There is neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH, + There is rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH, + There is jocular WAGGETY-WEH, + There is musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH— + There’s the nightingale DOH-REH-MI-FAH!” + + So the forces of BUNGALEE BOO + Marched forth in a terrible row, + And the ladies who fought for QUEEN LOO + Prepared to encounter the foe— + This dreadful, insatiate foe! + + But they sharpened no weapons at all, + And they poisoned no arrows—not they! + They made ready to conquer or fall + In a totally different way— + An entirely different way. + + With a crimson and pearly-white dye + They endeavoured to make themselves fair, + With black they encircled each eye, + And with yellow they painted their hair + (It was wool, but they thought it was hair). + + And the forces they met in the field:— + And the men of KING BORRIA said, + “Amazonians, immediately yield!” + And their arrows they drew to the head— + Yes, drew them right up to the head. + + But jocular WAGGETY-WEH + Ogled DOODLE-DUM-DEY (which was wrong), + And neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH + Said, “TOOTLE-TUM, you go along! + You naughty old dear, go along!” + + And rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH + Tapped ALACK-A-DEY-AH with her fan; + And musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH + Said, “Pish, go away, you bad man! + Go away, you delightful young man!” + + And the Amazons simpered and sighed, + And they ogled, and giggled, and flushed, + And they opened their pretty eyes wide, + And they chuckled, and flirted, and blushed + (At least, if they could, they’d have blushed). + + But haughty PISH-TUSH-POOH-BAH + Said, “ALACK-A-DEY, what does this mean?” + And despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH + Said, “They think us uncommonly green! + Ha! ha! most uncommonly green!” + + Even blundering DOODLE-DUM-DEY + Was insensible quite to their leers, + And said good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH, + “It’s your blood we desire, pretty dears— + We have come for our dinners, my dears!” + + And the Queen of the Amazons fell + To BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO,— + In a mouthful he gulped, with a yell, + TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO— + The pretty QUEEN TOL-THE-ROL-LOO. + + And neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH + Was eaten by PISH-POOH-BAH, + And light-hearted WAGGETY-WEH + By dismal ALACK-A-DEY-AH— + Despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH. + + And rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH + Was eaten by DOODLE-DUM-DEY, + And musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH + By good little TOOTLE-DUM-TEH— + Exemplary TOOTLE-TUM-TEH! + + + + +THE PERIWINKLE GIRL + + + I’VE often thought that headstrong youths + Of decent education, + Determine all-important truths, + With strange precipitation. + + The ever-ready victims they, + Of logical illusions, + And in a self-assertive way + They jump at strange conclusions. + + Now take my case: Ere sorrow could + My ample forehead wrinkle, + I had determined that I should + Not care to be a winkle. + + “A winkle,” I would oft advance + With readiness provoking, + “Can seldom flirt, and never dance, + Or soothe his mind by smoking.” + + In short, I spurned the shelly joy, + And spoke with strange decision— + Men pointed to me as a boy + Who held them in derision. + + But I was young—too young, by far— + Or I had been more wary, + I knew not then that winkles are + The stock-in-trade of MARY. + + I had not watched her sunlight blithe + As o’er their shells it dances— + I’ve seen those winkles almost writhe + Beneath her beaming glances. + + Of slighting all the winkly brood + I surely had been chary, + If I had known they formed the food + And stock-in-trade of MARY. + + Both high and low and great and small + Fell prostrate at her tootsies, + They all were noblemen, and all + Had balances at COUTTS’S. + + Dukes with the lovely maiden dealt, + DUKE BAILEY and DUKE HUMPHY, + Who ate her winkles till they felt + Exceedingly uncomfy. + + DUKE BAILEY greatest wealth computes, + And sticks, they say, at no-thing, + He wears a pair of golden boots + And silver underclothing. + + DUKE HUMPHY, as I understand, + Though mentally acuter, + His boots are only silver, and + His underclothing pewter. + + A third adorer had the girl, + A man of lowly station— + A miserable grov’ling Earl + Besought her approbation. + + This humble cad she did refuse + With much contempt and loathing, + He wore a pair of leather shoes + And cambric underclothing! + + “Ha! ha!” she cried. “Upon my word! + Well, really—come, I never! + Oh, go along, it’s too absurd! + My goodness! Did you ever? + + “Two Dukes would Mary make a bride, + And from her foes defend her”— + “Well, not exactly that,” they cried, + “We offer guilty splendour. + + “We do not offer marriage rite, + So please dismiss the notion!” + “Oh dear,” said she, “that alters quite + The state of my emotion.” + + The Earl he up and says, says he, + “Dismiss them to their orgies, + For I am game to marry thee + Quite reg’lar at St. George’s.” + + (He’d had, it happily befell, + A decent education, + His views would have befitted well + A far superior station.) + + His sterling worth had worked a cure, + She never heard him grumble; + She saw his soul was good and pure, + Although his rank was humble. + + Her views of earldoms and their lot, + All underwent expansion— + Come, Virtue in an earldom’s cot! + Go, Vice in ducal mansion! + + + + +THOMSON GREEN AND HARRIET HALE + + + (_To be sung to the Air of_ “_An ’Orrible Tale_.”) + + OH list to this incredible tale + Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET HALE; + Its truth in one remark you’ll sum— + “Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!” + + Oh, THOMSON GREEN was an auctioneer, + And made three hundred pounds a year; + And HARRIET HALE, most strange to say, + Gave pianoforte lessons at a sovereign a day. + + Oh, THOMSON GREEN, I may remark, + Met HARRIET HALE in Regent’s Park, + Where he, in a casual kind of way, + Spoke of the extraordinary beauty of the day. + + They met again, and strange, though true, + He courted her for a month or two, + Then to her pa he said, says he, + “Old man, I love your daughter and your daughter worships me!” + + Their names were regularly banned, + The wedding day was settled, and + I’ve ascertained by dint of search + They were married on the quiet at St. Mary Abbot’s Church. + + Oh, list to this incredible tale + Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET HALE, + Its truth in one remark you’ll sum— + “Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!” + + That very self-same afternoon + They started on their honeymoon, + And (oh, astonishment!) took flight + To a pretty little cottage close to Shanklin, Isle of Wight. + + But now—you’ll doubt my word, I know— + In a month they both returned, and lo! + Astounding fact! this happy pair + Took a gentlemanly residence in Canonbury Square! + + They led a weird and reckless life, + They dined each day, this man and wife + (Pray disbelieve it, if you please), + On a joint of meat, a pudding, and a little bit of cheese. + + In time came those maternal joys + Which take the form of girls or boys, + And strange to say of each they’d one— + A tiddy-iddy daughter, and a tiddy-iddy son! + + Oh, list to this incredible tale + Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET HALE, + Its truth in one remark you’ll sum— + “Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!” + + My name for truth is gone, I fear, + But, monstrous as it may appear, + They let their drawing-room one day + To an eligible person in the cotton-broking way. + + Whenever THOMSON GREEN fell sick + His wife called in a doctor, quick, + From whom some words like these would come— + _Fiat mist. sumendum haustus_, in a _cochleyareum_. + + For thirty years this curious pair + Hung out in Canonbury Square, + And somehow, wonderful to say, + They loved each other dearly in a quiet sort of way. + + Well, THOMSON GREEN fell ill and died; + For just a year his widow cried, + And then her heart she gave away + To the eligible lodger in the cotton-broking way. + + Oh, list to this incredible tale + Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET HALE, + Its truth in one remark you’ll sum— + “Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!” + + + + +BOB POLTER + + + BOB POLTER was a navvy, and + His hands were coarse, and dirty too, + His homely face was rough and tanned, + His time of life was thirty-two. + + He lived among a working clan + (A wife he hadn’t got at all), + A decent, steady, sober man— + No saint, however—not at all. + + He smoked, but in a modest way, + Because he thought he needed it; + He drank a pot of beer a day, + And sometimes he exceeded it. + + At times he’d pass with other men + A loud convivial night or two, + With, very likely, now and then, + On Saturdays, a fight or two. + + But still he was a sober soul, + A labour-never-shirking man, + Who paid his way—upon the whole + A decent English working man. + + One day, when at the Nelson’s Head + (For which he may be blamed of you), + A holy man appeared, and said, + “Oh, ROBERT, I’m ashamed of you.” + + He laid his hand on ROBERT’S beer + Before he could drink up any, + And on the floor, with sigh and tear, + He poured the pot of “thruppenny.” + + “Oh, ROBERT, at this very bar + A truth you’ll be discovering, + A good and evil genius are + Around your noddle hovering. + + “They both are here to bid you shun + The other one’s society, + For Total Abstinence is one, + The other, Inebriety.” + + He waved his hand—a vapour came— + A wizard POLTER reckoned him; + A bogy rose and called his name, + And with his finger beckoned him. + + The monster’s salient points to sum,— + His heavy breath was portery: + His glowing nose suggested rum: + His eyes were gin-and-_wor_tery. + + His dress was torn—for dregs of ale + And slops of gin had rusted it; + His pimpled face was wan and pale, + Where filth had not encrusted it. + + “Come, POLTER,” said the fiend, “begin, + And keep the bowl a-flowing on— + A working man needs pints of gin + To keep his clockwork going on.” + + BOB shuddered: “Ah, you’ve made a miss + If you take me for one of you: + You filthy beast, get out of this— + BOB POLTER don’t wan’t none of you.” + + The demon gave a drunken shriek, + And crept away in stealthiness, + And lo! instead, a person sleek, + Who seemed to burst with healthiness. + + “In me, as your adviser hints, + Of Abstinence you’ve got a type— + Of MR. TWEEDIE’S pretty prints + I am the happy prototype. + + “If you abjure the social toast, + And pipes, and such frivolities, + You possibly some day may boast + My prepossessing qualities!” + + BOB rubbed his eyes, and made ’em blink: + “You almost make me tremble, you! + If I abjure fermented drink, + Shall I, indeed, resemble you? + + “And will my whiskers curl so tight? + My cheeks grow smug and muttony? + My face become so red and white? + My coat so blue and buttony? + + “Will trousers, such as yours, array + Extremities inferior? + Will chubbiness assert its sway + All over my exterior? + + “In this, my unenlightened state, + To work in heavy boots I comes; + Will pumps henceforward decorate + My tiddle toddle tootsicums? + + “And shall I get so plump and fresh, + And look no longer seedily? + My skin will henceforth fit my flesh + So tightly and so TWEEDIE-ly?” + + The phantom said, “You’ll have all this, + You’ll know no kind of huffiness, + Your life will be one chubby bliss, + One long unruffled puffiness!” + + “Be off!” said irritated BOB. + “Why come you here to bother one? + You pharisaical old snob, + You’re wuss almost than t’other one! + + “I takes my pipe—I takes my pot, + And drunk I’m never seen to be: + I’m no teetotaller or sot, + And as I am I mean to be!” + + + + +THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB + + + STRIKE the concertina’s melancholy string! + Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything! + Let the piano’s martial blast + Rouse the Echoes of the Past, + For of AGIB, Prince of Tartary, I sing! + + Of AGIB, who, amid Tartaric scenes, + Wrote a lot of ballet music in his teens: + His gentle spirit rolls + In the melody of souls— + Which is pretty, but I don’t know what it means. + + Of AGIB, who could readily, at sight, + Strum a march upon the loud Theodolite. + He would diligently play + On the Zoetrope all day, + And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night. + + One winter—I am shaky in my dates— + Came two starving Tartar minstrels to his gates; + Oh, ALLAH be obeyed, + How infernally they played! + I remember that they called themselves the “Oüaits.” + + Oh! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage, + I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, + Photographically lined + On the tablet of my mind, + When a yesterday has faded from its page! + + Alas! PRINCE AGIB went and asked them in; + Gave them beer, and eggs, and sweets, and scent, and tin. + And when (as snobs would say) + They had “put it all away,” + He requested them to tune up and begin. + + Though its icy horror chill you to the core, + I will tell you what I never told before,— + The consequences true + Of that awful interview, + _For I listened at the keyhole in the door_! + + They played him a sonata—let me see! + “_Medulla oblongata_”—key of G. + Then they began to sing + That extremely lovely thing, + “_Scherzando_! _ma non troppo_, _ppp_.” + + He gave them money, more than they could count, + Scent from a most ingenious little fount, + More beer, in little kegs, + Many dozen hard-boiled eggs, + And goodies to a fabulous amount. + + Now follows the dim horror of my tale, + And I feel I’m growing gradually pale, + For, even at this day, + Though its sting has passed away, + When I venture to remember it, I quail! + + The elder of the brothers gave a squeal, + All-overish it made me for to feel; + “Oh, PRINCE,” he says, says he, + “_If a Prince indeed you be_, + I’ve a mystery I’m going to reveal! + + “Oh, listen, if you’d shun a horrid death, + To what the gent who’s speaking to you saith: + No ‘Oüaits’ in truth are we, + As you fancy that we be, + For (ter-remble!) I am ALECK—this is BETH!” + + Said AGIB, “Oh! accursed of your kind, + I have heard that ye are men of evil mind!” + BETH gave a dreadful shriek— + But before he’d time to speak + I was mercilessly collared from behind. + + In number ten or twelve, or even more, + They fastened me full length upon the floor. + On my face extended flat, + I was walloped with a cat + For listening at the keyhole of a door. + + Oh! the horror of that agonizing thrill! + (I can feel the place in frosty weather still). + For a week from ten to four + I was fastened to the floor, + While a mercenary wopped me with a will + + They branded me and broke me on a wheel, + And they left me in an hospital to heal; + And, upon my solemn word, + I have never never heard + What those Tartars had determined to reveal. + + But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage, + I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, + Photographically lined + On the tablet of my mind, + When a yesterday has faded from its page + + + + +ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN + + + MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS M‘CLAN + Was the son of an elderly labouring man; + You’ve guessed him a Scotchman, shrewd reader, at sight, + And p’r’aps altogether, shrewd reader, you’re right. + + From the bonnie blue Forth to the lovely Deeside, + Round by Dingwall and Wrath to the mouth of the Clyde, + There wasn’t a child or a woman or man + Who could pipe with CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS M‘CLAN. + + No other could wake such detestable groans, + With reed and with chaunter—with bag and with drones: + All day and ill night he delighted the chiels + With sniggering pibrochs and jiggety reels. + + He’d clamber a mountain and squat on the ground, + And the neighbouring maidens would gather around + To list to the pipes and to gaze in his een, + Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN. + + All loved their M‘CLAN, save a Sassenach brute, + Who came to the Highlands to fish and to shoot; + He dressed himself up in a Highlander way, + Tho’ his name it was PATTISON CORBY TORBAY. + + TORBAY had incurred a good deal of expense + To make him a Scotchman in every sense; + But this is a matter, you’ll readily own, + That isn’t a question of tailors alone. + + A Sassenach chief may be bonily built, + He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, and kilt; + Stick a skeän in his hose—wear an acre of stripes— + But he cannot assume an affection for pipes. + + CLONGLOCKETY’S pipings all night and all day + Quite frenzied poor PATTISON CORBY TORBAY; + The girls were amused at his singular spleen, + Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN, + + “MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS, my lad, + With pibrochs and reels you are driving me mad. + If you really must play on that cursed affair, + My goodness! play something resembling an air.” + + Boiled over the blood of MACPHAIRSON M‘CLAN— + The Clan of Clonglocketty rose as one man; + For all were enraged at the insult, I ween— + Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN. + + “Let’s show,” said M‘CLAN, “to this Sassenach loon + That the bagpipes _can_ play him a regular tune. + Let’s see,” said M‘CLAN, as he thoughtfully sat, + “‘_In my Cottage_’ is easy—I’ll practise at that.” + + He blew at his “Cottage,” and blew with a will, + For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until + (You’ll hardly believe it) M‘CLAN, I declare, + Elicited something resembling an air. + + It was wild—it was fitful—as wild as the breeze— + It wandered about into several keys; + It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I’m aware; + But still it distinctly suggested an air. + + The Sassenach screamed, and the Sassenach danced; + He shrieked in his agony—bellowed and pranced; + And the maidens who gathered rejoiced at the scene— + Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN. + + “Hech gather, hech gather, hech gather around; + And fill a’ ye lugs wi’ the exquisite sound. + An air fra’ the bagpipes—beat that if ye can! + Hurrah for CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS M‘CLAN!” + + The fame of his piping spread over the land: + Respectable widows proposed for his hand, + And maidens came flocking to sit on the green— + Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN. + + One morning the fidgety Sassenach swore + He’d stand it no longer—he drew his claymore, + And (this was, I think, in extremely bad taste) + Divided CLONGLOCKETTY close to the waist. + + Oh! loud were the wailings for ANGUS M‘CLAN, + Oh! deep was the grief for that excellent man; + The maids stood aghast at the horrible scene— + Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN. + + It sorrowed poor PATTISON CORBY TORBAY + To find them “take on” in this serious way; + He pitied the poor little fluttering birds, + And solaced their souls with the following words: + + “Oh, maidens,” said PATTISON, touching his hat, + “Don’t blubber, my dears, for a fellow like that; + Observe, I’m a very superior man, + A much better fellow than ANGUS M‘CLAN.” + + They smiled when he winked and addressed them as “dears,” + And they all of them vowed, as they dried up their tears, + A pleasanter gentleman never was seen— + Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN. + + + + +PETER THE WAG + + + POLICEMAN PETER forth I drag + From his obscure retreat: + He was a merry genial wag, + Who loved a mad conceit. + If he were asked the time of day, + By country bumpkins green, + He not unfrequently would say, + “A quarter past thirteen.” + + If ever you by word of mouth + Inquired of MISTER FORTH + The way to somewhere in the South, + He always sent you North. + With little boys his beat along + He loved to stop and play; + He loved to send old ladies wrong, + And teach their feet to stray. + + He would in frolic moments, when + Such mischief bent upon, + Take Bishops up as betting men— + Bid Ministers move on. + Then all the worthy boys he knew + He regularly licked, + And always collared people who + Had had their pockets picked. + + He was not naturally bad, + Or viciously inclined, + But from his early youth he had + A waggish turn of mind. + The Men of London grimly scowled + With indignation wild; + The Men of London gruffly growled, + But PETER calmly smiled. + + Against this minion of the Crown + The swelling murmurs grew— + From Camberwell to Kentish Town— + From Rotherhithe to Kew. + Still humoured he his wagsome turn, + And fed in various ways + The coward rage that dared to burn, + But did not dare to blaze. + + Still, Retribution has her day, + Although her flight is slow: + _One day that Crusher lost his way_ + _Near Poland Street_, _Soho_. + The haughty boy, too proud to ask, + To find his way resolved, + And in the tangle of his task + Got more and more involved. + + The Men of London, overjoyed, + Came there to jeer their foe, + And flocking crowds completely cloyed + The mazes of Soho. + The news on telegraphic wires + Sped swiftly o’er the lea, + Excursion trains from distant shires + Brought myriads to see. + + For weeks he trod his self-made beats + Through Newport- Gerrard- Bear- + Greek- Rupert- Frith- Dean- Poland- Streets, + And into Golden Square. + But all, alas! in vain, for when + He tried to learn the way + Of little boys or grown-up men, + They none of them would say. + + Their eyes would flash—their teeth would grind— + Their lips would tightly curl— + They’d say, “Thy way thyself must find, + Thou misdirecting churl!” + And, similarly, also, when + He tried a foreign friend; + Italians answered, “_Il balen_”— + The French, “No comprehend.” + + The Russ would say with gleaming eye + “Sevastopol!” and groan. + The Greek said, “Τυπτω, τυπτομαι, + Τυπτω, τυπτειν, τυπτων.” + To wander thus for many a year + That Crusher never ceased— + The Men of London dropped a tear, + Their anger was appeased. + + At length exploring gangs were sent + To find poor FORTH’S remains— + A handsome grant by Parliament + Was voted for their pains. + To seek the poor policeman out + Bold spirits volunteered, + And when they swore they’d solve the doubt, + The Men of London cheered. + + And in a yard, dark, dank, and drear, + They found him, on the floor— + It leads from Richmond Buildings—near + The Royalty stage-door. + With brandy cold and brandy hot + They plied him, starved and wet, + And made him sergeant on the spot— + The Men of London’s pet! + + + + +BEN ALLAH ACHMET; +OR, THE FATAL TUM + + + I ONCE did know a Turkish man + Whom I upon a two-pair-back met, + His name it was EFFENDI KHAN + BACKSHEESH PASHA BEN ALLAH ACHMET. + + A DOCTOR BROWN I also knew— + I’ve often eaten of his bounty; + The Turk and he they lived at Hooe, + In Sussex, that delightful county! + + I knew a nice young lady there, + Her name was EMILY MACPHERSON, + And though she wore another’s hair, + She was an interesting person. + + The Turk adored the maid of Hooe + (Although his harem would have shocked her). + But BROWN adored that maiden too: + He was a most seductive doctor. + + They’d follow her where’er she’d go— + A course of action most improper; + She neither knew by sight, and so + For neither of them cared a copper. + + BROWN did not know that Turkish male, + He might have been his sainted mother: + The people in this simple tale + Are total strangers to each other. + + One day that Turk he sickened sore, + And suffered agonies oppressive; + He threw himself upon the floor + And rolled about in pain excessive. + + It made him moan, it made him groan, + And almost wore him to a mummy. + Why should I hesitate to own + That pain was in his little tummy? + + At length a doctor came, and rung + (As ALLAH ACHMET had desired), + Who felt his pulse, looked up his tongue, + And hemmed and hawed, and then inquired: + + “Where is the pain that long has preyed + Upon you in so sad a way, sir?” + The Turk he giggled, blushed, and said: + “I don’t exactly like to say, sir.” + + “Come, nonsense!” said good DOCTOR BROWN. + “So this is Turkish coyness, is it? + You must contrive to fight it down— + Come, come, sir, please to be explicit.” + + The Turk he shyly bit his thumb, + And coyly blushed like one half-witted, + “The pain is in my little tum,” + He, whispering, at length admitted. + + “Then take you this, and take you that— + Your blood flows sluggish in its channel— + You must get rid of all this fat, + And wear my medicated flannel. + + “You’ll send for me when you’re in need— + My name is BROWN—your life I’ve saved it.” + “My rival!” shrieked the invalid, + And drew a mighty sword and waved it: + + “This to thy weazand, Christian pest!” + Aloud the Turk in frenzy yelled it, + And drove right through the doctor’s chest + The sabre and the hand that held it. + + The blow was a decisive one, + And DOCTOR BROWN grew deadly pasty, + “Now see the mischief that you’ve done— + You Turks are so extremely hasty. + + “There are two DOCTOR BROWNS in Hooe— + _He’s_ short and stout, _I’m_ tall and wizen; + You’ve been and run the wrong one through, + That’s how the error has arisen.” + + The accident was thus explained, + Apologies were only heard now: + “At my mistake I’m really pained— + I am, indeed—upon my word now. + + “With me, sir, you shall be interred, + A mausoleum grand awaits me.” + “Oh, pray don’t say another word, + I’m sure that more than compensates me. + + “But p’r’aps, kind Turk, you’re full inside?” + “There’s room,” said he, “for any number.” + And so they laid them down and died. + In proud Stamboul they sleep their slumber, + + + + +THE THREE KINGS OF CHICKERABOO + + + THERE were three niggers of Chickeraboo— + PACIFICO, BANG-BANG, POPCHOP—who + Exclaimed, one terribly sultry day, + “Oh, let’s be kings in a humble way.” + + The first was a highly-accomplished “bones,” + The next elicited banjo tones, + The third was a quiet, retiring chap, + Who danced an excellent break-down “flap.” + + “We niggers,” said they, “have formed a plan + By which, whenever we like, we can + Extemporise kingdoms near the beach, + And then we’ll collar a kingdom each. + + “Three casks, from somebody else’s stores, + Shall represent our island shores, + Their sides the ocean wide shall lave, + Their heads just topping the briny wave. + + “Great Britain’s navy scours the sea, + And everywhere her ships they be; + She’ll recognise our rank, perhaps, + When she discovers we’re Royal Chaps. + + “If to her skirts you want to cling, + It’s quite sufficient that you’re a king; + She does not push inquiry far + To learn what sort of king you are.” + + A ship of several thousand tons, + And mounting seventy-something guns, + Ploughed, every year, the ocean blue, + Discovering kings and countries new. + + The brave REAR-ADMIRAL BAILEY PIP, + Commanding that magnificent ship, + Perceived one day, his glasses through, + The kings that came from Chickeraboo. + + “Dear eyes!” said ADMIRAL PIP, “I see + Three flourishing islands on our lee. + And, bless me! most remarkable thing! + On every island stands a king! + + “Come, lower the Admiral’s gig,” he cried, + “And over the dancing waves I’ll glide; + That low obeisance I may do + To those three kings of Chickeraboo!” + + The Admiral pulled to the islands three; + The kings saluted him gracious_lee_. + The Admiral, pleased at his welcome warm, + Unrolled a printed Alliance form. + + “Your Majesty, sign me this, I pray— + I come in a friendly kind of way— + I come, if you please, with the best intents, + And QUEEN VICTORIA’S compliments.” + + The kings were pleased as they well could be; + The most retiring of the three, + In a “cellar-flap” to his joy gave vent + With a banjo-bones accompaniment. + + The great REAR-ADMIRAL BAILEY PIP + Embarked on board his jolly big ship, + Blue Peter flew from his lofty fore, + And off he sailed to his native shore. + + ADMIRAL PIP directly went + To the Lord at the head of the Government, + Who made him, by a stroke of a quill, + BARON DE PIPPE, OF PIPPETONNEVILLE. + + The College of Heralds permission yield + That he should quarter upon his shield + Three islands, _vert_, on a field of blue, + With the pregnant motto “Chickeraboo.” + + Ambassadors, yes, and attachés, too, + Are going to sail for Chickeraboo. + And, see, on the good ship’s crowded deck, + A bishop, who’s going out there on spec. + + And let us all hope that blissful things + May come of alliance with darky kings, + And, may we never, whatever we do, + Declare a war with Chickeraboo! + + + + +JOE GOLIGHTLY +OR, THE FIRST LORD’S DAUGHTER + + + A tar, but poorly prized, + Long, shambling, and unsightly, + Thrashed, bullied, and despised, + Was wretched JOE GOLIGHTLY. + + He bore a workhouse brand; + No Pa or Ma had claimed him, + The Beadle found him, and + The Board of Guardians named him. + + P’r’aps some Princess’s son— + A beggar p’r’aps his mother. + _He_ rather thought the one, + I rather think the other. + + He liked his ship at sea, + He loved the salt sea-water, + He worshipped junk, and he + Adored the First Lord’s daughter. + + The First Lord’s daughter, proud, + Snubbed Earls and Viscounts nightly; + She sneered at Barts. aloud, + And spurned poor Joe Golightly. + + Whene’er he sailed afar + Upon a Channel cruise, he + Unpacked his light guitar + And sang this ballad (Boosey): + + Ballad + + The moon is on the sea, + Willow! + The wind blows towards the lee, + Willow! + But though I sigh and sob and cry, + No Lady Jane for me, + Willow! + + She says, “’Twere folly quite, + Willow! + For me to wed a wight, + Willow! + Whose lot is cast before the mast”; + And possibly she’s right, + Willow! + + His skipper (CAPTAIN JOYCE), + He gave him many a rating, + And almost lost his voice + From thus expostulating: + + “Lay aft, you lubber, do! + What’s come to that young man, JOE? + Belay!—’vast heaving! you! + Do kindly stop that banjo! + + “I wish, I do—O lor’!— + You’d shipped aboard a trader: + _Are_ you a sailor or + A negro serenader?” + + But still the stricken lad, + Aloft or on his pillow, + Howled forth in accents sad + His aggravating “Willow!” + + Stern love of duty had + Been JOYCE’S chiefest beauty; + Says he, “I love that lad, + But duty, damme! duty! + + “Twelve months’ black-hole, I say, + Where daylight never flashes; + And always twice a day + A good six dozen lashes!” + + But JOSEPH had a mate, + A sailor stout and lusty, + A man of low estate, + But singularly trusty. + + Says he, “Cheer hup, young JOE! + I’ll tell you what I’m arter— + To that Fust Lord I’ll go + And ax him for his darter. + + “To that Fust Lord I’ll go + And say you love her dearly.” + And JOE said (weeping low), + “I wish you would, sincerely!” + + That sailor to that Lord + Went, soon as he had landed, + And of his own accord + An interview demanded. + + Says he, with seaman’s roll, + “My Captain (wot’s a Tartar) + Guv JOE twelve months’ black-hole, + For lovering your darter. + + “He loves MISS LADY JANE + (I own she is his betters), + But if you’ll jine them twain, + They’ll free him from his fetters. + + “And if so be as how + You’ll let her come aboard ship, + I’ll take her with me now.” + “Get out!” remarked his Lordship. + + That honest tar repaired + To JOE upon the billow, + And told him how he’d fared. + JOE only whispered, “Willow!” + + And for that dreadful crime + (Young sailors, learn to shun it) + He’s working out his time; + In six months he’ll have done it. + + + + +TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE. +BY A MISERABLE WRETCH + + + ROLL on, thou ball, roll on! + Through pathless realms of Space + Roll on! + What though I’m in a sorry case? + What though I cannot meet my bills? + What though I suffer toothache’s ills? + What though I swallow countless pills? + Never _you_ mind! + Roll on! + + Roll on, thou ball, roll on! + Through seas of inky air + Roll on! + It’s true I’ve got no shirts to wear; + It’s true my butcher’s bill is due; + It’s true my prospects all look blue— + But don’t let that unsettle you! + Never _you_ mind! + Roll on! + + [_It rolls on_. + + + + +GENTLE ALICE BROWN + + + IT was a robber’s daughter, and her name was ALICE BROWN, + Her father was the terror of a small Italian town; + Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing; + But it isn’t of her parents that I’m going for to sing. + + As ALICE was a-sitting at her window-sill one day, + A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way; + She cast her eyes upon him, and he looked so good and true, + That she thought, “I could be happy with a gentleman like you!” + + And every morning passed her house that cream of gentlemen, + She knew she might expect him at a quarter unto ten; + A sorter in the Custom-house, it was his daily road + (The Custom-house was fifteen minutes’ walk from her abode). + + But ALICE was a pious girl, who knew it wasn’t wise + To look at strange young sorters with expressive purple eyes; + So she sought the village priest to whom her family confessed, + The priest by whom their little sins were carefully assessed. + + “Oh, holy father,” ALICE said, “’t would grieve you, would it not, + To discover that I was a most disreputable lot? + Of all unhappy sinners I’m the most unhappy one!” + The padre said, “Whatever have you been and gone and done?” + + “I have helped mamma to steal a little kiddy from its dad, + I’ve assisted dear papa in cutting up a little lad, + I’ve planned a little burglary and forged a little cheque, + And slain a little baby for the coral on its neck!” + + The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a silent tear, + And said, “You mustn’t judge yourself too heavily, my dear: + It’s wrong to murder babies, little corals for to fleece; + But sins like these one expiates at half-a-crown apiece. + + “Girls will be girls—you’re very young, and flighty in your mind; + Old heads upon young shoulders we must not expect to find: + We mustn’t be too hard upon these little girlish tricks— + Let’s see—five crimes at half-a-crown—exactly twelve-and-six.” + + “Oh, father,” little Alice cried, “your kindness makes me weep, + You do these little things for me so singularly cheap— + Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget; + But, oh! there is another crime I haven’t mentioned yet! + + “A pleasant-looking gentleman, with pretty purple eyes, + I’ve noticed at my window, as I’ve sat a-catching flies; + He passes by it every day as certain as can be— + I blush to say I’ve winked at him, and he has winked at me!” + + “For shame!” said FATHER PAUL, “my erring daughter! On my word + This is the most distressing news that I have ever heard. + Why, naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged your hand + To a promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band! + + “This dreadful piece of news will pain your worthy parents so! + They are the most remunerative customers I know; + For many many years they’ve kept starvation from my doors: + I never knew so criminal a family as yours! + + “The common country folk in this insipid neighbourhood + Have nothing to confess, they’re so ridiculously good; + And if you marry any one respectable at all, + Why, you’ll reform, and what will then become of FATHER PAUL?” + + The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon his crown, + And started off in haste to tell the news to ROBBER BROWN— + To tell him how his daughter, who was now for marriage fit, + Had winked upon a sorter, who reciprocated it. + + Good ROBBER BROWN he muffled up his anger pretty well: + He said, “I have a notion, and that notion I will tell; + I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits, + And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits. + + “I’ve studied human nature, and I know a thing or two: + Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do— + A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall + When she looks upon his body chopped particularly small.” + + He traced that gallant sorter to a still suburban square; + He watched his opportunity, and seized him unaware; + He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head, + And MRS. BROWN dissected him before she went to bed. + + And pretty little ALICE grew more settled in her mind, + She never more was guilty of a weakness of the kind, + Until at length good ROBBER BROWN bestowed her pretty hand + On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BAB BALLADS*** + + +******* This file should be named 931-0.txt or 931-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/9/3/931 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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S. Gilbert</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .5em; + text-decoration: none;} + span.red { color: red; } + body {background-color: #ffffc0; } + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Bab Ballads, by W. S. Gilbert + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Bab Ballads + + +Author: W. S. Gilbert + + + +Release Date: August 11, 2019 [eBook #931] +[This file was first posted on June 2, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BAB BALLADS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1920 Macmillan and Co. edition of +“The Bab Ballads” (also from “Fifty Bab +Ballads” 1884 George Routledge and Sons edition) by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/cover.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/cover.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1><span style='color: #ff0000'><span class="smcap">The Bab +Ballads</span></span></h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +W. S. GILBERT</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Baby at piano" +title= +"Baby at piano" + src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span style='color: +#ff0000'>MACMILLAN AND CO. LIMITED</span><br /> +ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON<br /> +1920</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">COPYRIGHT</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall"><i>Transferred to Macmillan and Co. +Ltd.</i></span><span class="GutSmall"> 1904</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><i>Sixth Edition</i></span><span +class="GutSmall"> 1904</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><i>Reprinted</i></span><span +class="GutSmall"> 1906, 1910, 1912, 1914, 1917, 1919, +1920</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Captain Reece</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Rival Curates</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page8">8</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Only a Dancing Girl</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">General John</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">To a Little Maid</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">John and Freddy</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sir Guy the Crusader</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Haunted</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Bishop and the +’Busman</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page44">44</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Troubadour</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Ferdinando and Elvira; or, the Gentle +Pieman</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lorenzo de Lardy</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page64">64</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Disillusioned</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Babette’s Love</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page76">76</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">To my Bride</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Folly of Brown</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page84">84</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sir Macklin</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Yarn of the “Nancy +Bell”</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Bishop of Rum-ti-Foo</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Precocious Baby</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">To Phœbe</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page122">122</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Baines Carew, Gentleman</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page125">125</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Thomas Winterbottom Hance</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Reverend Micah Sowls</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page467">467</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Discontented Sugar Broker</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page138">138</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Pantomime “Super” to +his Mask</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page144">144</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Force of Argument</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page475">475</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Ghost, the Gallant, the Gael, and +the Goblin</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page148">148</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Phantom Curate</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page484">484</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Sensation Captain</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page492">492</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Tempora Mutantur</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page501">501</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">At A Pantomime</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page508">508</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">King Borria Bungalee Boo</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page155">155</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Periwinkle Girl</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page164">164</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Thomson Green and Harriet +Hale</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page171">171</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Bob Polter</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page176">176</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Story of Prince Agib</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page518">518</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Ellen M‘Jones +Aberdeen</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page185">185</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Peter the Wag</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page193">193</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Ben Allah Achmet; or, the Fatal +Tum</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page549">549</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Three Kings of +Chickeraboo</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page200">200</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Joe Golightly; or, the First +Lord’s Daughter</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page528">528</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">To the Terrestrial Globe</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page539">539</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Gentle Alice Brown</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page205">205</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>CAPTAIN +REECE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the ships +upon the blue,<br /> +No ship contained a better crew<br /> +Than that of worthy <span class="smcap">Captain Reece</span>,<br +/> +Commanding of <i>The Mantelpiece</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">He was adored by all his men,<br /> +For worthy <span class="smcap">Captain Reece</span>, R.N.,<br /> +Did all that lay within him to<br /> +Promote the comfort of his crew.</p> +<p class="poetry">If ever they were dull or sad,<br /> +Their captain danced to them like mad,<br /> +Or told, to make the time pass by,<br /> +Droll legends of his infancy.</p> +<p class="poetry">A feather bed had every man,<br /> +Warm slippers and hot-water can,<br /> +Brown windsor from the captain’s store,<br /> +A valet, too, to every four.</p> +<p class="poetry">Did they with thirst in summer burn,<br /> +Lo, seltzogenes at every turn,<br /> +And on all very sultry days<br /> +Cream ices handed round on trays.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then currant wine and ginger pops<br /> +Stood handily on all the “tops;”<br /> +And also, with amusement rife,<br /> +A “Zoetrope, or Wheel of Life.”</p> +<p class="poetry">New volumes came across the sea<br /> +From <span class="smcap">Mister Mudie’s</span> libraree;<br +/> +<i>The Times</i> and <i>Saturday Review</i><br /> +Beguiled the leisure of the crew.</p> +<p class="poetry">Kind-hearted <span class="smcap">Captain +Reece</span>, R.N.,<br /> +Was quite devoted to his men;<br /> +In point of fact, good <span class="smcap">Captain +Reece</span><br /> +Beatified <i>The Mantelpiece</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">One summer eve, at half-past ten,<br /> +He said (addressing all his men):<br /> +“Come, tell me, please, what I can do<br /> +To please and gratify my crew.</p> +<p class="poetry">“By any reasonable plan<br /> +I’ll make you happy if I can;<br /> +My own convenience count as <i>nil</i>:<br /> +It is my duty, and I will.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up and answered <span +class="smcap">William Lee</span><br /> +(The kindly captain’s coxswain he,<br /> +A nervous, shy, low-spoken man),<br /> +He cleared his throat and thus began:</p> +<p class="poetry">“You have a daughter, <span +class="smcap">Captain Reece</span>,<br /> +Ten female cousins and a niece,<br /> +A Ma, if what I’m told is true,<br /> +Six sisters, and an aunt or two.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, somehow, sir, it seems to me,<br /> +More friendly-like we all should be,<br /> +If you united of ’em to<br /> +Unmarried members of the crew.</p> +<p class="poetry">“If you’d ameliorate our life,<br +/> +Let each select from them a wife;<br /> +And as for nervous me, old pal,<br /> +Give me your own enchanting gal!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Good <span class="smcap">Captain Reece</span>, +that worthy man,<br /> +Debated on his coxswain’s plan:<br /> +“I quite agree,” he said, “O <span +class="smcap">Bill</span>;<br /> +It is my duty, and I will.</p> +<p class="poetry">“My daughter, that enchanting gurl,<br /> +Has just been promised to an Earl,<br /> +And all my other familee<br /> +To peers of various degree.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But what are dukes and viscounts to<br +/> +The happiness of all my crew?<br /> +The word I gave you I’ll fulfil;<br /> +It is my duty, and I will.</p> +<p class="poetry">“As you desire it shall befall,<br /> +I’ll settle thousands on you all,<br /> +And I shall be, despite my hoard,<br /> +The only bachelor on board.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The boatswain of <i>The Mantelpiece</i>,<br /> +He blushed and spoke to <span class="smcap">Captain +Reece</span>:<br /> +“I beg your honour’s leave,” he said;<br /> +“If you would wish to go and wed,</p> +<p class="poetry">“I have a widowed mother who<br /> +Would be the very thing for you—<br /> +She long has loved you from afar:<br /> +She washes for you, <span class="smcap">Captain</span> +R.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The Captain saw the dame that day—<br /> +Addressed her in his playful way—<br /> +“And did it want a wedding ring?<br /> +It was a tempting ickle sing!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Well, well, the chaplain I will seek,<br +/> +We’ll all be married this day week<br /> +At yonder church upon the hill;<br /> +It is my duty, and I will!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece,<br /> +And widowed Ma of <span class="smcap">Captain Reece</span>,<br /> +Attended there as they were bid;<br /> +It was their duty, and they did.</p> +<h2><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>THE +RIVAL CURATES</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">List</span> while the poet +trolls<br /> + Of <span class="smcap">Mr. Clayton Hooper</span>,<br +/> +Who had a cure of souls<br /> + At Spiffton-extra-Sooper.</p> +<p class="poetry">He lived on curds and whey,<br /> + And daily sang their praises,<br /> +And then he’d go and play<br /> + With buttercups and daisies.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wild croquêt <span +class="smcap">Hooper</span> banned,<br /> + And all the sports of Mammon,<br /> +He warred with cribbage, and<br /> + He exorcised backgammon.</p> +<p class="poetry">His helmet was a glance<br /> + That spoke of holy gladness;<br /> +A saintly smile his lance;<br /> + His shield a tear of sadness.</p> +<p class="poetry">His Vicar smiled to see<br /> + This armour on him buckled:<br /> +With pardonable glee<br /> + He blessed himself and chuckled.</p> +<p class="poetry">“In mildness to abound<br /> + My curate’s sole design is;<br /> +In all the country round<br /> + There’s none so mild as mine is!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And <span class="smcap">Hooper</span>, +disinclined<br /> + His trumpet to be blowing,<br /> +Yet didn’t think you’d find<br /> + A milder curate going.</p> +<p class="poetry">A friend arrived one day<br /> + At Spiffton-extra-Sooper,<br /> +And in this shameful way<br /> + He spoke to <span class="smcap">Mr. +Hooper</span>:</p> +<p class="poetry">“You think your famous name<br /> + For mildness can’t be shaken,<br /> +That none can blot your fame—<br /> + But, <span class="smcap">Hooper</span>, you’re +mistaken!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Your mind is not as blank<br /> + As that of <span class="smcap">Hopley +Porter</span>,<br /> +Who holds a curate’s rank<br /> + At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.</p> +<p class="poetry">“<i>He</i> plays the airy flute,<br /> + And looks depressed and blighted,<br /> +Doves round about him ‘toot,’<br /> + And lambkins dance delighted.</p> +<p class="poetry">“<i>He</i> labours more than you<br /> + At worsted work, and frames it;<br /> +In old maids’ albums, too,<br /> + Sticks seaweed—yes, and names it!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The tempter said his say,<br /> + Which pierced him like a needle—<br /> +He summoned straight away<br /> + His sexton and his beadle.</p> +<p class="poetry">(These men were men who could<br /> + Hold liberal opinions:<br /> +On Sundays they were good—<br /> + On week-days they were minions.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“To <span class="smcap">Hopley +Porter</span> go,<br /> + Your fare I will afford you—<br /> +Deal him a deadly blow,<br /> + And blessings shall reward you.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But stay—I do not like<br /> + Undue assassination,<br /> +And so before you strike,<br /> + Make this communication:</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ll give him this one +chance—<br /> + If he’ll more gaily bear him,<br /> +Play croquêt, smoke, and dance,<br /> + I willingly will spare him.”</p> +<p class="poetry">They went, those minions true,<br /> + To Assesmilk-cum-Worter,<br /> +And told their errand to<br /> + The <span class="smcap">Reverend Hopley +Porter</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“What?” said that reverend gent,<br +/> + “Dance through my hours of leisure?<br /> +Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?—<br /> + Play croquêt? Oh, with pleasure!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Wear all my hair in curl?<br /> + Stand at my door and wink—so—<br /> +At every passing girl?<br /> + My brothers, I should think so!</p> +<p class="poetry">“For years I’ve longed for some<br +/> + Excuse for this revulsion:<br /> +Now that excuse has come—<br /> + I do it on compulsion!!!”</p> +<p class="poetry">He smoked and winked away—<br /> + This <span class="smcap">Reverend Hopley +Porter</span>—<br /> +The deuce there was to pay<br /> + At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.</p> +<p class="poetry">And <span class="smcap">Hooper</span> holds his +ground,<br /> + In mildness daily growing—<br /> +They think him, all around,<br /> + The mildest curate going.</p> +<h2><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>ONLY A +DANCING GIRL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Only</span> a dancing +girl,<br /> + With an unromantic style,<br /> +With borrowed colour and curl,<br /> + With fixed mechanical smile,<br /> + With many a hackneyed wile,<br /> +With ungrammatical lips,<br /> +And corns that mar her trips.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hung from the “flies” in air,<br /> + She acts a palpable lie,<br /> +She’s as little a fairy there<br /> + As unpoetical I!<br /> + I hear you asking, Why—<br /> +Why in the world I sing<br /> +This tawdry, tinselled thing?</p> +<p class="poetry">No airy fairy she,<br /> + As she hangs in arsenic green<br /> +From a highly impossible tree<br /> + In a highly impossible scene<br /> + (Herself not over-clean).<br /> +For fays don’t suffer, I’m told,<br /> +From bunions, coughs, or cold.</p> +<p class="poetry">And stately dames that bring<br /> + Their daughters there to see,<br /> +Pronounce the “dancing thing”<br /> + No better than she should be,<br /> + With her skirt at her shameful knee,<br /> +And her painted, tainted phiz:<br /> +Ah, matron, which of us is?</p> +<p class="poetry">(And, in sooth, it oft occurs<br /> + That while these matrons sigh,<br /> +Their dresses are lower than hers,<br /> + And sometimes half as high;<br /> + And their hair is hair they buy,<br /> +And they use their glasses, too,<br /> +In a way she’d blush to do.)</p> +<p class="poetry">But change her gold and green<br /> + For a coarse merino gown,<br /> +And see her upon the scene<br /> + Of her home, when coaxing down<br /> + Her drunken father’s frown,<br /> +In his squalid cheerless den:<br /> +She’s a fairy truly, then!</p> +<h2><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>GENERAL JOHN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> bravest names +for fire and flames<br /> + And all that mortal durst,<br /> +Were <span class="smcap">General John</span> and <span +class="smcap">Private James</span>,<br /> + Of the Sixty-seventy-first.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">General John</span> was a +soldier tried,<br /> + A chief of warlike dons;<br /> +A haughty stride and a withering pride<br /> + Were <span class="smcap">Major-General +John’s</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">A sneer would play on his martial phiz,<br /> + Superior birth to show;<br /> +“Pish!” was a favourite word of his,<br /> + And he often said “Ho! ho!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Full-Private James</span> +described might be,<br /> + As a man of a mournful mind;<br /> +No characteristic trait had he<br /> + Of any distinctive kind.</p> +<p class="poetry">From the ranks, one day, cried <span +class="smcap">Private James</span>,<br /> + “Oh! <span class="smcap">Major-General +John</span>,<br /> +I’ve doubts of our respective names,<br /> + My mournful mind upon.</p> +<p class="poetry">“A glimmering thought occurs to me<br /> + (Its source I can’t unearth),<br /> +But I’ve a kind of a notion we<br /> + Were cruelly changed at birth.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ve a strange idea that each +other’s names<br /> + We’ve each of us here got on.<br /> +Such things have been,” said <span class="smcap">Private +James</span>.<br /> + “They have!” sneered <span +class="smcap">General John</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“My <span class="smcap">General +John</span>, I swear upon<br /> + My oath I think ’tis so—”<br /> +“Pish!” proudly sneered his <span +class="smcap">General John</span>,<br /> + And he also said “Ho! ho!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“My <span class="smcap">General +John</span>! my <span class="smcap">General John</span>!<br /> + My <span class="smcap">General John</span>!” +quoth he,<br /> +“This aristocratical sneer upon<br /> + Your face I blush to see!</p> +<p class="poetry">“No truly great or generous cove<br /> + Deserving of them names,<br /> +Would sneer at a fixed idea that’s drove<br /> + In the mind of a <span class="smcap">Private +James</span>!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Said <span class="smcap">General John</span>, +“Upon your claims<br /> + No need your breath to waste;<br /> +If this is a joke, <span class="smcap">Full-Private +James</span>,<br /> + It’s a joke of doubtful taste.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But, being a man of doubtless worth,<br +/> + If you feel certain quite<br /> +That we were probably changed at birth,<br /> + I’ll venture to say you’re +right.”</p> +<p class="poetry">So <span class="smcap">General John</span> as +<span class="smcap">Private James</span><br /> + Fell in, parade upon;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Private James</span>, by change of +names,<br /> + Was <span class="smcap">Major-General +John</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>TO A +LITTLE MAID<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BY A POLICEMAN</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span> with me, little +maid,<br /> +Nay, shrink not, thus afraid—<br /> + I’ll harm thee not!<br /> +Fly not, my love, from me—<br /> +I have a home for thee—<br /> + A fairy grot,<br /> + Where mortal +eye<br /> + Can rarely +pry,<br /> +There shall thy dwelling be!</p> +<p class="poetry">List to me, while I tell<br /> +The pleasures of that cell,<br /> + Oh, little maid!<br /> +What though its couch be rude,<br /> +Homely the only food<br /> + Within its shade?<br /> + No thought of +care<br /> + Can enter +there,<br /> +No vulgar swain intrude!</p> +<p class="poetry">Come with me, little maid,<br /> +Come to the rocky shade<br /> + I love to sing;<br /> +Live with us, maiden rare—<br /> +Come, for we “want” thee there,<br /> + Thou elfin thing,<br /> + To work thy +spell,<br /> + In some cool +cell<br /> +In stately Pentonville!</p> +<h2><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>JOHN +AND FREDDY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">John</span> courted lovely +<span class="smcap">Mary Ann</span>,<br /> + So likewise did his brother, <span +class="smcap">Freddy</span>.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fred</span> was a very soft young man,<br /> + While <span class="smcap">John</span>, though quick, +was most unsteady.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fred</span> was a graceful +kind of youth,<br /> + But <span class="smcap">John</span> was very much +the strongest.<br /> +“Oh, dance away,” said she, “in truth,<br /> + I’ll marry him who dances longest.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">John</span> tries the +maiden’s taste to strike<br /> + With gay, grotesque, outrageous dresses,<br /> +And dances comically, like<br /> + <span class="smcap">Clodoche and Co</span>., at the +Princess’s.</p> +<p class="poetry">But <span class="smcap">Freddy</span> tries +another style,<br /> + He knows some graceful steps and does +’em—<br /> +A breathing Poem—Woman’s smile—<br /> + A man all poesy and buzzem.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now <span class="smcap">Freddy’s</span> +operatic <i>pas</i>—<br /> + Now <span class="smcap">Johnny’s</span> +hornpipe seems entrapping:<br /> +Now <span class="smcap">Freddy’s</span> graceful +<i>entrechats</i>—<br /> + Now <span class="smcap">Johnny’s</span> +skilful “cellar-flapping.”</p> +<p class="poetry">For many hours—for many days—<br /> + For many weeks performed each brother,<br /> +For each was active in his ways,<br /> + And neither would give in to t’other.</p> +<p class="poetry">After a month of this, they say<br /> + (The maid was getting bored and moody)<br /> +A wandering curate passed that way<br /> + And talked a lot of goody-goody.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh my,” said he, with solemn +frown,<br /> + “I tremble for each dancing <i>frater</i>,<br +/> +Like unregenerated clown<br /> + And harlequin at some the-ayter.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He showed that men, in dancing, do<br /> + Both impiously and absurdly,<br /> +And proved his proposition true,<br /> + With Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly.</p> +<p class="poetry">For months both <span class="smcap">John</span> +and <span class="smcap">Freddy</span> danced,<br /> + The curate’s protests little heeding;<br /> +For months the curate’s words enhanced<br /> + The sinfulness of their proceeding.</p> +<p class="poetry">At length they bowed to Nature’s +rule—<br /> + Their steps grew feeble and unsteady,<br /> +Till <span class="smcap">Freddy</span> fainted on a stool,<br /> + And <span class="smcap">Johnny</span> on the top of +<span class="smcap">Freddy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Decide!” quoth they, “let +him be named,<br /> + Who henceforth as his wife may rank you.”<br +/> +“I’ve changed my views,” the maiden said,<br /> + “I only marry curates, thank you!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Says <span class="smcap">Freddy</span>, +“Here is goings on!<br /> + To bust myself with rage I’m ready.”<br +/> +“I’ll be a curate!” whispers <span +class="smcap">John</span>—<br /> + “And I,” exclaimed poetic <span +class="smcap">Freddy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">But while they read for it, these chaps,<br /> + The curate booked the maiden bonny—<br /> +And when she’s buried him, perhaps,<br /> + She’ll marry <span +class="smcap">Frederick</span> or <span +class="smcap">Johnny</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>SIR +GUY THE CRUSADER</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sir Guy</span> was a +doughty crusader,<br /> + A muscular +knight,<br /> + Ever ready to +fight,<br /> +A very determined invader,<br /> + And <span class="smcap">Dickey De +Lion’s</span> delight.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lenore</span> was a Saracen +maiden,<br /> + Brunette, +statuesque,<br /> + The reverse of +grotesque,<br /> +Her pa was a bagman from Aden,<br /> + Her mother she played in burlesque.</p> +<p class="poetry">A <i>coryphée</i>, pretty and loyal,<br +/> + In amber and +red<br /> + The ballet she +led;<br /> +Her mother performed at the Royal,<br /> + <span class="smcap">Lenore</span> at the +Saracen’s Head.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of face and of figure majestic,<br /> + She dazzled the +cits—<br /> + Ecstaticised +pits;—<br /> +Her troubles were only domestic,<br /> + But drove her half out of her wits.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her father incessantly lashed her,<br /> + On water and +bread<br /> + She was +grudgingly fed;<br /> +Whenever her father he thrashed her<br /> + Her mother sat down on her head.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Guy</span> saw her, and +loved her, with reason,<br /> + For beauty so +bright<br /> + Sent him mad +with delight;<br /> +He purchased a stall for the season,<br /> + And sat in it every night.</p> +<p class="poetry">His views were exceedingly proper,<br /> + He wanted to +wed,<br /> + So he called at +her shed<br /> +And saw her progenitor whop her—<br /> + Her mother sit down on her head.</p> +<p class="poetry">“So pretty,” said he, “and so +trusting!<br /> + You brute of a +dad,<br /> + You unprincipled +cad,<br /> +Your conduct is really disgusting,<br /> + Come, come, now admit it’s too bad!</p> +<p class="poetry">“You’re a turbaned old Turk, and +malignant—<br /> + Your daughter +<span class="smcap">Lenore</span><br /> + I intensely +adore,<br /> +And I cannot help feeling indignant,<br /> + A fact that I hinted before;</p> +<p class="poetry">“To see a fond father employing<br /> + A deuce of a +knout<br /> + For to bang her +about,<br /> +To a sensitive lover’s annoying.”<br /> + Said the bagman, “Crusader, get +out.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Says <span class="smcap">Guy</span>, +“Shall a warrior laden<br /> + With a big spiky +knob,<br /> + Sit in peace on +his cob<br /> +While a beautiful Saracen maiden<br /> + Is whipped by a Saracen snob?</p> +<p class="poetry">“To London I’ll go from my +charmer.”<br /> + Which he did, +with his loot<br /> + (Seven hats and +a flute),<br /> +And was nabbed for his Sydenham armour<br /> + At <span class="smcap">Mr. Ben-Samuel’s</span> +suit.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sir Guy</span> he was +lodged in the Compter,<br /> + Her pa, in a +rage,<br /> + Died +(don’t know his age),<br /> +His daughter, she married the prompter,<br /> + Grew bulky and quitted the stage.</p> +<h2><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +39</span>HAUNTED</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Haunted</span>? Ay, +in a social way<br /> +By a body of ghosts in dread array;<br /> +But no conventional spectres they—<br /> + Appalling, grim, and tricky:<br /> +I quail at mine as I’d never quail<br /> +At a fine traditional spectre pale,<br /> +With a turnip head and a ghostly wail,<br /> + And a splash of blood on the +dickey!</p> +<p class="poetry">Mine are horrible, social ghosts,—<br /> +Speeches and women and guests and hosts,<br /> +Weddings and morning calls and toasts,<br /> + In every bad variety:<br /> +Ghosts who hover about the grave<br /> +Of all that’s manly, free, and brave:<br /> +You’ll find their names on the architrave<br /> + Of that charnel-house, +Society.</p> +<p class="poetry">Black Monday—black as its school-room +ink—<br /> +With its dismal boys that snivel and think<br /> +Of its nauseous messes to eat and drink,<br /> + And its frozen tank to wash in.<br +/> +That was the first that brought me grief,<br /> +And made me weep, till I sought relief<br /> +In an emblematical handkerchief,<br /> + To choke such baby bosh in.</p> +<p class="poetry">First and worst in the grim array—<br /> +Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way,<br /> +Which I wouldn’t revive for a single day<br /> + For all the wealth of <span +class="smcap">Plutus</span>—<br /> +Are the horrible ghosts that school-days scared:<br /> +If the classical ghost that <span class="smcap">Brutus</span> +dared<br /> +Was the ghost of his “Cæsar” unprepared,<br /> + I’m sure I pity <span +class="smcap">Brutus</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">I pass to critical seventeen;<br /> +The ghost of that terrible wedding scene,<br /> +When an elderly Colonel stole my Queen,<br /> + And woke my dream of heaven.<br /> +No schoolgirl decked in her nurse-room curls<br /> +Was my gushing innocent Queen of Pearls;<br /> +If she wasn’t a girl of a thousand girls,<br /> + She was one of forty-seven!</p> +<p class="poetry">I see the ghost of my first cigar,<br /> +Of the thence-arising family jar—<br /> +Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar,<br /> + And I called the Judge “Your +wushup!”)<br /> +Of reckless days and reckless nights,<br /> +With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights,<br /> +Unholy songs and tipsy fights,<br /> + Which I strove in vain to hush +up.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks,<br /> +Ghosts of “copy, declined with thanks,”<br /> +Of novels returned in endless ranks,<br /> + And thousands more, I suffer.<br +/> +The only line to fitly grace<br /> +My humble tomb, when I’ve run my race,<br /> +Is, “Reader, this is the resting-place<br /> + Of an unsuccessful +duffer.”</p> +<p class="poetry">I’ve fought them all, these ghosts of +mine,<br /> +But the weapons I’ve used are sighs and brine,<br /> +And now that I’m nearly forty-nine,<br /> + Old age is my chiefest bogy;<br /> +For my hair is thinning away at the crown,<br /> +And the silver fights with the worn-out brown;<br /> +And a general verdict sets me down<br /> + As an irreclaimable fogy.</p> +<h2><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>THE +BISHOP AND THE ’BUSMAN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> was a Bishop +bold,<br /> + And London was his see,<br /> +He was short and stout and round about<br /> + And zealous as could be.</p> +<p class="poetry">It also was a Jew,<br /> + Who drove a Putney ’bus—<br /> +For flesh of swine however fine<br /> + He did not care a cuss.</p> +<p class="poetry">His name was <span class="smcap">Hash Baz +Ben</span>,<br /> + And <span class="smcap">Jedediah</span> too,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Solomon</span> and <span +class="smcap">Zabulon</span>—<br /> + This ’bus-directing Jew.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Bishop said, said he,<br /> + “I’ll see what I can do<br /> +To Christianise and make you wise,<br /> + You poor benighted Jew.”</p> +<p class="poetry">So every blessed day<br /> + That ’bus he rode outside,<br /> +From Fulham town, both up and down,<br /> + And loudly thus he cried:</p> +<p class="poetry">“His name is <span class="smcap">Hash Baz +Ben</span>,<br /> + And <span class="smcap">Jedediah</span> too,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Solomon</span> and <span +class="smcap">Zabulon</span>—<br /> + This ’bus-directing Jew.”</p> +<p class="poetry">At first the ’busman smiled,<br /> + And rather liked the fun—<br /> +He merely smiled, that Hebrew child,<br /> + And said, “Eccentric one!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And gay young dogs would wait<br /> + To see the ’bus go by<br /> +(These gay young dogs, in striking togs),<br /> + To hear the Bishop cry:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Observe his grisly beard,<br /> + His race it clearly shows,<br /> +He sticks no fork in ham or pork—<br /> + Observe, my friends, his nose.</p> +<p class="poetry">“His name is <span class="smcap">Hash Baz +Ben</span>,<br /> + And <span class="smcap">Jedediah</span> too,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Solomon</span> and <span +class="smcap">Zabulon</span>—<br /> + This ’bus-directing Jew.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But though at first amused,<br /> + Yet after seven years,<br /> +This Hebrew child got rather riled,<br /> + And melted into tears.</p> +<p class="poetry">He really almost feared<br /> + To leave his poor abode,<br /> +His nose, and name, and beard became<br /> + A byword on that road.</p> +<p class="poetry">At length he swore an oath,<br /> + The reason he would know—<br /> +“I’ll call and see why ever he<br /> + Does persecute me so!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The good old Bishop sat<br /> + On his ancestral chair,<br /> +The ’busman came, sent up his name,<br /> + And laid his grievance bare.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Benighted Jew,” he said<br /> + (The good old Bishop did),<br /> +“Be Christian, you, instead of Jew—<br /> + Become a Christian kid!</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ll ne’er annoy you +more.”<br /> + “Indeed?” replied the Jew;<br /> +“Shall I be freed?” “You will, +indeed!”<br /> + Then “Done!” said he, “with +you!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The organ which, in man,<br /> + Between the eyebrows grows,<br /> +Fell from his face, and in its place<br /> + He found a Christian nose.</p> +<p class="poetry">His tangled Hebrew beard,<br /> + Which to his waist came down,<br /> +Was now a pair of whiskers fair—<br /> + His name <span class="smcap">Adolphus +Brown</span>!</p> +<p class="poetry">He wedded in a year<br /> + That prelate’s daughter <span +class="smcap">Jane</span>,<br /> +He’s grown quite fair—has auburn hair—<br /> + His wife is far from plain.</p> +<h2><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>THE +TROUBADOUR</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">Troubadour</span> he +played<br /> + Without a castle wall,<br /> +Within, a hapless maid<br /> + Responded to his call.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, willow, woe is me!<br /> + Alack and well-a-day!<br /> +If I were only free<br /> + I’d hie me far away!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Unknown her face and name,<br /> + But this he knew right well,<br /> +The maiden’s wailing came<br /> + From out a dungeon cell.</p> +<p class="poetry">A hapless woman lay<br /> + Within that dungeon grim—<br /> +That fact, I’ve heard him say,<br /> + Was quite enough for him.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I will not sit or lie,<br /> + Or eat or drink, I vow,<br /> +Till thou art free as I,<br /> + Or I as pent as thou.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Her tears then ceased to flow,<br /> + Her wails no longer rang,<br /> +And tuneful in her woe<br /> + The prisoned maiden sang:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, stranger, as you play,<br /> + I recognize your touch;<br /> +And all that I can say<br /> + Is, thank you very much.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He seized his clarion straight,<br /> + And blew thereat, until<br /> +A warden oped the gate.<br /> + “Oh, what might be your will?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ve come, Sir Knave, to see<br /> + The master of these halls:<br /> +A maid unwillingly<br /> + Lies prisoned in their walls.”’</p> +<p class="poetry">With barely stifled sigh<br /> + That porter drooped his head,<br /> +With teardrops in his eye,<br /> + “A many, sir,” he said.</p> +<p class="poetry">He stayed to hear no more,<br /> + But pushed that porter by,<br /> +And shortly stood before<br /> + <span class="smcap">Sir Hugh de Peckham +Rye</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sir Hugh</span> he darkly +frowned,<br /> + “What would you, sir, with me?”<br /> +The troubadour he downed<br /> + Upon his bended knee.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ve come, <span class="smcap">de +Peckham Rye</span>,<br /> + To do a Christian task;<br /> +You ask me what would I?<br /> + It is not much I ask.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Release these maidens, sir,<br /> + Whom you dominion o’er—<br /> +Particularly her<br /> + Upon the second floor.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And if you don’t, my +lord”—<br /> + He here stood bolt upright,<br /> +And tapped a tailor’s sword—<br /> + “Come out, you cad, and fight!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sir Hugh</span> he +called—and ran<br /> + The warden from the gate:<br /> +“Go, show this gentleman<br /> + The maid in Forty-eight.”</p> +<p class="poetry">By many a cell they past,<br /> + And stopped at length before<br /> +A portal, bolted fast:<br /> + The man unlocked the door.</p> +<p class="poetry">He called inside the gate<br /> + With coarse and brutal shout,<br /> +“Come, step it, Forty-eight!”<br /> + And Forty-eight stepped out.</p> +<p class="poetry">“They gets it pretty hot,<br /> + The maidens what we cotch—<br /> +Two years this lady’s got<br /> + For collaring a wotch.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, ah!—indeed—I +see,”<br /> + The troubadour exclaimed—<br /> +“If I may make so free,<br /> + How is this castle named?”</p> +<p class="poetry">The warden’s eyelids fill,<br /> + And sighing, he replied,<br /> +“Of gloomy Pentonville<br /> + This is the female side!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The minstrel did not wait<br /> + The Warden stout to thank,<br /> +But recollected straight<br /> + He’d business at the Bank.</p> +<h2><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR, THE GENTLE PIEMAN</span></h2> +<h3>PART I.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">At</span> a pleasant +evening party I had taken down to supper<br /> +One whom I will call <span class="smcap">Elvira</span>, and we +talked of love and <span class="smcap">Tupper</span>,</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Mr. Tupper</span> and the +Poets, very lightly with them dealing,<br /> +For I’ve always been distinguished for a strong poetic +feeling.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then we let off paper crackers, each of which +contained a motto,<br /> +And she listened while I read them, till her mother told her not +to.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then she whispered, “To the ball-room we +had better, dear, be walking;<br /> +If we stop down here much longer, really people will be +talking.”</p> +<p class="poetry">There were noblemen in coronets, and military +cousins,<br /> +There were captains by the hundred, there were baronets by +dozens.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed +them with a blessing,<br /> +Then she let down all her back hair, which had taken long in +dressing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then she had convulsive sobbings in her +agitated throttle,<br /> +Then she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her pretty +smelling-bottle.</p> +<p class="poetry">So I whispered, “Dear <span +class="smcap">Elvira</span>, say,—what can the matter be +with you?<br /> +Does anything you’ve eaten, darling <span +class="smcap">Popsy</span>, disagree with you?”</p> +<p class="poetry">But spite of all I said, her sobs grew more and +more distressing,<br /> +And she tore her pretty back hair, which had taken long in +dressing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then she gazed upon the carpet, at the ceiling, +then above me,<br /> +And she whispered, “<span class="smcap">Ferdinando</span>, +do you really, <i>really</i> love me?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Love you?” said I, then I sighed, +and then I gazed upon her sweetly—<br /> +For I think I do this sort of thing particularly neatly.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Send me to the Arctic regions, or +illimitable azure,<br /> +On a scientific goose-chase, with my <span +class="smcap">Coxwell</span> or my <span +class="smcap">Glaisher</span>!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Tell me whither I may hie me—tell +me, dear one, that I may know—<br /> +Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?”</p> +<p class="poetry">But she said, “It isn’t polar +bears, or hot volcanic grottoes:<br /> +Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker +mottoes!”</p> +<h3>PART II.</h3> +<p class="poetry">“Tell me, <span class="smcap">Henry +Wadsworth</span>, <span class="smcap">alfred poet close</span>, +or <span class="smcap">Mister Tupper</span>,<br /> +Do you write the bon bon mottoes my <span +class="smcap">Elvira</span> pulls at supper?”</p> +<p class="poetry">But <span class="smcap">Henry Wadsworth</span> +smiled, and said he had not had that honour;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Alfred</span>, too, disclaimed the words +that told so much upon her.</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Mister Martin +Tupper</span>, <span class="smcap">Poet Close</span>, I beg of +you inform us;”<br /> +But my question seemed to throw them both into a rage +enormous.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Mister Close</span> +expressed a wish that he could only get anigh to me;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Mister Martin Tupper</span> sent the +following reply to me:</p> +<p class="poetry">“A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men +dread a bandit,”—<br /> +Which I know was very clever; but I didn’t understand +it.</p> +<p class="poetry">Seven weary years I wandered—Patagonia, +China, Norway,<br /> +Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway.</p> +<p class="poetry">There were fuchsias and geraniums, and +daffodils and myrtle,<br /> +So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle.</p> +<p class="poetry">He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth +and he was rosy,<br /> +And his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and +laughed with laughter hearty—<br /> +He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party.</p> +<p class="poetry">And I said, “O gentle pieman, why so +very, very merry?<br /> +Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven +sherry?”</p> +<p class="poetry">But he answered, “I’m so +happy—no profession could be dearer—<br /> +If I am not humming ‘Tra! la! la!’ I’m singing +‘Tirer, lirer!’</p> +<p class="poetry">“First I go and make the patties, and the +puddings, and the jellies,<br /> +Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell is;</p> +<p class="poetry">“Then I polish all the silver, which a +supper-table lacquers;<br /> +Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the +crackers.”—</p> +<p class="poetry">“Found at last!” I madly +shouted. “Gentle pieman, you astound me!”<br /> +Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me.</p> +<p class="poetry">And I shouted and I danced until he’d +quite a crowd around him—<br /> +And I rushed away exclaiming, “I have found him! I +have found him!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And I heard the gentle pieman in the road +behind me trilling,<br /> +“‘Tira, lira!’ stop him, stop him! +‘Tra! la! la!’ the soup’s a +shilling!”</p> +<p class="poetry">But until I reached <span +class="smcap">Elvira’s</span> home, I never, never +waited,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Elvira</span> to her <span +class="smcap">Ferdinand’s</span> irrevocably mated!</p> +<h2><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>LORENZO DE LARDY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Dalilah de Dardy</span> +adored<br /> + The very correctest of cards,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lorenzo de Lardy</span>, a lord—<br /> + He was one of Her Majesty’s Guards.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Dalilah de Dardy</span> was +fat,<br /> + <span class="smcap">Dalilah de Dardy</span> was +old—<br /> +(No doubt in the world about that)<br /> + But <span class="smcap">Dalilah de Dardy</span> had +gold.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lorenzo de Lardy</span> was +tall,<br /> + The flower of maidenly pets,<br /> +Young ladies would love at his call,<br /> + But <span class="smcap">Lorenzo de Lardy</span> had +debts.</p> +<p class="poetry">His money-position was queer,<br /> + And one of his favourite freaks<br /> +Was to hide himself three times a year,<br /> + In Paris, for several weeks.</p> +<p class="poetry">Many days didn’t pass him before<br /> + He fanned himself into a flame,<br /> +For a beautiful “<span class="smcap">Dam du +Comptwore</span>,”<br /> + And this was her singular name:</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Alice Eulalie +Coraline</span><br /> + <span class="smcap">Euphrosine Colombina +Thérèse</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Juliette Stephanie Celestine</span><br /> + <span class="smcap">Charlotte Russe de la Sauce +Mayonnaise</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">She booked all the orders and tin,<br /> + Accoutred in showy fal-lal,<br /> +At a two-fifty Restaurant, in<br /> + The glittering Palais Royal.</p> +<p class="poetry">He’d gaze in her orbit of blue,<br /> + Her hand he would tenderly squeeze,<br /> +But the words of her tongue that he knew<br /> + Were limited strictly to these:</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Coraline Celestine +Eulalie</span>,<br /> + Houp là! Je vous aime, oui, mossoo,<br +/> +Combien donnez moi aujourd’hui<br /> + Bonjour, Mademoiselle, parlez voo.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Mademoiselle de la Sauce +Mayonnaise</span><br /> + Was a witty and beautiful miss,<br /> +Extremely correct in her ways,<br /> + But her English consisted of this:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh my! pretty man, if you please,<br /> + Blom boodin, biftek, currie lamb,<br /> +Bouldogue, two franc half, quite ze cheese,<br /> + Rosbif, me spik Angleesh, godam.”</p> +<p class="poetry">A waiter, for seasons before,<br /> + Had basked in her beautiful gaze,<br /> +And burnt to dismember <span class="smcap">Milor</span>,<br /> + <i>He loved</i> <span class="smcap">de la Sauce +Mayonnaise</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">He said to her, “Méchante <span +class="smcap">Thérèse</span>,<br /> + Avec désespoir tu m’accables.<br /> +Penses-tu, <span class="smcap">de la Sauce Mayonnaise</span>,<br +/> + Ses intentions sont honorables?</p> +<p class="poetry">“Flirtez toujours, ma belle, si tu +ôses—<br /> + Je me vengerai ainsi, ma chère,<br /> +<i>Je lui dirai de quoi l’on compose</i><br /> + <i>Vol au vent à la +Financière</i>!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lord Lardy</span> knew +nothing of this—<br /> + The waiter’s devotion ignored,<br /> +But he gazed on the beautiful miss,<br /> + And never seemed weary or bored.</p> +<p class="poetry">The waiter would screw up his nerve,<br /> + His fingers he’d snap and he’d +dance—<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Lord Lardy</span> would smile and +observe,<br /> + “How strange are the customs of +France!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Well, after delaying a space,<br /> + His tradesmen no longer would wait:<br /> +Returning to England apace,<br /> + He yielded himself to his fate.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lord Lardy</span> espoused, +with a groan,<br /> + <span class="smcap">Miss Dardy’s</span> +developing charms,<br /> +And agreed to tag on to his own,<br /> + Her name and her newly-found arms.</p> +<p class="poetry">The waiter he knelt at the toes<br /> + Of an ugly and thin coryphée,<br /> +Who danced in the hindermost rows<br /> + At the Théatre des +Variétés.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Mademoiselle de la Sauce +Mayonnaise</span><br /> + Didn’t yield to a gnawing despair<br /> +But married a soldier, and plays<br /> + As a pretty and pert Vivandière.</p> +<h2><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span>DISILLUSIONED<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BY AN EX-ENTHUSIAST</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>, that my soul its +gods could see<br /> +As years ago they seemed to me<br /> + When first I painted them;<br /> +Invested with the circumstance<br /> +Of old conventional romance:<br /> + Exploded theorem!</p> +<p class="poetry">The bard who could, all men above,<br /> +Inflame my soul with songs of love,<br /> + And, with his verse, inspire<br /> +The craven soul who feared to die<br /> +With all the glow of chivalry<br /> + And old heroic fire;</p> +<p class="poetry">I found him in a beerhouse tap<br /> +Awaking from a gin-born nap,<br /> + With pipe and sloven dress;<br /> +Amusing chums, who fooled his bent,<br /> +With muddy, maudlin sentiment,<br /> + And tipsy foolishness!</p> +<p class="poetry">The novelist, whose painting pen<br /> +To legions of fictitious men<br /> + A real existence lends,<br /> +Brain-people whom we rarely fail,<br /> +Whene’er we hear their names, to hail<br /> + As old and welcome friends;</p> +<p class="poetry">I found in clumsy snuffy suit,<br /> +In seedy glove, and blucher boot,<br /> + Uncomfortably big.<br /> +Particularly commonplace,<br /> +With vulgar, coarse, stockbroking face,<br /> + And spectacles and wig.</p> +<p class="poetry">My favourite actor who, at will,<br /> +With mimic woe my eyes could fill<br /> + With unaccustomed brine:<br /> +A being who appeared to me<br /> +(Before I knew him well) to be<br /> + A song incarnadine;</p> +<p class="poetry">I found a coarse unpleasant man<br /> +With speckled chin—unhealthy, wan—<br /> + Of self-importance full:<br /> +Existing in an atmosphere<br /> +That reeked of gin and pipes and beer—<br /> + Conceited, fractious, dull.</p> +<p class="poetry">The warrior whose ennobled name<br /> +Is woven with his country’s fame,<br /> + Triumphant over all,<br /> +I found weak, palsied, bloated, blear;<br /> +His province seemed to be, to leer<br /> + At bonnets in Pall Mall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Would that ye always shone, who write,<br /> +Bathed in your own innate limelight,<br /> + And ye who battles wage,<br /> +Or that in darkness I had died<br /> +Before my soul had ever sighed<br /> + To see you off the stage!</p> +<h2><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>BABETTE’S LOVE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Babette</span> she was a +fisher gal,<br /> + With jupon striped and cap in crimps.<br /> +She passed her days inside the Halle,<br /> + Or catching little nimble shrimps.<br /> +Yet she was sweet as flowers in May,<br /> +With no professional bouquet.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Jacot</span> was, of the +Customs bold,<br /> + An officer, at gay Boulogne,<br /> +He loved <span class="smcap">Babette</span>—his love he +told,<br /> + And sighed, “Oh, soyez vous my own!”<br +/> +But “Non!” said she, “<span +class="smcap">Jacot</span>, my pet,<br /> +Vous êtes trop scraggy pour <span +class="smcap">Babette</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Of one alone I nightly dream,<br /> + An able mariner is he,<br /> +And gaily serves the Gen’ral Steam-<br /> + Boat Navigation Companee.<br /> +I’ll marry him, if he but will—<br /> +His name, I rather think, is <span class="smcap">Bill</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I see him when he’s not aware,<br +/> + Upon our hospitable coast,<br /> +Reclining with an easy air<br /> + Upon the <i>Port</i> against a post,<br /> +A-thinking of, I’ll dare to say,<br /> +His native Chelsea far away!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, mon!” exclaimed the Customs +bold,<br /> + “Mes yeux!” he said (which means +“my eye”)<br /> +“Oh, chère!” he also cried, I’m told,<br +/> + “Par Jove,” he added, with a sigh.<br /> +“Oh, mon! oh, chère! mes yeux! par Jove!<br /> +Je n’aime pas cet enticing cove!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The <i>Panther’s</i> captain stood hard +by,<br /> + He was a man of morals strict<br /> +If e’er a sailor winked his eye,<br /> + Straightway he had that sailor licked,<br /> +Mast-headed all (such was his code)<br /> +Who dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed.</p> +<p class="poetry">He wept to think a tar of his<br /> + Should lean so gracefully on posts,<br /> +He sighed and sobbed to think of this,<br /> + On foreign, French, and friendly coasts.<br /> +“It’s human natur’, p’raps—if +so,<br /> +Oh, isn’t human natur’ low!”</p> +<p class="poetry">He called his <span class="smcap">Bill</span>, +who pulled his curl,<br /> + He said, “My <span class="smcap">Bill</span>, +I understand<br /> +You’ve captivated some young gurl<br /> + On this here French and foreign land.<br /> +Her tender heart your beauties jog—<br /> +They do, you know they do, you dog.</p> +<p class="poetry">“You have a graceful way, I learn,<br /> + Of leaning airily on posts,<br /> +By which you’ve been and caused to burn<br /> + A tender flame on these here coasts.<br /> +A fisher gurl, I much regret,—<br /> +Her age, sixteen—her name, <span +class="smcap">Babette</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“You’ll marry her, you gentle +tar—<br /> + Your union I myself will bless,<br /> +And when you matrimonied are,<br /> + I will appoint her stewardess.”<br /> +But <span class="smcap">William</span> hitched himself and +sighed,<br /> +And cleared his throat, and thus replied:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Not so: unless you’re fond of +strife,<br /> + You’d better mind your own affairs,<br /> +I have an able-bodied wife<br /> + Awaiting me at Wapping Stairs;<br /> +If all this here to her I tell,<br /> +She’ll larrup you and me as well.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Skin-deep, and valued at a pin,<br /> + Is beauty such as <span class="smcap">Venus</span> +owns—<br /> +<i>Her</i> beauty is beneath her skin,<br /> + And lies in layers on her bones.<br /> +The other sailors of the crew<br /> +They always calls her ‘Whopping Sue!’”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oho!” the Captain said, “I +see!<br /> + And is she then so very strong?”<br /> +“She’d take your honour’s scruff,” said +he<br /> + “And pitch you over to Bolong!”<br /> +“I pardon you,” the Captain said,<br /> +“The fair <span class="smcap">Babette</span> you +needn’t wed.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Perhaps the Customs had his will,<br /> + And coaxed the scornful girl to wed,<br /> +Perhaps the Captain and his <span class="smcap">Bill</span>,<br +/> + And <span class="smcap">William’s</span> +little wife are dead;<br /> +Or p’raps they’re all alive and well:<br /> +I cannot, cannot, cannot tell.</p> +<h2><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>TO MY +BRIDE<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">(WHOEVER SHE MAY BE)</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! little +maid!—(I do not know your name<br /> + Or who you are, so, as a safe precaution<br /> +I’ll add)—Oh, buxom widow! married dame!<br /> + (As one of these must be your present portion)<br /> + Listen, while I unveil prophetic +lore for you,<br /> + And sing the fate that Fortune has +in store for you.</p> +<p class="poetry">You’ll marry soon—within a year or +twain—<br /> + A bachelor of <i>circa</i> two and thirty:<br /> +Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain,<br /> + And when you’re intimate, you’ll call +him “<span class="smcap">Bertie</span>.”<br /> + Neat—dresses well; his +temper has been classified<br /> + As hasty; but he’s very +quickly pacified.</p> +<p class="poetry">You’ll find him working mildly at the +Bar,<br /> + After a touch at two or three professions,<br /> +From easy affluence extremely far,<br /> + A brief or two on Circuit—“soup” +at Sessions;<br /> + A pound or two from whist and +backing horses,<br /> + And, say three hundred from his +own resources.</p> +<p class="poetry">Quiet in harness; free from serious vice,<br /> + His faults are not particularly shady,<br /> +You’ll never find him “<i>shy</i>”—for, +once or twice<br /> + Already, he’s been driven by a lady,<br /> + Who parts with him—perhaps a +poor excuse for him—<br /> + Because she hasn’t any +further use for him.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! bride of mine—tall, dumpy, dark, or +fair!<br /> + Oh! widow—wife, maybe, or blushing maiden,<br +/> +I’ve told <i>your</i> fortune; solved the gravest care<br +/> + With which your mind has hitherto been laden.<br /> + I’ve prophesied correctly, +never doubt it;<br /> + Now tell me mine—and please +be quick about it!</p> +<p class="poetry">You—only you—can tell me, an’ +you will,<br /> + To whom I’m destined shortly to be mated,<br +/> +Will she run up a heavy <i>modiste’s</i> bill?<br /> + If so, I want to hear her income stated<br /> + (This is a point which interests +me greatly).<br /> + To quote the bard, “Oh! have +I seen her lately?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Say, must I wait till husband number one<br /> + Is comfortably stowed away at Woking?<br /> +How is her hair most usually done?<br /> + And tell me, please, will she object to smoking?<br +/> + The colour of her eyes, too, you +may mention:<br /> + Come, Sibyl, +prophesy—I’m all attention.</p> +<h2><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>THE +FOLLY OF BROWN<br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><span class="smcap">By a General +Agent</span></span></h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">knew</span> a +boor—a clownish card<br /> + (His only friends were pigs and cows and<br /> +The poultry of a small farmyard),<br /> + Who came into two hundred thousand.</p> +<p class="poetry">Good fortune worked no change in <span +class="smcap">Brown</span>,<br /> + Though she’s a mighty social chymist;<br /> +He was a clown—and by a clown<br /> + I do not mean a pantomimist.</p> +<p class="poetry">It left him quiet, calm, and cool,<br /> + Though hardly knowing what a crown was—<br /> +You can’t imagine what a fool<br /> + Poor rich uneducated <span +class="smcap">Brown</span> was!</p> +<p class="poetry">He scouted all who wished to come<br /> + And give him monetary schooling;<br /> +And I propose to give you some<br /> + Idea of his insensate fooling.</p> +<p class="poetry">I formed a company or two—<br /> + (Of course I don’t know what the rest +meant,<br /> +I formed them solely with a view<br /> + To help him to a sound investment).</p> +<p class="poetry">Their objects were—their only +cares—<br /> + To justify their Boards in showing<br /> +A handsome dividend on shares<br /> + And keep their good promoter going.</p> +<p class="poetry">But no—the lout sticks to his brass,<br +/> + Though shares at par I freely proffer:<br /> +Yet—will it be believed?—the ass<br /> + Declines, with thanks, my well-meant offer!</p> +<p class="poetry">He adds, with bumpkin’s stolid grin<br /> + (A weakly intellect denoting),<br /> +He’d rather not invest it in<br /> + A company of my promoting!</p> +<p class="poetry">“You have two hundred ‘thou’ +or more,”<br /> + Said I. “You’ll waste it, lose it, +lend it;<br /> +Come, take my furnished second floor,<br /> + I’ll gladly show you how to spend +it.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But will it be believed that he,<br /> + With grin upon his face of poppy,<br /> +Declined my aid, while thanking me<br /> + For what he called my +“philanthroppy”?</p> +<p class="poetry">Some blind, suspicious fools rejoice<br /> + In doubting friends who wouldn’t harm them;<br +/> +They will not hear the charmer’s voice,<br /> + However wisely he may charm them!</p> +<p class="poetry">I showed him that his coat, all dust,<br /> + Top boots and cords provoked compassion,<br /> +And proved that men of station must<br /> + Conform to the decrees of fashion.</p> +<p class="poetry">I showed him where to buy his hat<br /> + To coat him, trouser him, and boot him;<br /> +But no—he wouldn’t hear of that—<br /> + “He didn’t think the style would suit +him!”</p> +<p class="poetry">I offered him a county seat,<br /> + And made no end of an oration;<br /> +I made it certainty complete,<br /> + And introduced the deputation.</p> +<p class="poetry">But no—the clown my prospect +blights—<br /> + (The worth of birth it surely teaches!)<br /> +“Why should I want to spend my nights<br /> + In Parliament, a-making speeches?</p> +<p class="poetry">“I haven’t never been to +school—<br /> + I ain’t had not no eddication—<br /> +And I should surely be a fool<br /> + To publish that to all the nation!”</p> +<p class="poetry">I offered him a trotting horse—<br /> + No hack had ever trotted faster—<br /> +I also offered him, of course,<br /> + A rare and curious “old master.”</p> +<p class="poetry">I offered to procure him weeds—<br /> + Wines fit for one in his position—<br /> +But, though an ass in all his deeds,<br /> + He’d learnt the meaning of +“commission.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He called me “thief” the other +day,<br /> + And daily from his door he thrusts me;<br /> +Much more of this, and soon I may<br /> + Begin to think that <span class="smcap">Brown</span> +mistrusts me.</p> +<p class="poetry">So deaf to all sound Reason’s rule<br /> + This poor uneducated clown is,<br /> +You can<i>not</i> fancy what a fool<br /> + Poor rich uneducated <span +class="smcap">Brown</span> is.</p> +<h2><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>SIR +MACKLIN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the youths I +ever saw<br /> + None were so wicked, vain, or silly,<br /> +So lost to shame and Sabbath law,<br /> + As worldly <span class="smcap">Tom</span>, and <span +class="smcap">Bob</span>, and <span +class="smcap">Billy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">For every Sabbath day they walked<br /> + (Such was their gay and thoughtless natur)<br /> +In parks or gardens, where they talked<br /> + From three to six, or even later.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sir Macklin</span> was a +priest severe<br /> + In conduct and in conversation,<br /> +It did a sinner good to hear<br /> + Him deal in ratiocination.</p> +<p class="poetry">He could in every action show<br /> + Some sin, and nobody could doubt him.<br /> +He argued high, he argued low,<br /> + He also argued round about him.</p> +<p class="poetry">He wept to think each thoughtless youth<br /> + Contained of wickedness a skinful,<br /> +And burnt to teach the awful truth,<br /> + That walking out on Sunday’s sinful.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, youths,” said he, “I +grieve to find<br /> + The course of life you’ve been and hit +on—<br /> +Sit down,” said he, “and never mind<br /> + The pennies for the chairs you sit on.</p> +<p class="poetry">“My opening head is +‘Kensington,’<br /> + How walking there the sinner hardens,<br /> +Which when I have enlarged upon,<br /> + I go to ‘Secondly’—its +‘Gardens.’</p> +<p class="poetry">“My ‘Thirdly’ comprehendeth +‘Hyde,’<br /> + Of Secresy the guilts and shameses;<br /> +My ‘Fourthly’—‘Park’—its +verdure wide—<br /> + My ‘Fifthly’ comprehends ‘St. +James’s.’</p> +<p class="poetry">“That matter settled, I shall reach<br /> + The ‘Sixthly’ in my solemn tether,<br /> +And show that what is true of each,<br /> + Is also true of all, together.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Then I shall demonstrate to you,<br /> + According to the rules of <span +class="smcap">Whately</span>,<br /> +That what is true of all, is true<br /> + Of each, considered separately.”</p> +<p class="poetry">In lavish stream his accents flow,<br /> + <span class="smcap">Tom</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bob</span>, and <span class="smcap">Billy</span> +dare not flout him;<br /> +He argued high, he argued low,<br /> + He also argued round about him.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ha, ha!” he said, “you +loathe your ways,<br /> + You writhe at these my words of warning,<br /> +In agony your hands you raise.”<br /> + (And so they did, for they were yawning.)</p> +<p class="poetry">To “Twenty-firstly” on they go,<br +/> + The lads do not attempt to scout him;<br /> +He argued high, he argued low,<br /> + He also argued round about him.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ho, ho!” he cries, “you bow +your crests—<br /> + My eloquence has set you weeping;<br /> +In shame you bend upon your breasts!”<br /> + (And so they did, for they were sleeping.)</p> +<p class="poetry">He proved them this—he proved them +that—<br /> + This good but wearisome ascetic;<br /> +He jumped and thumped upon his hat,<br /> + He was so very energetic.</p> +<p class="poetry">His Bishop at this moment chanced<br /> + To pass, and found the road encumbered;<br /> +He noticed how the Churchman danced,<br /> + And how his congregation slumbered.</p> +<p class="poetry">The hundred and eleventh head<br /> + The priest completed of his stricture;<br /> +“Oh, bosh!” the worthy Bishop said,<br /> + And walked him off as in the picture.</p> +<h2><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>THE +YARN OF THE “NANCY BELL”</h2> +<p class="poetry">’<span class="smcap">Twas</span> on the +shores that round our coast<br /> + From Deal to Ramsgate span,<br /> +That I found alone on a piece of stone<br /> + An elderly naval man.</p> +<p class="poetry">His hair was weedy, his beard was long,<br /> + And weedy and long was he,<br /> +And I heard this wight on the shore recite,<br /> + In a singular minor key:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,<br +/> + And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br /> +And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /> + And the crew of the captain’s gig.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,<br +/> + Till I really felt afraid,<br /> +For I couldn’t help thinking the man had been drinking,<br +/> + And so I simply said:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, elderly man, it’s little I +know<br /> + Of the duties of men of the sea,<br /> +And I’ll eat my hand if I understand<br /> + However you can be</p> +<p class="poetry">“At once a cook, and a captain bold,<br +/> + And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br /> +And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /> + And the crew of the captain’s gig.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which<br +/> + Is a trick all seamen larn,<br /> +And having got rid of a thumping quid,<br /> + He spun this painful yarn:</p> +<p class="poetry">“’Twas in the good ship <i>Nancy +Bell</i><br /> + That we sailed to the Indian Sea,<br /> +And there on a reef we come to grief,<br /> + Which has often occurred to me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And pretty nigh all the crew was +drowned<br /> + (There was seventy-seven o’ soul),<br /> +And only ten of the <i>Nancy’s</i> men<br /> + Said ‘Here!’ to the muster-roll.</p> +<p class="poetry">“There was me and the cook and the +captain bold,<br /> + And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br /> +And the bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /> + And the crew of the captain’s gig.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For a month we’d neither wittles +nor drink,<br /> + Till a-hungry we did feel,<br /> +So we drawed a lot, and, accordin’ shot<br /> + The captain for our meal.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The next lot fell to the +<i>Nancy’s</i> mate,<br /> + And a delicate dish he made;<br /> +Then our appetite with the midshipmite<br /> + We seven survivors stayed.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And then we murdered the bo’sun +tight,<br /> + And he much resembled pig;<br /> +Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,<br /> + On the crew of the captain’s gig.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Then only the cook and me was left,<br +/> + And the delicate question, ‘Which<br /> +Of us two goes to the kettle?’ arose,<br /> + And we argued it out as sich.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For I loved that cook as a brother, I +did,<br /> + And the cook he worshipped me;<br /> +But we’d both be blowed if we’d either be stowed<br +/> + In the other chap’s hold, you see.</p> +<p class="poetry">“‘I’ll be eat if you dines +off me,’ says <span class="smcap">Tom</span>;<br /> + ‘Yes, that,’ says I, ‘you’ll +be,—<br /> +‘I’m boiled if I die, my friend,’ quoth I;<br +/> + And ‘Exactly so,’ quoth he.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Says he, ‘Dear <span +class="smcap">James</span>, to murder me<br /> + Were a foolish thing to do,<br /> +For don’t you see that you can’t cook <i>me</i>,<br +/> + While I can—and will—cook +<i>you</i>!’</p> +<p class="poetry">“So he boils the water, and takes the +salt<br /> + And the pepper in portions true<br /> +(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot,<br /> + And some sage and parsley too.</p> +<p class="poetry">“‘Come here,’ says he, with a +proper pride,<br /> + Which his smiling features tell,<br /> +‘’T will soothing be if I let you see<br /> + How extremely nice you’ll smell.’</p> +<p class="poetry">“And he stirred it round and round and +round,<br /> + And he sniffed at the foaming froth;<br /> +When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals<br /> + In the scum of the boiling broth.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And I eat that cook in a week or +less,<br /> + And—as I eating be<br /> +The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,<br /> + For a wessel in sight I see!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">“And I never larf, and I never smile,<br +/> + And I never lark nor play,<br /> +But sit and croak, and a single joke<br /> + I have—which is to say:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,<br +/> + And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br /> +And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /> + And the crew of the captain’s +gig!’”</p> +<h2><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>THE +BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">From</span> east and south +the holy clan<br /> +Of Bishops gathered to a man;<br /> +To Synod, called Pan-Anglican,<br /> + In flocking crowds they came.<br +/> +Among them was a Bishop, who<br /> +Had lately been appointed to<br /> +The balmy isle of Rum-ti-Foo,<br /> + And <span +class="smcap">Peter</span> was his name.</p> +<p class="poetry">His people—twenty-three in sum—<br +/> +They played the eloquent tum-tum,<br /> +And lived on scalps served up, in rum—<br /> + The only sauce they knew.<br /> +When first good <span class="smcap">Bishop Peter</span> came<br +/> +(For <span class="smcap">Peter</span> was that Bishop’s +name),<br /> +To humour them, he did the same<br /> + As they of Rum-ti-Foo.</p> +<p class="poetry">His flock, I’ve often heard him tell,<br +/> +(His name was <span class="smcap">Peter</span>) loved him +well,<br /> +And, summoned by the sound of bell,<br /> + In crowds together came.<br /> +“Oh, massa, why you go away?<br /> +Oh, <span class="smcap">Massa Peter</span>, please to +stay.”<br /> +(They called him <span class="smcap">Peter</span>, people say,<br +/> + Because it was his name.)</p> +<p class="poetry">He told them all good boys to be,<br /> +And sailed away across the sea,<br /> +At London Bridge that Bishop he<br /> + Arrived one Tuesday night;<br /> +And as that night he homeward strode<br /> +To his Pan-Anglican abode,<br /> +He passed along the Borough Road,<br /> + And saw a gruesome sight.</p> +<p class="poetry">He saw a crowd assembled round<br /> +A person dancing on the ground,<br /> +Who straight began to leap and bound<br /> + With all his might and main.<br /> +To see that dancing man he stopped,<br /> +Who twirled and wriggled, skipped and hopped,<br /> +Then down incontinently dropped,<br /> + And then sprang up again.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Bishop chuckled at the sight.<br /> +“This style of dancing would delight<br /> +A simple Rum-ti-Foozleite.<br /> + I’ll learn it if I can,<br +/> +To please the tribe when I get back.”<br /> +He begged the man to teach his knack.<br /> +“Right Reverend Sir, in half a crack,”<br /> + Replied that dancing man.</p> +<p class="poetry">The dancing man he worked away,<br /> +And taught the Bishop every day—<br /> +The dancer skipped like any fay—<br /> + Good <span +class="smcap">Peter</span> did the same.<br /> +The Bishop buckled to his task,<br /> +With <i>battements</i>, and <i>pas de basque</i>.<br /> +(I’ll tell you, if you care to ask,<br /> + That <span +class="smcap">Peter</span> was his name.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come, walk like this,” the dancer +said,<br /> +“Stick out your toes—stick in your head,<br /> +Stalk on with quick, galvanic tread—<br /> + Your fingers thus extend;<br /> +The attitude’s considered quaint.”<br /> +The weary Bishop, feeling faint,<br /> +Replied, “I do not say it ain’t,<br /> + But ‘Time!’ my +Christian friend!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“We now proceed to something +new—<br /> +Dance as the <span class="smcap">Paynes</span> and <span +class="smcap">Lauris</span> do,<br /> +Like this—one, two—one, two—one, two.”<br +/> + The Bishop, never proud,<br /> +But in an overwhelming heat<br /> +(His name was <span class="smcap">Peter</span>, I repeat)<br /> +Performed the <span class="smcap">Payne</span> and <span +class="smcap">Lauri</span> feat,<br /> + And puffed his thanks aloud.</p> +<p class="poetry">Another game the dancer planned—<br /> +“Just take your ankle in your hand,<br /> +And try, my lord, if you can stand—<br /> + Your body stiff and stark.<br /> +If, when revisiting your see,<br /> +You learnt to hop on shore—like me—<br /> +The novelty would striking be,<br /> + And must attract +remark.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“No,” said the worthy Bishop, +“no;<br /> +That is a length to which, I trow,<br /> +Colonial Bishops cannot go.<br /> + You may express surprise<br /> +At finding Bishops deal in pride—<br /> +But if that trick I ever tried,<br /> +I should appear undignified<br /> + In Rum-ti-Foozle’s eyes.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo<br /> +Are well-conducted persons, who<br /> +Approve a joke as much as you,<br /> + And laugh at it as such;<br /> +But if they saw their Bishop land,<br /> +His leg supported in his hand,<br /> +The joke they wouldn’t understand—<br /> + ’Twould pain them very +much!”</p> +<h2><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>THE +PRECOCIOUS BABY.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A VERY TRUE TALE</span></h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>To be sung to the Air of +the</i> “<i>Whistling Oyster</i>.”)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">An</span> elderly +person—a prophet by trade—<br /> + With his quips +and tips<br /> + On withered old +lips,<br /> +He married a young and a beautiful maid;<br /> + The cunning old +blade!<br /> + Though rather +decayed,<br /> +He married a beautiful, beautiful maid.</p> +<p class="poetry">She was only eighteen, and as fair as could +be,<br /> + With her +tempting smiles<br /> + And maidenly +wiles,<br /> +And he was a trifle past seventy-three:<br /> + Now what she +could see<br /> + Is a puzzle to +me,<br /> +In a prophet of seventy—seventy-three!</p> +<p class="poetry">Of all their acquaintances bidden (or bad)<br +/> + With their loud +high jinks<br /> + And underbred +winks,<br /> +None thought they’d a family have—but they had;<br /> + A dear little +lad<br /> + Who drove +’em half mad,<br /> +For he turned out a horribly fast little cad.</p> +<p class="poetry">For when he was born he astonished all by,<br +/> + With their +“Law, dear me!”<br /> + “Did ever +you see?”<br /> +He’d a pipe in his mouth and a glass in his eye,<br /> + A hat all +awry—<br /> + An octagon +tie—<br /> +And a miniature—miniature glass in his eye.</p> +<p class="poetry">He grumbled at wearing a frock and a cap,<br /> + With his +“Oh, dear, oh!”<br /> + And his +“Hang it! ’oo know!”<br /> +And he turned up his nose at his excellent pap—<br /> + “My +friends, it’s a tap<br /> + Dat is not worf +a rap.”<br /> +(Now this was remarkably excellent pap.)</p> +<p class="poetry">He’d chuck his nurse under the chin, and +he’d say,<br /> + With his +“Fal, lal, lal”—<br /> + “’Oo +doosed fine gal!”<br /> +This shocking precocity drove ’em away:<br /> + “A month +from to-day<br /> + Is as long as +I’ll stay—<br /> +Then I’d wish, if you please, for to toddle +away.”</p> +<p class="poetry">His father, a simple old gentleman, he<br /> + With nursery +rhyme<br /> + And “Once +on a time,”<br /> +Would tell him the story of “Little Bo-P,”<br /> + “So pretty +was she,<br /> + So pretty and +wee,<br /> +As pretty, as pretty, as pretty could be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But the babe, with a dig that would startle an +ox,<br /> + With his +“C’ck! Oh, my!—<br /> + Go along wiz +’oo, fie!”<br /> +Would exclaim, “I’m afraid ’oo a socking ole +fox.”<br /> + Now a father it +shocks,<br /> + And it whitens +his locks,<br /> +When his little babe calls him a shocking old fox.</p> +<p class="poetry">The name of his father he’d couple and +pair<br /> + (With his +ill-bred laugh,<br /> + And insolent +chaff)<br /> +With those of the nursery heroines rare—<br /> + Virginia the +Fair,<br /> + Or Good +Goldenhair,<br /> +Till the nuisance was more than a prophet could bear.</p> +<p class="poetry">“There’s Jill and White Cat” +(said the bold little brat,<br /> + With his loud, +“Ha, ha!”)<br /> + “’Oo +sly ickle Pa!<br /> +Wiz ’oo Beauty, Bo-Peep, and ’oo Mrs. Jack Sprat!<br +/> + I’ve +noticed ’oo pat<br /> + <i>My</i> pretty +White Cat—<br /> +I sink dear mamma ought to know about dat!”</p> +<p class="poetry">He early determined to marry and wive,<br /> + For better or +worse<br /> + With his elderly +nurse—<br /> +Which the poor little boy didn’t live to contrive:<br /> + His hearth +didn’t thrive—<br /> + No longer +alive,<br /> +He died an enfeebled old dotard at five!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">MORAL.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, elderly men of the bachelor crew,<br /> + With wrinkled +hose<br /> + And spectacled +nose,<br /> +Don’t marry at all—you may take it as true<br /> + If ever you +do<br /> + The step you +will rue,<br /> +For your babes will be elderly—elderly too.</p> +<h2><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>TO +PHŒBE</h2> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Gentle</span>, +modest little flower,<br /> + Sweet epitome of May,<br /> +Love me but for half an hour,<br /> + Love me, love me, little fay.”<br /> +Sentences so fiercely flaming<br /> + In your tiny shell-like ear,<br /> +I should always be exclaiming<br /> + If I loved you, <span +class="smcap">Phœbe</span> dear.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Smiles that thrill from any distance<br +/> + Shed upon me while I sing!<br /> +Please ecstaticize existence,<br /> + Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!”<br /> +Words like these, outpouring sadly<br /> + You’d perpetually hear,<br /> +If I loved you fondly, madly;—<br /> + But I do not, <span class="smcap">Phœbe</span> +dear.</p> +<h2><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +125</span>BAINES CAREW, GENTLEMAN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the good +attorneys who<br /> + Have placed their names upon the roll,<br /> +But few could equal <span class="smcap">Baines Carew</span><br /> + For tender-heartedness and soul.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whene’er he heard a tale of woe<br /> + From client A or client B,<br /> +His grief would overcome him so<br /> + He’d scarce have strength to take his fee.</p> +<p class="poetry">It laid him up for many days,<br /> + When duty led him to distrain,<br /> +And serving writs, although it pays,<br /> + Gave him excruciating pain.</p> +<p class="poetry">He made out costs, distrained for rent,<br /> + Foreclosed and sued, with moistened eye—<br /> +No bill of costs could represent<br /> + The value of such sympathy.</p> +<p class="poetry">No charges can approximate<br /> + The worth of sympathy with woe;—<br /> +Although I think I ought to state<br /> + He did his best to make them so.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of all the many clients who<br /> + Had mustered round his legal flag,<br /> +No single client of the crew<br /> + Was half so dear as <span class="smcap">Captain +Bagg</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, <span class="smcap">Captain Bagg</span> +had bowed him to<br /> + A heavy matrimonial yoke—<br /> +His wifey had of faults a few—<br /> + She never could resist a joke.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her chaff at first he meekly bore,<br /> + Till unendurable it grew.<br /> +“To stop this persecution sore<br /> + I will consult my friend <span +class="smcap">Carew</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And when <span +class="smcap">Carew’s</span> advice I’ve got,<br /> + Divorce <i>a mensâ</i> I shall try.”<br +/> +(A legal separation—not<br /> + <i>A vinculo conjugii</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, <span class="smcap">Baines +Carew</span>, my woe I’ve kept<br /> + A secret hitherto, you know;”—<br /> +(And <span class="smcap">Baines Carew</span>, <span +class="smcap">Esquire</span>, he wept<br /> + To hear that <span class="smcap">Bagg</span> +<i>had</i> any woe.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“My case, indeed, is passing sad.<br /> + My wife—whom I considered true—<br /> +With brutal conduct drives me mad.”<br /> + “I am appalled,” said <span +class="smcap">Baines Carew</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“What! sound the matrimonial knell<br /> + Of worthy people such as these!<br /> +Why was I an attorney? Well—<br /> + Go on to the <i>sævitia</i>, +please.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Domestic bliss has proved my +bane,—<br /> + A harder case you never heard,<br /> +My wife (in other matters sane)<br /> + Pretends that I’m a Dicky bird!</p> +<p class="poetry">“She makes me sing, ‘Too-whit, +too-wee!’<br /> + And stand upon a rounded stick,<br /> +And always introduces me<br /> + To every one as ‘Pretty +Dick’!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, dear,” said weeping <span +class="smcap">Baines Carew</span>,<br /> + “This is the direst case I know.”<br /> +“I’m grieved,” said <span +class="smcap">Bagg</span>, “at paining you—<br /> + To <span class="smcap">Cobb</span> and <span +class="smcap">Poltherthwaite</span> I’ll go—</p> +<p class="poetry">“To <span +class="smcap">Cobb’s</span> cold, calculating ear,<br /> + My gruesome sorrows I’ll +impart”—<br /> +“No; stop,” said <span class="smcap">Baines</span>, +“I’ll dry my tear,<br /> + And steel my sympathetic heart.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“She makes me perch upon a tree,<br /> + Rewarding me with +‘Sweety—nice!’<br /> +And threatens to exhibit me<br /> + With four or five performing mice.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Restrain my tears I wish I +could”<br /> + (Said <span class="smcap">Baines</span>), “I +don’t know what to do.”<br /> +Said <span class="smcap">Captain Bagg</span>, “You’re +very good.”<br /> + “Oh, not at all,” said <span +class="smcap">Baines Carew</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“She makes me fire a gun,” said +<span class="smcap">Bagg</span>;<br /> + “And, at a preconcerted word,<br /> +Climb up a ladder with a flag,<br /> + Like any street performing bird.</p> +<p class="poetry">“She places sugar in my way—<br /> + In public places calls me ‘Sweet!’<br /> +She gives me groundsel every day,<br /> + And hard canary-seed to eat.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, woe! oh, sad! oh, dire to +tell!”<br /> + (Said <span class="smcap">Baines</span>). +“Be good enough to stop.”<br /> +And senseless on the floor he fell,<br /> + With unpremeditated flop!</p> +<p class="poetry">Said <span class="smcap">Captain Bagg</span>, +“Well, really I<br /> + Am grieved to think it pains you so.<br /> +I thank you for your sympathy;<br /> + But, hang it!—come—I say, you +know!”</p> +<p class="poetry">But <span class="smcap">Baines</span> lay flat +upon the floor,<br /> + Convulsed with sympathetic sob;—<br /> +The Captain toddled off next door,<br /> + And gave the case to <span class="smcap">Mr. +Cobb</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +131</span>THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> all the towns and +cities fair<br /> + On Merry England’s broad expanse,<br /> +No swordsman ever could compare<br /> + With <span class="smcap">Thomas Winterbottom +Hance</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">The dauntless lad could fairly hew<br /> + A silken handkerchief in twain,<br /> +Divide a leg of mutton too—<br /> + And this without unwholesome strain.</p> +<p class="poetry">On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick,<br /> + His sabre sometimes he’d employ—<br /> +No bar of lead, however thick,<br /> + Had terrors for the stalwart boy.</p> +<p class="poetry">At Dover daily he’d prepare<br /> + To hew and slash, behind, before—<br /> +Which aggravated <span class="smcap">Monsieur Pierre</span>,<br +/> + Who watched him from the Calais shore.</p> +<p class="poetry">It caused good <span +class="smcap">Pierre</span> to swear and dance,<br /> + The sight annoyed and vexed him so;<br /> +He was the bravest man in France—<br /> + He said so, and he ought to know.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Regardez donc, ce cochon gros—<br +/> + Ce polisson! Oh, sacré bleu!<br /> +Son sabre, son plomb, et ses gigots<br /> + Comme cela m’ennuye, enfin, mon Dieu!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Il sait que les foulards de soie<br /> + Give no retaliating whack—<br /> +Les gigots morts n’ont pas de quoi—<br /> + Le plomb don’t ever hit you back.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But every day the headstrong lad<br /> + Cut lead and mutton more and more;<br /> +And every day poor <span class="smcap">Pierre</span>, half +mad,<br /> + Shrieked loud defiance from his shore.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hance</span> had a mother, +poor and old,<br /> + A simple, harmless village dame,<br /> +Who crowed and clapped as people told<br /> + Of <span class="smcap">Winterbottom’s</span> +rising fame.</p> +<p class="poetry">She said, “I’ll be upon the spot<br +/> + To see my <span class="smcap">Tommy’s</span> +sabre-play;”<br /> +And so she left her leafy cot,<br /> + And walked to Dover in a day.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Pierre</span> had a doating +mother, who<br /> + Had heard of his defiant rage;<br /> +<i>His</i> Ma was nearly ninety-two,<br /> + And rather dressy for her age.</p> +<p class="poetry">At <span class="smcap">Hance’s</span> +doings every morn,<br /> + With sheer delight <i>his</i> mother cried;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Monsieur Pierre’s</span> +contemptuous scorn<br /> + Filled <i>his</i> mamma with proper pride.</p> +<p class="poetry">But <span class="smcap">Hance’s</span> +powers began to fail—<br /> + His constitution was not strong—<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Pierre</span>, who once was stout and +hale,<br /> + Grew thin from shouting all day long.</p> +<p class="poetry">Their mothers saw them pale and wan,<br /> + Maternal anguish tore each breast,<br /> +And so they met to find a plan<br /> + To set their offsprings’ minds at rest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Said <span class="smcap">Mrs. Hance</span>, +“Of course I shrinks<br /> + From bloodshed, ma’am, as you’re +aware,<br /> +But still they’d better meet, I thinks.”<br /> + “Assurément!” said <span +class="smcap">Madame Pierre</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">A sunny spot in sunny France<br /> + Was hit upon for this affair;<br /> +The ground was picked by <span class="smcap">Mrs. +Hance</span>,<br /> + The stakes were pitched by <span +class="smcap">Madame Pierre</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Said <span class="smcap">Mrs</span>. H., +“Your work you see—<br /> + Go in, my noble boy, and win.”<br /> +“En garde, mon fils!” said <span +class="smcap">Madame</span> P.<br /> + “Allons!” “Go +on!” “En garde!” +“Begin!”</p> +<p class="poetry">(The mothers were of decent size,<br /> + Though not particularly tall;<br /> +But in the sketch that meets your eyes<br /> + I’ve been obliged to draw them small.)</p> +<p class="poetry">Loud sneered the doughty man of France,<br /> + “Ho! ho! Ho! ho! Ha! ha! Ha! +ha!”<br /> +“The French for ‘Pish’” said <span +class="smcap">Thomas Hance</span>.<br /> + Said <span class="smcap">Pierre</span>, +“L’Anglais, Monsieur, pour +‘Bah.’”</p> +<p class="poetry">Said <span class="smcap">Mrs</span>. H., +“Come, one! two! three!—<br /> + We’re sittin’ here to see all +fair.”<br /> +“C’est magnifique!” said <span +class="smcap">Madame</span> P.,<br /> + “Mais, parbleu! ce n’est pas la +guerre!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Je scorn un foe si lache que +vous,”<br /> + Said <span class="smcap">Pierre</span>, the doughty +son of France.<br /> +“I fight not coward foe like you!”<br /> + Said our undaunted <span class="smcap">Tommy +Hance</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The French for +‘Pooh!’” our <span class="smcap">Tommy</span> +cried.<br /> + “L’Anglais pour ‘Va!’” +the Frenchman crowed.<br /> +And so, with undiminished pride,<br /> + Each went on his respective road.</p> +<h2><a name="page467"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 467</span>THE +REVEREND MICAH SOWLS</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span class="smcap">The +Reverend Micah Sowls</span>,<br /> + He shouts and yells and howls,<br /> + He screams, he mouths, he bumps,<br /> + He foams, he rants, he thumps.</p> +<p class="poetry">His armour he has buckled on, to wage<br /> +The regulation war against the Stage;<br /> +And warns his congregation all to shun<br /> +“The Presence-Chamber of the Evil One,”</p> +<p class="poetry"> The subject’s sad +enough<br /> + To make him rant and puff,<br /> + And fortunately, too,<br /> + His Bishop’s in a pew.</p> +<p class="poetry">So <span class="smcap">Reverend Micah</span> +claps on extra steam,<br /> +His eyes are flashing with superior gleam,<br /> +He is as energetic as can be,<br /> +For there are fatter livings in that see.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Bishop, when it’s o’er,<br /> +Goes through the vestry door,<br /> +Where <span class="smcap">Micah</span>, very red,<br /> +Is mopping of his head.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Pardon, my Lord, your <span +class="smcap">Sowls</span>’ excessive zeal,<br /> +It is a theme on which I strongly feel.”<br /> +(The sermon somebody had sent him down<br /> +From London, at a charge of half-a-crown.)</p> +<p class="poetry"> The Bishop bowed his head,<br +/> + And, acquiescing, said,<br /> + “I’ve heard your well-meant rage<br /> + Against the Modern Stage.</p> +<p class="poetry">“A modern Theatre, as I heard you say,<br +/> +Sows seeds of evil broadcast—well it may;<br /> +But let me ask you, my respected son,<br /> +Pray, have you ever ventured into one?”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “My Lord,” said +<span class="smcap">Micah</span>, “no!<br /> + I never, never go!<br /> + What! Go and see a play?<br /> + My goodness gracious, nay!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The worthy Bishop said, “My friend, no +doubt<br /> +The Stage may be the place you make it out;<br /> +But if, my <span class="smcap">Reverend Sowls</span>, you never +go,<br /> +I don’t quite understand how you’re to +know.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Well, really,” +<span class="smcap">Micah</span> said,<br /> + “I’ve often heard and read,<br /> + But never go—do you?”<br /> + The Bishop said, “I do.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“That proves me wrong,” said <span +class="smcap">Micah</span>, in a trice:<br /> +“I thought it all frivolity and vice.”<br /> +The Bishop handed him a printed card;<br /> +“Go to a theatre where they play our Bard.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> The Bishop took his leave,<br +/> + Rejoicing in his sleeve.<br /> + The next ensuing day<br /> + <span class="smcap">Sowls</span> went and heard a +play.</p> +<p class="poetry">He saw a dreary person on the stage,<br /> +Who mouthed and mugged in simulated rage,<br /> +Who growled and spluttered in a mode absurd,<br /> +And spoke an English <span class="smcap">Sowls</span> had never +heard.</p> +<p class="poetry"> For “gaunt” was +spoken “garnt,”<br /> + And “haunt” transformed to +“harnt,”<br /> + And “wrath” pronounced as +“rath,”<br /> + And “death” was changed to +“dath.”</p> +<p class="poetry">For hours and hours that dismal actor +walked,<br /> +And talked, and talked, and talked, and talked,<br /> +Till lethargy upon the parson crept,<br /> +And sleepy <span class="smcap">Micah Sowls</span> serenely +slept.</p> +<p class="poetry"> He slept away until<br /> + The farce that closed the bill<br /> + Had warned him not to stay,<br /> + And then he went away.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I thought <i>my</i> gait +ridiculous,” said he—<br /> +“<i>My</i> elocution faulty as could be;<br /> +I thought <i>I</i> mumbled on a matchless plan—<br /> +I had not seen our great Tragedian!</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Forgive me, if you +can,<br /> + O great Tragedian!<br /> + I own it with a sigh—<br /> + You’re drearier than I!”</p> +<h2><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>A +DISCONTENTED SUGAR BROKER</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">Gentleman</span> of City +fame<br /> + Now claims your kind attention;<br /> +East India broking was his game,<br /> + His name I shall not mention:<br /> + No one of finely-pointed sense<br +/> + Would violate a confidence,<br /> + + +And shall <i>I</i> go<br /> + + +And do it? No!<br /> + His name I shall not mention.</p> +<p class="poetry">He had a trusty wife and true,<br /> + And very cosy quarters,<br /> +A manager, a boy or two,<br /> + Six clerks, and seven porters.<br /> + A broker must be doing well<br /> + (As any lunatic can tell)<br /> + + +Who can employ<br /> + + +An active boy,<br /> + Six clerks, and seven porters.</p> +<p class="poetry">His knocker advertised no dun,<br /> + No losses made him sulky,<br /> +He had one sorrow—only one—<br /> + He was extremely bulky.<br /> + A man must be, I beg to state,<br +/> + Exceptionally fortunate<br /> + + +Who owns his chief<br /> + + +And only grief<br /> + Is—being very bulky.</p> +<p class="poetry">“This load,” he’d say, +“I cannot bear;<br /> + I’m nineteen stone or twenty!<br /> +Henceforward I’ll go in for air<br /> + And exercise in plenty.”<br /> + Most people think that, should it +come,<br /> + They can reduce a bulging tum<br +/> + + +To measures fair<br /> + + +By taking air<br /> + And exercise in plenty.</p> +<p class="poetry">In every weather, every day,<br /> + Dry, muddy, wet, or gritty,<br /> +He took to dancing all the way<br /> + From Brompton to the City.<br /> + You do not often get the chance<br +/> + Of seeing sugar brokers dance<br +/> + + +From their abode<br /> + + +In Fulham Road<br /> + Through Brompton to the City.</p> +<p class="poetry">He braved the gay and guileless laugh<br /> + Of children with their nusses,<br /> +The loud uneducated chaff<br /> + Of clerks on omnibuses.<br /> + Against all minor things that +rack<br /> + A nicely-balanced mind, I’ll +back<br /> + + +The noisy chaff<br /> + + +And ill-bred laugh<br /> + Of clerks on omnibuses.</p> +<p class="poetry">His friends, who heard his money chink,<br /> + And saw the house he rented,<br /> +And knew his wife, could never think<br /> + What made him discontented.<br /> + It never entered their pure +minds<br /> + That fads are of eccentric +kinds,<br /> + + +Nor would they own<br /> + + +That fat alone<br /> + Could make one discontented.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Your riches know no kind of pause,<br /> + Your trade is fast advancing;<br /> +You dance—but not for joy, because<br /> + You weep as you are dancing.<br /> + To dance implies that man is +glad,<br /> + To weep implies that man is +sad;<br /> + + +But here are you<br /> + + +Who do the two—<br /> + You weep as you are dancing!”</p> +<p class="poetry">His mania soon got noised about<br /> + And into all the papers;<br /> +His size increased beyond a doubt<br /> + For all his reckless capers:<br /> + It may seem singular to you,<br /> + But all his friends admit it +true—<br /> + + +The more he found<br /> + + +His figure round,<br /> + The more he cut his capers.</p> +<p class="poetry">His bulk increased—no matter +that—<br /> + He tried the more to toss it—<br /> +He never spoke of it as “fat,”<br /> + But “adipose deposit.”<br /> + Upon my word, it seems to me<br /> + Unpardonable vanity<br /> + + +(And worse than that)<br /> + + +To call your fat<br /> + An “adipose deposit.”</p> +<p class="poetry">At length his brawny knees gave way,<br /> + And on the carpet sinking,<br /> +Upon his shapeless back he lay<br /> + And kicked away like winking.<br /> + Instead of seeing in his state<br +/> + The finger of unswerving Fate,<br +/> + + +He laboured still<br /> + + +To work his will,<br /> + And kicked away like winking.</p> +<p class="poetry">His friends, disgusted with him now,<br /> + Away in silence wended—<br /> +I hardly like to tell you how<br /> + This dreadful story ended.<br /> + The shocking sequel to impart,<br +/> + I must employ the limner’s +art—<br /> + + +If you would know,<br /> + + +This sketch will show<br /> + How his exertions ended.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">MORAL.</p> +<p class="poetry">I hate to preach—I hate to +prate—<br /> + I’m no fanatic croaker,<br /> +But learn contentment from the fate<br /> + Of this East India broker.<br /> + He’d everything a man of +taste<br /> + Could ever want, except a +waist;<br /> + + +And discontent<br /> + + +His size anent,<br /> + And bootless perseverance blind,<br /> +Completely wrecked the peace of mind<br /> +Of this East India broker.</p> +<h2><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>THE +PANTOMIME “SUPER” TO HIS MASK</h2> +<p +class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Vast</span> empty shell!<br /> +Impertinent, preposterous abortion!<br /> + With vacant +stare,<br /> + And ragged +hair,<br /> +And every feature out of all proportion!<br /> +Embodiment of echoing inanity!<br /> +Excellent type of simpering insanity!<br /> +Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity!<br /> + I ring thy +knell!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> To-night +thou diest,<br /> +Beast that destroy’st my heaven-born identity!<br /> + Nine weeks of +nights,<br /> + Before the +lights,<br /> +Swamped in thine own preposterous nonentity,<br /> +I’ve been ill-treated, cursed, and thrashed diurnally,<br +/> +Credited for the smile you wear externally—<br /> +I feel disposed to smash thy face, infernally,<br /> + As there thou +liest!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> I’ve +been thy brain:<br /> +<i>I’ve</i> been the brain that lit thy dull concavity!<br +/> + The human +race<br /> + Invest <i>my</i> +face<br /> +With thine expression of unchecked depravity,<br /> +Invested with a ghastly reciprocity,<br /> +<i>I’ve</i> been responsible for thy monstrosity,<br /> +I, for thy wanton, blundering ferocity—<br /> + But not +again!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> ’T +is time to toll<br /> +Thy knell, and that of follies pantomimical:<br /> + A nine +weeks’ run,<br /> + And thou hast +done<br /> +All thou canst do to make thyself inimical.<br /> +Adieu, embodiment of all inanity!<br /> +Excellent type of simpering insanity!<br /> +Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity!<br /> + Freed is thy +soul!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>The Mask respondeth</i>.)</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Oh! +master mine,<br /> +Look thou within thee, ere again ill-using me.<br /> + Art thou +aware<br /> + Of nothing +there<br /> +Which might abuse thee, as thou art abusing me?<br /> +A brain that mourns <i>thine</i> unredeemed rascality?<br /> +A soul that weeps at <i>thy</i> threadbare morality?<br /> +Both grieving that <i>their</i> individuality<br /> + Is merged in +thine?</p> +<h2><a name="page475"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 475</span>THE +FORCE OF ARGUMENT</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lord</span> B. was a +nobleman bold<br /> + Who came of illustrious stocks,<br /> +He was thirty or forty years old,<br /> + And several feet in his socks.</p> +<p class="poetry">To Turniptopville-by-the-Sea<br /> + This elegant nobleman went,<br /> +For that was a borough that he<br /> + Was anxious to rep-per-re-sent.</p> +<p class="poetry">At local assemblies he danced<br /> + Until he felt thoroughly ill;<br /> +He waltzed, and he galoped, and lanced,<br /> + And threaded the mazy quadrille.</p> +<p class="poetry">The maidens of Turniptopville<br /> + Were simple—ingenuous—pure—<br /> +And they all worked away with a will<br /> + The nobleman’s heart to secure.</p> +<p class="poetry">Two maidens all others beyond<br /> + Endeavoured his cares to dispel—<br /> +The one was the lively <span class="smcap">Ann Pond</span>,<br /> + The other sad <span class="smcap">Mary +Morell</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ann Pond</span> had +determined to try<br /> + And carry the Earl with a rush;<br /> +Her principal feature was eye,<br /> + Her greatest accomplishment—gush.</p> +<p class="poetry">And <span class="smcap">Mary</span> chose this +for her play:<br /> + Whenever he looked in her eye<br /> +She’d blush and turn quickly away,<br /> + And flitter, and flutter, and sigh.</p> +<p class="poetry">It was noticed he constantly sighed<br /> + As she worked out the scheme she had planned,<br /> +A fact he endeavoured to hide<br /> + With his aristocratical hand.</p> +<p class="poetry">Old <span class="smcap">Pond</span> was a +farmer, they say,<br /> + And so was old <span class="smcap">Tommy +Morell</span>.<br /> +In a humble and pottering way<br /> + They were doing exceedingly well.</p> +<p class="poetry">They both of them carried by vote<br /> + The Earl was a dangerous man;<br /> +So nervously clearing his throat,<br /> + One morning old <span class="smcap">Tommy</span> +began:</p> +<p class="poetry">“My darter’s no pratty young +doll—<br /> + I’m a plain-spoken Zommerzet man—<br /> +Now what do ’ee mean by my <span +class="smcap">Poll</span>,<br /> + And what do ’ee mean by his <span +class="smcap">Ann</span>?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Said B., “I will give you my bond<br /> + I mean them uncommonly well,<br /> +Believe me, my excellent <span class="smcap">Pond</span>,<br /> + And credit me, worthy <span +class="smcap">Morell</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“It’s quite indisputable, for<br /> + I’ll prove it with singular ease,—<br /> +You shall have it in ‘Barbara’ or<br /> + ‘Celarent’—whichever you +please.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘You see, when an anchorite bows<br /> + To the yoke of intentional sin,<br /> +If the state of the country allows,<br /> + Homogeny always steps in—</p> +<p class="poetry">“It’s a highly æsthetical +bond,<br /> + As any mere ploughboy can tell—”<br /> +“Of course,” replied puzzled old <span +class="smcap">Pond</span>.<br /> + “I see,” said old <span +class="smcap">Tommy Morell</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Very good, then,” continued the +lord;<br /> + “When it’s fooled to the top of its +bent,<br /> +With a sweep of a Damocles sword<br /> + The web of intention is rent.</p> +<p class="poetry">“That’s patent to all of us +here,<br /> + As any mere schoolboy can tell.”<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pond</span> answered, “Of course +it’s quite clear”;<br /> + And so did that humbug <span +class="smcap">Morell</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Its tone’s esoteric in +force—<br /> + I trust that I make myself clear?”<br /> +<span class="smcap">Morell</span> only answered, “Of +course,”<br /> + While <span class="smcap">Pond</span> slowly +muttered, “Hear, hear.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Volition—celestial prize,<br /> + Pellucid as porphyry cell—<br /> +Is based on a principle wise.”<br /> + “Quite so,” exclaimed <span +class="smcap">Pond</span> and <span +class="smcap">Morell</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“From what I have said you will see<br /> + That I couldn’t wed either—in fine,<br +/> +By Nature’s unchanging decree<br /> + <i>Your</i> daughters could never be +<i>mine</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Go home to your pigs and your ricks,<br +/> + My hands of the matter I’ve rinsed.”<br +/> +So they take up their hats and their sticks,<br /> + And <i>exeunt ambo</i>, convinced.</p> +<h2><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>THE +GHOST, THE GALLANT, THE GAEL, AND THE GOBLIN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">O’er</span> +unreclaimed suburban clays<br /> + Some years ago were hobblin’<br /> +An elderly ghost of easy ways,<br /> + And an influential goblin.<br /> +The ghost was a sombre spectral shape,<br /> + A fine old five-act fogy,<br /> +The goblin imp, a lithe young ape,<br /> + A fine low-comedy bogy.</p> +<p class="poetry">And as they exercised their joints,<br /> + Promoting quick digestion,<br /> +They talked on several curious points,<br /> + And raised this delicate question:<br /> +“Which of us two is Number One—<br /> + The ghostie, or the goblin?”<br /> +And o’er the point they raised in fun<br /> + They fairly fell a-squabblin’.</p> +<p class="poetry">They’d barely speak, and each, in +fine,<br /> + Grew more and more reflective:<br /> +Each thought his own particular line<br /> + By chalks the more effective.<br /> +At length they settled some one should<br /> + By each of them be haunted,<br /> +And so arrange that either could<br /> + Exert his prowess vaunted.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The Quaint against the +Statuesque”—<br /> + By competition lawful—<br /> +The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque,<br /> + The ghost the Grandly Awful.<br /> +“Now,” said the goblin, “here’s my +plan—<br /> + In attitude commanding,<br /> +I see a stalwart Englishman<br /> + By yonder tailor’s standing.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The very fittest man on earth<br /> + My influence to try on—<br /> +Of gentle, p’r’aps of noble birth,<br /> + And dauntless as a lion!<br /> +Now wrap yourself within your shroud—<br /> + Remain in easy hearing—<br /> +Observe—you’ll hear him scream aloud<br /> + When I begin appearing!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The imp with yell +unearthly—wild—<br /> + Threw off his dark enclosure:<br /> +His dauntless victim looked and smiled<br /> + With singular composure.<br /> +For hours he tried to daunt the youth,<br /> + For days, indeed, but vainly—<br /> +The stripling smiled!—to tell the truth,<br /> + The stripling smiled inanely.</p> +<p class="poetry">For weeks the goblin weird and wild,<br /> + That noble stripling haunted;<br /> +For weeks the stripling stood and smiled,<br /> + Unmoved and all undaunted.<br /> +The sombre ghost exclaimed, “Your plan<br /> + Has failed you, goblin, plainly:<br /> +Now watch yon hardy Hieland man,<br /> + So stalwart and ungainly.</p> +<p class="poetry">“These are the men who chase the roe,<br +/> + Whose footsteps never falter,<br /> +Who bring with them, where’er they go,<br /> + A smack of old <span class="smcap">Sir +Walter</span>.<br /> +Of such as he, the men sublime<br /> + Who lead their troops victorious,<br /> +Whose deeds go down to after-time,<br /> + Enshrined in annals glorious!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Of such as he the bard has said<br /> + ‘Hech thrawfu’ raltie rorkie!<br /> +Wi’ thecht ta’ croonie clapperhead<br /> + And fash’ wi’ unco pawkie!’<br /> +He’ll faint away when I appear,<br /> + Upon his native heather;<br /> +Or p’r’aps he’ll only scream with fear,<br /> + Or p’r’aps the two together.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The spectre showed himself, alone,<br /> + To do his ghostly battling,<br /> +With curdling groan and dismal moan,<br /> + And lots of chains a-rattling!<br /> +But no—the chiel’s stout Gaelic stuff<br /> + Withstood all ghostly harrying;<br /> +His fingers closed upon the snuff<br /> + Which upwards he was carrying.</p> +<p class="poetry">For days that ghost declined to stir,<br /> + A foggy shapeless giant—<br /> +For weeks that splendid officer<br /> + Stared back again defiant.<br /> +Just as the Englishman returned<br /> + The goblin’s vulgar staring,<br /> +Just so the Scotchman boldly spurned<br /> + The ghost’s unmannered scaring.</p> +<p class="poetry">For several years the ghostly twain<br /> + These Britons bold have haunted,<br /> +But all their efforts are in vain—<br /> + Their victims stand undaunted.<br /> +This very day the imp, and ghost,<br /> + Whose powers the imp derided,<br /> +Stand each at his allotted post—<br /> + The bet is undecided.</p> +<h2><a name="page484"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 484</span>THE +PHANTOM CURATE.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A FABLE</span></h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="GutSmall">BISHOP</span> +once—I will not name his see—<br /> + Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional;<br /> +From pulpit shackles never set them free,<br /> + And found a sin where sin was unintentional.<br /> +All pleasures ended in abuse auricular—<br /> +The Bishop was so terribly particular.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though, on the whole, a wise and upright +man,<br /> + He sought to make of human pleasures clearances;<br +/> +And form his priests on that much-lauded plan<br /> + Which pays undue attention to appearances.<br /> +He couldn’t do good deeds without a psalm in ’em,<br +/> +Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in ’em.</p> +<p class="poetry">Enraged to find a deacon at a dance,<br /> + Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity,<br /> +He sought by open censure to enhance<br /> + Their dread of joining harmless social jollity.<br +/> +Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety)<br /> +The ordinary pleasures of society.</p> +<p class="poetry">One evening, sitting at a pantomime<br /> + (Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of +him),<br /> +Roaring at jokes, <i>sans</i> metre, sense, or rhyme,<br /> + He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him,<br /> +His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it,<br /> +A curate, also heartily enjoying it.</p> +<p class="poetry">Again, ’t was Christmas Eve, and to +enhance<br /> + His children’s pleasure in their harmless +rollicking,<br /> +He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance;<br /> + When something checked the current of his +frolicking:<br /> +That curate, with a maid he treated lover-ly,<br /> +Stood up and figured with him in the “Coverley!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Once, yielding to an universal choice<br /> + (The company’s demand was an emphatic one,<br +/> +For the old Bishop had a glorious voice),<br /> + In a quartet he joined—an operatic one.<br /> +Harmless enough, though ne’er a word of grace in it,<br /> +When, lo! that curate came and took the bass in it!</p> +<p class="poetry">One day, when passing through a quiet +street,<br /> + He stopped awhile and joined a Punch’s +gathering;<br /> +And chuckled more than solemn folk think meet,<br /> + To see that gentleman his Judy lathering;<br /> +And heard, as Punch was being treated penalty,<br /> +That phantom curate laughing all hyænally.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now at a picnic, ’mid fair golden +curls,<br /> + Bright eyes, straw hats, <i>bottines</i> that fit +amazingly,<br /> +A croquêt-bout is planned by all the girls;<br /> + And he, consenting, speaks of croquêt +praisingly;<br /> +But suddenly declines to play at all in it—<br /> +The curate fiend has come to take a ball in it!</p> +<p class="poetry">Next, when at quiet sea-side village, freed<br +/> + From cares episcopal and ties monarchical,<br /> +He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed,<br /> + In manner anything but hierarchical—<br /> +He sees—and fixes an unearthly stare on it—<br /> +That curate’s face, with half a yard of hair on it!</p> +<p class="poetry">At length he gave a charge, and spake this +word:<br /> + “Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye +may;<br /> +To check their harmless pleasuring’s absurd;<br /> + What laymen do without reproach, my clergy +may.”<br /> +He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of him,<br /> +The curate vanished—no one since has heard of him.</p> +<h2><a name="page492"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 492</span>THE +SENSATION CAPTAIN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">No</span> nobler captain +ever trod<br /> +Than <span class="smcap">Captain Parklebury Todd</span>,<br /> + So good—so wise—so brave, he!<br /> +But still, as all his friends would own,<br /> +He had one folly—one alone—<br /> + This Captain in the Navy.</p> +<p class="poetry">I do not think I ever knew<br /> +A man so wholly given to<br /> + Creating a sensation,<br /> +Or p’raps I should in justice say—<br /> +To what in an Adelphi play<br /> + Is known as “situation.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He passed his time designing traps<br /> +To flurry unsuspicious chaps—<br /> + The taste was his innately;<br /> +He couldn’t walk into a room<br /> +Without ejaculating “Boom!”<br /> + Which startled ladies greatly.</p> +<p class="poetry">He’d wear a mask and muffling cloak,<br +/> +Not, you will understand, in joke,<br /> + As some assume disguises;<br /> +He did it, actuated by<br /> +A simple love of mystery<br /> + And fondness for surprises.</p> +<p class="poetry">I need not say he loved a maid—<br /> +His eloquence threw into shade<br /> + All others who adored her.<br /> +The maid, though pleased at first, I know,<br /> +Found, after several years or so,<br /> + Her startling lover bored her.</p> +<p class="poetry">So, when his orders came to sail,<br /> +She did not faint or scream or wail,<br /> + Or with her tears anoint him:<br /> +She shook his hand, and said “Good-bye,”<br /> +With laughter dancing in her eye—<br /> + Which seemed to disappoint him.</p> +<p class="poetry">But ere he went aboard his boat,<br /> +He placed around her little throat<br /> + A ribbon, blue and yellow,<br /> +On which he hung a double-tooth—<br /> +A simple token this, in sooth—<br /> + ’Twas all he had, poor fellow!</p> +<p class="poetry">“I often wonder,” he would say,<br +/> +When very, very far away,<br /> + “If <span class="smcap">Angelina</span> wears +it?<br /> +A plan has entered in my head:<br /> +I will pretend that I am dead,<br /> + And see how <span class="smcap">Angy</span> bears +it.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The news he made a messmate tell.<br /> +His <span class="smcap">Angelina</span> bore it well,<br /> + No sign gave she of crazing;<br /> +But, steady as the Inchcape Rock,<br /> +His <span class="smcap">Angelina</span> stood the shock<br /> + With fortitude amazing.</p> +<p class="poetry">She said, “Some one I must elect<br /> +Poor <span class="smcap">Angelina</span> to protect<br /> + From all who wish to harm her.<br /> +Since worthy <span class="smcap">Captain Todd</span> is dead,<br +/> +I rather feel inclined to wed<br /> + A comfortable farmer.”</p> +<p class="poetry">A comfortable farmer came<br /> +(<span class="smcap">Bassanio Tyler</span> was his name),<br /> + Who had no end of treasure.<br /> +He said, “My noble gal, be mine!”<br /> +The noble gal did not decline,<br /> + But simply said, “With pleasure.”</p> +<p class="poetry">When this was told to <span +class="smcap">Captain Todd</span>,<br /> +At first he thought it rather odd,<br /> + And felt some perturbation;<br /> +But very long he did not grieve,<br /> +He thought he could a way perceive<br /> + To <i>such</i> a situation!</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ll not reveal myself,” +said he,<br /> +“Till they are both in the Ecclesiastical arena;<br /> + Then suddenly I will appear,<br /> +And paralysing them with fear,<br /> +Demand my <span class="smcap">Angelina</span>!”</p> +<p class="poetry">At length arrived the wedding day;<br /> +Accoutred in the usual way<br /> + Appeared the bridal body;<br /> +The worthy clergyman began,<br /> +When in the gallant Captain ran<br /> + And cried, “Behold your <span +class="smcap">Toddy</span>!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The bridegroom, p’raps, was terrified,<br +/> +And also possibly the bride—<br /> + The bridesmaids <i>were</i> affrighted;<br /> +But <span class="smcap">Angelina</span>, noble soul,<br /> +Contrived her feelings to control,<br /> + And really seemed delighted.</p> +<p class="poetry">“My bride!” said gallant <span +class="smcap">Captain Todd</span>,<br /> +“She’s mine, uninteresting clod!<br /> + My own, my darling charmer!”<br /> +“Oh dear,” said she, “you’re just too +late—<br /> +I’m married to, I beg to state,<br /> + This comfortable farmer!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Indeed,” the farmer said, +“she’s mine:<br /> +You’ve been and cut it far too fine!”<br /> + “I see,” said <span +class="smcap">Todd</span>, “I’m beaten.”<br /> +And so he went to sea once more,<br /> +“Sensation” he for aye forswore,<br /> +And married on her native shore<br /> +A lady whom he’d met before—<br /> + A lovely Otaheitan.</p> +<h2><a name="page501"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +501</span>TEMPORA MUTANTUR</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Letters</span>, letters, +letters, letters!<br /> + Some that please and some that bore,<br /> +Some that threaten prison fetters<br /> +(Metaphorically, fetters<br /> +Such as bind insolvent debtors)—<br /> + Invitations by the score.</p> +<p class="poetry">One from <span class="smcap">Cogson</span>, +<span class="smcap">Wiles</span>, and <span +class="smcap">Railer</span>,<br /> + My attorneys, off the Strand;<br /> +One from <span class="smcap">Copperblock</span>, my +tailor—<br /> +My unreasonable tailor—<br /> + One in <span class="smcap">Flagg’s</span> +disgusting hand.</p> +<p class="poetry">One from <span class="smcap">Ephraim</span> and +<span class="smcap">Moses</span>,<br /> + Wanting coin without a doubt,<br /> +I should like to pull their noses—<br /> +Their uncompromising noses;<br /> +One from <span class="smcap">Alice</span> with the +roses—<br /> + Ah, I know what that’s about!</p> +<p class="poetry">Time was when I waited, waited<br /> + For the missives that she wrote,<br /> +Humble postmen execrated—<br /> +Loudly, deeply execrated—<br /> +When I heard I wasn’t fated<br /> + To be gladdened with a note!</p> +<p class="poetry">Time was when I’d not have bartered<br /> + Of her little pen a dip<br /> +For a peerage duly gartered—<br /> +For a peerage starred and gartered—<br /> +With a palace-office chartered,<br /> + Or a Secretaryship.</p> +<p class="poetry">But the time for that is over,<br /> + And I wish we’d never met.<br /> +I’m afraid I’ve proved a rover—<br /> +I’m afraid a heartless rover—<br /> +Quarters in a place like Dover<br /> + Tend to make a man forget.</p> +<p class="poetry">Bills for carriages and horses,<br /> + Bills for wine and light cigar,<br /> +Matters that concern the Forces—<br /> +News that may affect the Forces—<br /> +News affecting my resources,<br /> + Much more interesting are!</p> +<p class="poetry">And the tiny little paper,<br /> + With the words that seem to run<br /> +From her little fingers taper<br /> +(They are very small and taper),<br /> +By the tailor and the draper<br /> + Are in interest outdone.</p> +<p class="poetry">And unopened it’s remaining!<br /> + I can read her gentle hope—<br /> +Her entreaties, uncomplaining<br /> +(She was always uncomplaining),<br /> +Her devotion never waning—<br /> + Through the little envelope!</p> +<h2><a name="page508"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 508</span>AT A +PANTOMIME.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BY A BILIOUS ONE</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">An</span> Actor sits in +doubtful gloom,<br /> + His stock-in-trade unfurled,<br /> +In a damp funereal dressing-room<br /> + In the Theatre Royal, World.</p> +<p class="poetry">He comes to town at Christmas-time,<br /> + And braves its icy breath,<br /> +To play in that favourite pantomime,<br /> + <i>Harlequin Life and Death</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">A hoary flowing wig his weird<br /> + Unearthly cranium caps,<br /> +He hangs a long benevolent beard<br /> + On a pair of empty chaps.</p> +<p class="poetry">To smooth his ghastly features down<br /> + The actor’s art he cribs,—<br /> +A long and a flowing padded gown.<br /> + Bedecks his rattling ribs.</p> +<p class="poetry">He cries, “Go on—begin, begin!<br +/> + Turn on the light of lime—<br /> +I’m dressed for jolly Old Christmas, in<br /> + A favourite pantomime!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The curtain’s up—the stage all +black—<br /> + Time and the year nigh sped—<br /> +Time as an advertising quack—<br /> + The Old Year nearly dead.</p> +<p class="poetry">The wand of Time is waved, and lo!<br /> + Revealed Old Christmas stands,<br /> +And little children chuckle and crow,<br /> + And laugh and clap their hands.</p> +<p class="poetry">The cruel old scoundrel brightens up<br /> + At the death of the Olden Year,<br /> +And he waves a gorgeous golden cup,<br /> + And bids the world good cheer.</p> +<p class="poetry">The little ones hail the festive +King,—<br /> + No thought can make them sad.<br /> +Their laughter comes with a sounding ring,<br /> + They clap and crow like mad!</p> +<p class="poetry">They only see in the humbug old<br /> + A holiday every year,<br /> +And handsome gifts, and joys untold,<br /> + And unaccustomed cheer.</p> +<p class="poetry">The old ones, palsied, blear, and hoar,<br /> + Their breasts in anguish beat—<br /> +They’ve seen him seventy times before,<br /> + How well they know the cheat!</p> +<p class="poetry">They’ve seen that ghastly pantomime,<br +/> + They’ve felt its blighting breath,<br /> +They know that rollicking Christmas-time<br /> + Meant Cold and Want and Death,—</p> +<p class="poetry">Starvation—Poor Law Union fare—<br +/> + And deadly cramps and chills,<br /> +And illness—illness everywhere,<br /> + And crime, and Christmas bills.</p> +<p class="poetry">They know Old Christmas well, I ween,<br /> + Those men of ripened age;<br /> +They’ve often, often, often seen<br /> + That Actor off the stage!</p> +<p class="poetry">They see in his gay rotundity<br /> + A clumsy stuffed-out dress—<br /> +They see in the cup he waves on high<br /> + A tinselled emptiness.</p> +<p class="poetry">Those aged men so lean and wan,<br /> + They’ve seen it all before,<br /> +They know they’ll see the charlatan<br /> + But twice or three times more.</p> +<p class="poetry">And so they bear with dance and song,<br /> + And crimson foil and green,<br /> +They wearily sit, and grimly long<br /> + For the Transformation Scene.</p> +<h2><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>KING +BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">King Borria Bungalee +Boo</span><br /> + Was a man-eating African swell;<br /> +His sigh was a hullaballoo,<br /> + His whisper a horrible yell—<br /> + A horrible, horrible yell!</p> +<p class="poetry">Four subjects, and all of them male,<br /> + To <span class="smcap">Borria</span> doubled the +knee,<br /> +They were once on a far larger scale,<br /> + But he’d eaten the balance, you see<br /> + (“Scale” and “balance” is +punning, you see).</p> +<p class="poetry">There was haughty <span +class="smcap">Pish-Tush-Pooh-Bah</span>,<br /> + There was lumbering <span +class="smcap">Doodle-Dum-Dey</span>,<br /> +Despairing <span class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey-Ah</span>,<br /> + And good little <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Tum-Teh</span>—<br /> + Exemplary <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Tum-Teh</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">One day there was grief in the crew,<br /> + For they hadn’t a morsel of meat,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Borria Bungalee Boo</span><br /> + Was dying for something to eat—<br /> + “Come, provide me with something to eat!</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey</span>, +famished I feel;<br /> + Oh, good little <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Tum-Teh</span>,<br /> +Where on earth shall I look for a meal?<br /> + For I haven’t no dinner to-day!—<br /> + Not a morsel of dinner to-day!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Dear <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Tum</span>, what shall we do?<br /> + Come, get us a meal, or, in truth,<br /> +If you don’t, we shall have to eat you,<br /> + Oh, adorable friend of our youth!<br /> + Thou beloved little friend of our youth!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And he answered, “Oh, <span +class="smcap">Bungalee Boo</span>,<br /> + For a moment I hope you will wait,—<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tippy-Wippity Tol-the-Rol-Loo</span><br /> + Is the Queen of a neighbouring state—<br /> + A remarkably neighbouring state.</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Tippy-Wippity +Tol-the-Rol-Loo</span>,<br /> + She would pickle deliciously cold—<br /> +And her four pretty Amazons, too,<br /> + Are enticing, and not very old—<br /> + Twenty-seven is not very old.</p> +<p class="poetry">“There is neat little <span +class="smcap">Titty-Fol-Leh</span>,<br /> + There is rollicking <span +class="smcap">Tral-the-Ral-Lah</span>,<br /> +There is jocular <span class="smcap">Waggety-Weh</span>,<br /> + There is musical <span +class="smcap">Doh-Reh-Mi-Fah</span>—<br /> + There’s the nightingale <span +class="smcap">Doh-Reh-Mi-Fah</span>!”</p> +<p class="poetry">So the forces of <span class="smcap">Bungalee +Boo</span><br /> + Marched forth in a terrible row,<br /> +And the ladies who fought for <span class="smcap">Queen +Loo</span><br /> + Prepared to encounter the foe—<br /> + This dreadful, insatiate foe!</p> +<p class="poetry">But they sharpened no weapons at all,<br /> + And they poisoned no arrows—not they!<br /> +They made ready to conquer or fall<br /> + In a totally different way—<br /> + An entirely different way.</p> +<p class="poetry">With a crimson and pearly-white dye<br /> + They endeavoured to make themselves fair,<br /> +With black they encircled each eye,<br /> + And with yellow they painted their hair<br /> + (It was wool, but they thought it was hair).</p> +<p class="poetry">And the forces they met in the field:—<br +/> + And the men of <span class="smcap">King +Borria</span> said,<br /> +“Amazonians, immediately yield!”<br /> + And their arrows they drew to the head—<br /> + Yes, drew them right up to the head.</p> +<p class="poetry">But jocular <span +class="smcap">Waggety-Weh</span><br /> + Ogled <span class="smcap">Doodle-Dum-Dey</span> +(which was wrong),<br /> +And neat little <span class="smcap">Titty-Fol-Leh</span><br /> + Said, “<span class="smcap">Tootle-Tum</span>, +you go along!<br /> + You naughty old dear, go along!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And rollicking <span +class="smcap">Tral-the-Ral-Lah</span><br /> + Tapped <span class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey-Ah</span> +with her fan;<br /> +And musical <span class="smcap">Doh-Reh-Mi-Fah</span><br /> + Said, “Pish, go away, you bad man!<br /> + Go away, you delightful young man!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And the Amazons simpered and sighed,<br /> + And they ogled, and giggled, and flushed,<br /> +And they opened their pretty eyes wide,<br /> + And they chuckled, and flirted, and blushed<br /> + (At least, if they could, they’d have +blushed).</p> +<p class="poetry">But haughty <span +class="smcap">Pish-Tush-Pooh-Bah</span><br /> + Said, “<span class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey</span>, +what does this mean?”<br /> +And despairing <span class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey-Ah</span><br /> + Said, “They think us uncommonly green!<br /> + Ha! ha! most uncommonly green!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Even blundering <span +class="smcap">Doodle-Dum-Dey</span><br /> + Was insensible quite to their leers,<br /> +And said good little <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Tum-Teh</span>,<br /> + “It’s your blood we desire, pretty +dears—<br /> + We have come for our dinners, my dears!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And the Queen of the Amazons fell<br /> + To <span class="smcap">Borria Bungalee +Boo</span>,—<br /> +In a mouthful he gulped, with a yell,<br /> + <span class="smcap">Tippy-Wippity +Tol-the-Rol-Loo</span>—<br /> + The pretty <span class="smcap">Queen +Tol-the-Rol-Loo</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">And neat little <span +class="smcap">Titty-Fol-Leh</span><br /> + Was eaten by <span +class="smcap">Pish-Pooh-Bah</span>,<br /> +And light-hearted <span class="smcap">Waggety-Weh</span><br /> + By dismal <span +class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey-Ah</span>—<br /> + Despairing <span +class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey-Ah</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">And rollicking <span +class="smcap">Tral-the-Ral-Lah</span><br /> + Was eaten by <span +class="smcap">Doodle-Dum-Dey</span>,<br /> +And musical <span class="smcap">Doh-Reh-Mi-Fah</span><br /> + By good little <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Dum-Teh</span>—<br /> + Exemplary <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Tum-Teh</span>!</p> +<h2><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>THE +PERIWINKLE GIRL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">I’ve</span> often +thought that headstrong youths<br /> + Of decent education,<br /> +Determine all-important truths,<br /> + With strange precipitation.</p> +<p class="poetry">The ever-ready victims they,<br /> + Of logical illusions,<br /> +And in a self-assertive way<br /> + They jump at strange conclusions.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now take my case: Ere sorrow could<br /> + My ample forehead wrinkle,<br /> +I had determined that I should<br /> + Not care to be a winkle.</p> +<p class="poetry">“A winkle,” I would oft advance<br +/> + With readiness provoking,<br /> +“Can seldom flirt, and never dance,<br /> + Or soothe his mind by smoking.”</p> +<p class="poetry">In short, I spurned the shelly joy,<br /> + And spoke with strange decision—<br /> +Men pointed to me as a boy<br /> + Who held them in derision.</p> +<p class="poetry">But I was young—too young, by +far—<br /> + Or I had been more wary,<br /> +I knew not then that winkles are<br /> + The stock-in-trade of <span +class="smcap">Mary</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">I had not watched her sunlight blithe<br /> + As o’er their shells it dances—<br /> +I’ve seen those winkles almost writhe<br /> + Beneath her beaming glances.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of slighting all the winkly brood<br /> + I surely had been chary,<br /> +If I had known they formed the food<br /> + And stock-in-trade of <span +class="smcap">Mary</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Both high and low and great and small<br /> + Fell prostrate at her tootsies,<br /> +They all were noblemen, and all<br /> + Had balances at <span +class="smcap">Coutts’s</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dukes with the lovely maiden dealt,<br /> + <span class="smcap">Duke Bailey</span> and <span +class="smcap">Duke Humphy</span>,<br /> +Who ate her winkles till they felt<br /> + Exceedingly uncomfy.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Duke Bailey</span> greatest +wealth computes,<br /> + And sticks, they say, at no-thing,<br /> +He wears a pair of golden boots<br /> + And silver underclothing.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Duke Humphy</span>, as I +understand,<br /> + Though mentally acuter,<br /> +His boots are only silver, and<br /> + His underclothing pewter.</p> +<p class="poetry">A third adorer had the girl,<br /> + A man of lowly station—<br /> +A miserable grov’ling Earl<br /> + Besought her approbation.</p> +<p class="poetry">This humble cad she did refuse<br /> + With much contempt and loathing,<br /> +He wore a pair of leather shoes<br /> + And cambric underclothing!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ha! ha!” she cried. +“Upon my word!<br /> + Well, really—come, I never!<br /> +Oh, go along, it’s too absurd!<br /> + My goodness! Did you ever?</p> +<p class="poetry">“Two Dukes would Mary make a bride,<br /> + And from her foes defend her”—<br /> +“Well, not exactly that,” they cried,<br /> + “We offer guilty splendour.</p> +<p class="poetry">“We do not offer marriage rite,<br /> + So please dismiss the notion!”<br /> +“Oh dear,” said she, “that alters quite<br /> + The state of my emotion.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The Earl he up and says, says he,<br /> + “Dismiss them to their orgies,<br /> +For I am game to marry thee<br /> + Quite reg’lar at St. +George’s.”</p> +<p class="poetry">(He’d had, it happily befell,<br /> + A decent education,<br /> +His views would have befitted well<br /> + A far superior station.)</p> +<p class="poetry">His sterling worth had worked a cure,<br /> + She never heard him grumble;<br /> +She saw his soul was good and pure,<br /> + Although his rank was humble.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her views of earldoms and their lot,<br /> + All underwent expansion—<br /> +Come, Virtue in an earldom’s cot!<br /> + Go, Vice in ducal mansion!</p> +<h2><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +171</span>THOMSON GREEN AND HARRIET HALE</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>To be sung to the Air of</i> +“<i>An ’Orrible Tale</i>.”)</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span class="smcap">Oh</span> +list to this incredible tale<br /> + Of <span class="smcap">Thomson Green</span> and +<span class="smcap">Harriet Hale</span>;<br /> + Its truth in one remark you’ll sum—<br +/> +“Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle +twum!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh, <span +class="smcap">Thomson Green</span> was an auctioneer,<br /> + And made three hundred pounds a year;<br /> + And <span class="smcap">Harriet Hale</span>, most +strange to say,<br /> +Gave pianoforte lessons at a sovereign a day.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh, <span +class="smcap">Thomson Green</span>, I may remark,<br /> + Met <span class="smcap">Harriet Hale</span> in +Regent’s Park,<br /> + Where he, in a casual kind of way,<br /> +Spoke of the extraordinary beauty of the day.</p> +<p class="poetry"> They met again, and strange, +though true,<br /> + He courted her for a month or two,<br /> + Then to her pa he said, says he,<br /> +“Old man, I love your daughter and your daughter worships +me!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Their names were regularly +banned,<br /> + The wedding day was settled, and<br /> + I’ve ascertained by dint of search<br /> +They were married on the quiet at St. Mary Abbot’s +Church.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh, list to this incredible +tale<br /> + Of <span class="smcap">Thomson Green</span> and +<span class="smcap">Harriet Hale</span>,<br /> + Its truth in one remark you’ll sum—<br +/> +“Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle +twum!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> That very self-same +afternoon<br /> + They started on their honeymoon,<br /> + And (oh, astonishment!) took flight<br /> +To a pretty little cottage close to Shanklin, Isle of Wight.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But now—you’ll +doubt my word, I know—<br /> + In a month they both returned, and lo!<br /> + Astounding fact! this happy pair<br /> +Took a gentlemanly residence in Canonbury Square!</p> +<p class="poetry"> They led a weird and reckless +life,<br /> + They dined each day, this man and wife<br /> + (Pray disbelieve it, if you please),<br /> +On a joint of meat, a pudding, and a little bit of cheese.</p> +<p class="poetry"> In time came those maternal +joys<br /> + Which take the form of girls or boys,<br /> + And strange to say of each they’d +one—<br /> +A tiddy-iddy daughter, and a tiddy-iddy son!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh, list to this incredible +tale<br /> + Of <span class="smcap">Thomson Green</span> and +<span class="smcap">Harriet Hale</span>,<br /> + Its truth in one remark you’ll sum—<br +/> +“Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle +twum!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> My name for truth is gone, I +fear,<br /> + But, monstrous as it may appear,<br /> + They let their drawing-room one day<br /> +To an eligible person in the cotton-broking way.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Whenever <span +class="smcap">Thomson Green</span> fell sick<br /> + His wife called in a doctor, quick,<br /> + From whom some words like these would come—<br +/> +<i>Fiat mist. sumendum haustus</i>, in a <i>cochleyareum</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"> For thirty years this curious +pair<br /> + Hung out in Canonbury Square,<br /> + And somehow, wonderful to say,<br /> +They loved each other dearly in a quiet sort of way.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Well, <span +class="smcap">Thomson Green</span> fell ill and died;<br /> + For just a year his widow cried,<br /> + And then her heart she gave away<br /> +To the eligible lodger in the cotton-broking way.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh, list to this incredible +tale<br /> + Of <span class="smcap">Thomson Green</span> and +<span class="smcap">Harriet Hale</span>,<br /> + Its truth in one remark you’ll sum—<br +/> +“Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle +twum!”</p> +<h2><a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>BOB +POLTER</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bob Polter</span> was a +navvy, and<br /> + His hands were coarse, and dirty too,<br /> +His homely face was rough and tanned,<br /> + His time of life was thirty-two.</p> +<p class="poetry">He lived among a working clan<br /> + (A wife he hadn’t got at all),<br /> +A decent, steady, sober man—<br /> + No saint, however—not at all.</p> +<p class="poetry">He smoked, but in a modest way,<br /> + Because he thought he needed it;<br /> +He drank a pot of beer a day,<br /> + And sometimes he exceeded it.</p> +<p class="poetry">At times he’d pass with other men<br /> + A loud convivial night or two,<br /> +With, very likely, now and then,<br /> + On Saturdays, a fight or two.</p> +<p class="poetry">But still he was a sober soul,<br /> + A labour-never-shirking man,<br /> +Who paid his way—upon the whole<br /> + A decent English working man.</p> +<p class="poetry">One day, when at the Nelson’s Head<br /> + (For which he may be blamed of you),<br /> +A holy man appeared, and said,<br /> + “Oh, <span class="smcap">Robert</span>, +I’m ashamed of you.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He laid his hand on <span +class="smcap">Robert’s</span> beer<br /> + Before he could drink up any,<br /> +And on the floor, with sigh and tear,<br /> + He poured the pot of “thruppenny.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, <span class="smcap">Robert</span>, +at this very bar<br /> + A truth you’ll be discovering,<br /> +A good and evil genius are<br /> + Around your noddle hovering.</p> +<p class="poetry">“They both are here to bid you shun<br /> + The other one’s society,<br /> +For Total Abstinence is one,<br /> + The other, Inebriety.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He waved his hand—a vapour came—<br +/> + A wizard <span class="smcap">Polter</span> reckoned +him;<br /> +A bogy rose and called his name,<br /> + And with his finger beckoned him.</p> +<p class="poetry">The monster’s salient points to +sum,—<br /> + His heavy breath was portery:<br /> +His glowing nose suggested rum:<br /> + His eyes were gin-and-<i>wor</i>tery.</p> +<p class="poetry">His dress was torn—for dregs of ale<br /> + And slops of gin had rusted it;<br /> +His pimpled face was wan and pale,<br /> + Where filth had not encrusted it.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come, <span +class="smcap">Polter</span>,” said the fiend, +“begin,<br /> + And keep the bowl a-flowing on—<br /> +A working man needs pints of gin<br /> + To keep his clockwork going on.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bob</span> shuddered: +“Ah, you’ve made a miss<br /> + If you take me for one of you:<br /> +You filthy beast, get out of this—<br /> + <span class="smcap">Bob Polter</span> don’t +wan’t none of you.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The demon gave a drunken shriek,<br /> + And crept away in stealthiness,<br /> +And lo! instead, a person sleek,<br /> + Who seemed to burst with healthiness.</p> +<p class="poetry">“In me, as your adviser hints,<br /> + Of Abstinence you’ve got a type—<br /> +Of <span class="smcap">Mr. Tweedie’s</span> pretty +prints<br /> + I am the happy prototype.</p> +<p class="poetry">“If you abjure the social toast,<br /> + And pipes, and such frivolities,<br /> +You possibly some day may boast<br /> + My prepossessing qualities!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bob</span> rubbed his eyes, +and made ’em blink:<br /> + “You almost make me tremble, you!<br /> +If I abjure fermented drink,<br /> + Shall I, indeed, resemble you?</p> +<p class="poetry">“And will my whiskers curl so tight?<br +/> + My cheeks grow smug and muttony?<br /> +My face become so red and white?<br /> + My coat so blue and buttony?</p> +<p class="poetry">“Will trousers, such as yours, array<br +/> + Extremities inferior?<br /> +Will chubbiness assert its sway<br /> + All over my exterior?</p> +<p class="poetry">“In this, my unenlightened state,<br /> + To work in heavy boots I comes;<br /> +Will pumps henceforward decorate<br /> + My tiddle toddle tootsicums?</p> +<p class="poetry">“And shall I get so plump and fresh,<br +/> + And look no longer seedily?<br /> +My skin will henceforth fit my flesh<br /> + So tightly and so <span +class="smcap">Tweedie</span>-ly?”</p> +<p class="poetry">The phantom said, “You’ll have all +this,<br /> + You’ll know no kind of huffiness,<br /> +Your life will be one chubby bliss,<br /> + One long unruffled puffiness!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Be off!” said irritated <span +class="smcap">Bob</span>.<br /> + “Why come you here to bother one?<br /> +You pharisaical old snob,<br /> + You’re wuss almost than t’other one!</p> +<p class="poetry">“I takes my pipe—I takes my pot,<br +/> + And drunk I’m never seen to be:<br /> +I’m no teetotaller or sot,<br /> + And as I am I mean to be!”</p> +<h2><a name="page518"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 518</span>THE +STORY OF PRINCE AGIB</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Strike</span> the +concertina’s melancholy string!<br /> +Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything!<br /> + Let the piano’s martial +blast<br /> + Rouse the Echoes of the Past,<br +/> +For of <span class="smcap">Agib</span>, Prince of Tartary, I +sing!</p> +<p class="poetry">Of <span class="smcap">Agib</span>, who, amid +Tartaric scenes,<br /> +Wrote a lot of ballet music in his teens:<br /> + His gentle spirit rolls<br /> + In the melody of souls—<br +/> +Which is pretty, but I don’t know what it means.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of <span class="smcap">Agib</span>, who could +readily, at sight,<br /> +Strum a march upon the loud Theodolite.<br /> + He would diligently play<br /> + On the Zoetrope all day,<br /> +And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night.</p> +<p class="poetry">One winter—I am shaky in my +dates—<br /> +Came two starving Tartar minstrels to his gates;<br /> + Oh, <span +class="smcap">Allah</span> be obeyed,<br /> + How infernally they played!<br /> +I remember that they called themselves the +“Oüaits.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage,<br /> +I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age,<br /> + Photographically lined<br /> + On the tablet of my mind,<br /> +When a yesterday has faded from its page!</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! <span class="smcap">Prince Agib</span> +went and asked them in;<br /> +Gave them beer, and eggs, and sweets, and scent, and tin.<br /> + And when (as snobs would say)<br +/> + They had “put it all +away,”<br /> +He requested them to tune up and begin.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though its icy horror chill you to the core,<br +/> +I will tell you what I never told before,—<br /> + The consequences true<br /> + Of that awful interview,<br /> +<i>For I listened at the keyhole in the door</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry">They played him a sonata—let me see!<br +/> +“<i>Medulla oblongata</i>”—key of G.<br /> + Then they began to sing<br /> + That extremely lovely thing,<br /> +“<i>Scherzando</i>! <i>ma non troppo</i>, +<i>ppp</i>.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He gave them money, more than they could +count,<br /> +Scent from a most ingenious little fount,<br /> + More beer, in little kegs,<br /> + Many dozen hard-boiled eggs,<br /> +And goodies to a fabulous amount.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now follows the dim horror of my tale,<br /> +And I feel I’m growing gradually pale,<br /> + For, even at this day,<br /> + Though its sting has passed +away,<br /> +When I venture to remember it, I quail!</p> +<p class="poetry">The elder of the brothers gave a squeal,<br /> +All-overish it made me for to feel;<br /> + “Oh, <span +class="smcap">Prince</span>,” he says, says he,<br /> + “<i>If a Prince indeed you +be</i>,<br /> +I’ve a mystery I’m going to reveal!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, listen, if you’d shun a horrid +death,<br /> +To what the gent who’s speaking to you saith:<br /> + No ‘Oüaits’ in +truth are we,<br /> + As you fancy that we be,<br /> +For (ter-remble!) I am <span +class="smcap">Aleck</span>—this is <span +class="smcap">Beth</span>!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Said <span class="smcap">Agib</span>, +“Oh! accursed of your kind,<br /> +I have heard that ye are men of evil mind!”<br /> + <span class="smcap">Beth</span> +gave a dreadful shriek—<br /> + But before he’d time to +speak<br /> +I was mercilessly collared from behind.</p> +<p class="poetry">In number ten or twelve, or even more,<br /> +They fastened me full length upon the floor.<br /> + On my face extended flat,<br /> + I was walloped with a cat<br /> +For listening at the keyhole of a door.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! the horror of that agonizing thrill!<br /> +(I can feel the place in frosty weather still).<br /> + For a week from ten to four<br /> + I was fastened to the floor,<br /> +While a mercenary wopped me with a will</p> +<p class="poetry">They branded me and broke me on a wheel,<br /> +And they left me in an hospital to heal;<br /> + And, upon my solemn word,<br /> + I have never never heard<br /> +What those Tartars had determined to reveal.</p> +<p class="poetry">But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage,<br /> +I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age,<br /> + Photographically lined<br /> + On the tablet of my mind,<br /> +When a yesterday has faded from its page</p> +<h2><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Macphairson Clonglocketty +Angus M‘Clan</span><br /> +Was the son of an elderly labouring man;<br /> +You’ve guessed him a Scotchman, shrewd reader, at sight,<br +/> +And p’r’aps altogether, shrewd reader, you’re +right.</p> +<p class="poetry">From the bonnie blue Forth to the lovely +Deeside,<br /> +Round by Dingwall and Wrath to the mouth of the Clyde,<br /> +There wasn’t a child or a woman or man<br /> +Who could pipe with <span class="smcap">Clonglocketty Angus +M‘Clan</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">No other could wake such detestable groans,<br +/> +With reed and with chaunter—with bag and with drones:<br /> +All day and ill night he delighted the chiels<br /> +With sniggering pibrochs and jiggety reels.</p> +<p class="poetry">He’d clamber a mountain and squat on the +ground,<br /> +And the neighbouring maidens would gather around<br /> +To list to the pipes and to gaze in his een,<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen M‘Jones +Aberdeen</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">All loved their <span +class="smcap">M‘Clan</span>, save a Sassenach brute,<br /> +Who came to the Highlands to fish and to shoot;<br /> +He dressed himself up in a Highlander way,<br /> +Tho’ his name it was <span class="smcap">Pattison Corby +Torbay</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Torbay</span> had incurred +a good deal of expense<br /> +To make him a Scotchman in every sense;<br /> +But this is a matter, you’ll readily own,<br /> +That isn’t a question of tailors alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">A Sassenach chief may be bonily built,<br /> +He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, and kilt;<br /> +Stick a skeän in his hose—wear an acre of +stripes—<br /> +But he cannot assume an affection for pipes.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Clonglockety’s</span> +pipings all night and all day<br /> +Quite frenzied poor <span class="smcap">Pattison Corby +Torbay</span>;<br /> +The girls were amused at his singular spleen,<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen M‘Jones +Aberdeen</span>,</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Macphairson +Clonglocketty Angus</span>, my lad,<br /> +With pibrochs and reels you are driving me mad.<br /> +If you really must play on that cursed affair,<br /> +My goodness! play something resembling an air.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Boiled over the blood of <span +class="smcap">Macphairson M‘Clan</span>—<br /> +The Clan of Clonglocketty rose as one man;<br /> +For all were enraged at the insult, I ween—<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen M‘Jones +Aberdeen</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Let’s show,” said <span +class="smcap">M‘Clan</span>, “to this Sassenach +loon<br /> +That the bagpipes <i>can</i> play him a regular tune.<br /> +Let’s see,” said <span +class="smcap">M‘Clan</span>, as he thoughtfully sat,<br /> +“‘<i>In my Cottage</i>’ is +easy—I’ll practise at that.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He blew at his “Cottage,” and blew +with a will,<br /> +For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until<br /> +(You’ll hardly believe it) <span +class="smcap">M‘Clan</span>, I declare,<br /> +Elicited something resembling an air.</p> +<p class="poetry">It was wild—it was fitful—as wild +as the breeze—<br /> +It wandered about into several keys;<br /> +It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I’m aware;<br /> +But still it distinctly suggested an air.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Sassenach screamed, and the Sassenach +danced;<br /> +He shrieked in his agony—bellowed and pranced;<br /> +And the maidens who gathered rejoiced at the scene—<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen M‘Jones +Aberdeen</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Hech gather, hech gather, hech gather +around;<br /> +And fill a’ ye lugs wi’ the exquisite sound.<br /> +An air fra’ the bagpipes—beat that if ye can!<br /> +Hurrah for <span class="smcap">Clonglocketty Angus +M‘Clan</span>!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The fame of his piping spread over the land:<br +/> +Respectable widows proposed for his hand,<br /> +And maidens came flocking to sit on the green—<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen M‘Jones +Aberdeen</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">One morning the fidgety Sassenach swore<br /> +He’d stand it no longer—he drew his claymore,<br /> +And (this was, I think, in extremely bad taste)<br /> +Divided <span class="smcap">Clonglocketty</span> close to the +waist.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! loud were the wailings for <span +class="smcap">Angus M‘Clan</span>,<br /> +Oh! deep was the grief for that excellent man;<br /> +The maids stood aghast at the horrible scene—<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen M‘Jones +Aberdeen</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">It sorrowed poor <span class="smcap">Pattison +Corby Torbay</span><br /> +To find them “take on” in this serious way;<br /> +He pitied the poor little fluttering birds,<br /> +And solaced their souls with the following words:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, maidens,” said <span +class="smcap">Pattison</span>, touching his hat,<br /> +“Don’t blubber, my dears, for a fellow like that;<br +/> +Observe, I’m a very superior man,<br /> +A much better fellow than <span class="smcap">Angus +M‘Clan</span>.”</p> +<p class="poetry">They smiled when he winked and addressed them +as “dears,”<br /> +And they all of them vowed, as they dried up their tears,<br /> +A pleasanter gentleman never was seen—<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen M‘Jones +Aberdeen</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +193</span>PETER THE WAG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Policeman Peter</span> +forth I drag<br /> + From his obscure retreat:<br /> +He was a merry genial wag,<br /> + Who loved a mad conceit.<br /> +If he were asked the time of day,<br /> + By country bumpkins green,<br /> +He not unfrequently would say,<br /> + “A quarter past thirteen.”</p> +<p class="poetry">If ever you by word of mouth<br /> + Inquired of <span class="smcap">Mister +Forth</span><br /> +The way to somewhere in the South,<br /> + He always sent you North.<br /> +With little boys his beat along<br /> + He loved to stop and play;<br /> +He loved to send old ladies wrong,<br /> + And teach their feet to stray.</p> +<p class="poetry">He would in frolic moments, when<br /> + Such mischief bent upon,<br /> +Take Bishops up as betting men—<br /> + Bid Ministers move on.<br /> +Then all the worthy boys he knew<br /> + He regularly licked,<br /> +And always collared people who<br /> + Had had their pockets picked.</p> +<p class="poetry">He was not naturally bad,<br /> + Or viciously inclined,<br /> +But from his early youth he had<br /> + A waggish turn of mind.<br /> +The Men of London grimly scowled<br /> + With indignation wild;<br /> +The Men of London gruffly growled,<br /> + But <span class="smcap">Peter</span> calmly +smiled.</p> +<p class="poetry">Against this minion of the Crown<br /> + The swelling murmurs grew—<br /> +From Camberwell to Kentish Town—<br /> + From Rotherhithe to Kew.<br /> +Still humoured he his wagsome turn,<br /> + And fed in various ways<br /> +The coward rage that dared to burn,<br /> + But did not dare to blaze.</p> +<p class="poetry">Still, Retribution has her day,<br /> + Although her flight is slow:<br /> +<i>One day that Crusher lost his way</i><br /> + <i>Near Poland Street</i>, <i>Soho</i>.<br /> +The haughty boy, too proud to ask,<br /> + To find his way resolved,<br /> +And in the tangle of his task<br /> + Got more and more involved.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Men of London, overjoyed,<br /> + Came there to jeer their foe,<br /> +And flocking crowds completely cloyed<br /> + The mazes of Soho.<br /> +The news on telegraphic wires<br /> + Sped swiftly o’er the lea,<br /> +Excursion trains from distant shires<br /> + Brought myriads to see.</p> +<p class="poetry">For weeks he trod his self-made beats<br /> + Through Newport- Gerrard- Bear-<br /> +Greek- Rupert- Frith- Dean- Poland- Streets,<br /> + And into Golden Square.<br /> +But all, alas! in vain, for when<br /> + He tried to learn the way<br /> +Of little boys or grown-up men,<br /> + They none of them would say.</p> +<p class="poetry">Their eyes would flash—their teeth would +grind—<br /> + Their lips would tightly curl—<br /> +They’d say, “Thy way thyself must find,<br /> + Thou misdirecting churl!”<br /> +And, similarly, also, when<br /> + He tried a foreign friend;<br /> +Italians answered, “<i>Il balen</i>”—<br /> + The French, “No comprehend.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The Russ would say with gleaming eye<br /> + “Sevastopol!” and groan.<br /> +The Greek said, “Τυπτω, +τυπτομαι,<br /> + Τυπτω, +τυπτειν, +τυπτων.”<br /> +To wander thus for many a year<br /> + That Crusher never ceased—<br /> +The Men of London dropped a tear,<br /> + Their anger was appeased.</p> +<p class="poetry">At length exploring gangs were sent<br /> + To find poor <span +class="smcap">Forth’s</span> remains—<br /> +A handsome grant by Parliament<br /> + Was voted for their pains.<br /> +To seek the poor policeman out<br /> + Bold spirits volunteered,<br /> +And when they swore they’d solve the doubt,<br /> + The Men of London cheered.</p> +<p class="poetry">And in a yard, dark, dank, and drear,<br /> + They found him, on the floor—<br /> +It leads from Richmond Buildings—near<br /> + The Royalty stage-door.<br /> +With brandy cold and brandy hot<br /> + They plied him, starved and wet,<br /> +And made him sergeant on the spot—<br /> + The Men of London’s pet!</p> +<h2><a name="page549"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 549</span>BEN +ALLAH ACHMET;<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR, THE FATAL TUM</span></h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">once</span> did know a +Turkish man<br /> + Whom I upon a two-pair-back met,<br /> +His name it was <span class="smcap">Effendi Khan</span><br /> + <span class="smcap">Backsheesh Pasha Ben Allah +Achmet</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">Doctor Brown</span> I +also knew—<br /> + I’ve often eaten of his bounty;<br /> +The Turk and he they lived at Hooe,<br /> + In Sussex, that delightful county!</p> +<p class="poetry">I knew a nice young lady there,<br /> + Her name was <span class="smcap">Emily +Macpherson</span>,<br /> +And though she wore another’s hair,<br /> + She was an interesting person.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Turk adored the maid of Hooe<br /> + (Although his harem would have shocked her).<br /> +But <span class="smcap">Brown</span> adored that maiden too:<br +/> + He was a most seductive doctor.</p> +<p class="poetry">They’d follow her where’er +she’d go—<br /> + A course of action most improper;<br /> +She neither knew by sight, and so<br /> + For neither of them cared a copper.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Brown</span> did not know +that Turkish male,<br /> + He might have been his sainted mother:<br /> +The people in this simple tale<br /> + Are total strangers to each other.</p> +<p class="poetry">One day that Turk he sickened sore,<br /> + And suffered agonies oppressive;<br /> +He threw himself upon the floor<br /> + And rolled about in pain excessive.</p> +<p class="poetry">It made him moan, it made him groan,<br /> + And almost wore him to a mummy.<br /> +Why should I hesitate to own<br /> + That pain was in his little tummy?</p> +<p class="poetry">At length a doctor came, and rung<br /> + (As <span class="smcap">Allah Achmet</span> had +desired),<br /> +Who felt his pulse, looked up his tongue,<br /> + And hemmed and hawed, and then inquired:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Where is the pain that long has +preyed<br /> + Upon you in so sad a way, sir?”<br /> +The Turk he giggled, blushed, and said:<br /> + “I don’t exactly like to say, +sir.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come, nonsense!” said good <span +class="smcap">Doctor Brown</span>.<br /> + “So this is Turkish coyness, is it?<br /> +You must contrive to fight it down—<br /> + Come, come, sir, please to be explicit.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The Turk he shyly bit his thumb,<br /> + And coyly blushed like one half-witted,<br /> +“The pain is in my little tum,”<br /> + He, whispering, at length admitted.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Then take you this, and take you +that—<br /> + Your blood flows sluggish in its channel—<br +/> +You must get rid of all this fat,<br /> + And wear my medicated flannel.</p> +<p class="poetry">“You’ll send for me when +you’re in need—<br /> + My name is <span +class="smcap">Brown</span>—your life I’ve saved +it.”<br /> +“My rival!” shrieked the invalid,<br /> + And drew a mighty sword and waved it:</p> +<p class="poetry">“This to thy weazand, Christian +pest!”<br /> + Aloud the Turk in frenzy yelled it,<br /> +And drove right through the doctor’s chest<br /> + The sabre and the hand that held it.</p> +<p class="poetry">The blow was a decisive one,<br /> + And <span class="smcap">Doctor Brown</span> grew +deadly pasty,<br /> +“Now see the mischief that you’ve done—<br /> + You Turks are so extremely hasty.</p> +<p class="poetry">“There are two <span class="smcap">Doctor +Browns</span> in Hooe—<br /> + <i>He’s</i> short and stout, <i>I’m</i> +tall and wizen;<br /> +You’ve been and run the wrong one through,<br /> + That’s how the error has arisen.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The accident was thus explained,<br /> + Apologies were only heard now:<br /> +“At my mistake I’m really pained—<br /> + I am, indeed—upon my word now.</p> +<p class="poetry">“With me, sir, you shall be interred,<br +/> + A mausoleum grand awaits me.”<br /> +“Oh, pray don’t say another word,<br /> + I’m sure that more than compensates me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But p’r’aps, kind Turk, +you’re full inside?”<br /> + “There’s room,” said he, +“for any number.”<br /> +And so they laid them down and died.<br /> + In proud Stamboul they sleep their slumber,</p> +<h2><a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 200</span>THE +THREE KINGS OF CHICKERABOO</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> were three +niggers of Chickeraboo—<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pacifico</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bang-bang</span>, <span +class="smcap">Popchop</span>—who<br /> +Exclaimed, one terribly sultry day,<br /> +“Oh, let’s be kings in a humble way.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The first was a highly-accomplished +“bones,”<br /> +The next elicited banjo tones,<br /> +The third was a quiet, retiring chap,<br /> +Who danced an excellent break-down “flap.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“We niggers,” said they, +“have formed a plan<br /> +By which, whenever we like, we can<br /> +Extemporise kingdoms near the beach,<br /> +And then we’ll collar a kingdom each.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Three casks, from somebody else’s +stores,<br /> +Shall represent our island shores,<br /> +Their sides the ocean wide shall lave,<br /> +Their heads just topping the briny wave.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Great Britain’s navy scours the +sea,<br /> +And everywhere her ships they be;<br /> +She’ll recognise our rank, perhaps,<br /> +When she discovers we’re Royal Chaps.</p> +<p class="poetry">“If to her skirts you want to cling,<br +/> +It’s quite sufficient that you’re a king;<br /> +She does not push inquiry far<br /> +To learn what sort of king you are.”</p> +<p class="poetry">A ship of several thousand tons,<br /> +And mounting seventy-something guns,<br /> +Ploughed, every year, the ocean blue,<br /> +Discovering kings and countries new.</p> +<p class="poetry">The brave <span class="smcap">Rear-Admiral +Bailey Pip</span>,<br /> +Commanding that magnificent ship,<br /> +Perceived one day, his glasses through,<br /> +The kings that came from Chickeraboo.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Dear eyes!” said <span +class="smcap">Admiral Pip</span>, “I see<br /> +Three flourishing islands on our lee.<br /> +And, bless me! most remarkable thing!<br /> +On every island stands a king!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come, lower the Admiral’s +gig,” he cried,<br /> +“And over the dancing waves I’ll glide;<br /> +That low obeisance I may do<br /> +To those three kings of Chickeraboo!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The Admiral pulled to the islands three;<br /> +The kings saluted him gracious<i>lee</i>.<br /> +The Admiral, pleased at his welcome warm,<br /> +Unrolled a printed Alliance form.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Your Majesty, sign me this, I +pray—<br /> +I come in a friendly kind of way—<br /> +I come, if you please, with the best intents,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Queen Victoria’s</span> +compliments.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The kings were pleased as they well could +be;<br /> +The most retiring of the three,<br /> +In a “cellar-flap” to his joy gave vent<br /> +With a banjo-bones accompaniment.</p> +<p class="poetry">The great <span class="smcap">Rear-Admiral +Bailey Pip</span><br /> +Embarked on board his jolly big ship,<br /> +Blue Peter flew from his lofty fore,<br /> +And off he sailed to his native shore.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Admiral Pip</span> directly +went<br /> +To the Lord at the head of the Government,<br /> +Who made him, by a stroke of a quill,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Baron de Pippe</span>, <span class="smcap">of +Pippetonneville</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">The College of Heralds permission yield<br /> +That he should quarter upon his shield<br /> +Three islands, <i>vert</i>, on a field of blue,<br /> +With the pregnant motto “Chickeraboo.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Ambassadors, yes, and attachés, too,<br +/> +Are going to sail for Chickeraboo.<br /> +And, see, on the good ship’s crowded deck,<br /> +A bishop, who’s going out there on spec.</p> +<p class="poetry">And let us all hope that blissful things<br /> +May come of alliance with darky kings,<br /> +And, may we never, whatever we do,<br /> +Declare a war with Chickeraboo!</p> +<h2><a name="page528"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 528</span>JOE +GOLIGHTLY<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR, THE FIRST LORD’S +DAUGHTER</span></h2> +<p class="poetry">A tar, but poorly prized,<br /> + Long, shambling, and unsightly,<br /> +Thrashed, bullied, and despised,<br /> + Was wretched <span class="smcap">Joe +Golightly</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">He bore a workhouse brand;<br /> + No Pa or Ma had claimed him,<br /> +The Beadle found him, and<br /> + The Board of Guardians named him.</p> +<p class="poetry">P’r’aps some Princess’s +son—<br /> + A beggar p’r’aps his mother.<br /> +<i>He</i> rather thought the one,<br /> + I rather think the other.</p> +<p class="poetry">He liked his ship at sea,<br /> + He loved the salt sea-water,<br /> +He worshipped junk, and he<br /> + Adored the First Lord’s daughter.</p> +<p class="poetry">The First Lord’s daughter, proud,<br /> + Snubbed Earls and Viscounts nightly;<br /> +She sneered at Barts. aloud,<br /> + And spurned poor Joe Golightly.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whene’er he sailed afar<br /> + Upon a Channel cruise, he<br /> +Unpacked his light guitar<br /> + And sang this ballad (Boosey):</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Ballad</b></p> +<p class="poetry"> The moon is on the sea,<br /> + + +Willow!<br /> + The wind blows towards the lee,<br /> + + +Willow!<br /> +But though I sigh and sob and cry,<br /> + No Lady Jane for me,<br /> + + +Willow!</p> +<p class="poetry"> She says, “’Twere +folly quite,<br /> + + +Willow!<br /> + For me to wed a wight,<br /> + + +Willow!<br /> +Whose lot is cast before the mast”;<br /> + And possibly she’s right,<br /> + + +Willow!</p> +<p class="poetry">His skipper (<span class="smcap">Captain +Joyce</span>),<br /> + He gave him many a rating,<br /> +And almost lost his voice<br /> + From thus expostulating:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Lay aft, you lubber, do!<br /> + What’s come to that young man, <span +class="smcap">Joe</span>?<br /> +Belay!—’vast heaving! you!<br /> + Do kindly stop that banjo!</p> +<p class="poetry">“I wish, I do—O +lor’!—<br /> + You’d shipped aboard a trader:<br /> +<i>Are</i> you a sailor or<br /> + A negro serenader?”</p> +<p class="poetry">But still the stricken lad,<br /> + Aloft or on his pillow,<br /> +Howled forth in accents sad<br /> + His aggravating “Willow!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Stern love of duty had<br /> + Been <span class="smcap">Joyce’s</span> +chiefest beauty;<br /> +Says he, “I love that lad,<br /> + But duty, damme! duty!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Twelve months’ black-hole, I +say,<br /> + Where daylight never flashes;<br /> +And always twice a day<br /> + A good six dozen lashes!”</p> +<p class="poetry">But <span class="smcap">Joseph</span> had a +mate,<br /> + A sailor stout and lusty,<br /> +A man of low estate,<br /> + But singularly trusty.</p> +<p class="poetry">Says he, “Cheer hup, young <span +class="smcap">Joe</span>!<br /> + I’ll tell you what I’m arter—<br +/> +To that Fust Lord I’ll go<br /> + And ax him for his darter.</p> +<p class="poetry">“To that Fust Lord I’ll go<br /> + And say you love her dearly.”<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Joe</span> said (weeping low),<br /> + “I wish you would, sincerely!”</p> +<p class="poetry">That sailor to that Lord<br /> + Went, soon as he had landed,<br /> +And of his own accord<br /> + An interview demanded.</p> +<p class="poetry">Says he, with seaman’s roll,<br /> + “My Captain (wot’s a Tartar)<br /> +Guv <span class="smcap">Joe</span> twelve months’ +black-hole,<br /> + For lovering your darter.</p> +<p class="poetry">“He loves <span class="smcap">Miss Lady +Jane</span><br /> + (I own she is his betters),<br /> +But if you’ll jine them twain,<br /> + They’ll free him from his fetters.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And if so be as how<br /> + You’ll let her come aboard ship,<br /> +I’ll take her with me now.”<br /> + “Get out!” remarked his Lordship.</p> +<p class="poetry">That honest tar repaired<br /> + To <span class="smcap">Joe</span> upon the +billow,<br /> +And told him how he’d fared.<br /> + <span class="smcap">Joe</span> only whispered, +“Willow!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And for that dreadful crime<br /> + (Young sailors, learn to shun it)<br /> +He’s working out his time;<br /> + In six months he’ll have done it.</p> +<h2><a name="page539"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 539</span>TO +THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BY A MISERABLE WRETCH</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Roll</span> on, thou ball, +roll on!<br /> +Through pathless realms of Space<br /> + Roll on!<br /> +What though I’m in a sorry case?<br /> +What though I cannot meet my bills?<br /> +What though I suffer toothache’s ills?<br /> +What though I swallow countless pills?<br /> + Never <i>you</i> mind!<br /> + Roll on!</p> +<p class="poetry">Roll on, thou ball, roll on!<br /> +Through seas of inky air<br /> + Roll on!<br /> +It’s true I’ve got no shirts to wear;<br /> +It’s true my butcher’s bill is due;<br /> +It’s true my prospects all look blue—<br /> +But don’t let that unsettle you!<br /> + Never <i>you</i> mind!<br /> + Roll on!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>It rolls on</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +205</span>GENTLE ALICE BROWN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> was a +robber’s daughter, and her name was <span +class="smcap">Alice Brown</span>,<br /> +Her father was the terror of a small Italian town;<br /> +Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing;<br /> +But it isn’t of her parents that I’m going for to +sing.</p> +<p class="poetry">As <span class="smcap">Alice</span> was +a-sitting at her window-sill one day,<br /> +A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way;<br /> +She cast her eyes upon him, and he looked so good and true,<br /> +That she thought, “I could be happy with a gentleman like +you!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And every morning passed her house that cream +of gentlemen,<br /> +She knew she might expect him at a quarter unto ten;<br /> +A sorter in the Custom-house, it was his daily road<br /> +(The Custom-house was fifteen minutes’ walk from her +abode).</p> +<p class="poetry">But <span class="smcap">Alice</span> was a +pious girl, who knew it wasn’t wise<br /> +To look at strange young sorters with expressive purple eyes;<br +/> +So she sought the village priest to whom her family confessed,<br +/> +The priest by whom their little sins were carefully assessed.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, holy father,” <span +class="smcap">Alice</span> said, “’t would grieve +you, would it not,<br /> +To discover that I was a most disreputable lot?<br /> +Of all unhappy sinners I’m the most unhappy one!”<br +/> +The padre said, “Whatever have you been and gone and +done?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I have helped mamma to steal a little +kiddy from its dad,<br /> +I’ve assisted dear papa in cutting up a little lad,<br /> +I’ve planned a little burglary and forged a little +cheque,<br /> +And slain a little baby for the coral on its neck!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a +silent tear,<br /> +And said, “You mustn’t judge yourself too heavily, my +dear:<br /> +It’s wrong to murder babies, little corals for to +fleece;<br /> +But sins like these one expiates at half-a-crown apiece.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Girls will be girls—you’re +very young, and flighty in your mind;<br /> +Old heads upon young shoulders we must not expect to find:<br /> +We mustn’t be too hard upon these little girlish +tricks—<br /> +Let’s see—five crimes at half-a-crown—exactly +twelve-and-six.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, father,” little Alice cried, +“your kindness makes me weep,<br /> +You do these little things for me so singularly cheap—<br +/> +Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget;<br /> +But, oh! there is another crime I haven’t mentioned +yet!</p> +<p class="poetry">“A pleasant-looking gentleman, with +pretty purple eyes,<br /> +I’ve noticed at my window, as I’ve sat a-catching +flies;<br /> +He passes by it every day as certain as can be—<br /> +I blush to say I’ve winked at him, and he has winked at +me!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“For shame!” said <span +class="smcap">Father Paul</span>, “my erring +daughter! On my word<br /> +This is the most distressing news that I have ever heard.<br /> +Why, naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged your hand<br +/> +To a promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band!</p> +<p class="poetry">“This dreadful piece of news will pain +your worthy parents so!<br /> +They are the most remunerative customers I know;<br /> +For many many years they’ve kept starvation from my +doors:<br /> +I never knew so criminal a family as yours!</p> +<p class="poetry">“The common country folk in this insipid +neighbourhood<br /> +Have nothing to confess, they’re so ridiculously good;<br +/> +And if you marry any one respectable at all,<br /> +Why, you’ll reform, and what will then become of <span +class="smcap">Father Paul</span>?”</p> +<p class="poetry">The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon +his crown,<br /> +And started off in haste to tell the news to <span +class="smcap">Robber Brown</span>—<br /> +To tell him how his daughter, who was now for marriage fit,<br /> +Had winked upon a sorter, who reciprocated it.</p> +<p class="poetry">Good <span class="smcap">Robber Brown</span> he +muffled up his anger pretty well:<br /> +He said, “I have a notion, and that notion I will tell;<br +/> +I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits,<br /> +And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ve studied human nature, and I +know a thing or two:<br /> +Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do—<br +/> +A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall<br /> +When she looks upon his body chopped particularly +small.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He traced that gallant sorter to a still +suburban square;<br /> +He watched his opportunity, and seized him unaware;<br /> +He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Mrs. Brown</span> dissected him before +she went to bed.</p> +<p class="poetry">And pretty little <span +class="smcap">Alice</span> grew more settled in her mind,<br /> +She never more was guilty of a weakness of the kind,<br /> +Until at length good <span class="smcap">Robber Brown</span> +bestowed her pretty hand<br /> +On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BAB BALLADS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 931-h.htm or 931-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/9/3/931 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b92927b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #931 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/931) diff --git a/old/2babb10.txt b/old/2babb10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..def4ec7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2babb10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4658 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bab Ballads, by W. S. Gilbert +(#3 in our series by W. S. Gilbert) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Bab Ballads + +Author: W. S. Gilbert + +Release Date: June, 1997 [EBook #931] +[This file was first posted on June 2, 1997] +[Most recently updated: May 20, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE BAB BALLADS *** + + + + +Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + +THE BAB BALLADS + + + + +Contents: + +Captain Reece +The Rival Curates +Only A Dancing Girl +General John +To A Little Maid--By A Policeman +John And Freddy +Sir Guy The Crusader +Haunted +The Bishop And The 'Busman +The Troubadour +Ferdinando And Elvira; Or, The Gentle Pieman +Lorenzo De Lardy +Disillusioned--By An Ex-Enthusiast +Babette's Love +To My Bride--(Whoever She May Be) +The Folly Of Brown--By A General Agent +Sir Macklin +The Yarn Of The "Nancy Bell" +The Bishop Of Rum-Ti-Foo +The Precocious Baby. A Very True Tale +To Phoebe +Baines Carew, Gentleman +Thomas Winterbottom Hance +The Reverend Micah Sowls +A Discontented Sugar Broker +The Pantomime "Super" To His Mask +The Force Of Argument +The Ghost, The Gallant, The Gael, And The Goblin +The Phantom Curate. A Fable +The Sensation Captain +Tempora Mutantur +At A Pantomime. By A Bilious One +King Borria Bungalee Boo +The Periwinkle Girl +Thomson Green And Harriet Hale +Bob Polter +The Story Of Prince Agib +Ellen McJones Aberdeen +Peter The Wag +Ben Allah Achmet;--Or, The Fatal Tum +The Three Kings Of Chickeraboo +Joe Golightly--Or, The First Lord's Daughter +To The Terrestrial Globe. By A Miserable Wretch +Gentle Alice Brown + + + +Captain Reece + + + +Of all the ships upon the blue, +No ship contained a better crew +Than that of worthy CAPTAIN REECE, +Commanding of The Mantelpiece. + +He was adored by all his men, +For worthy CAPTAIN REECE, R.N., +Did all that lay within him to +Promote the comfort of his crew. + +If ever they were dull or sad, +Their captain danced to them like mad, +Or told, to make the time pass by, +Droll legends of his infancy. + +A feather bed had every man, +Warm slippers and hot-water can, +Brown windsor from the captain's store, +A valet, too, to every four. + +Did they with thirst in summer burn, +Lo, seltzogenes at every turn, +And on all very sultry days +Cream ices handed round on trays. + +Then currant wine and ginger pops +Stood handily on all the "tops;" +And also, with amusement rife, +A "Zoetrope, or Wheel of Life." + +New volumes came across the sea +From MISTER MUDIE'S libraree; +The Times and Saturday Review +Beguiled the leisure of the crew. + +Kind-hearted CAPTAIN REECE, R.N., +Was quite devoted to his men; +In point of fact, good CAPTAIN REECE +Beatified The Mantelpiece. + +One summer eve, at half-past ten, +He said (addressing all his men): +"Come, tell me, please, what I can do +To please and gratify my crew. + +"By any reasonable plan +I'll make you happy if I can; +My own convenience count as nil: +It is my duty, and I will." + +Then up and answered WILLIAM LEE +(The kindly captain's coxswain he, +A nervous, shy, low-spoken man), +He cleared his throat and thus began: + +"You have a daughter, CAPTAIN REECE, +Ten female cousins and a niece, +A Ma, if what I'm told is true, +Six sisters, and an aunt or two. + +"Now, somehow, sir, it seems to me, +More friendly-like we all should be, +If you united of 'em to +Unmarried members of the crew. + +"If you'd ameliorate our life, +Let each select from them a wife; +And as for nervous me, old pal, +Give me your own enchanting gal!" + +Good CAPTAIN REECE, that worthy man, +Debated on his coxswain's plan: +"I quite agree," he said, "O BILL; +It is my duty, and I will. + +"My daughter, that enchanting gurl, +Has just been promised to an Earl, +And all my other familee +To peers of various degree. + +"But what are dukes and viscounts to +The happiness of all my crew? +The word I gave you I'll fulfil; +It is my duty, and I will. + +"As you desire it shall befall, +I'll settle thousands on you all, +And I shall be, despite my hoard, +The only bachelor on board." + +The boatswain of The Mantelpiece, +He blushed and spoke to CAPTAIN REECE: +"I beg your honour's leave," he said; +"If you would wish to go and wed, + +"I have a widowed mother who +Would be the very thing for you-- +She long has loved you from afar: +She washes for you, CAPTAIN R." + +The Captain saw the dame that day-- +Addressed her in his playful way-- +"And did it want a wedding ring? +It was a tempting ickle sing! + +"Well, well, the chaplain I will seek, +We'll all be married this day week +At yonder church upon the hill; +It is my duty, and I will!" + +The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece, +And widowed Ma of CAPTAIN REECE, +Attended there as they were bid; +It was their duty, and they did. + + + +The Rival Curates + + + +List while the poet trolls +Of MR. CLAYTON HOOPER, +Who had a cure of souls +At Spiffton-extra-Sooper. + +He lived on curds and whey, +And daily sang their praises, +And then he'd go and play +With buttercups and daisies. + +Wild croquet HOOPER banned, +And all the sports of Mammon, +He warred with cribbage, and +He exorcised backgammon. + +His helmet was a glance +That spoke of holy gladness; +A saintly smile his lance; +His shield a tear of sadness. + +His Vicar smiled to see +This armour on him buckled: +With pardonable glee +He blessed himself and chuckled. + +"In mildness to abound +My curate's sole design is; +In all the country round +There's none so mild as mine is!" + +And HOOPER, disinclined +His trumpet to be blowing, +Yet didn't think you'd find +A milder curate going. + +A friend arrived one day +At Spiffton-extra-Sooper, +And in this shameful way +He spoke to Mr. HOOPER: + +"You think your famous name +For mildness can't be shaken, +That none can blot your fame-- +But, HOOPER, you're mistaken! + +"Your mind is not as blank +As that of HOPLEY PORTER, +Who holds a curate's rank +At Assesmilk-cum-Worter. + +"HE plays the airy flute, +And looks depressed and blighted, +Doves round about him 'toot,' +And lambkins dance delighted. + +"HE labours more than you +At worsted work, and frames it; +In old maids' albums, too, +Sticks seaweed--yes, and names it!" + +The tempter said his say, +Which pierced him like a needle-- +He summoned straight away +His sexton and his beadle. + +(These men were men who could +Hold liberal opinions: +On Sundays they were good-- +On week-days they were minions.) + +"To HOPLEY PORTER go, +Your fare I will afford you-- + Deal him a deadly blow, +And blessings shall reward you. + +"But stay--I do not like +Undue assassination, +And so before you strike, +Make this communication: + +"I'll give him this one chance-- +If he'll more gaily bear him, +Play croquet, smoke, and dance, +I willingly will spare him." + +They went, those minions true, +To Assesmilk-cum-Worter, +And told their errand to +The REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER. + +"What?" said that reverend gent, +"Dance through my hours of leisure? +Smoke?--bathe myself with scent?-- +Play croquet? Oh, with pleasure! + +"Wear all my hair in curl? +Stand at my door and wink--so-- +At every passing girl? +My brothers, I should think so! + +"For years I've longed for some +Excuse for this revulsion: +Now that excuse has come-- +I do it on compulsion!!!" + +He smoked and winked away-- +This REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER-- +The deuce there was to pay +At Assesmilk-cum-Worter. + +And HOOPER holds his ground, +In mildness daily growing-- +They think him, all around, +The mildest curate going. + + + +Only A Dancing Girl + + + +Only a dancing girl, +With an unromantic style, +With borrowed colour and curl, +With fixed mechanical smile, +With many a hackneyed wile, +With ungrammatical lips, +And corns that mar her trips. + +Hung from the "flies" in air, +She acts a palpable lie, +She's as little a fairy there +As unpoetical I! +I hear you asking, Why-- +Why in the world I sing +This tawdry, tinselled thing? + +No airy fairy she, +As she hangs in arsenic green +From a highly impossible tree +In a highly impossible scene +(Herself not over-clean). +For fays don't suffer, I'm told, +From bunions, coughs, or cold. + +And stately dames that bring +Their daughters there to see, +Pronounce the "dancing thing" +No better than she should be, +With her skirt at her shameful knee, +And her painted, tainted phiz: +Ah, matron, which of us is? + +(And, in sooth, it oft occurs +That while these matrons sigh, +Their dresses are lower than hers, +And sometimes half as high; +And their hair is hair they buy, +And they use their glasses, too, +In a way she'd blush to do.) + +But change her gold and green +For a coarse merino gown, +And see her upon the scene +Of her home, when coaxing down +Her drunken father's frown, +In his squalid cheerless den: +She's a fairy truly, then! + + + +General John + + + +The bravest names for fire and flames +And all that mortal durst, +Were GENERAL JOHN and PRIVATE JAMES, +Of the Sixty-seventy-first. + +GENERAL JOHN was a soldier tried, +A chief of warlike dons; +A haughty stride and a withering pride +Were MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN'S. + +A sneer would play on his martial phiz, +Superior birth to show; +"Pish!" was a favourite word of his, +And he often said "Ho! ho!" + +FULL-PRIVATE JAMES described might be, +As a man of a mournful mind; +No characteristic trait had he +Of any distinctive kind. + +From the ranks, one day, cried PRIVATE JAMES, +"Oh! MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN, +I've doubts of our respective names, +My mournful mind upon. + +"A glimmering thought occurs to me +(Its source I can't unearth), +But I've a kind of a notion we +Were cruelly changed at birth. + +"I've a strange idea that each other's names +We've each of us here got on. +Such things have been," said PRIVATE JAMES. +"They have!" sneered GENERAL JOHN. + +"My GENERAL JOHN, I swear upon +My oath I think 'tis so--" +"Pish!" proudly sneered his GENERAL JOHN, +And he also said "Ho! ho!" + +"My GENERAL JOHN! my GENERAL JOHN! +My GENERAL JOHN!" quoth he, +"This aristocratical sneer upon +Your face I blush to see! + +"No truly great or generous cove +Deserving of them names, +Would sneer at a fixed idea that's drove +In the mind of a PRIVATE JAMES!" + +Said GENERAL JOHN, "Upon your claims +No need your breath to waste; +If this is a joke, FULL-PRIVATE JAMES, +It's a joke of doubtful taste. + +"But, being a man of doubtless worth, +If you feel certain quite +That we were probably changed at birth, +I'll venture to say you're right." + +So GENERAL JOHN as PRIVATE JAMES +Fell in, parade upon; +And PRIVATE JAMES, by change of names, +Was MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN. + + + +To A Little Maid--By A Policeman + + + +Come with me, little maid, +Nay, shrink not, thus afraid-- +I'll harm thee not! +Fly not, my love, from me-- +I have a home for thee-- +A fairy grot, +Where mortal eye +Can rarely pry, +There shall thy dwelling be! + +List to me, while I tell +The pleasures of that cell, +Oh, little maid! +What though its couch be rude, +Homely the only food +Within its shade? +No thought of care +Can enter there, +No vulgar swain intrude! + +Come with me, little maid, +Come to the rocky shade +I love to sing; +Live with us, maiden rare-- +Come, for we "want" thee there, +Thou elfin thing, +To work thy spell, +In some cool cell +In stately Pentonville! + + + +John And Freddy + + + +JOHN courted lovely MARY ANN, +So likewise did his brother, FREDDY. +FRED was a very soft young man, +While JOHN, though quick, was most unsteady. + +FRED was a graceful kind of youth, +But JOHN was very much the strongest. +"Oh, dance away," said she, "in truth, +I'll marry him who dances longest." + +JOHN tries the maiden's taste to strike +With gay, grotesque, outrageous dresses, +And dances comically, like +CLODOCHE AND Co., at the Princess's. + +But FREDDY tries another style, +He knows some graceful steps and does 'em-- +A breathing Poem--Woman's smile-- +A man all poesy and buzzem. + +Now FREDDY'S operatic pas-- +Now JOHNNY'S hornpipe seems entrapping: +Now FREDDY'S graceful entrechats-- +Now JOHNNY'S skilful "cellar-flapping." + +For many hours--for many days-- +For many weeks performed each brother, +For each was active in his ways, +And neither would give in to t'other. + +After a month of this, they say +(The maid was getting bored and moody) +A wandering curate passed that way +And talked a lot of goody-goody. + +"Oh my," said he, with solemn frown, +"I tremble for each dancing frater, +Like unregenerated clown +And harlequin at some the-ayter." + +He showed that men, in dancing, do +Both impiously and absurdly, +And proved his proposition true, +With Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly. + +For months both JOHN and FREDDY danced, +The curate's protests little heeding; +For months the curate's words enhanced +The sinfulness of their proceeding. + +At length they bowed to Nature's rule-- +Their steps grew feeble and unsteady, +Till FREDDY fainted on a stool, +And JOHNNY on the top of FREDDY. + +"Decide!" quoth they, "let him be named, +Who henceforth as his wife may rank you." +"I've changed my views," the maiden said, +"I only marry curates, thank you!" + +Says FREDDY, "Here is goings on! +To bust myself with rage I'm ready." +"I'll be a curate!" whispers JOHN-- +"And I," exclaimed poetic FREDDY. + +But while they read for it, these chaps, +The curate booked the maiden bonny-- +And when she's buried him, perhaps, +She'll marry FREDERICK or JOHNNY. + + + +Sir Guy The Crusader + + + +Sir GUY was a doughty crusader, +A muscular knight, +Ever ready to fight, +A very determined invader, +And DICKEY DE LION'S delight. + +LENORE was a Saracen maiden, +Brunette, statuesque, +The reverse of grotesque, +Her pa was a bagman from Aden, +Her mother she played in burlesque. + +A coryphee, pretty and loyal, +In amber and red +The ballet she led; +Her mother performed at the Royal, +LENORE at the Saracen's Head. + +Of face and of figure majestic, +She dazzled the cits-- +Ecstaticised pits;-- +Her troubles were only domestic, +But drove her half out of her wits. + +Her father incessantly lashed her, +On water and bread +She was grudgingly fed; +Whenever her father he thrashed her +Her mother sat down on her head. + +GUY saw her, and loved her, with reason, +For beauty so bright +Sent him mad with delight; +He purchased a stall for the season, +And sat in it every night. + +His views were exceedingly proper, +He wanted to wed, +So he called at her shed +And saw her progenitor whop her-- +Her mother sit down on her head. + +"So pretty," said he, "and so trusting! +You brute of a dad, +You unprincipled cad, +Your conduct is really disgusting, +Come, come, now admit it's too bad! + +"You're a turbaned old Turk, and malignant-- +Your daughter LENORE +I intensely adore, +And I cannot help feeling indignant, +A fact that I hinted before; + +"To see a fond father employing +A deuce of a knout +For to bang her about, +To a sensitive lover's annoying." +Said the bagman, "Crusader, get out." + +Says GUY, "Shall a warrior laden +With a big spiky knob, +Sit in peace on his cob +While a beautiful Saracen maiden +Is whipped by a Saracen snob? + +"To London I'll go from my charmer." +Which he did, with his loot +(Seven hats and a flute), +And was nabbed for his Sydenham armour +At MR. BEN-SAMUEL'S suit. + +SIR GUY he was lodged in the Compter, +Her pa, in a rage, +Died (don't know his age), +His daughter, she married the prompter, +Grew bulky and quitted the stage. + + + +Haunted + + + +Haunted? Ay, in a social way +By a body of ghosts in dread array; +But no conventional spectres they-- +Appalling, grim, and tricky: +I quail at mine as I'd never quail +At a fine traditional spectre pale, +With a turnip head and a ghostly wail, +And a splash of blood on the dickey! + +Mine are horrible, social ghosts,-- +Speeches and women and guests and hosts, +Weddings and morning calls and toasts, +In every bad variety: +Ghosts who hover about the grave +Of all that's manly, free, and brave: +You'll find their names on the architrave +Of that charnel-house, Society. + +Black Monday--black as its school-room ink-- +With its dismal boys that snivel and think +Of its nauseous messes to eat and drink, +And its frozen tank to wash in. +That was the first that brought me grief, +And made me weep, till I sought relief +In an emblematical handkerchief, +To choke such baby bosh in. + +First and worst in the grim array- +Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way, +Which I wouldn't revive for a single day +For all the wealth of PLUTUS-- +Are the horrible ghosts that school-days scared: +If the classical ghost that BRUTUS dared +Was the ghost of his "Caesar" unprepared, +I'm sure I pity BRUTUS. + +I pass to critical seventeen; +The ghost of that terrible wedding scene, +When an elderly Colonel stole my Queen, +And woke my dream of heaven. +No schoolgirl decked in her nurse-room curls +Was my gushing innocent Queen of Pearls; +If she wasn't a girl of a thousand girls, +She was one of forty-seven! + +I see the ghost of my first cigar, +Of the thence-arising family jar-- +Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar, +And I called the Judge "Your wushup!") +Of reckless days and reckless nights, +With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights, +Unholy songs and tipsy fights, +Which I strove in vain to hush up. + +Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks, +Ghosts of "copy, declined with thanks," +Of novels returned in endless ranks, +And thousands more, I suffer. +The only line to fitly grace +My humble tomb, when I've run my race, +Is, "Reader, this is the resting-place +Of an unsuccessful duffer." + +I've fought them all, these ghosts of mine, +But the weapons I've used are sighs and brine, +And now that I'm nearly forty-nine, +Old age is my chiefest bogy; +For my hair is thinning away at the crown, +And the silver fights with the worn-out brown; +And a general verdict sets me down +As an irreclaimable fogy. + + + +The Bishop And The 'Busman + + + +It was a Bishop bold, +And London was his see, +He was short and stout and round about +And zealous as could be. + +It also was a Jew, +Who drove a Putney 'bus-- +For flesh of swine however fine +He did not care a cuss. + +His name was HASH BAZ BEN, +And JEDEDIAH too, +And SOLOMON and ZABULON-- +This 'bus-directing Jew. + +The Bishop said, said he, +"I'll see what I can do +To Christianise and make you wise, +You poor benighted Jew." + +So every blessed day +That 'bus he rode outside, +From Fulham town, both up and down, +And loudly thus he cried: + +"His name is HASH BAZ BEN, +And JEDEDIAH too, +And SOLOMON and ZABULON-- +This 'bus-directing Jew." + +At first the 'busman smiled, +And rather liked the fun-- +He merely smiled, that Hebrew child, +And said, "Eccentric one!" + +And gay young dogs would wait +To see the 'bus go by +(These gay young dogs, in striking togs), +To hear the Bishop cry: + +"Observe his grisly beard, +His race it clearly shows, +He sticks no fork in ham or pork-- +Observe, my friends, his nose. + +"His name is HASH BAZ BEN, +And JEDEDIAH too, +And SOLOMON and ZABULON-- +This 'bus-directing Jew." + +But though at first amused, +Yet after seven years, +This Hebrew child got rather riled, +And melted into tears. + +He really almost feared +To leave his poor abode, +His nose, and name, and beard became +A byword on that road. + +At length he swore an oath, +The reason he would know-- +"I'll call and see why ever he +Does persecute me so!" + +The good old Bishop sat +On his ancestral chair, +The 'busman came, sent up his name, +And laid his grievance bare. + +"Benighted Jew," he said +(The good old Bishop did), +"Be Christian, you, instead of Jew-- +Become a Christian kid! + +"I'll ne'er annoy you more." +"Indeed?" replied the Jew; +"Shall I be freed?" "You will, indeed!" +Then "Done!" said he, "with you!" + +The organ which, in man, +Between the eyebrows grows, +Fell from his face, and in its place +He found a Christian nose. + +His tangled Hebrew beard, +Which to his waist came down, +Was now a pair of whiskers fair-- +His name ADOLPHUS BROWN! + +He wedded in a year +That prelate's daughter JANE, +He's grown quite fair--has auburn hair-- +His wife is far from plain. + + + +The Troubadour + + + +A TROUBADOUR he played +Without a castle wall, +Within, a hapless maid +Responded to his call. + +"Oh, willow, woe is me! +Alack and well-a-day! +If I were only free +I'd hie me far away!" + +Unknown her face and name, +But this he knew right well, +The maiden's wailing came +From out a dungeon cell. + +A hapless woman lay +Within that dungeon grim-- +That fact, I've heard him say, +Was quite enough for him. + +"I will not sit or lie, +Or eat or drink, I vow, +Till thou art free as I, +Or I as pent as thou." + +Her tears then ceased to flow, +Her wails no longer rang, +And tuneful in her woe +The prisoned maiden sang: + +"Oh, stranger, as you play, +I recognize your touch; +And all that I can say +Is, thank you very much." + +He seized his clarion straight, +And blew thereat, until +A warden oped the gate. +"Oh, what might be your will?" + +"I've come, Sir Knave, to see +The master of these halls: +A maid unwillingly +Lies prisoned in their walls."' + +With barely stifled sigh +That porter drooped his head, +With teardrops in his eye, +"A many, sir," he said. + +He stayed to hear no more, +But pushed that porter by, +And shortly stood before +SIR HUGH DE PECKHAM RYE. + +SIR HUGH he darkly frowned, +"What would you, sir, with me?" +The troubadour he downed +Upon his bended knee. + +"I've come, DE PECKHAM RYE, +To do a Christian task; +You ask me what would I? +It is not much I ask. + +"Release these maidens, sir, +Whom you dominion o'er-- +Particularly her +Upon the second floor. + +"And if you don't, my lord"-- +He here stood bolt upright, +And tapped a tailor's sword-- +"Come out, you cad, and fight!" + +SIR HUGH he called--and ran +The warden from the gate: +"Go, show this gentleman +The maid in Forty-eight." + +By many a cell they past, +And stopped at length before +A portal, bolted fast: +The man unlocked the door. + +He called inside the gate +With coarse and brutal shout, +"Come, step it, Forty-eight!" +And Forty-eight stepped out. + +"They gets it pretty hot, +The maidens what we cotch-- +Two years this lady's got +For collaring a wotch." + +"Oh, ah!--indeed--I see," +The troubadour exclaimed-- +"If I may make so free, +How is this castle named? + +The warden's eyelids fill, +And sighing, he replied, +"Of gloomy Pentonville +This is the female side!" + +The minstrel did not wait +The Warden stout to thank, +But recollected straight +He'd business at the Bank. + + + +Ferdinando And Elvira; Or, The Gentle Pieman + + + +PART I. + + +At a pleasant evening party I had taken down to supper +One whom I will call ELVIRA, and we talked of love and TUPPER, + +MR. TUPPER and the Poets, very lightly with them dealing, +For I've always been distinguished for a strong poetic feeling. + +Then we let off paper crackers, each of which contained a motto, +And she listened while I read them, till her mother told her not to. + +Then she whispered, "To the ball-room we had better, dear, be walking; +If we stop down here much longer, really people will be talking." + +There were noblemen in coronets, and military cousins, +There were captains by the hundred, there were baronets by dozens. + +Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed them with a blessing, +Then she let down all her back hair, which had taken long in dressing. + +Then she had convulsive sobbings in her agitated throttle, +Then she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her pretty smelling-bottle. + +So I whispered, "Dear ELVIRA, say,--what can the matter be with you? +Does anything you've eaten, darling POPSY, disagree with you?" + +But spite of all I said, her sobs grew more and more distressing, +And she tore her pretty back hair, which had taken long in dressing. + +Then she gazed upon the carpet, at the ceiling, then above me, +And she whispered, "FERDINANDO, do you really, REALLY love me?" + +"Love you?" said I, then I sighed, and then I gazed upon her sweetly-- +For I think I do this sort of thing particularly neatly. + +"Send me to the Arctic regions, or illimitable azure, +On a scientific goose-chase, with my COXWELL or my GLAISHER! + +"Tell me whither I may hie me--tell me, dear one, that I may know-- +Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?" + +But she said, "It isn't polar bears, or hot volcanic grottoes: +Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker mottoes!" + + +PART II. + + +"Tell me, HENRY WADSWORTH, ALFRED POET CLOSE, or MISTER TUPPER, +Do you write the bon bon mottoes my ELVIRA pulls at supper?" + +But HENRY WADSWORTH smiled, and said he had not had that honour; +And ALFRED, too, disclaimed the words that told so much upon her. + +"MISTER MARTIN TUPPER, POET CLOSE, I beg of you inform us;" +But my question seemed to throw them both into a rage enormous. + +MISTER CLOSE expressed a wish that he could only get anigh to me; +And MISTER MARTIN TUPPER sent the following reply to me: + +"A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men dread a bandit,"-- +Which I know was very clever; but I didn't understand it. + +Seven weary years I wandered--Patagonia, China, Norway, +Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway. + +There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle, +So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle. + +He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy, +And his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy. + +And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with laughter +hearty-- +He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party. + +And I said, "O gentle pieman, why so very, very merry? +Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?" + +But he answered, "I'm so happy--no profession could be dearer-- +If I am not humming 'Tra! la! la!' I'm singing 'Tirer, lirer!' + +"First I go and make the patties, and the puddings, and the jellies, +Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell is; + +"Then I polish all the silver, which a supper-table lacquers; +Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the crackers."-- + +"Found at last!" I madly shouted. "Gentle pieman, you astound me!" +Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me. + +And I shouted and I danced until he'd quite a crowd around him-- +And I rushed away exclaiming, "I have found him! I have found him!" + +And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling, +"'Tira, lira!' stop him, stop him! 'Tra! la! la!' the soup's a +shilling!" + +But until I reached ELVIRA'S home, I never, never waited, +And ELVIRA to her FERDINAND'S irrevocably mated! + + + +Lorenzo De Lardy + + + +DALILAH DE DARDY adored +The very correctest of cards, +LORENZO DE LARDY, a lord-- +He was one of Her Majesty's Guards. + +DALILAH DE DARDY was fat, +DALILAH DE DARDY was old-- +(No doubt in the world about that) +But DALILAH DE DARDY had gold. + +LORENZO DE LARDY was tall, +The flower of maidenly pets, +Young ladies would love at his call, +But LORENZO DE LARDY had debts. + +His money-position was queer, +And one of his favourite freaks +Was to hide himself three times a year, +In Paris, for several weeks. + +Many days didn't pass him before +He fanned himself into a flame, +For a beautiful "DAM DU COMPTWORE," +And this was her singular name: + +ALICE EULALIE CORALINE +EUPHROSINE COLOMBINA THERESE +JULIETTE STEPHANIE CELESTINE +CHARLOTTE RUSSE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE. + +She booked all the orders and tin, +Accoutred in showy fal-lal, +At a two-fifty Restaurant, in +The glittering Palais Royal. + +He'd gaze in her orbit of blue, +Her hand he would tenderly squeeze, +But the words of her tongue that he knew +Were limited strictly to these: + +"CORALINE CELESTINE EULALIE, +Houp la! Je vous aime, oui, mossoo, +Combien donnez moi aujourd'hui +Bonjour, Mademoiselle, parlez voo." + +MADEMOISELLE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE +Was a witty and beautiful miss, +Extremely correct in her ways, +But her English consisted of this: + +"Oh my! pretty man, if you please, +Blom boodin, biftek, currie lamb, +Bouldogue, two franc half, quite ze cheese, +Rosbif, me spik Angleesh, godam." + +A waiter, for seasons before, +Had basked in her beautiful gaze, +And burnt to dismember MILOR, +HE LOVED DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE. + +He said to her, "Mechante THERESE, +Avec desespoir tu m'accables. +Penses-tu, DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE, +Ses intentions sont honorables? + +"Flirtez toujours, ma belle, si tu oses-- +Je me vengerai ainsi, ma chere, +Je lui dirai de quoi l'on compose +Vol au vent a la Financiere!" + +LORD LARDY knew nothing of this-- +The waiter's devotion ignored, +But he gazed on the beautiful miss, +And never seemed weary or bored. + +The waiter would screw up his nerve, +His fingers he'd snap and he'd dance-- +And LORD LARDY would smile and observe, +"How strange are the customs of France!" + +Well, after delaying a space, +His tradesmen no longer would wait: +Returning to England apace, +He yielded himself to his fate. + +LORD LARDY espoused, with a groan, +MISS DARDY'S developing charms, +And agreed to tag on to his own, +Her name and her newly-found arms. + +The waiter he knelt at the toes +Of an ugly and thin coryphee, +Who danced in the hindermost rows +At the Theatre des Varietes. + +MADEMOISELLE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE +Didn't yield to a gnawing despair +But married a soldier, and plays +As a pretty and pert Vivandiere. + + + +Disillusioned--By An Ex-Enthusiast + + + +Oh, that my soul its gods could see +As years ago they seemed to me +When first I painted them; +Invested with the circumstance +Of old conventional romance: +Exploded theorem! + +The bard who could, all men above, +Inflame my soul with songs of love, +And, with his verse, inspire +The craven soul who feared to die +With all the glow of chivalry +And old heroic fire; + +I found him in a beerhouse tap +Awaking from a gin-born nap, +With pipe and sloven dress; +Amusing chums, who fooled his bent, +With muddy, maudlin sentiment, +And tipsy foolishness! + +The novelist, whose painting pen +To legions of fictitious men +A real existence lends, +Brain-people whom we rarely fail, +Whene'er we hear their names, to hail +As old and welcome friends; + +I found in clumsy snuffy suit, +In seedy glove, and blucher boot, +Uncomfortably big. +Particularly commonplace, +With vulgar, coarse, stockbroking face, +And spectacles and wig. + +My favourite actor who, at will, +With mimic woe my eyes could fill +With unaccustomed brine: +A being who appeared to me +(Before I knew him well) to be +A song incarnadine; + +I found a coarse unpleasant man +With speckled chin--unhealthy, wan-- +Of self-importance full: +Existing in an atmosphere +That reeked of gin and pipes and beer-- +Conceited, fractious, dull. + +The warrior whose ennobled name +Is woven with his country's fame, +Triumphant over all, +I found weak, palsied, bloated, blear; +His province seemed to be, to leer +At bonnets in Pall Mall. + +Would that ye always shone, who write, +Bathed in your own innate limelight, +And ye who battles wage, +Or that in darkness I had died +Before my soul had ever sighed +To see you off the stage! + + + +Babette's Love + + + +BABETTE she was a fisher gal, +With jupon striped and cap in crimps. +She passed her days inside the Halle, +Or catching little nimble shrimps. +Yet she was sweet as flowers in May, +With no professional bouquet. + +JACOT was, of the Customs bold, +An officer, at gay Boulogne, +He loved BABETTE--his love he told, +And sighed, "Oh, soyez vous my own!" +But "Non!" said she, "JACOT, my pet, +Vous etes trop scraggy pour BABETTE. + +"Of one alone I nightly dream, +An able mariner is he, +And gaily serves the Gen'ral Steam- +Boat Navigation Companee. +I'll marry him, if he but will-- +His name, I rather think, is BILL. + +"I see him when he's not aware, +Upon our hospitable coast, +Reclining with an easy air +Upon the Port against a post, +A-thinking of, I'll dare to say, +His native Chelsea far away!" + +"Oh, mon!" exclaimed the Customs bold, +"Mes yeux!" he said (which means "my eye") +"Oh, chere!" he also cried, I'm told, +"Par Jove," he added, with a sigh. +"Oh, mon! oh, chere! mes yeux! par Jove! +Je n'aime pas cet enticing cove!" + +The Panther's captain stood hard by, +He was a man of morals strict +If e'er a sailor winked his eye, +Straightway he had that sailor licked, +Mast-headed all (such was his code) +Who dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed. + +He wept to think a tar of his +Should lean so gracefully on posts, +He sighed and sobbed to think of this, +On foreign, French, and friendly coasts. +"It's human natur', p'raps--if so, +Oh, isn't human natur' low!" + +He called his BILL, who pulled his curl, +He said, "My BILL, I understand +You've captivated some young gurl +On this here French and foreign land. +Her tender heart your beauties jog-- +They do, you know they do, you dog. + +"You have a graceful way, I learn, +Of leaning airily on posts, +By which you've been and caused to burn +A tender flame on these here coasts. +A fisher gurl, I much regret,-- +Her age, sixteen--her name, BABETTE. + +"You'll marry her, you gentle tar-- +Your union I myself will bless, +And when you matrimonied are, +I will appoint her stewardess." +But WILLIAM hitched himself and sighed, +And cleared his throat, and thus replied: + +"Not so: unless you're fond of strife, +You'd better mind your own affairs, +I have an able-bodied wife +Awaiting me at Wapping Stairs; +If all this here to her I tell, +She'll larrup you and me as well. + +"Skin-deep, and valued at a pin, +Is beauty such as VENUS owns-- +HER beauty is beneath her skin, +And lies in layers on her bones. +The other sailors of the crew +They always calls her 'Whopping Sue!'" + +"Oho!" the Captain said, "I see! +And is she then so very strong?" +"She'd take your honour's scruff," said he +"And pitch you over to Bolong!" +"I pardon you," the Captain said, +"The fair BABETTE you needn't wed." + +Perhaps the Customs had his will, +And coaxed the scornful girl to wed, +Perhaps the Captain and his BILL, +And WILLIAM'S little wife are dead; +Or p'raps they're all alive and well: +I cannot, cannot, cannot tell. + + + +To My Bride--(Whoever She May Be) + + + +Oh! little maid!--(I do not know your name +Or who you are, so, as a safe precaution +I'll add)--Oh, buxom widow! married dame! +(As one of these must be your present portion) +Listen, while I unveil prophetic lore for you, +And sing the fate that Fortune has in store for you. + +You'll marry soon--within a year or twain-- +A bachelor of circa two and thirty: +Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain, +And when you're intimate, you'll call him "BERTIE." +Neat--dresses well; his temper has been classified +As hasty; but he's very quickly pacified. + +You'll find him working mildly at the Bar, +After a touch at two or three professions, +From easy affluence extremely far, +A brief or two on Circuit--"soup" at Sessions; +A pound or two from whist and backing horses, +And, say three hundred from his own resources. + +Quiet in harness; free from serious vice, +His faults are not particularly shady, +You'll never find him "SHY"--for, once or twice +Already, he's been driven by a lady, +Who parts with him--perhaps a poor excuse for him-- +Because she hasn't any further use for him. + +Oh! bride of mine--tall, dumpy, dark, or fair! +Oh! widow--wife, maybe, or blushing maiden, +I've told YOUR fortune; solved the gravest care +With which your mind has hitherto been laden. +I've prophesied correctly, never doubt it; +Now tell me mine--and please be quick about it! + +You--only you--can tell me, an' you will, +To whom I'm destined shortly to be mated, +Will she run up a heavy modiste's bill? +If so, I want to hear her income stated +(This is a point which interests me greatly). +To quote the bard, "Oh! have I seen her lately?" + +Say, must I wait till husband number one +Is comfortably stowed away at Woking? +How is her hair most usually done? +And tell me, please, will she object to smoking? +The colour of her eyes, too, you may mention: +Come, Sibyl, prophesy--I'm all attention. + + + +The Folly Of Brown--By A General Agent + + + +I knew a boor--a clownish card +(His only friends were pigs and cows and +The poultry of a small farmyard), +Who came into two hundred thousand. + +Good fortune worked no change in BROWN, +Though she's a mighty social chymist; +He was a clown--and by a clown +I do not mean a pantomimist. + +It left him quiet, calm, and cool, +Though hardly knowing what a crown was-- +You can't imagine what a fool +Poor rich uneducated BROWN was! + +He scouted all who wished to come +And give him monetary schooling; +And I propose to give you some +Idea of his insensate fooling. + +I formed a company or two-- +(Of course I don't know what the rest meant, +I formed them solely with a view +To help him to a sound investment). + +Their objects were--their only cares-- +To justify their Boards in showing +A handsome dividend on shares +And keep their good promoter going. + +But no--the lout sticks to his brass, +Though shares at par I freely proffer: +Yet--will it be believed?--the ass +Declines, with thanks, my well-meant offer! + +He adds, with bumpkin's stolid grin +(A weakly intellect denoting), +He'd rather not invest it in +A company of my promoting! + +"You have two hundred 'thou' or more," +Said I. "You'll waste it, lose it, lend it; +Come, take my furnished second floor, +I'll gladly show you how to spend it." + +But will it be believed that he, +With grin upon his face of poppy, +Declined my aid, while thanking me +For what he called my "philanthroppy"? + +Some blind, suspicious fools rejoice +In doubting friends who wouldn't harm them; +They will not hear the charmer's voice, +However wisely he may charm them! + +I showed him that his coat, all dust, +Top boots and cords provoked compassion, +And proved that men of station must +Conform to the decrees of fashion. + +I showed him where to buy his hat +To coat him, trouser him, and boot him; +But no--he wouldn't hear of that-- +"He didn't think the style would suit him!" + +I offered him a county seat, +And made no end of an oration; +I made it certainty complete, +And introduced the deputation. + +But no--the clown my prospect blights-- +(The worth of birth it surely teaches!) +"Why should I want to spend my nights +In Parliament, a-making speeches? + +"I haven't never been to school-- +I ain't had not no eddication-- +And I should surely be a fool +To publish that to all the nation!" + +I offered him a trotting horse-- +No hack had ever trotted faster-- +I also offered him, of course, +A rare and curious "old master." + +I offered to procure him weeds-- +Wines fit for one in his position-- +But, though an ass in all his deeds, +He'd learnt the meaning of "commission." + +He called me "thief" the other day, +And daily from his door he thrusts me; +Much more of this, and soon I may +Begin to think that BROWN mistrusts me. + +So deaf to all sound Reason's rule +This poor uneducated clown is, +You canNOT fancy what a fool +Poor rich uneducated BROWN is. + + + +Sir Macklin + + + +Of all the youths I ever saw +None were so wicked, vain, or silly, +So lost to shame and Sabbath law, +As worldly TOM, and BOB, and BILLY. + +For every Sabbath day they walked +(Such was their gay and thoughtless natur) +In parks or gardens, where they talked +From three to six, or even later. + +SIR MACKLIN was a priest severe +In conduct and in conversation, +It did a sinner good to hear +Him deal in ratiocination. + +He could in every action show +Some sin, and nobody could doubt him. +He argued high, he argued low, +He also argued round about him. + +He wept to think each thoughtless youth +Contained of wickedness a skinful, +And burnt to teach the awful truth, +That walking out on Sunday's sinful. + +"Oh, youths," said he, "I grieve to find +The course of life you've been and hit on-- +Sit down," said he, "and never mind +The pennies for the chairs you sit on. + +"My opening head is 'Kensington,' +How walking there the sinner hardens, +Which when I have enlarged upon, +I go to 'Secondly'--its 'Gardens.' + +"My 'Thirdly' comprehendeth 'Hyde,' +Of Secresy the guilts and shameses; +My 'Fourthly'--'Park'--its verdure wide-- +My 'Fifthly' comprehends 'St. James's.' + +"That matter settled, I shall reach +The 'Sixthly' in my solemn tether, +And show that what is true of each, +Is also true of all, together. + +"Then I shall demonstrate to you, +According to the rules of WHATELY, +That what is true of all, is true +Of each, considered separately." + +In lavish stream his accents flow, +TOM, BOB, and BILLY dare not flout him; +He argued high, he argued low, +He also argued round about him. + +"Ha, ha!" he said, "you loathe your ways, +You writhe at these my words of warning, +In agony your hands you raise." +(And so they did, for they were yawning.) + +To "Twenty-firstly" on they go, +The lads do not attempt to scout him; +He argued high, he argued low, +He also argued round about him. + +"Ho, ho!" he cries, "you bow your crests-- +My eloquence has set you weeping; +In shame you bend upon your breasts!" +(And so they did, for they were sleeping.) + +He proved them this--he proved them that-- +This good but wearisome ascetic; +He jumped and thumped upon his hat, +He was so very energetic. + +His Bishop at this moment chanced +To pass, and found the road encumbered; +He noticed how the Churchman danced, +And how his congregation slumbered. + +The hundred and eleventh head +The priest completed of his stricture; +"Oh, bosh!" the worthy Bishop said, +And walked him off as in the picture. + + + +The Yarn Of The "Nancy Bell" + + + +'Twas on the shores that round our coast +From Deal to Ramsgate span, +That I found alone on a piece of stone +An elderly naval man. + +His hair was weedy, his beard was long, +And weedy and long was he, +And I heard this wight on the shore recite, +In a singular minor key: + +"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, +And the mate of the Nancy brig, +And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, +And the crew of the captain's gig." + +And he shook his fists and he tore his hair, +Till I really felt afraid, +For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, +And so I simply said: + +"Oh, elderly man, it's little I know +Of the duties of men of the sea, +And I'll eat my hand if I understand +However you can be + +"At once a cook, and a captain bold, +And the mate of the Nancy brig, +And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, +And the crew of the captain's gig." + +Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which +Is a trick all seamen larn, +And having got rid of a thumping quid, +He spun this painful yarn: + +"'Twas in the good ship Nancy Bell +That we sailed to the Indian Sea, +And there on a reef we come to grief, +Which has often occurred to me. + +"And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned +(There was seventy-seven o' soul), +And only ten of the Nancy's men +Said 'Here!' to the muster-roll. + +"There was me and the cook and the captain bold, +And the mate of the Nancy brig, +And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, +And the crew of the captain's gig. + +"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, +Till a-hungry we did feel, +So we drawed a lot, and, accordin' shot +The captain for our meal. + +"The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate, +And a delicate dish he made; +Then our appetite with the midshipmite +We seven survivors stayed. + +"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, +And he much resembled pig; +Then we wittled free, did the cook and me, +On the crew of the captain's gig. + +"Then only the cook and me was left, +And the delicate question, 'Which +Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, +And we argued it out as sich. + +"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, +And the cook he worshipped me; +But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed +In the other chap's hold, you see. + +"'I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says TOM; +'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be,-- +'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I; +And 'Exactly so,' quoth he. + +"Says he, 'Dear JAMES, to murder me +Were a foolish thing to do, +For don't you see that you can't cook ME, +While I can--and will--cook YOU!' + +"So he boils the water, and takes the salt +And the pepper in portions true +(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot. +And some sage and parsley too. + +"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride, +Which his smiling features tell, +''T will soothing be if I let you see +How extremely nice you'll smell.' + +"And he stirred it round and round and round, +And he sniffed at the foaming froth; +When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals +In the scum of the boiling broth. + +"And I eat that cook in a week or less, +And--as I eating be +The last of his chops, why, I almost drops, +For a wessel in sight I see! + +* * * * + +"And I never larf, and I never smile, +And I never lark nor play, +But sit and croak, and a single joke +I have--which is to say: + +"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, +And the mate of the Nancy brig, +And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, +And the crew of the captain's gig!'" + + + +The Bishop Of Rum-Ti-Foo + + + +From east and south the holy clan +Of Bishops gathered to a man; +To Synod, called Pan-Anglican, +In flocking crowds they came. +Among them was a Bishop, who +Had lately been appointed to +The balmy isle of Rum-ti-Foo, +And PETER was his name. + +His people--twenty-three in sum-- +They played the eloquent tum-tum, +And lived on scalps served up, in rum-- +The only sauce they knew. +When first good BISHOP PETER came +(For PETER was that Bishop's name), +To humour them, he did the same +As they of Rum-ti-Foo. + +His flock, I've often heard him tell, +(His name was PETER) loved him well, +And, summoned by the sound of bell, +In crowds together came. +"Oh, massa, why you go away? +Oh, MASSA PETER, please to stay." +(They called him PETER, people say, +Because it was his name.) + +He told them all good boys to be, +And sailed away across the sea, +At London Bridge that Bishop he +Arrived one Tuesday night; +And as that night he homeward strode +To his Pan-Anglican abode, +He passed along the Borough Road, +And saw a gruesome sight. + +He saw a crowd assembled round +A person dancing on the ground, +Who straight began to leap and bound +With all his might and main. +To see that dancing man he stopped, +Who twirled and wriggled, skipped and hopped, +Then down incontinently dropped, +And then sprang up again. + +The Bishop chuckled at the sight. +"This style of dancing would delight +A simple Rum-ti-Foozleite. +I'll learn it if I can, +To please the tribe when I get back." +He begged the man to teach his knack. +"Right Reverend Sir, in half a crack! +Replied that dancing man. + +The dancing man he worked away, +And taught the Bishop every day-- +The dancer skipped like any fay-- +Good PETER did the same. +The Bishop buckled to his task, +With battements, and pas de basque. +(I'll tell you, if you care to ask, +That PETER was his name.) + +"Come, walk like this," the dancer said, +"Stick out your toes--stick in your head, +Stalk on with quick, galvanic tread-- +Your fingers thus extend; +The attitude's considered quaint." +The weary Bishop, feeling faint, +Replied, "I do not say it ain't, +But 'Time!' my Christian friend!" + +"We now proceed to something new-- +Dance as the PAYNES and LAURIS do, +Like this--one, two--one, two--one, two." +The Bishop, never proud, +But in an overwhelming heat +(His name was PETER, I repeat) +Performed the PAYNE and LAURI feat, +And puffed his thanks aloud. + +Another game the dancer planned-- +"Just take your ankle in your hand, +And try, my lord, if you can stand-- +Your body stiff and stark. +If, when revisiting your see, +You learnt to hop on shore--like me-- +The novelty would striking be, +And must attract remark." + +"No," said the worthy Bishop, "no; +That is a length to which, I trow, +Colonial Bishops cannot go. +You may express surprise +At finding Bishops deal in pride-- +But if that trick I ever tried, +I should appear undignified +In Rum-ti-Foozle's eyes. + +"The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo +Are well-conducted persons, who +Approve a joke as much as you, +And laugh at it as such; +But if they saw their Bishop land, +His leg supported in his hand, +The joke they wouldn't understand-- +'T would pain them very much!" + + + +The Precocious Baby. A Very True Tale + + + +(To be sung to the Air of the "Whistling Oyster.") + +An elderly person--a prophet by trade-- +With his quips and tips +On withered old lips, +He married a young and a beautiful maid; +The cunning old blade! +Though rather decayed, +He married a beautiful, beautiful maid. + +She was only eighteen, and as fair as could be, +With her tempting smiles +And maidenly wiles, +And he was a trifle past seventy-three: +Now what she could see +Is a puzzle to me, +In a prophet of seventy--seventy-three! + +Of all their acquaintances bidden (or bad) +With their loud high jinks +And underbred winks, +None thought they'd a family have--but they had; +A dear little lad +Who drove 'em half mad, +For he turned out a horribly fast little cad. + +For when he was born he astonished all by, +With their "Law, dear me!" +"Did ever you see?" +He'd a pipe in his mouth and a glass in his eye, +A hat all awry-- +An octagon tie-- +And a miniature--miniature glass in his eye. + +He grumbled at wearing a frock and a cap, +With his "Oh, dear, oh!" +And his "Hang it! 'oo know!" +And he turned up his nose at his excellent pap-- +"My friends, it's a tap +Dat is not worf a rap." +(Now this was remarkably excellent pap.) + +He'd chuck his nurse under the chin, and he'd say, +With his "Fal, lal, lal"-- +"'Oo doosed fine gal!" +This shocking precocity drove 'em away: +"A month from to-day +Is as long as I'll stay-- +Then I'd wish, if you please, for to toddle away." + +His father, a simple old gentleman, he +With nursery rhyme +And "Once on a time," +Would tell him the story of "Little Bo-P," +"So pretty was she, +So pretty and wee, +As pretty, as pretty, as pretty could be." + +But the babe, with a dig that would startle an ox, +With his "C'ck! Oh, my!-- +Go along wiz 'oo, fie!" +Would exclaim, "I'm afraid 'oo a socking ole fox." +Now a father it shocks, +And it whitens his locks, +When his little babe calls him a shocking old fox. + +The name of his father he'd couple and pair +(With his ill-bred laugh, +And insolent chaff) +With those of the nursery heroines rare-- +Virginia the Fair, +Or Good Goldenhair, +Till the nuisance was more than a prophet could bear. + +"There's Jill and White Cat" (said the bold little brat, +With his loud, "Ha, ha!") +"'Oo sly ickle Pa! +Wiz 'oo Beauty, Bo-Peep, and 'oo Mrs. Jack Sprat! +I've noticed 'oo pat +MY pretty White Cat-- +I sink dear mamma ought to know about dat!" + +He early determined to marry and wive, +For better or worse +With his elderly nurse-- +Which the poor little boy didn't live to contrive: +His hearth didn't thrive-- +No longer alive, +He died an enfeebled old dotard at five! + +MORAL. + +Now, elderly men of the bachelor crew, +With wrinkled hose +And spectacled nose, +Don't marry at all--you may take it as true +If ever you do +The step you will rue, +For your babes will be elderly--elderly too. + + + +To Phoebe + + + +"Gentle, modest little flower, +Sweet epitome of May, +Love me but for half an hour, +Love me, love me, little fay." +Sentences so fiercely flaming +In your tiny shell-like ear, +I should always be exclaiming +If I loved you, PHOEBE dear. + +"Smiles that thrill from any distance +Shed upon me while I sing! +Please ecstaticize existence, +Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!" +Words like these, outpouring sadly +You'd perpetually hear, +If I loved you fondly, madly;-- +But I do not, PHOEBE dear. + + + +Baines Carew, Gentleman + + + +Of all the good attorneys who +Have placed their names upon the roll, +But few could equal BAINES CAREW +For tender-heartedness and soul. + +Whene'er he heard a tale of woe +From client A or client B, +His grief would overcome him so +He'd scarce have strength to take his fee. + +It laid him up for many days, +When duty led him to distrain, +And serving writs, although it pays, +Gave him excruciating pain. + +He made out costs, distrained for rent, +Foreclosed and sued, with moistened eye-- +No bill of costs could represent +The value of such sympathy. + +No charges can approximate +The worth of sympathy with woe;-- +Although I think I ought to state +He did his best to make them so. + +Of all the many clients who +Had mustered round his legal flag, +No single client of the crew +Was half so dear as CAPTAIN BAGG. + +Now, CAPTAIN BAGG had bowed him to +A heavy matrimonial yoke-- +His wifey had of faults a few-- +She never could resist a joke. + +Her chaff at first he meekly bore, +Till unendurable it grew. +"To stop this persecution sore +I will consult my friend CAREW. + +"And when CAREW'S advice I've got, +Divorce a mensa I shall try." +(A legal separation--not +A vinculo conjugii.) + +"Oh, BAINES CAREW, my woe I've kept +A secret hitherto, you know;"-- +(And BAINES CAREW, ESQUIRE, he wept +To hear that BAGG HAD any woe.) + +"My case, indeed, is passing sad. +My wife--whom I considered true-- +With brutal conduct drives me mad." +"I am appalled," said BAINES CAREW. + +"What! sound the matrimonial knell +Of worthy people such as these! +Why was I an attorney? Well-- +Go on to the saevitia, please." + +"Domestic bliss has proved my bane,-- +A harder case you never heard, +My wife (in other matters sane) +Pretends that I'm a Dicky bird! + +"She makes me sing, 'Too-whit, too-wee!' +And stand upon a rounded stick, +And always introduces me +To every one as 'Pretty Dick'!" + +"Oh, dear," said weeping BAINES CAREW, +"This is the direst case I know." +"I'm grieved," said BAGG, "at paining you-- +"To COBB and POLTHERTHWAITE I'll go-- + +"To COBB'S cold, calculating ear, +My gruesome sorrows I'll impart"-- +"No; stop," said BAINES, "I'll dry my tear, +And steel my sympathetic heart." + +"She makes me perch upon a tree, +Rewarding me with 'Sweety--nice!' +And threatens to exhibit me +With four or five performing mice." + +"Restrain my tears I wish I could" +(Said BAINES), "I don't know what to do." +Said CAPTAIN BAGG, "You're very good." +"Oh, not at all," said BAINES CAREW. + +"She makes me fire a gun," said BAGG; +"And, at a preconcerted word, +Climb up a ladder with a flag, +Like any street performing bird. + +"She places sugar in my way-- +In public places calls me 'Sweet!' +She gives me groundsel every day, +And hard canary-seed to eat." + +"Oh, woe! oh, sad! oh, dire to tell!" +(Said BAINES). "Be good enough to stop." +And senseless on the floor he fell, +With unpremeditated flop! + +Said CAPTAIN BAGG, "Well, really I +Am grieved to think it pains you so. +I thank you for your sympathy; +But, hang it!--come--I say, you know!" + +But BAINES lay flat upon the floor, +Convulsed with sympathetic sob;-- +The Captain toddled off next door, +And gave the case to MR. COBB. + + + +Thomas Winterbottom Hance + + + +In all the towns and cities fair +On Merry England's broad expanse, +No swordsman ever could compare +With THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE. + +The dauntless lad could fairly hew +A silken handkerchief in twain, +Divide a leg of mutton too-- +And this without unwholesome strain. + +On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick, +His sabre sometimes he'd employ-- +No bar of lead, however thick, +Had terrors for the stalwart boy. + +At Dover daily he'd prepare +To hew and slash, behind, before-- +Which aggravated MONSIEUR PIERRE, +Who watched him from the Calais shore. + +It caused good PIERRE to swear and dance, +The sight annoyed and vexed him so; +He was the bravest man in France-- +He said so, and he ought to know. + +"Regardez donc, ce cochon gros-- +Ce polisson! Oh, sacre bleu! +Son sabre, son plomb, et ses gigots +Comme cela m'ennuye, enfin, mon Dieu! + +"Il sait que les foulards de soie +Give no retaliating whack-- +Les gigots morts n'ont pas de quoi-- +Le plomb don't ever hit you back." + +But every day the headstrong lad +Cut lead and mutton more and more; +And every day poor PIERRE, half mad, +Shrieked loud defiance from his shore. + +HANCE had a mother, poor and old, +A simple, harmless village dame, +Who crowed and clapped as people told +Of WINTERBOTTOM'S rising fame. + +She said, "I'll be upon the spot +To see my TOMMY'S sabre-play;" +And so she left her leafy cot, +And walked to Dover in a day. + +PIERRE had a doating mother, who +Had heard of his defiant rage; +HIS Ma was nearly ninety-two, +And rather dressy for her age. + +At HANCE'S doings every morn, +With sheer delight HIS mother cried; +And MONSIEUR PIERRE'S contemptuous scorn +Filled HIS mamma with proper pride. + +But HANCE'S powers began to fail-- +His constitution was not strong-- +And PIERRE, who once was stout and hale, +Grew thin from shouting all day long. + +Their mothers saw them pale and wan, +Maternal anguish tore each breast, +And so they met to find a plan +To set their offsprings' minds at rest. + +Said MRS. HANCE, "Of course I shrinks +From bloodshed, ma'am, as you're aware, +But still they'd better meet, I thinks." +"Assurement!" said MADAME PIERRE. + +A sunny spot in sunny France +Was hit upon for this affair; +The ground was picked by MRS. HANCE, +The stakes were pitched by MADAME PIERRE. + +Said MRS. H., "Your work you see-- +Go in, my noble boy, and win." +"En garde, mon fils!" said MADAME P. +"Allons!" "Go on!" "En garde!" "Begin!" + +(The mothers were of decent size, +Though not particularly tall; +But in the sketch that meets your eyes +I've been obliged to draw them small.) + +Loud sneered the doughty man of France, +"Ho! ho! Ho! ho! Ha! ha! Ha! ha! +"The French for 'Pish'" said THOMAS HANCE. +Said PIERRE, "L'Anglais, Monsieur, pour 'Bah.'" + +Said MRS. H., "Come, one! two! three!-- +We're sittin' here to see all fair." +"C'est magnifique!" said MADAME P., +"Mais, parbleu! ce n'est pas la guerre!" + +"Je scorn un foe si lache que vous," +Said PIERRE, the doughty son of France. +"I fight not coward foe like you!" +Said our undaunted TOMMY HANCE. + +"The French for 'Pooh!'" our TOMMY cried. +"L'Anglais pour 'Va!'" the Frenchman crowed. +And so, with undiminished pride, +Each went on his respective road. + + + +The Reverend Micah Sowls + + + +The REVEREND MICAH SOWLS, +He shouts and yells and howls, +He screams, he mouths, he bumps, +He foams, he rants, he thumps. + +His armour he has buckled on, to wage +The regulation war against the Stage; +And warns his congregation all to shun +"The Presence-Chamber of the Evil One," + +The subject's sad enough +To make him rant and puff, +And fortunately, too, +His Bishop's in a pew. + +So REVEREND MICAH claps on extra steam, +His eyes are flashing with superior gleam, +He is as energetic as can be, +For there are fatter livings in that see. + +The Bishop, when it's o'er, +Goes through the vestry door, +Where MICAH, very red, +Is mopping of his head. + +"Pardon, my Lord, your SOWLS' excessive zeal, +It is a theme on which I strongly feel." +(The sermon somebody had sent him down +From London, at a charge of half-a-crown.) + +The Bishop bowed his head, +And, acquiescing, said, +"I've heard your well-meant rage +Against the Modern Stage. + +"A modern Theatre, as I heard you say, +Sows seeds of evil broadcast--well it may; +But let me ask you, my respected son, +Pray, have you ever ventured into one?" + +"My Lord," said MICAH, "no! +I never, never go! +What! Go and see a play? +My goodness gracious, nay!" + +The worthy Bishop said, "My friend, no doubt +The Stage may be the place you make it out; +But if, my REVEREND SOWLS, you never go, +I don't quite understand how you're to know." + +"Well, really," MICAH said, +"I've often heard and read, +But never go--do you?" +The Bishop said, "I do." + +"That proves me wrong," said MICAH, in a trice: +"I thought it all frivolity and vice." +The Bishop handed him a printed card; +"Go to a theatre where they play our Bard." + +The Bishop took his leave, +Rejoicing in his sleeve. +The next ensuing day +SOWLS went and heard a play. + +He saw a dreary person on the stage, +Who mouthed and mugged in simulated rage, +Who growled and spluttered in a mode absurd, +And spoke an English SOWLS had never heard. + +For "gaunt" was spoken "garnt," + And "haunt" transformed to "harnt," + And "wrath " pronounced as "rath," + And "death" was changed to "dath." + +For hours and hours that dismal actor walked, +And talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, +Till lethargy upon the parson crept, +And sleepy MICAH SOWLS serenely slept. + +He slept away until +The farce that closed the bill +Had warned him not to stay, +And then he went away. + +"I thought MY gait ridiculous," said he-- +"MY elocution faulty as could be; +I thought _I_ mumbled on a matchless plan-- +I had not seen our great Tragedian! + +"Forgive me, if you can, +O great Tragedian! +I own it with a sigh-- +You're drearier than I!" + + + +A Discontented Sugar Broker + + + +A GENTLEMAN of City fame +Now claims your kind attention; +East India broking was his game, +His name I shall not mention: +No one of finely-pointed sense +Would violate a confidence, +And shall _I_ go +And do it? No! +His name I shall not mention. + +He had a trusty wife and true, +And very cosy quarters, +A manager, a boy or two, +Six clerks, and seven porters. +A broker must be doing well +(As any lunatic can tell) +Who can employ +An active boy, +Six clerks, and seven porters. + +His knocker advertised no dun, +No losses made him sulky, +He had one sorrow--only one-- +He was extremely bulky. +A man must be, I beg to state, +Exceptionally fortunate +Who owns his chief +And only grief +Is--being very bulky. + +"This load," he'd say, "I cannot bear; +I'm nineteen stone or twenty! +Henceforward I'll go in for air +And exercise in plenty." +Most people think that, should it come, +They can reduce a bulging tum +To measures fair +By taking air +And exercise in plenty. + +In every weather, every day, +Dry, muddy, wet, or gritty, +He took to dancing all the way +From Brompton to the City. +You do not often get the chance +Of seeing sugar brokers dance +From their abode +In Fulham Road +Through Brompton to the City. + +He braved the gay and guileless laugh +Of children with their nusses, +The loud uneducated chaff +Of clerks on omnibuses. +Against all minor things that rack +A nicely-balanced mind, I'll back +The noisy chaff +And ill-bred laugh +Of clerks on omnibuses. + +His friends, who heard his money chink, +And saw the house he rented, +And knew his wife, could never think +What made him discontented. +It never entered their pure minds +That fads are of eccentric kinds, +Nor would they own +That fat alone +Could make one discontented. + +"Your riches know no kind of pause, +Your trade is fast advancing; +You dance--but not for joy, because +You weep as you are dancing. +To dance implies that man is glad, +To weep implies that man is sad; +But here are you +Who do the two-- +You weep as you are dancing!" + +His mania soon got noised about +And into all the papers; +His size increased beyond a doubt +For all his reckless capers: +It may seem singular to you, +But all his friends admit it true-- +The more he found +His figure round, +The more he cut his capers. + +His bulk increased--no matter that-- +He tried the more to toss it-- +He never spoke of it as "fat," +But "adipose deposit." +Upon my word, it seems to me +Unpardonable vanity +(And worse than that) +To call your fat +An "adipose deposit." + +At length his brawny knees gave way, +And on the carpet sinking, +Upon his shapeless back he lay +And kicked away like winking. +Instead of seeing in his state +The finger of unswerving Fate, +He laboured still +To work his will, +And kicked away like winking. + +His friends, disgusted with him now, +Away in silence wended-- +I hardly like to tell you how +This dreadful story ended. +The shocking sequel to impart, +I must employ the limner's art-- +If you would know, +This sketch will show +How his exertions ended. + +MORAL. + +I hate to preach--I hate to prate-- +- I'm no fanatic croaker, +But learn contentment from the fate +Of this East India broker. +He'd everything a man of taste +Could ever want, except a waist; +And discontent +His size anent, +And bootless perseverance blind, +Completely wrecked the peace of mind +Of this East India broker. + + + +The Pantomime "Super" To His Mask + + + +Vast empty shell! +Impertinent, preposterous abortion! +With vacant stare, +And ragged hair, +And every feature out of all proportion! +Embodiment of echoing inanity! +Excellent type of simpering insanity! +Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity! +I ring thy knell! + +To-night thou diest, +Beast that destroy'st my heaven-born identity! +Nine weeks of nights, +Before the lights, +Swamped in thine own preposterous nonentity, +I've been ill-treated, cursed, and thrashed diurnally, +Credited for the smile you wear externally-- +I feel disposed to smash thy face, infernally, +As there thou liest! + +I've been thy brain: +I'VE been the brain that lit thy dull concavity! +The human race +Invest MY face +With thine expression of unchecked depravity, +Invested with a ghastly reciprocity, +I'VE been responsible for thy monstrosity, +I, for thy wanton, blundering ferocity-- +But not again! + +'T is time to toll +Thy knell, and that of follies pantomimical: +A nine weeks' run, +And thou hast done +All thou canst do to make thyself inimical. +Adieu, embodiment of all inanity! +Excellent type of simpering insanity! +Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity! +Freed is thy soul! + +(The Mask respondeth.) + +Oh! master mine, +Look thou within thee, ere again ill-using me. +Art thou aware +Of nothing there +Which might abuse thee, as thou art abusing me? +A brain that mourns THINE unredeemed rascality? +A soul that weeps at THY threadbare morality? +Both grieving that THEIR individuality +Is merged in thine? + + + +The Force Of Argument + + + +Lord B. was a nobleman bold +Who came of illustrious stocks, +He was thirty or forty years old, +And several feet in his socks. + +To Turniptopville-by-the-Sea +This elegant nobleman went, +For that was a borough that he +Was anxious to rep-per-re-sent. + +At local assemblies he danced +Until he felt thoroughly ill; +He waltzed, and he galoped, and lanced, +And threaded the mazy quadrille. + +The maidens of Turniptopville +Were simple--ingenuous--pure-- +And they all worked away with a will +The nobleman's heart to secure. + +Two maidens all others beyond +Endeavoured his cares to dispel-- +The one was the lively ANN POND, +The other sad MARY MORELL. + +ANN POND had determined to try +And carry the Earl with a rush; +Her principal feature was eye, +Her greatest accomplishment--gush. + +And MARY chose this for her play: +Whenever he looked in her eye +She'd blush and turn quickly away, +And flitter, and flutter, and sigh. + +It was noticed he constantly sighed +As she worked out the scheme she had planned, +A fact he endeavoured to hide +With his aristocratical hand. + +Old POND was a farmer, they say, +And so was old TOMMY MORELL. +In a humble and pottering way +They were doing exceedingly well. + +They both of them carried by vote +The Earl was a dangerous man; +So nervously clearing his throat, +One morning old TOMMY began: + +"My darter's no pratty young doll-- +I'm a plain-spoken Zommerzet man-- +Now what do 'ee mean by my POLL, +And what do 'ee mean by his ANN? + +Said B., "I will give you my bond +I mean them uncommonly well, +Believe me, my excellent POND, +And credit me, worthy MORELL. + +"It's quite indisputable, for +I'll prove it with singular ease,-- +You shall have it in 'Barbara' or +'Celarent'--whichever you please. + +'You see, when an anchorite bows +To the yoke of intentional sin, +If the state of the country allows, +Homogeny always steps in-- + +"It's a highly aesthetical bond, +As any mere ploughboy can tell--" +"Of course," replied puzzled old POND. +"I see," said old TOMMY MORELL. + +"Very good, then," continued the lord; +"When it's fooled to the top of its bent, +With a sweep of a Damocles sword +The web of intention is rent. + +"That's patent to all of us here, +As any mere schoolboy can tell." +POND answered, "Of course it's quite clear"; +And so did that humbug MORELL. + +"Its tone's esoteric in force-- +I trust that I make myself clear?" +MORELL only answered, "Of course," +While POND slowly muttered, "Hear, hear." + +"Volition--celestial prize, +Pellucid as porphyry cell-- +Is based on a principle wise." +"Quite so," exclaimed POND and MORELL. + +"From what I have said you will see +That I couldn't wed either--in fine, +By Nature's unchanging decree +YOUR daughters could never be MINE. + +"Go home to your pigs and your ricks, +My hands of the matter I've rinsed." +So they take up their hats and their sticks, . +And exeunt ambo, convinced. + + + +The Ghost, The Gallant, The Gael, And The Goblin + + + +O'er unreclaimed suburban clays +Some years ago were hobblin' +An elderly ghost of easy ways, +And an influential goblin. +The ghost was a sombre spectral shape, +A fine old five-act fogy, +The goblin imp, a lithe young ape, +A fine low-comedy bogy. + +And as they exercised their joints, +Promoting quick digestion, +They talked on several curious points, +And raised this delicate question: +"Which of us two is Number One-- +The ghostie, or the goblin?" +And o'er the point they raised in fun +They fairly fell a-squabblin'. + +They'd barely speak, and each, in fine, +Grew more and more reflective: +Each thought his own particular line +By chalks the more effective. +At length they settled some one should +By each of them be haunted, +And so arrange that either could +Exert his prowess vaunted. + +"The Quaint against the Statuesque"-- +By competition lawful-- +The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque, +The ghost the Grandly Awful. +"Now," said the goblin, "here's my plan-- +In attitude commanding, +I see a stalwart Englishman +By yonder tailor's standing. + +"The very fittest man on earth +My influence to try on-- +Of gentle, p'r'aps of noble birth, +And dauntless as a lion! +Now wrap yourself within your shroud-- +Remain in easy hearing-- +Observe--you'll hear him scream aloud +When I begin appearing! + +The imp with yell unearthly--wild-- +Threw off his dark enclosure: +His dauntless victim looked and smiled +With singular composure. +For hours he tried to daunt the youth, +For days, indeed, but vainly-- +The stripling smiled!--to tell the truth, +The stripling smiled inanely. + +For weeks the goblin weird and wild, +That noble stripling haunted; +For weeks the stripling stood and smiled, +Unmoved and all undaunted. +The sombre ghost exclaimed, "Your plan +Has failed you, goblin, plainly: +Now watch yon hardy Hieland man, +So stalwart and ungainly. + +"These are the men who chase the roe, +Whose footsteps never falter, +Who bring with them, where'er they go, +A smack of old SIR WALTER. +Of such as he, the men sublime +Who lead their troops victorious, +Whose deeds go down to after-time, +Enshrined in annals glorious! + +"Of such as he the bard has said +'Hech thrawfu' raltie rorkie! +Wi' thecht ta' croonie clapperhead +And fash' wi' unco pawkie!' +He'll faint away when I appear, +Upon his native heather; +Or p'r'aps he'll only scream with fear, +Or p'r'aps the two together." + +The spectre showed himself, alone, +To do his ghostly battling, +With curdling groan and dismal moan, +And lots of chains a-rattling! +But no--the chiel's stout Gaelic stuff +Withstood all ghostly harrying; +His fingers closed upon the snuff +Which upwards he was carrying. + +For days that ghost declined to stir, +A foggy shapeless giant-- +For weeks that splendid officer +Stared back again defiant. +Just as the Englishman returned +The goblin's vulgar staring, +Just so the Scotchman boldly spurned +The ghost's unmannered scaring. + +For several years the ghostly twain +These Britons bold have haunted, +But all their efforts are in vain-- +Their victims stand undaunted. +This very day the imp, and ghost, +Whose powers the imp derided, +Stand each at his allotted post-- +The bet is undecided. + + + +The Phantom Curate. A Fable + + + +A BISHOP once--I will not name his see-- +Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional; +From pulpit shackles never set them free, +And found a sin where sin was unintentional. +All pleasures ended in abuse auricular-- +The Bishop was so terribly particular. + +Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man, +He sought to make of human pleasures clearances; +And form his priests on that much-lauded plan +Which pays undue attention to appearances. +He couldn't do good deeds without a psalm in 'em, +Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in 'em. + +Enraged to find a deacon at a dance, +Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity, +He sought by open censure to enhance +Their dread of joining harmless social jollity. +Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety) +The ordinary pleasures of society. + +One evening, sitting at a pantomime +(Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of him), +Roaring at jokes, sans metre, sense, or rhyme, +He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him, +His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it, +A curate, also heartily enjoying it. + +Again, 't was Christmas Eve, and to enhance +His children's pleasure in their harmless rollicking, +He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance; +When something checked the current of his frolicking: +That curate, with a maid he treated lover-ly, +Stood up and figured with him in the "Coverley!" + +Once, yielding to an universal choice +(The company's demand was an emphatic one, +For the old Bishop had a glorious voice), +In a quartet he joined--an operatic one. +Harmless enough, though ne'er a word of grace in it, +When, lo! that curate came and took the bass in it! + +One day, when passing through a quiet street, +He stopped awhile and joined a Punch's gathering; +And chuckled more than solemn folk think meet, +To see that gentleman his Judy lathering; +And heard, as Punch was being treated penalty, +That phantom curate laughing all hyaenally. + +Now at a picnic, 'mid fair golden curls, +Bright eyes, straw hats, bottines that fit amazingly, +A croquet-bout is planned by all the girls; +And he, consenting, speaks of croquet praisingly; +But suddenly declines to play at all in it-- +The curate fiend has come to take a ball in it! + +Next, when at quiet sea-side village, freed +From cares episcopal and ties monarchical, +He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed, +In manner anything but hierarchical-- +He sees--and fixes an unearthly stare on it-- +That curate's face, with half a yard of hair on it! + +At length he gave a charge, and spake this word: +"Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye may; +To check their harmless pleasuring's absurd; +What laymen do without reproach, my clergy may." +He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of him, +The curate vanished--no one since has heard of him. + + + +The Sensation Captain + + + +No nobler captain ever trod +Than CAPTAIN PARKLEBURY TODD, +So good--so wise--so brave, he! +But still, as all his friends would own, +He had one folly--one alone-- +This Captain in the Navy. + +I do not think I ever knew +A man so wholly given to +Creating a sensation, +Or p'raps I should in justice say-- +To what in an Adelphi play +Is known as "situation." + +He passed his time designing traps +To flurry unsuspicious chaps-- +The taste was his innately; +He couldn't walk into a room +Without ejaculating "Boom!" +Which startled ladies greatly. + +He'd wear a mask and muffling cloak, +Not, you will understand, in joke, +As some assume disguises; +He did it, actuated by +A simple love of mystery +And fondness for surprises. + +I need not say he loved a maid-- +His eloquence threw into shade +All others who adored her. +The maid, though pleased at first, I know, +Found, after several years or so, +Her startling lover bored her. + +So, when his orders came to sail, +She did not faint or scream or wail, +Or with her tears anoint him: +She shook his hand, and said "Good-bye," +With laughter dancing in her eye-- +Which seemed to disappoint him. + +But ere he went aboard his boat, +He placed around her little throat +A ribbon, blue and yellow, +On which he hung a double-tooth-- +A simple token this, in sooth-- +'Twas all he had, poor fellow! + +"I often wonder," he would say, +When very, very far away, +"If ANGELINA wears it? +A plan has entered in my head: +I will pretend that I am dead, +And see how ANGY bears it." + +The news he made a messmate tell. +His ANGELINA bore it well, +No sign gave she of crazing; +But, steady as the Inchcape Rock, +His ANGELINA stood the shock +With fortitude amazing. + +She said, "Some one I must elect +Poor ANGELINA to protect +From all who wish to harm her. +Since worthy CAPTAIN TODD is dead, +I rather feel inclined to wed +A comfortable farmer." + +A comfortable farmer came +(BASSANIO TYLER was his name), +Who had no end of treasure. +He said, "My noble gal, be mine!" +The noble gal did not decline, +But simply said, "With pleasure." + +When this was told to CAPTAIN TODD, +At first he thought it rather odd, +And felt some perturbation; +But very long he did not grieve, +He thought he could a way perceive +To SUCH a situation! + +"I'll not reveal myself," said he, +"Till they are both in the Ecclesiastical arena; +Then suddenly I will appear, +And paralysing them with fear, +Demand my ANGELINA!" + +At length arrived the wedding day; +Accoutred in the usual way +Appeared the bridal body; +The worthy clergyman began, +When in the gallant Captain ran +And cried, "Behold your TODDY!" + +The bridegroom, p'raps, was terrified, +And also possibly the bride-- +The bridesmaids WERE affrighted; +But ANGELINA, noble soul, +Contrived her feelings to control, +And really seemed delighted. + +"My bride!" said gallant CAPTAIN TODD, +"She's mine, uninteresting clod! +My own, my darling charmer!" +"Oh dear," said she, "you're just too late-- +I'm married to, I beg to state, +This comfortable farmer!" + +"Indeed," the farmer said, "she's mine: +You've been and cut it far too fine!" +"I see," said TODD, "I'm beaten." +And so he went to sea once more, +"Sensation" he for aye forswore, +And married on her native shore +A lady whom he'd met before-- +A lovely Otaheitan. + + + +Tempora Mutantur + + + +Letters, letters, letters, letters! +Some that please and some that bore, +Some that threaten prison fetters +(Metaphorically, fetters +Such as bind insolvent debtors)-- +Invitations by the score. + +One from COGSON, WILES, and RAILER, +My attorneys, off the Strand; +One from COPPERBLOCK, my tailor-- +My unreasonable tailor-- +One in FLAGG'S disgusting hand. + +One from EPHRAIM and MOSES, +Wanting coin without a doubt, +I should like to pull their noses-- +Their uncompromising noses; +One from ALICE with the roses-- +Ah, I know what that's about ! + +Time was when I waited, waited +For the missives that she wrote, +Humble postmen execrated-- +Loudly, deeply execrated-- +When I heard I wasn't fated +To be gladdened with a note! + +Time was when I'd not have bartered +Of her little pen a dip +For a peerage duly gartered-- +For a peerage starred and gartered-- +With a palace-office chartered, +Or a Secretaryship. + +But the time for that is over, +And I wish we'd never met. +I'm afraid I've proved a rover-- +I'm afraid a heartless rover-- +Quarters in a place like Dover +Tend to make a man forget. + +Bills for carriages and horses, +Bills for wine and light cigar, +Matters that concern the Forces-- +News that may affect the Forces-- +News affecting my resources, +Much more interesting are! + +And the tiny little paper, +With the words that seem to run +From her little fingers taper +(They are very small and taper), +By the tailor and the draper +Are in interest outdone. + +And unopened it's remaining! +I can read her gentle hope-- +Her entreaties, uncomplaining +(She was always uncomplaining), +Her devotion never waning-- +Through the little envelope! + + + +At A Pantomime. By A Bilious One + + + +An Actor sits in doubtful gloom, +His stock-in-trade unfurled, +In a damp funereal dressing-room +In the Theatre Royal, World. + +He comes to town at Christmas-time, +And braves its icy breath, +To play in that favourite pantomime, +Harlequin Life and Death. + +A hoary flowing wig his weird +Unearthly cranium caps, +He hangs a long benevolent beard +On a pair of empty chaps. + +To smooth his ghastly features down +The actor's art he cribs,-- +A long and a flowing padded gown. +Bedecks his rattling ribs. + +He cries, "Go on--begin, begin! +Turn on the light of lime-- +I'm dressed for jolly Old Christmas, in +A favourite pantomime!" + +The curtain's up--the stage all black-- +Time and the year nigh sped-- +Time as an advertising quack-- +The Old Year nearly dead. + +The wand of Time is waved, and lo! +Revealed Old Christmas stands, +And little children chuckle and crow, +And laugh and clap their hands. + +The cruel old scoundrel brightens up +At the death of the Olden Year, +And he waves a gorgeous golden cup, +And bids the world good cheer. + +The little ones hail the festive King,-- +No thought can make them sad. +Their laughter comes with a sounding ring, +They clap and crow like mad! + +They only see in the humbug old +A holiday every year, +And handsome gifts, and joys untold, +And unaccustomed cheer. + +The old ones, palsied, blear, and hoar, +Their breasts in anguish beat-- +They've seen him seventy times before, +How well they know the cheat! + +They've seen that ghastly pantomime, +They've felt its blighting breath, +They know that rollicking Christmas-time +Meant Cold and Want and Death,-- + +Starvation--Poor Law Union fare-- +And deadly cramps and chills, +And illness--illness everywhere, +And crime, and Christmas bills. + +They know Old Christmas well, I ween, +Those men of ripened age; +They've often, often, often seen +That Actor off the stage! + +They see in his gay rotundity +A clumsy stuffed-out dress-- +They see in the cup he waves on high +A tinselled emptiness. + +Those aged men so lean and wan, +They've seen it all before, +They know they'll see the charlatan +But twice or three times more. + +And so they bear with dance and song, +And crimson foil and green, +They wearily sit, and grimly long +For the Transformation Scene. + + + +King Borria Bungalee Boo + + + +KING BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO +Was a man-eating African swell; +His sigh was a hullaballoo, +His whisper a horrible yell-- +A horrible, horrible yell! + +Four subjects, and all of them male, +To BORRIA doubled the knee, +They were once on a far larger scale, +But he'd eaten the balance, you see +("Scale" and "balance" is punning, you see). + +There was haughty PISH-TUSH-POOH-BAH, +There was lumbering DOODLE-DUM-DEY, +Despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH, +And good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH-- +Exemplary TOOTLE-TUM-TEH. + +One day there was grief in the crew, +For they hadn't a morsel of meat, +And BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO +Was dying for something to eat-- +"Come, provide me with something to eat! + +"ALACK-A-DEY, famished I feel; +Oh, good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH, +Where on earth shall I look for a meal? +For I haven't no dinner to-day!-- +Not a morsel of dinner to-day! + +"Dear TOOTLE-TUM, what shall we do? +Come, get us a meal, or, in truth, +If you don't, we shall have to eat you, +Oh, adorable friend of our youth! +Thou beloved little friend of our youth!" + +And he answered, "Oh, BUNGALEE BOO, +For a moment I hope you will wait,-- +TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO +Is the Queen of a neighbouring state-- +A remarkably neighbouring state. + +"TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO, +She would pickle deliciously cold-- +And her four pretty Amazons, too, +Are enticing, and not very old-- +Twenty-seven is not very old. + +"There is neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH, +There is rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH, +There is jocular WAGGETY-WEH, +There is musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH-- +There's the nightingale DOH-REH-MI-FAH!" + +So the forces of BUNGALEE BOO +Marched forth in a terrible row, +And the ladies who fought for QUEEN LOO +Prepared to encounter the foe-- +This dreadful, insatiate foe! + +But they sharpened no weapons at all, +And they poisoned no arrows--not they! +They made ready to conquer or fall +In a totally different way-- +An entirely different way. + +With a crimson and pearly-white dye +They endeavoured to make themselves fair, +With black they encircled each eye, +And with yellow they painted their hair +(It was wool, but they thought it was hair). + +And the forces they met in the field:- +And the men of KING BORRIA said, +"Amazonians, immediately yield!" +And their arrows they drew to the head-- +Yes, drew them right up to the head. + +But jocular WAGGETY-WEH +Ogled DOODLE-DUM-DEY (which was wrong), +And neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH +Said, "TOOTLE-TUM, you go along! +You naughty old dear, go along!" + +And rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH +Tapped ALACK-A-DEY-AH with her fan; +And musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH +Said, "PISH, go away, you bad man! +Go away, you delightful young man!" + +And the Amazons simpered and sighed, +And they ogled, and giggled, and flushed, +And they opened their pretty eyes wide, +And they chuckled, and flirted, and blushed +(At least, if they could, they'd have blushed). + +But haughty PISH-TUSH-POOH-BAH +Said, "ALACK-A-DEY, what does this mean?" +And despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH +Said, "They think us uncommonly green! +Ha! ha! most uncommonly green!" + +Even blundering DOODLE-DUM-DEY +Was insensible quite to their leers, +And said good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH, +"It's your blood we desire, pretty dears-- +We have come for our dinners, my dears!" + +And the Queen of the Amazons fell +To BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO,-- +In a mouthful he gulped, with a yell, +TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO-- +The pretty QUEEN TOL-THE-ROL-LOO. + +And neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH +Was eaten by PISH-POOH-BAH, +And light-hearted WAGGETY-WEH +By dismal ALACK-A-DEY-AH-- +Despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH. + +And rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH +Was eaten by DOODLE-DUM-DEY, +And musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH +By good little TOOTLE-DUM-TEH-- +Exemplary TOOTLE-TUM-TEH! + + + +The Periwinkle Girl + + + +I've often thought that headstrong youths +Of decent education, +Determine all-important truths, +With strange precipitation. + +The ever-ready victims they, +Of logical illusions, +And in a self-assertive way +They jump at strange conclusions. + +Now take my case: Ere sorrow could +My ample forehead wrinkle, +I had determined that I should +Not care to be a winkle. + +"A winkle," I would oft advance +With readiness provoking, +"Can seldom flirt, and never dance, +Or soothe his mind by smoking." + +In short, I spurned the shelly joy, +And spoke with strange decision-- +Men pointed to me as a boy +Who held them in derision. + +But I was young--too young, by far-- +Or I had been more wary, +I knew not then that winkles are +The stock-in-trade of MARY. + +I had not watched her sunlight blithe +As o'er their shells it dances-- +I've seen those winkles almost writhe +Beneath her beaming glances. + +Of slighting all the winkly brood +I surely had been chary, +If I had known they formed the food +And stock-in-trade of MARY. + +Both high and low and great and small +Fell prostrate at her tootsies, +They all were noblemen, and all +Had balances at COUTTS'S. + +Dukes with the lovely maiden dealt, +DUKE BAILEY and DUKE HUMPHY, +Who ate her winkles till they felt +Exceedingly uncomfy. + +DUKE BAILEY greatest wealth computes, +And sticks, they say, at no-thing, +He wears a pair of golden boots +And silver underclothing. + +DUKE HUMPHY, as I understand, +Though mentally acuter, +His boots are only silver, and +His underclothing pewter. + +A third adorer had the girl, +A man of lowly station-- +A miserable grov'ling Earl +Besought her approbation. + +This humble cad she did refuse +With much contempt and loathing, +He wore a pair of leather shoes +And cambric underclothing! + +"Ha! ha!" she cried. "Upon my word! +Well, really--come, I never! +Oh, go along, it's too absurd! +My goodness! Did you ever? + +"Two Dukes would Mary make a bride, +And from her foes defend her"-- +"Well, not exactly that," they cried, +"We offer guilty splendour. + +"We do not offer marriage rite, +So please dismiss the notion!" +"Oh dear," said she, "that alters quite +The state of my emotion." + +The Earl he up and says, says he, +"Dismiss them to their orgies, +For I am game to marry thee +Quite reg'lar at St. George's." + +(He'd had, it happily befell, +A decent education, +His views would have befitted well +A far superior station.) + +His sterling worth had worked a cure, +She never heard him grumble; +She saw his soul was good and pure, +Although his rank was humble. + +Her views of earldoms and their lot, +All underwent expansion-- +Come, Virtue in an earldom's cot! +Go, Vice in ducal mansion! + + + +Thomson Green And Harriet Hale + + + +(To be sung to the Air of "An 'Orrible Tale.") + +Oh list to this incredible tale +Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET HALE; +Its truth in one remark you'll sum-- +"Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!" + +Oh, THOMSON GREEN was an auctioneer, +And made three hundred pounds a year; +And HARRIET HALE, most strange to say, +Gave pianoforte lessons at a sovereign a day. + +Oh, THOMSON GREEN, I may remark, +Met HARRIET HALE in Regent's Park, +Where he, in a casual kind of way, +Spoke of the extraordinary beauty of the day. + +They met again, and strange, though true, +He courted her for a month or two, +Then to her pa he said, says he, +"Old man, I love your daughter and your daughter worships me!" + +Their names were regularly banned, +The wedding day was settled, and +I've ascertained by dint of search +They were married on the quiet at St. Mary Abbot's Church. + +Oh, list to this incredible tale +Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET HALE, +Its truth in one remark you'll sum-- +"Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!" + +That very self-same afternoon +They started on their honeymoon, +And (oh, astonishment!) took flight +To a pretty little cottage close to Shanklin, Isle of Wight. + +But now--you'll doubt my word, I know-- +In a month they both returned, and lo! +Astounding fact! this happy pair +Took a gentlemanly residence in Canonbury Square! + +They led a weird and reckless life, +They dined each day, this man and wife +(Pray disbelieve it, if you please), +On a joint of meat, a pudding, and a little bit of cheese. + +In time came those maternal joys +Which take the form of girls or boys, +And strange to say of each they'd one-- +A tiddy-iddy daughter, and a tiddy-iddy son! + +Oh, list to this incredible tale +Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET HALE, +Its truth in one remark you'll sum-- +"Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!" + +My name for truth is gone, I fear, +But, monstrous as it may appear, +They let their drawing-room one day +To an eligible person in the cotton-broking way. + +Whenever THOMSON GREEN fell sick +His wife called in a doctor, quick, +From whom some words like these would come-- +Fiat mist. sumendum haustus, in a cochleyareum. + +For thirty years this curious pair +Hung out in Canonbury Square, +And somehow, wonderful to say, +They loved each other dearly in a quiet sort of way. + +Well, THOMSON GREEN fell ill and died; +For just a year his widow cried, +And then her heart she gave away +To the eligible lodger in the cotton-broking way. + +Oh, list to this incredible tale +Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET HALE, +Its truth in one remark you'll sum-- +"Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!" + + + +Bob Polter + + + +BOB POLTER was a navvy, and +His hands were coarse, and dirty too, +His homely face was rough and tanned, +His time of life was thirty-two. + +He lived among a working clan +(A wife he hadn't got at all), +A decent, steady, sober man-- +No saint, however--not at all. + +He smoked, but in a modest way, +Because he thought he needed it; +He drank a pot of beer a day, +And sometimes he exceeded it. + +At times he'd pass with other men +A loud convivial night or two, +With, very likely, now and then, +On Saturdays, a fight or two. + +But still he was a sober soul, +A labour-never-shirking man, +Who paid his way--upon the whole +A decent English working man. + +One day, when at the Nelson's Head +(For which he may be blamed of you), +A holy man appeared, and said, +"Oh, ROBERT, I'm ashamed of you." + +He laid his hand on ROBERT'S beer +Before he could drink up any, +And on the floor, with sigh and tear, +He poured the pot of "thruppenny." + +"Oh, ROBERT, at this very bar +A truth you'll be discovering, +A good and evil genius are +Around your noddle hovering. + +"They both are here to bid you shun +The other one's society, +For Total Abstinence is one, +The other, Inebriety." + +He waved his hand--a vapour came-- +A wizard POLTER reckoned him; +A bogy rose and called his name, +And with his finger beckoned him. + +The monster's salient points to sum,-- +His heavy breath was portery: +His glowing nose suggested rum: +His eyes were gin-and-WORtery. + +His dress was torn--for dregs of ale +And slops of gin had rusted it; +His pimpled face was wan and pale, +Where filth had not encrusted it. + +"Come, POLTER," said the fiend, "begin, +And keep the bowl a-flowing on-- +A working man needs pints of gin +To keep his clockwork going on." + +BOB shuddered: "Ah, you've made a miss +If you take me for one of you: +You filthy beast, get out of this-- +BOB POLTER don't wan't none of you." + +The demon gave a drunken shriek, +And crept away in stealthiness, +And lo! instead, a person sleek, +Who seemed to burst with healthiness. + +"In me, as your adviser hints, +Of Abstinence you've got a type-- +Of MR. TWEEDIE'S pretty prints +I am the happy prototype. + +"If you abjure the social toast, +And pipes, and such frivolities, +You possibly some day may boast +My prepossessing qualities!" + +BOB rubbed his eyes, and made 'em blink: +"You almost make me tremble, you! +If I abjure fermented drink, +Shall I, indeed, resemble you? + +"And will my whiskers curl so tight? +My cheeks grow smug and muttony? +My face become so red and white? +My coat so blue and buttony? + +"Will trousers, such as yours, array +Extremities inferior? +Will chubbiness assert its sway +All over my exterior? + +"In this, my unenlightened state, +To work in heavy boots I comes; +Will pumps henceforward decorate +My tiddle toddle tootsicums? + +"And shall I get so plump and fresh, +And look no longer seedily? +My skin will henceforth fit my flesh +So tightly and so TWEEDIE-ly?" + +The phantom said, "You'll have all this, +You'll know no kind of huffiness, +Your life will be one chubby bliss, +One long unruffled puffiness!" + +"Be off!" said irritated BOB. +"Why come you here to bother one? +You pharisaical old snob, +You're wuss almost than t'other one! + +"I takes my pipe--I takes my pot, +And drunk I'm never seen to be: +I'm no teetotaller or sot, +And as I am I mean to be!" + + + +The Story Of Prince Agib + + + +Strike the concertina's melancholy string! +Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything! +Let the piano's martial blast +Rouse the Echoes of the Past, +For of AGIB, PRINCE OF TARTARY, I sing! + +Of AGIB, who, amid Tartaric scenes, +Wrote a lot of ballet music in his teens: +His gentle spirit rolls +In the melody of souls-- +Which is pretty, but I don't know what it means. + +Of AGIB, who could readily, at sight, +Strum a march upon the loud Theodolite. +He would diligently play +On the Zoetrope all day, +And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night. + +One winter--I am shaky in my dates-- +Came two starving Tartar minstrels to his gates; +Oh, ALLAH be obeyed, +How infernally they played! +I remember that they called themselves the "Ouaits." + +Oh! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage, +I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, +Photographically lined +On the tablet of my mind, +When a yesterday has faded from its page! + +Alas! PRINCE AGIB went and asked them in; +Gave them beer, and eggs, and sweets, and scent, and tin. +And when (as snobs would say) +They had "put it all away," +He requested them to tune up and begin. + +Though its icy horror chill you to the core, +I will tell you what I never told before,-- +The consequences true +Of that awful interview, +FOR I LISTENED AT THE KEYHOLE IN THE DOOR! + +They played him a sonata--let me see! +"Medulla oblongata"--key of G. +Then they began to sing +That extremely lovely thing, +Scherzando! ma non troppo, ppp." + +He gave them money, more than they could count, +Scent from a most ingenious little fount, +More beer, in little kegs, +Many dozen hard-boiled eggs, +And goodies to a fabulous amount. + +Now follows the dim horror of my tale, +And I feel I'm growing gradually pale, +For, even at this day, +Though its sting has passed away, +When I venture to remember it, I quail! + +The elder of the brothers gave a squeal, +All-overish it made me for to feel; +"Oh, PRINCE," he says, says he, +"IF A PRINCE INDEED YOU BE, +I've a mystery I'm going to reveal! + +"Oh, listen, if you'd shun a horrid death, +To what the gent who's speaking to you saith: +No 'Ouaits' in truth are we, +As you fancy that we be, +For (ter-remble!) I am ALECK--this is BETH!" + +Said AGIB, "Oh! accursed of your kind, +I have heard that ye are men of evil mind!" +BETH gave a dreadful shriek-- +But before he'd time to speak +I was mercilessly collared from behind. + +In number ten or twelve, or even more, +They fastened me full length upon the floor. +On my face extended flat, +I was walloped with a cat +For listening at the keyhole of a door. + +Oh! the horror of that agonizing thrill! +(I can feel the place in frosty weather still). +For a week from ten to four +I was fastened to the floor, +While a mercenary wopped me with a will + +They branded me and broke me on a wheel, +And they left me in an hospital to heal; +And, upon my solemn word, +I have never never heard +What those Tartars had determined to reveal. + +But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage, +I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, +Photographically lined +On the tablet of my mind, +When a yesterday has faded from its page + + + +Ellen McJones Aberdeen + + + +MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS McCLAN +Was the son of an elderly labouring man; +You've guessed him a Scotchman, shrewd reader, at sight, +And p'r'aps altogether, shrewd reader, you're right. + +From the bonnie blue Forth to the lovely Deeside, +Round by Dingwall and Wrath to the mouth of the Clyde, +There wasn't a child or a woman or man +Who could pipe with CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS McCLAN. + +No other could wake such detestable groans, +With reed and with chaunter--with bag and with drones: +All day and ill night he delighted the chiels +With sniggering pibrochs and jiggety reels. + +He'd clamber a mountain and squat on the ground, +And the neighbouring maidens would gather around +To list to the pipes and to gaze in his een, +Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN. + +All loved their McCLAN, save a Sassenach brute, +Who came to the Highlands to fish and to shoot; +He dressed himself up in a Highlander way, +Tho' his name it was PATTISON CORBY TORBAY. + +TORBAY had incurred a good deal of expense +To make him a Scotchman in every sense; +But this is a matter, you'll readily own, +That isn't a question of tailors alone. + +A Sassenach chief may be bonily built, +He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, and kilt; +Stick a skean in his hose--wear an acre of stripes-- +But he cannot assume an affection for pipes. + +CLONGLOCKETY'S pipings all night and all day +Quite frenzied poor PATTISON CORBY TORBAY; +The girls were amused at his singular spleen, +Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN, + +"MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS, my lad, +With pibrochs and reels you are driving me mad. +If you really must play on that cursed affair, +My goodness! play something resembling an air." + +Boiled over the blood of MACPHAIRSON McCLAN-- +The Clan of Clonglocketty rose as one man; +For all were enraged at the insult, I ween-- +Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN. + +"Let's show," said McCLAN, "to this Sassenach loon +That the bagpipes CAN play him a regular tune. +Let's see," said McCLAN, as he thoughtfully sat, +"'IN MY COTTAGE' is easy--I'll practise at that." + +He blew at his "Cottage," and blew with a will, +For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until +(You'll hardly believe it) McCLAN, I declare, +Elicited something resembling an air. + +It was wild--it was fitful--as wild as the breeze-- +It wandered about into several keys; +It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I'm aware; +But still it distinctly suggested an air. + +The Sassenach screamed, and the Sassenach danced; +He shrieked in his agony--bellowed and pranced; +And the maidens who gathered rejoiced at the scene-- +Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN. + +"Hech gather, hech gather, hech gather around; +And fill a' ye lugs wi' the exquisite sound. +An air fra' the bagpipes--beat that if ye can! +Hurrah for CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS McCLAN!" + +The fame of his piping spread over the land: +Respectable widows proposed for his hand, +And maidens came flocking to sit on the green-- +Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN. + +One morning the fidgety Sassenach swore +He'd stand it no longer--he drew his claymore, +And (this was, I think, in extremely bad taste) +Divided CLONGLOCKETTY close to the waist. + +Oh! loud were the wailings for ANGUS McCLAN, +Oh! deep was the grief for that excellent man; +The maids stood aghast at the horrible scene-- +Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN. + +It sorrowed poor PATTISON CORBY TORBAY +To find them "take on" in this serious way; +He pitied the poor little fluttering birds, +And solaced their souls with the following words: + +"Oh, maidens," said PATTISON, touching his hat, +"Don't blubber, my dears, for a fellow like that; +Observe, I'm a very superior man, +A much better fellow than ANGUS McCLAN." + +They smiled when he winked and addressed them as "dears," +And they all of them vowed, as they dried up their tears, +A pleasanter gentleman never was seen-- +Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN. + + + +Peter The Wag + + + +Policeman PETER forth I drag +From his obscure retreat: +He was a merry genial wag, +Who loved a mad conceit. +If he were asked the time of day, +By country bumpkins green, +He not unfrequently would say, +"A quarter past thirteen." + +If ever you by word of mouth +Inquired of MISTER FORTH +The way to somewhere in the South, +He always sent you North. +With little boys his beat along +He loved to stop and play; +He loved to send old ladies wrong, +And teach their feet to stray. + +He would in frolic moments, when +Such mischief bent upon, +Take Bishops up as betting men-- +Bid Ministers move on. +Then all the worthy boys he knew +He regularly licked, +And always collared people who +Had had their pockets picked. + +He was not naturally bad, +Or viciously inclined, +But from his early youth he had +A waggish turn of mind. +The Men of London grimly scowled +With indignation wild; +The Men of London gruffly growled, +But PETER calmly smiled. + +Against this minion of the Crown +The swelling murmurs grew-- +From Camberwell to Kentish Town-- +From Rotherhithe to Kew. +Still humoured he his wagsome turn, +And fed in various ways +The coward rage that dared to burn, +But did not dare to blaze. + +Still, Retribution has her day, +Although her flight is slow: +ONE DAY THAT CRUSHER LOST HIS WAY +NEAR POLAND STREET, SOHO. +The haughty boy, too proud to ask, +To find his way resolved, +And in the tangle of his task +Got more and more involved. + +The Men of London, overjoyed, +Came there to jeer their foe, +And flocking crowds completely cloyed +The mazes of Soho. +The news on telegraphic wires +Sped swiftly o'er the lea, +Excursion trains from distant shires +Brought myriads to see. + +For weeks he trod his self-made beats +Through Newport- Gerrard- Bear- +Greek- Rupert- Frith- Dean- Poland- Streets, +And into Golden Square. +But all, alas! in vain, for when +He tried to learn the way +Of little boys or grown-up men, +They none of them would say. + +Their eyes would flash--their teeth would grind-- +Their lips would tightly curl-- +They'd say, "Thy way thyself must find, +Thou misdirecting churl!" +And, similarly, also, when +He tried a foreign friend; +Italians answered, "Il balen"-- +The French, "No comprehend." + +The Russ would say with gleaming eye +" Sevastopol!" and groan. +The Greek said, [Greek text], +[Greek text]." +To wander thus for many a year +That Crusher never ceased-- +The Men of London dropped a tear, +Their anger was appeased + +At length exploring gangs were sent +To find poor FORTH'S remains-- +A handsome grant by Parliament +Was voted for their pains. +To seek the poor policeman out +Bold spirits volunteered, +And when they swore they'd solve the doubt, +The Men of London cheered. + +And in a yard, dark, dank, and drear, +They found him, on the floor-- +It leads from Richmond Buildings--near +The Royalty stage-door. +With brandy cold and brandy hot +They plied him, starved and wet, +And made him sergeant on the spot-- +The Men of London's pet! + + + +Ben Allah Achmet;--Or, The Fatal Tum + + + +I once did know a Turkish man +Whom I upon a two-pair-back met, +His name it was EFFENDI KHAN +BACKSHEESH PASHA BEN ALLAH ACHMET. + +A DOCTOR BROWN I also knew-- +I've often eaten of his bounty; +The Turk and he they lived at Hooe, +In Sussex, that delightful county! + +I knew a nice young lady there, +Her name was EMILY MACPHERSON, +And though she wore another's hair, +She was an interesting person. + +The Turk adored the maid of Hooe +(Although his harem would have shocked her). +But BROWN adored that maiden too: +He was a most seductive doctor. + +They'd follow her where'er she'd go-- +A course of action most improper; +She neither knew by sight, and so +For neither of them cared a copper. + +BROWN did not know that Turkish male, +He might have been his sainted mother: +The people in this simple tale +Are total strangers to each other. + +One day that Turk he sickened sore, +And suffered agonies oppressive; +He threw himself upon the floor +And rolled about in pain excessive. + +It made him moan, it made him groan, +And almost wore him to a mummy. +Why should I hesitate to own +That pain was in his little tummy? + +At length a doctor came, and rung +(As ALLAH ACHMET had desired), +Who felt his pulse, looked up his tongue, +And hemmed and hawed, and then inquired: + +"Where is the pain that long has preyed +Upon you in so sad a way, sir?" +The Turk he giggled, blushed, and said: +I don't exactly like to say, sir." + +"Come, nonsense!" said good DOCTOR BROWN. +"So this is Turkish coyness, is it? +You must contrive to fight it down-- +Come, come, sir, please to be explicit." + +The Turk he shyly bit his thumb, +And coyly blushed like one half-witted, +"The pain is in my little tum," +He, whispering, at length admitted. + +"Then take you this, and take you that-- +Your blood flows sluggish in its channel-- +You must get rid of all this fat, +And wear my medicated flannel. + +"You'll send for me when you're in need-- +My name is BROWN--your life I've saved it." +"My rival!" shrieked the invalid, +And drew a mighty sword and waved it: + +"This to thy weazand, Christian pest!" +Aloud the Turk in frenzy yelled it, +And drove right through the doctor's chest +The sabre and the hand that held it. + +The blow was a decisive one, +And DOCTOR BROWN grew deadly pasty, +"Now see the mischief that you've done-- +You Turks are so extremely hasty. + +"There are two DOCTOR BROWNS in Hooe-- +HE'S short and stout, I'M tall and wizen; +You've been and run the wrong one through, +That's how the error has arisen." + +The accident was thus explained, +Apologies were only heard now: +"At my mistake I'm really pained-- +I am, indeed--upon my word now. + +"With me, sir, you shall be interred, +A mausoleum grand awaits me." +"Oh, pray don't say another word, +I'm sure that more than compensates me. + +"But p'r'aps, kind Turk, you're full inside?" +"There's room," said he, "for any number." +And so they laid them down and died. +In proud Stamboul they sleep their slumber, + + + +The Three Kings Of Chickeraboo + + + +There were three niggers of Chickeraboo-- +PACIFICO, BANG-BANG, POPCHOP--who +Exclaimed, one terribly sultry day, +"Oh, let's be kings in a humble way." + +The first was a highly-accomplished "bones," +The next elicited banjo tones, +The third was a quiet, retiring chap, +Who danced an excellent break-down "flap." + +"We niggers," said they, "have formed a plan +By which, whenever we like, we can +Extemporise kingdoms near the beach, +And then we'll collar a kingdom each. + +"Three casks, from somebody else's stores, +Shall represent our island shores, +Their sides the ocean wide shall lave, +Their heads just topping the briny wave. + +"Great Britain's navy scours the sea, +And everywhere her ships they be; +She'll recognise our rank, perhaps, +When she discovers we're Royal Chaps. + +"If to her skirts you want to cling, +It's quite sufficient that you're a king; +She does not push inquiry far +To learn what sort of king you are." + +A ship of several thousand tons, +And mounting seventy-something guns, +Ploughed, every year, the ocean blue, +Discovering kings and countries new. + +The brave REAR-ADMIRAL BAILEY PIP, +Commanding that magnificent ship, +Perceived one day, his glasses through, +The kings that came from Chickeraboo. + +"Dear eyes!" said ADMIRAL PIP, "I see +Three flourishing islands on our lee. +And, bless me! most remarkable thing! +On every island stands a king! + +"Come, lower the Admiral's gig," he cried, +"And over the dancing waves I'll glide; +That low obeisance I may do +To those three kings of Chickeraboo!" + +The Admiral pulled to the islands three; +The kings saluted him graciousLEE. +The Admiral, pleased at his welcome warm, +Unrolled a printed Alliance form. + +"Your Majesty, sign me this, I pray-- +I come in a friendly kind of way-- +I come, if you please, with the best intents, +And QUEEN VICTORIA'S compliments." + +The kings were pleased as they well could be; +The most retiring of the three, +In a "cellar-flap" to his joy gave vent +With a banjo-bones accompaniment. + +The great REAR-ADMIRAL BAILEY PIP +Embarked on board his jolly big ship, +Blue Peter flew from his lofty fore, +And off he sailed to his native shore. + +ADMIRAL PIP directly went +To the Lord at the head of the Government, +Who made him, by a stroke of a quill, +BARON DE PIPPE, OF PIPPETONNEVILLE. + +The College of Heralds permission yield +That he should quarter upon his shield +Three islands, vert, on a field of blue, +With the pregnant motto "Chickeraboo." + +Ambassadors, yes, and attaches, too, +Are going to sail for Chickeraboo. +And, see, on the good ship's crowded deck, +A bishop, who's going out there on spec. + +And let us all hope that blissful things +May come of alliance with darky kings, +And, may we never, whatever we do, +Declare a war with Chickeraboo! + + + +Joe Golightly--Or, The First Lord's Daughter + + + +A tar, but poorly prized, +Long, shambling, and unsightly, +Thrashed, bullied, and despised, +Was wretched JOE GOLIGHTLY. + +He bore a workhouse brand; +No Pa or Ma had claimed him, +The Beadle found him, and +The Board of Guardians named him. + +P'r'aps some Princess's son-- +A beggar p'r'aps his mother. +HE rather thought the one, +I rather think the other. + +He liked his ship at sea, +He loved the salt sea-water, +He worshipped junk, and he +Adored the First Lord's daughter. + +The First Lord's daughter, proud, +Snubbed Earls and Viscounts nightly; +She sneered at Barts. aloud, +And spurned poor Joe Golightly. + +Whene'er he sailed afar +Upon a Channel cruise, he +Unpacked his light guitar +And sang this ballad (Boosey): + + +Ballad + +The moon is on the sea, +Willow! +The wind blows towards the lee, +Willow! +But though I sigh and sob and cry, +No Lady Jane for me, +Willow! + +She says, "'Twere folly quite, +Willow! +For me to wed a wight, +Willow! +Whose lot is cast before the mast"; +And possibly she's right, +Willow! + + +His skipper (CAPTAIN JOYCE), +He gave him many a rating, +And almost lost his voice +From thus expostulating: + +"Lay aft, you lubber, do! +What's come to that young man, JOE? +Belay!--'vast heaving! you! +Do kindly stop that banjo! + +"I wish, I do--O lor'!-- +You'd shipped aboard a trader: +ARE you a sailor or +A negro serenader?" + +But still the stricken lad, +Aloft or on his pillow, +Howled forth in accents sad +His aggravating "Willow!" + +Stern love of duty bad +Been JOYCE'S chiefest beauty; +Says he, "I love that lad, +But duty, damme! duty! + +"Twelve months' black-hole, I say, +Where daylight never flashes; +And always twice a day +A good six dozen lashes!" + +But JOSEPH had a mate, +A sailor stout and lusty, +A man of low estate, +But singularly trusty. + +Says he, "Cheer hup, young JOE! +I'll tell you what I'm arter-- +To that Fust Lord I'll go +And ax him for his darter. + +"To that Fust Lord I'll go +And say you love her dearly." +And JOE said (weeping low), +"I wish you would, sincerely!" + +That sailor to that Lord +Went, soon as he had landed, +And of his own accord +An interview demanded. + +Says he, with seaman's roll, +"My Captain (wot's a Tartar) +Guv JOE twelve months' black-hole, +For lovering your darter. + +"He loves MISS LADY JANE +(I own she is his betters), +But if you'll jine them twain, +They'll free him from his fetters. + +"And if so be as how +You'll let her come aboard ship, +I'll take her with me now." +"Get out!" remarked his Lordship. + +That honest tar repaired +To JOE upon the billow, +And told him how he'd fared. +JOE only whispered, "Willow!" + +And for that dreadful crime +(Young sailors, learn to shun it) +He's working out his time; +In six months he'll have done it. + + + +To The Terrestrial Globe. By A Miserable Wretch + + + +Roll on, thou ball, roll on! +Through pathless realms of Space +Roll on! +What though I'm in a sorry case? +What though I cannot meet my bills? +What though I suffer toothache's ills? +What though I swallow countless pills? +Never YOU mind! +Roll on! + +Roll on, thou ball, roll on! +Through seas of inky air +Roll on! +It's true I've got no shirts to wear; +It's true my butcher's bill is due; +It's true my prospects all look blue-- +But don't let that unsettle you! +Never YOU mind! +Roll on! + +[It rolls on. + + + +Gentle Alice Brown + + + +It was a robber's daughter, and her name was ALICE BROWN, +Her father was the terror of a small Italian town; +Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing; +But it isn't of her parents that I'm going for to sing. + +As ALICE was a-sitting at her window-sill one day, +A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way; +She cast her eyes upon him, and he looked so good and true, +That she thought, "I could be happy with a gentleman like you!" + +And every morning passed her house that cream of gentlemen, +She knew she might expect him at a quarter unto ten; +A sorter in the Custom-house, it was his daily road +(The Custom-house was fifteen minutes' walk from her abode). + +But ALICE was a pious girl, who knew it wasn't wise +To look at strange young sorters with expressive purple eyes; +So she sought the village priest to whom her family confessed, +The priest by whom their little sins were carefully assessed. + +"Oh, holy father," ALICE said, "'t would grieve you, would it not, +To discover that I was a most disreputable lot? +Of all unhappy sinners I'm the most unhappy one!" +The padre said, "Whatever have you been and gone and done?" + +"I have helped mamma to steal a little kiddy from its dad, +I've assisted dear papa in cutting up a little lad, +I've planned a little burglary and forged a little cheque, +And slain a little baby for the coral on its neck!" + +The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a silent tear, +And said, "You mustn't judge yourself too heavily, my dear: +It's wrong to murder babies, little corals for to fleece; +But sins like these one expiates at half-a-crown apiece. + +"Girls will be girls--you're very young, and flighty in your mind; +Old heads upon young shoulders we must not expect to find: +We mustn't be too hard upon these little girlish tricks-- +Let's see--five crimes at half-a-crown--exactly twelve-and-six." + +"Oh, father," little Alice cried, "your kindness makes me weep, +You do these little things for me so singularly cheap-- +Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget; +But, oh! there is another crime I haven't mentioned yet! + +"A pleasant-looking gentleman, with pretty purple eyes, +I've noticed at my window, as I've sat a-catching flies; +He passes by it every day as certain as can be-- +I blush to say I've winked at him, and he has winked at me!" + +"For shame!" said FATHER PAUL, "my erring daughter! On my word +This is the most distressing news that I have ever heard. +Why, naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged your hand +To a promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band! + +"This dreadful piece of news will pain your worthy parents so! +They are the most remunerative customers I know; +For many many years they've kept starvation from my doors: +I never knew so criminal a family as yours! + +"The common country folk in this insipid neighbourhood +Have nothing to confess, they're so ridiculously good; +And if you marry any one respectable at all, +Why, you'll reform, and what will then become of FATHER PAUL?" + +The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon his crown, +And started off in haste to tell the news to ROBBER BROWN-- +To tell him how his daughter, who was now for marriage fit, +Had winked upon a sorter, who reciprocated it. + +Good ROBBER BROWN he muffled up his anger pretty well: +He said, "I have a notion, and that notion I will tell; +I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits, +And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits. + +"I've studied human nature, and I know a thing or two: +Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do-- +A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall +When she looks upon his body chopped particularly small." + +He traced that gallant sorter to a still suburban square; +He watched his opportunity, and seized him unaware; +He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head, +And MRS. BROWN dissected him before she went to bed. + +And pretty little ALICE grew more settled in her mind, +She never more was guilty of a weakness of the kind, +Until at length good ROBBER BROWN bestowed her pretty hand +On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE BAB BALLADS *** + +This file should be named 2babb10.txt or 2babb10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 2babb11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 2babb10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Gilbert) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Bab Ballads + +Author: W. S. Gilbert + +Release Date: June, 1997 [EBook #931] +[This file was first posted on June 2, 1997] +[Most recently updated: May 20, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>THE BAB BALLADS</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>Contents:</p> +<p>Captain Reece<br />The Rival Curates<br />Only A Dancing Girl<br />General +John<br />To A Little Maid—By A Policeman<br />John And Freddy<br />Sir +Guy The Crusader<br />Haunted<br />The Bishop And The `Busman<br />The +Troubadour<br />Ferdinando And Elvira; Or, The Gentle Pieman<br />Lorenzo +De Lardy<br />Disillusioned—By An Ex-Enthusiast<br />Babette’s +Love<br />To My Bride—(Whoever She May Be)<br />The Folly Of Brown—By +A General Agent<br />Sir Macklin<br />The Yarn Of The “Nancy Bell”<br />The +Bishop Of Rum-Ti-Foo<br />The Precocious Baby. A Very True Tale<br />To +Phoebe<br />Baines Carew, Gentleman<br />Thomas Winterbottom Hance<br />The +Reverend Micah Sowls<br />A Discontented Sugar Broker<br />The Pantomime +“Super” To His Mask<br />The Force Of Argument<br />The +Ghost, The Gallant, The Gael, And The Goblin<br />The Phantom Curate. +A Fable<br />The Sensation Captain<br />Tempora Mutantur<br />At A Pantomime. +By A Bilious One<br />King Borria Bungalee Boo<br />The Periwinkle Girl<br />Thomson +Green And Harriet Hale<br />Bob Polter<br />The Story Of Prince Agib<br />Ellen +McJones Aberdeen<br />Peter The Wag<br />Ben Allah Achmet;—Or, +The Fatal Tum<br />The Three Kings Of Chickeraboo<br />Joe Golightly—Or, +The First Lord’s Daughter<br />To The Terrestrial Globe. +By A Miserable Wretch<br />Gentle Alice Brown</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Captain Reece</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Of all the ships upon the blue,<br />No ship contained a better crew<br />Than +that of worthy CAPTAIN REECE,<br />Commanding of <i>The Mantelpiece</i>.</p> +<p>He was adored by all his men,<br />For worthy CAPTAIN REECE, R.N.,<br />Did +all that lay within him to<br />Promote the comfort of his crew.</p> +<p>If ever they were dull or sad,<br />Their captain danced to them +like mad,<br />Or told, to make the time pass by,<br />Droll legends +of his infancy.</p> +<p>A feather bed had every man,<br />Warm slippers and hot-water can,<br />Brown +windsor from the captain’s store,<br />A valet, too, to every +four.</p> +<p>Did they with thirst in summer burn,<br />Lo, seltzogenes at every +turn,<br />And on all very sultry days<br />Cream ices handed round +on trays.</p> +<p>Then currant wine and ginger pops<br />Stood handily on all the “tops;”<br />And +also, with amusement rife,<br />A “Zoetrope, or Wheel of Life.”</p> +<p>New volumes came across the sea<br />From MISTER MUDIE’S libraree;<br /><i>The +Times</i> and<i> Saturday Review<br /></i>Beguiled the leisure of the +crew.</p> +<p>Kind-hearted CAPTAIN REECE, R.N.,<br />Was quite devoted to his men;<br />In +point of fact, good CAPTAIN REECE<br />Beatified <i>The Mantelpiece.</i></p> +<p>One summer eve, at half-past ten,<br />He said (addressing all his +men):<br />“Come, tell me, please, what I can do<br />To please +and gratify my crew.</p> +<p>“By any reasonable plan<br />I’ll make you happy if I +can;<br />My own convenience count as <i>nil</i>:<br />It is my duty, +and I will.”</p> +<p>Then up and answered WILLIAM LEE<br />(The kindly captain’s +coxswain he,<br />A nervous, shy, low-spoken man),<br />He cleared his +throat and thus began:</p> +<p>“You have a daughter, CAPTAIN REECE,<br />Ten female cousins +and a niece,<br />A Ma, if what I’m told is true,<br />Six sisters, +and an aunt or two.</p> +<p>“Now, somehow, sir, it seems to me,<br />More friendly-like +we all should be,<br />If you united of ’em to<br />Unmarried +members of the crew.</p> +<p>“If you’d ameliorate our life,<br />Let each select from +them a wife;<br />And as for nervous me, old pal,<br />Give me your +own enchanting gal!”</p> +<p>Good CAPTAIN REECE, that worthy man,<br />Debated on his coxswain’s +plan:<br />“I quite agree,” he said, “O BILL;<br />It +is my duty, and I will.</p> +<p>“My daughter, that enchanting gurl,<br />Has just been promised +to an Earl,<br />And all my other familee<br />To peers of various degree.</p> +<p>“But what are dukes and viscounts to<br />The happiness of +all my crew?<br />The word I gave you I’ll fulfil;<br />It is +my duty, and I will.</p> +<p>“As you desire it shall befall,<br />I’ll settle thousands +on you all,<br />And I shall be, despite my hoard,<br />The only bachelor +on board.”</p> +<p>The boatswain of <i>The Mantelpiece,<br /></i>He blushed and spoke +to CAPTAIN REECE:<br />“I beg your honour’s leave,” +he said;<br />“If you would wish to go and wed,</p> +<p>“I have a widowed mother who<br />Would be the very thing for +you—<br />She long has loved you from afar:<br />She washes for +you, CAPTAIN R.”</p> +<p>The Captain saw the dame that day—<br />Addressed her in his +playful way—<br />“And did it want a wedding ring?<br />It +was a tempting ickle sing!</p> +<p>“Well, well, the chaplain I will seek,<br />We’ll all +be married this day week<br />At yonder church upon the hill;<br />It +is my duty, and I will!”</p> +<p>The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece,<br />And widowed Ma of CAPTAIN +REECE,<br />Attended there as they were bid;<br />It was their duty, +and they did.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Rival Curates</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>List while the poet trolls<br />Of MR. CLAYTON HOOPER,<br />Who had +a cure of souls<br />At Spiffton-extra-Sooper.</p> +<p>He lived on curds and whey,<br />And daily sang their praises,<br />And +then he’d go and play<br />With buttercups and daisies.</p> +<p>Wild croquêt HOOPER banned,<br />And all the sports of Mammon,<br />He +warred with cribbage, and<br />He exorcised backgammon.</p> +<p>His helmet was a glance<br />That spoke of holy gladness;<br />A +saintly smile his lance;<br />His shield a tear of sadness.</p> +<p>His Vicar smiled to see<br />This armour on him buckled:<br />With +pardonable glee<br />He blessed himself and chuckled.</p> +<p>“In mildness to abound<br />My curate’s sole design is;<br />In +all the country round<br />There’s none so mild as mine is!”</p> +<p>And HOOPER, disinclined<br />His trumpet to be blowing,<br />Yet +didn’t think you’d find<br />A milder curate going.</p> +<p>A friend arrived one day<br />At Spiffton-extra-Sooper,<br />And +in this shameful way<br />He spoke to Mr. HOOPER:</p> +<p>“You think your famous name<br />For mildness can’t be +shaken,<br />That none can blot your fame—<br />But, HOOPER, you’re +mistaken!</p> +<p>“Your mind is not as blank<br />As that of HOPLEY PORTER,<br />Who +holds a curate’s rank<br />At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.</p> +<p>“<i>He</i> plays the airy flute,<br />And looks depressed and +blighted,<br />Doves round about him ‘toot,’<br />And lambkins +dance delighted.</p> +<p>“<i>He</i> labours more than you<br />At worsted work, and +frames it;<br />In old maids’ albums, too,<br />Sticks seaweed—yes, +and names it!”</p> +<p>The tempter said his say,<br />Which pierced him like a needle—<br />He +summoned straight away<br />His sexton and his beadle.</p> +<p>(These men were men who could<br />Hold liberal opinions:<br />On +Sundays they were good—<br />On week-days they were minions.)</p> +<p>“To HOPLEY PORTER go,<br />Your fare I will afford you—<br /> Deal +him a deadly blow,<br />And blessings shall reward you.</p> +<p>“But stay—I do not like<br />Undue assassination,<br />And +so before you strike,<br />Make this communication:</p> +<p>“I’ll give him this one chance—<br />If he’ll +more gaily bear him,<br />Play croquêt, smoke, and dance,<br />I +willingly will spare him.”</p> +<p>They went, those minions true,<br />To Assesmilk-cum-Worter,<br />And +told their errand to<br />The REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER.</p> +<p>“What?” said that reverend gent,<br />“Dance through +my hours of leisure?<br />Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?—<br />Play +croquêt? Oh, with pleasure!</p> +<p>“Wear all my hair in curl?<br />Stand at my door and wink—so—<br />At +every passing girl?<br />My brothers, I should think so!</p> +<p>“For years I’ve longed for some<br />Excuse for this +revulsion:<br />Now that excuse has come—<br />I do it on compulsion!!!”</p> +<p>He smoked and winked away—<br />This REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER—<br />The +deuce there was to pay<br />At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.</p> +<p>And HOOPER holds his ground,<br />In mildness daily growing—<br />They +think him, all around,<br />The mildest curate going.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Only A Dancing Girl</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Only a dancing girl,<br />With an unromantic style,<br />With borrowed +colour and curl,<br />With fixed mechanical smile,<br />With many a +hackneyed wile,<br />With ungrammatical lips,<br />And corns that mar +her trips.</p> +<p>Hung from the “flies” in air,<br />She acts a palpable +lie,<br />She’s as little a fairy there<br />As unpoetical I!<br />I +hear you asking, Why—<br />Why in the world I sing<br />This tawdry, +tinselled thing?</p> +<p>No airy fairy she,<br />As she hangs in arsenic green<br />From a +highly impossible tree<br />In a highly impossible scene<br />(Herself +not over-clean).<br />For fays don’t suffer, I’m told,<br />From +bunions, coughs, or cold.</p> +<p>And stately dames that bring<br />Their daughters there to see,<br />Pronounce +the “dancing thing”<br />No better than she should be,<br />With +her skirt at her shameful knee,<br />And her painted, tainted phiz:<br />Ah, +matron, which of us is?</p> +<p>(And, in sooth, it oft occurs<br />That while these matrons sigh,<br />Their +dresses are lower than hers,<br />And sometimes half as high;<br />And +their hair is hair they buy,<br />And they use their glasses, too,<br />In +a way she’d blush to do.)</p> +<p>But change her gold and green<br />For a coarse merino gown,<br />And +see her upon the scene<br />Of her home, when coaxing down<br />Her +drunken father’s frown,<br />In his squalid cheerless den:<br />She’s +a fairy truly, then!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>General John</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The bravest names for fire and flames<br />And all that mortal durst,<br />Were +GENERAL JOHN and PRIVATE JAMES,<br />Of the Sixty-seventy-first.</p> +<p>GENERAL JOHN was a soldier tried,<br />A chief of warlike dons;<br />A +haughty stride and a withering pride<br />Were MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN’S.</p> +<p>A sneer would play on his martial phiz,<br />Superior birth to show;<br />“Pish!” +was a favourite word of his,<br />And he often said “Ho! ho!”</p> +<p>FULL-PRIVATE JAMES described might be,<br />As a man of a mournful +mind;<br />No characteristic trait had he<br />Of any distinctive kind.</p> +<p>From the ranks, one day, cried PRIVATE JAMES,<br />“Oh! MAJOR-GENERAL +JOHN,<br />I’ve doubts of our respective names,<br />My mournful +mind upon.</p> +<p>“A glimmering thought occurs to me<br />(Its source I can’t +unearth),<br />But I’ve a kind of a notion we<br />Were cruelly +changed at birth.</p> +<p>“I’ve a strange idea that each other’s names<br />We’ve +each of us here got on.<br />Such things have been,” said PRIVATE +JAMES.<br />“They have!” sneered GENERAL JOHN.</p> +<p>“My GENERAL JOHN, I swear upon<br />My oath I think ’tis +so—”<br />“Pish!” proudly sneered his GENERAL +JOHN,<br />And he also said “Ho! ho!”</p> +<p>“My GENERAL JOHN! my GENERAL JOHN!<br />My GENERAL JOHN!” +quoth he,<br />“This aristocratical sneer upon<br />Your face +I blush to see!</p> +<p>“No truly great or generous cove<br />Deserving of them names,<br />Would +sneer at a fixed idea that’s drove<br />In the mind of a PRIVATE +JAMES!”</p> +<p>Said GENERAL JOHN, “Upon your claims<br />No need your breath +to waste;<br />If this is a joke, FULL-PRIVATE JAMES,<br />It’s +a joke of doubtful taste.</p> +<p>“But, being a man of doubtless worth,<br />If you feel certain +quite<br />That we were probably changed at birth,<br />I’ll venture +to say you’re right.”</p> +<p>So GENERAL JOHN as PRIVATE JAMES<br />Fell in, parade upon;<br />And +PRIVATE JAMES, by change of names,<br />Was MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>To A Little Maid—By A Policeman</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Come with me, little maid,<br />Nay, shrink not, thus afraid—<br />I’ll +harm thee not!<br />Fly not, my love, from me—<br />I have a home +for thee—<br />A fairy grot,<br />Where mortal eye<br />Can rarely +pry,<br />There shall thy dwelling be!</p> +<p>List to me, while I tell<br />The pleasures of that cell,<br />Oh, +little maid!<br />What though its couch be rude,<br />Homely the only +food<br />Within its shade?<br />No thought of care<br />Can enter there,<br />No +vulgar swain intrude!</p> +<p>Come with me, little maid,<br />Come to the rocky shade<br />I love +to sing;<br />Live with us, maiden rare—<br />Come, for we “want” +thee there,<br />Thou elfin thing,<br />To work thy spell,<br />In some +cool cell<br />In stately Pentonville!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>John And Freddy</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>JOHN courted lovely MARY ANN,<br />So likewise did his brother, FREDDY.<br />FRED +was a very soft young man,<br />While JOHN, though quick, was most unsteady.</p> +<p>FRED was a graceful kind of youth,<br />But JOHN was very much the +strongest.<br />“Oh, dance away,” said she, “in truth,<br />I’ll +marry him who dances longest.”</p> +<p>JOHN tries the maiden’s taste to strike<br />With gay, grotesque, +outrageous dresses,<br />And dances comically, like<br />CLODOCHE AND +Co., at the Princess’s.</p> +<p>But FREDDY tries another style,<br />He knows some graceful steps +and does ’em—<br />A breathing Poem—Woman’s +smile—<br />A man all poesy and buzzem.</p> +<p>Now FREDDY’S operatic <i>pas</i>—<br />Now JOHNNY’S +hornpipe seems entrapping:<br />Now FREDDY’S graceful <i>entrechats—<br /></i>Now +JOHNNY’S skilful “cellar-flapping.”</p> +<p>For many hours—for many days—<br />For many weeks performed +each brother,<br />For each was active in his ways,<br />And neither +would give in to t’other.</p> +<p>After a month of this, they say<br />(The maid was getting bored +and moody)<br />A wandering curate passed that way<br />And talked a +lot of goody-goody.</p> +<p>“Oh my,” said he, with solemn frown,<br />“I tremble +for each dancing <i>frater</i>,<br />Like unregenerated clown<br />And +harlequin at some the-ayter.”</p> +<p>He showed that men, in dancing, do<br />Both impiously and absurdly,<br />And +proved his proposition true,<br />With Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly.</p> +<p>For months both JOHN and FREDDY danced,<br />The curate’s protests +little heeding;<br />For months the curate’s words enhanced<br />The +sinfulness of their proceeding.</p> +<p>At length they bowed to Nature’s rule—<br />Their steps +grew feeble and unsteady,<br />Till FREDDY fainted on a stool,<br />And +JOHNNY on the top of FREDDY.</p> +<p>“Decide!” quoth they, “let him be named,<br />Who +henceforth as his wife may rank you.”<br />“I’ve changed +my views,” the maiden said,<br />“I only marry curates, +thank you!”</p> +<p>Says FREDDY, “Here is goings on!<br />To bust myself with rage +I’m ready.”<br />“I’ll be a curate!” whispers +JOHN—<br />“And I,” exclaimed poetic FREDDY.</p> +<p>But while they read for it, these chaps,<br />The curate booked the +maiden bonny—<br />And when she’s buried him, perhaps,<br />She’ll +marry FREDERICK or JOHNNY.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Sir Guy The Crusader</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Sir GUY was a doughty crusader,<br />A muscular knight,<br />Ever +ready to fight,<br />A very determined invader,<br />And DICKEY DE LION’S +delight.</p> +<p>LENORE was a Saracen maiden,<br />Brunette, statuesque,<br />The +reverse of grotesque,<br />Her pa was a bagman from Aden,<br />Her mother +she played in burlesque.</p> +<p>A <i>coryphée</i>, pretty and loyal,<br />In amber and red<br />The +ballet she led;<br />Her mother performed at the Royal,<br />LENORE +at the Saracen’s Head.</p> +<p>Of face and of figure majestic,<br />She dazzled the cits—<br />Ecstaticised +pits;—<br />Her troubles were only domestic,<br />But drove her +half out of her wits.</p> +<p>Her father incessantly lashed her,<br />On water and bread<br />She +was grudgingly fed;<br />Whenever her father he thrashed her<br />Her +mother sat down on her head.</p> +<p>GUY saw her, and loved her, with reason,<br />For beauty so bright<br />Sent +him mad with delight;<br />He purchased a stall for the season,<br />And +sat in it every night.</p> +<p>His views were exceedingly proper,<br />He wanted to wed,<br />So +he called at her shed<br />And saw her progenitor whop her—<br />Her +mother sit down on her head.</p> +<p>“So pretty,” said he, “and so trusting!<br />You +brute of a dad,<br />You unprincipled cad,<br />Your conduct is really +disgusting,<br />Come, come, now admit it’s too bad!</p> +<p>“You’re a turbaned old Turk, and malignant—<br />Your +daughter LENORE<br />I intensely adore,<br />And I cannot help feeling +indignant,<br />A fact that I hinted before;</p> +<p>“To see a fond father employing<br />A deuce of a knout<br />For +to bang her about,<br />To a sensitive lover’s annoying.”<br />Said +the bagman, “Crusader, get out.”</p> +<p>Says GUY, “Shall a warrior laden<br />With a big spiky knob,<br />Sit +in peace on his cob<br />While a beautiful Saracen maiden<br />Is whipped +by a Saracen snob?</p> +<p>“To London I’ll go from my charmer.”<br />Which +he did, with his loot<br />(Seven hats and a flute),<br />And was nabbed +for his Sydenham armour<br />At MR. BEN-SAMUEL’S suit.</p> +<p>SIR GUY he was lodged in the Compter,<br />Her pa, in a rage,<br />Died +(don’t know his age),<br />His daughter, she married the prompter,<br />Grew +bulky and quitted the stage.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Haunted</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Haunted? Ay, in a social way<br />By a body of ghosts in dread +array;<br />But no conventional spectres they—<br />Appalling, +grim, and tricky:<br />I quail at mine as I’d never quail<br />At +a fine traditional spectre pale,<br />With a turnip head and a ghostly +wail,<br />And a splash of blood on the dickey!</p> +<p>Mine are horrible, social ghosts,—<br />Speeches and women +and guests and hosts,<br />Weddings and morning calls and toasts,<br />In +every bad variety:<br />Ghosts who hover about the grave<br />Of all +that’s manly, free, and brave:<br />You’ll find their names +on the architrave<br />Of that charnel-house, Society.</p> +<p>Black Monday—black as its school-room ink—<br />With +its dismal boys that snivel and think<br />Of its nauseous messes to +eat and drink,<br />And its frozen tank to wash in.<br />That was the +first that brought me grief,<br />And made me weep, till I sought relief<br />In +an emblematical handkerchief,<br />To choke such baby bosh in.</p> +<p>First and worst in the grim array-<br />Ghosts of ghosts that have +gone their way,<br />Which I wouldn’t revive for a single day<br />For +all the wealth of PLUTUS—<br />Are the horrible ghosts that school-days +scared:<br />If the classical ghost that BRUTUS dared<br />Was the ghost +of his “Caesar” unprepared,<br />I’m sure I pity BRUTUS.</p> +<p>I pass to critical seventeen;<br />The ghost of that terrible wedding +scene,<br />When an elderly Colonel stole my Queen,<br />And woke my +dream of heaven.<br />No schoolgirl decked in her nurse-room curls<br />Was +my gushing innocent Queen of Pearls;<br />If she wasn’t a girl +of a thousand girls,<br />She was one of forty-seven!</p> +<p>I see the ghost of my first cigar,<br />Of the thence-arising family +jar—<br />Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar,<br />And I called +the Judge “Your wushup!”)<br />Of reckless days and reckless +nights,<br />With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights,<br />Unholy +songs and tipsy fights,<br />Which I strove in vain to hush up.</p> +<p>Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks,<br />Ghosts of “copy, +declined with thanks,”<br />Of novels returned in endless ranks,<br />And +thousands more, I suffer.<br />The only line to fitly grace<br />My +humble tomb, when I’ve run my race,<br />Is, “Reader, this +is the resting-place<br />Of an unsuccessful duffer.”</p> +<p>I’ve fought them all, these ghosts of mine,<br />But the weapons +I’ve used are sighs and brine,<br />And now that I’m nearly +forty-nine,<br />Old age is my chiefest bogy;<br />For my hair is thinning +away at the crown,<br />And the silver fights with the worn-out brown;<br />And +a general verdict sets me down<br />As an irreclaimable fogy.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Bishop And The ’Busman</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It was a Bishop bold,<br />And London was his see,<br />He was short +and stout and round about<br />And zealous as could be.</p> +<p>It also was a Jew,<br />Who drove a Putney ’bus—<br />For +flesh of swine however fine<br />He did not care a cuss.</p> +<p>His name was HASH BAZ BEN,<br />And JEDEDIAH too,<br />And SOLOMON +and ZABULON—<br />This ’bus-directing Jew.</p> +<p>The Bishop said, said he,<br />“I’ll see what I can do<br />To +Christianise and make you wise,<br />You poor benighted Jew.”</p> +<p>So every blessed day<br />That ’bus he rode outside,<br />From +Fulham town, both up and down,<br />And loudly thus he cried:</p> +<p>“His name is HASH BAZ BEN,<br />And JEDEDIAH too,<br />And +SOLOMON and ZABULON—<br />This ’bus-directing Jew.”</p> +<p>At first the ’busman smiled,<br />And rather liked the fun—<br />He +merely smiled, that Hebrew child,<br />And said, “Eccentric one!”</p> +<p>And gay young dogs would wait<br />To see the ’bus go by<br />(These +gay young dogs, in striking togs),<br />To hear the Bishop cry:</p> +<p>“Observe his grisly beard,<br />His race it clearly shows,<br />He +sticks no fork in ham or pork—<br />Observe, my friends, his nose.</p> +<p>“His name is HASH BAZ BEN,<br />And JEDEDIAH too,<br />And +SOLOMON and ZABULON—<br />This ’bus-directing Jew.”</p> +<p>But though at first amused,<br />Yet after seven years,<br />This +Hebrew child got rather riled,<br />And melted into tears.</p> +<p>He really almost feared<br />To leave his poor abode,<br />His nose, +and name, and beard became<br />A byword on that road.</p> +<p>At length he swore an oath,<br />The reason he would know—<br />“I’ll +call and see why ever he<br />Does persecute me so!”</p> +<p>The good old Bishop sat<br />On his ancestral chair,<br />The ’busman +came, sent up his name,<br />And laid his grievance bare.</p> +<p>“Benighted Jew,” he said<br />(The good old Bishop did),<br />“Be +Christian, you, instead of Jew—<br />Become a Christian kid!</p> +<p>“I’ll ne’er annoy you more.”<br />“Indeed?” +replied the Jew;<br />“Shall I be freed?” “You +will, indeed!”<br />Then “Done!” said he, “with +you!”</p> +<p>The organ which, in man,<br />Between the eyebrows grows,<br />Fell +from his face, and in its place<br />He found a Christian nose.</p> +<p>His tangled Hebrew beard,<br />Which to his waist came down,<br />Was +now a pair of whiskers fair—<br />His name ADOLPHUS BROWN!</p> +<p>He wedded in a year<br />That prelate’s daughter JANE,<br />He’s +grown quite fair—has auburn hair—<br />His wife is far from +plain.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Troubadour</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A TROUBADOUR he played<br />Without a castle wall,<br />Within, a +hapless maid<br />Responded to his call.</p> +<p>“Oh, willow, woe is me!<br />Alack and well-a-day!<br />If +I were only free<br />I’d hie me far away!”</p> +<p>Unknown her face and name,<br />But this he knew right well,<br />The +maiden’s wailing came<br />From out a dungeon cell.</p> +<p>A hapless woman lay<br />Within that dungeon grim—<br />That +fact, I’ve heard him say,<br />Was quite enough for him.</p> +<p>“I will not sit or lie,<br />Or eat or drink, I vow,<br />Till +thou art free as I,<br />Or I as pent as thou.”</p> +<p>Her tears then ceased to flow,<br />Her wails no longer rang,<br />And +tuneful in her woe<br />The prisoned maiden sang:</p> +<p>“Oh, stranger, as you play,<br />I recognize your touch;<br />And +all that I can say<br />Is, thank you very much.”</p> +<p>He seized his clarion straight,<br />And blew thereat, until<br />A +warden oped the gate.<br />“Oh, what might be your will?”</p> +<p>“I’ve come, Sir Knave, to see<br />The master of these +halls:<br />A maid unwillingly<br />Lies prisoned in their walls.”’</p> +<p>With barely stifled sigh<br />That porter drooped his head,<br />With +teardrops in his eye,<br />“A many, sir,” he said.</p> +<p>He stayed to hear no more,<br />But pushed that porter by,<br />And +shortly stood before<br />SIR HUGH DE PECKHAM RYE.</p> +<p>SIR HUGH he darkly frowned,<br />“What would you, sir, with +me?”<br />The troubadour he downed<br />Upon his bended knee.</p> +<p>“I’ve come, DE PECKHAM RYE,<br />To do a Christian task;<br />You +ask me what would I?<br />It is not much I ask.</p> +<p>“Release these maidens, sir,<br />Whom you dominion o’er—<br />Particularly +her<br />Upon the second floor.</p> +<p>“And if you don’t, my lord”—<br />He here +stood bolt upright,<br />And tapped a tailor’s sword—<br />“Come +out, you cad, and fight!”</p> +<p>SIR HUGH he called—and ran<br />The warden from the gate:<br />“Go, +show this gentleman<br />The maid in Forty-eight.”</p> +<p>By many a cell they past,<br />And stopped at length before<br />A +portal, bolted fast:<br />The man unlocked the door.</p> +<p>He called inside the gate<br />With coarse and brutal shout,<br />“Come, +step it, Forty-eight!”<br />And Forty-eight stepped out.</p> +<p>“They gets it pretty hot,<br />The maidens what we cotch—<br />Two +years this lady’s got<br />For collaring a wotch.”</p> +<p>“Oh, ah!—indeed—I see,”<br />The troubadour +exclaimed—<br />“If I may make so free,<br />How is this +castle named?</p> +<p>The warden’s eyelids fill,<br />And sighing, he replied,<br />“Of +gloomy Pentonville<br />This is the female side!”</p> +<p>The minstrel did not wait<br />The Warden stout to thank,<br />But +recollected straight<br />He’d business at the Bank.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ferdinando And Elvira; Or, The Gentle Pieman</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>PART I.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>At a pleasant evening party I had taken down to supper<br />One whom +I will call ELVIRA, and we talked of love and TUPPER,</p> +<p>MR. TUPPER and the Poets, very lightly with them dealing,<br />For +I’ve always been distinguished for a strong poetic feeling.</p> +<p>Then we let off paper crackers, each of which contained a motto,<br />And +she listened while I read them, till her mother told her not to.</p> +<p>Then she whispered, “To the ball-room we had better, dear, +be walking;<br />If we stop down here much longer, really people will +be talking.”</p> +<p>There were noblemen in coronets, and military cousins,<br />There +were captains by the hundred, there were baronets by dozens.</p> +<p>Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed them with a blessing,<br />Then +she let down all her back hair, which had taken long in dressing.</p> +<p>Then she had convulsive sobbings in her agitated throttle,<br />Then +she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her pretty smelling-bottle.</p> +<p>So I whispered, “Dear ELVIRA, say,—what can the +matter be with you?<br />Does anything you’ve eaten, darling POPSY, +disagree with you?”</p> +<p>But spite of all I said, her sobs grew more and more distressing,<br />And +she tore her pretty back hair, which had taken long in dressing.</p> +<p>Then she gazed upon the carpet, at the ceiling, then above me,<br />And +she whispered, “FERDINANDO, do you really, <i>really</i> love +me?”</p> +<p>“Love you?” said I, then I sighed, and then I gazed upon +her sweetly—<br />For I think I do this sort of thing particularly +neatly.</p> +<p>“Send me to the Arctic regions, or illimitable azure,<br />On +a scientific goose-chase, with my COXWELL or my GLAISHER!</p> +<p>“Tell me whither I may hie me—tell me, dear one, that +I may know—<br />Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?”</p> +<p>But she said, “It isn’t polar bears, or hot volcanic +grottoes:<br />Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker +mottoes!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>PART II.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“Tell me, HENRY WADSWORTH, ALFRED POET CLOSE, or MISTER TUPPER,<br />Do +you write the bon bon mottoes my ELVIRA pulls at supper?”</p> +<p>But HENRY WADSWORTH smiled, and said he had not had that honour;<br />And +ALFRED, too, disclaimed the words that told so much upon her.</p> +<p>“MISTER MARTIN TUPPER, POET CLOSE, I beg of you inform us;”<br />But +my question seemed to throw them both into a rage enormous.</p> +<p>MISTER CLOSE expressed a wish that he could only get anigh to me;<br />And +MISTER MARTIN TUPPER sent the following reply to me:</p> +<p>“A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men dread a bandit,”—<br />Which +I know was very clever; but I didn’t understand it.</p> +<p>Seven weary years I wandered—Patagonia, China, Norway,<br />Till +at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway.</p> +<p>There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle,<br />So +I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle.</p> +<p>He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy,<br />And +his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy.</p> +<p>And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with laughter +hearty—<br />He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party.</p> +<p>And I said, “O gentle pieman, why so very, very merry?<br />Is +it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?”</p> +<p>But he answered, “I’m so happy—no profession could +be dearer—<br />If I am not humming ‘Tra! la! la!’ +I’m singing ‘Tirer, lirer!’</p> +<p>“First I go and make the patties, and the puddings, and the +jellies,<br />Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell +is;</p> +<p>“Then I polish all the silver, which a supper-table lacquers;<br />Then +I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the crackers.”—</p> +<p>“Found at last!” I madly shouted. “Gentle +pieman, you astound me!”<br />Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically +round me.</p> +<p>And I shouted and I danced until he’d quite a crowd around +him—<br />And I rushed away exclaiming, “I have found him! +I have found him!”</p> +<p>And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling,<br />“‘Tira, +lira!’ stop him, stop him! ‘Tra! la! la!’ the +soup’s a shilling!”</p> +<p>But until I reached ELVIRA’S home, I never, never waited,<br />And +ELVIRA to her FERDINAND’S irrevocably mated!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Lorenzo De Lardy</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>DALILAH DE DARDY adored<br />The very correctest of cards,<br />LORENZO +DE LARDY, a lord—<br />He was one of Her Majesty’s Guards.</p> +<p>DALILAH DE DARDY was fat,<br />DALILAH DE DARDY was old—<br />(No +doubt in the world about that)<br />But DALILAH DE DARDY had gold.</p> +<p>LORENZO DE LARDY was tall,<br />The flower of maidenly pets,<br />Young +ladies would love at his call,<br />But LORENZO DE LARDY had debts.</p> +<p>His money-position was queer,<br />And one of his favourite freaks<br />Was +to hide himself three times a year,<br />In Paris, for several weeks.</p> +<p>Many days didn’t pass him before<br />He fanned himself into +a flame,<br />For a beautiful “DAM DU COMPTWORE,”<br />And +this was her singular name:</p> +<p>ALICE EULALIE CORALINE<br />EUPHROSINE COLOMBINA THÉRÈSE<br />JULIETTE +STEPHANIE CELESTINE<br />CHARLOTTE RUSSE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE.</p> +<p>She booked all the orders and tin,<br />Accoutred in showy fal-lal,<br />At +a two-fifty Restaurant, in<br />The glittering Palais Royal.</p> +<p>He’d gaze in her orbit of blue,<br />Her hand he would tenderly +squeeze,<br />But the words of her tongue that he knew<br />Were limited +strictly to these:</p> +<p>“CORALINE CELESTINE EULALIE,<br />Houp là! Je +vous aime, oui, mossoo,<br />Combien donnez moi aujourd’hui<br />Bonjour, +Mademoiselle, parlez voo.”</p> +<p>MADEMOISELLE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE<br />Was a witty and beautiful +miss,<br />Extremely correct in her ways,<br />But her English consisted +of this:</p> +<p>“Oh my! pretty man, if you please,<br />Blom boodin, biftek, +currie lamb,<br />Bouldogue, two franc half, quite ze cheese,<br />Rosbif, +me spik Angleesh, godam.”</p> +<p>A waiter, for seasons before,<br />Had basked in her beautiful gaze,<br />And +burnt to dismember MILOR,<br /><i>He loved</i> DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE.</p> +<p>He said to her, “Méchante THÉRÈSE,<br />Avec +désespoir tu m’accables.<br />Penses-tu, DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE,<br />Ses +intentions sont honorables?</p> +<p>“Flirtez toujours, ma belle, si tu ôses—<br />Je +me vengerai ainsi, ma chère,<br /><i>Je lui dirai de quoi l’on +compose<br />Vol au vent à la Financière</i>!”</p> +<p>LORD LARDY knew nothing of this—<br />The waiter’s devotion +ignored,<br />But he gazed on the beautiful miss,<br />And never seemed +weary or bored.</p> +<p>The waiter would screw up his nerve,<br />His fingers he’d +snap and he’d dance—<br />And LORD LARDY would smile and +observe,<br />“How strange are the customs of France!”</p> +<p>Well, after delaying a space,<br />His tradesmen no longer would +wait:<br />Returning to England apace,<br />He yielded himself to his +fate.</p> +<p>LORD LARDY espoused, with a groan,<br />MISS DARDY’S developing +charms,<br />And agreed to tag on to his own,<br />Her name and her +newly-found arms.</p> +<p>The waiter he knelt at the toes<br />Of an ugly and thin coryphée,<br />Who +danced in the hindermost rows<br />At the Théatre des Variétés.</p> +<p>MADEMOISELLE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE<br />Didn’t yield to a +gnawing despair<br />But married a soldier, and plays<br />As a pretty +and pert Vivandière.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Disillusioned—By An Ex-Enthusiast</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Oh, that my soul its gods could see<br />As years ago they seemed +to me<br />When first I painted them;<br />Invested with the circumstance<br />Of +old conventional romance:<br />Exploded theorem!</p> +<p>The bard who could, all men above,<br />Inflame my soul with songs +of love,<br />And, with his verse, inspire<br />The craven soul who +feared to die<br />With all the glow of chivalry<br />And old heroic +fire;</p> +<p>I found him in a beerhouse tap<br />Awaking from a gin-born nap,<br />With +pipe and sloven dress;<br />Amusing chums, who fooled his bent,<br />With +muddy, maudlin sentiment,<br />And tipsy foolishness!</p> +<p>The novelist, whose painting pen<br />To legions of fictitious men<br />A +real existence lends,<br />Brain-people whom we rarely fail,<br />Whene’er +we hear their names, to hail<br />As old and welcome friends;</p> +<p>I found in clumsy snuffy suit,<br />In seedy glove, and blucher boot,<br />Uncomfortably +big.<br />Particularly commonplace,<br />With vulgar, coarse, stockbroking +face,<br />And spectacles and wig.</p> +<p>My favourite actor who, at will,<br />With mimic woe my eyes could +fill<br />With unaccustomed brine:<br />A being who appeared to me<br />(Before +I knew him well) to be<br />A song incarnadine;</p> +<p>I found a coarse unpleasant man<br />With speckled chin—unhealthy, +wan—<br />Of self-importance full:<br />Existing in an atmosphere<br />That +reeked of gin and pipes and beer—<br />Conceited, fractious, dull.</p> +<p>The warrior whose ennobled name<br />Is woven with his country’s +fame,<br />Triumphant over all,<br />I found weak, palsied, bloated, +blear;<br />His province seemed to be, to leer<br />At bonnets in Pall +Mall.</p> +<p>Would that ye always shone, who write,<br />Bathed in your own innate +limelight,<br />And ye who battles wage,<br />Or that in darkness I +had died<br />Before my soul had ever sighed<br />To see you off the +stage!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Babette’s Love</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>BABETTE she was a fisher gal,<br />With jupon striped and cap in +crimps.<br />She passed her days inside the Halle,<br />Or catching +little nimble shrimps.<br />Yet she was sweet as flowers in May,<br />With +no professional bouquet.</p> +<p>JACOT was, of the Customs bold,<br />An officer, at gay Boulogne,<br />He +loved BABETTE—his love he told,<br />And sighed, “Oh, soyez +vous my own!”<br />But “Non!” said she, “JACOT, +my pet,<br />Vous êtes trop scraggy pour BABETTE.</p> +<p>“Of one alone I nightly dream,<br />An able mariner is he,<br />And +gaily serves the Gen’ral Steam-<br />Boat Navigation Companee.<br />I’ll +marry him, if he but will—<br />His name, I rather think, is BILL.</p> +<p>“I see him when he’s not aware,<br />Upon our hospitable +coast,<br />Reclining with an easy air<br />Upon the <i>Port</i> against +a post,<br />A-thinking of, I’ll dare to say,<br />His native +Chelsea far away!”</p> +<p>“Oh, mon!” exclaimed the Customs bold,<br />“Mes +yeux!” he said (which means “my eye”)<br />“Oh, +chère!” he also cried, I’m told,<br />“Par +Jove,” he added, with a sigh.<br />“Oh, mon! oh, chère! +mes yeux! par Jove!<br />Je n’aime pas cet enticing cove!”</p> +<p>The <i>Panther’s</i> captain stood hard by,<br />He was a man +of morals strict<br />If e’er a sailor winked his eye,<br />Straightway +he had that sailor licked,<br />Mast-headed all (such was his code)<br />Who +dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed.</p> +<p>He wept to think a tar of his<br />Should lean so gracefully on posts,<br />He +sighed and sobbed to think of this,<br />On foreign, French, and friendly +coasts.<br />“It’s human natur’, p’raps—if +so,<br />Oh, isn’t human natur’ low!”</p> +<p>He called his BILL, who pulled his curl,<br />He said, “My +BILL, I understand<br />You’ve captivated some young gurl<br />On +this here French and foreign land.<br />Her tender heart your beauties +jog—<br />They do, you know they do, you dog.</p> +<p>“You have a graceful way, I learn,<br />Of leaning airily on +posts,<br />By which you’ve been and caused to burn<br />A tender +flame on these here coasts.<br />A fisher gurl, I much regret,—<br />Her +age, sixteen—her name, BABETTE.</p> +<p>“You’ll marry her, you gentle tar—<br />Your union +I myself will bless,<br />And when you matrimonied are,<br />I will +appoint her stewardess.”<br />But WILLIAM hitched himself and +sighed,<br />And cleared his throat, and thus replied:</p> +<p>“Not so: unless you’re fond of strife,<br />You’d +better mind your own affairs,<br />I have an able-bodied wife<br />Awaiting +me at Wapping Stairs;<br />If all this here to her I tell,<br />She’ll +larrup you and me as well.</p> +<p>“Skin-deep, and valued at a pin,<br />Is beauty such as VENUS +owns—<br /><i>Her</i> beauty is beneath her skin,<br />And lies +in layers on her bones.<br />The other sailors of the crew<br />They +always calls her ‘Whopping Sue!’”</p> +<p>“Oho!” the Captain said, “I see!<br />And is she +then so very strong?”<br />“She’d take your honour’s +scruff,” said he<br />“And pitch you over to Bolong!”<br />“I +pardon you,” the Captain said,<br />“The fair BABETTE you +needn’t wed.”</p> +<p>Perhaps the Customs had his will,<br />And coaxed the scornful girl +to wed,<br />Perhaps the Captain and his BILL,<br />And WILLIAM’S +little wife are dead;<br />Or p’raps they’re all alive and +well:<br />I cannot, cannot, cannot tell.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>To My Bride—(Whoever She May Be)</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Oh! little maid!—(I do not know your name<br />Or who you are, +so, as a safe precaution<br />I’ll add)—Oh, buxom widow! +married dame!<br />(As one of these must be your present portion)<br />Listen, +while I unveil prophetic lore for you,<br />And sing the fate that Fortune +has in store for you.</p> +<p>You’ll marry soon—within a year or twain—<br />A +bachelor of <i>circa</i> two and thirty:<br />Tall, gentlemanly, but +extremely plain,<br />And when you’re intimate, you’ll call +him “BERTIE.”<br />Neat—dresses well; his temper has +been classified<br />As hasty; but he’s very quickly pacified.</p> +<p>You’ll find him working mildly at the Bar,<br />After a touch +at two or three professions,<br />From easy affluence extremely far,<br />A +brief or two on Circuit—“soup” at Sessions;<br />A +pound or two from whist and backing horses,<br />And, say three hundred +from his own resources.</p> +<p>Quiet in harness; free from serious vice,<br />His faults are not +particularly shady,<br />You’ll never find him “<i>shy</i>”—for, +once or twice<br />Already, he’s been driven by a lady,<br />Who +parts with him—perhaps a poor excuse for him—<br />Because +she hasn’t any further use for him.</p> +<p>Oh! bride of mine—tall, dumpy, dark, or fair!<br />Oh! widow—wife, +maybe, or blushing maiden,<br />I’ve told <i>your</i> fortune; +solved the gravest care<br />With which your mind has hitherto been +laden.<br />I’ve prophesied correctly, never doubt it;<br />Now +tell me mine—and please be quick about it!</p> +<p>You—only you—can tell me, an’ you will,<br />To +whom I’m destined shortly to be mated,<br />Will she run up a +heavy <i>modiste’s</i> bill?<br />If so, I want to hear her income +stated<br />(This is a point which interests me greatly).<br />To quote +the bard, “Oh! have I seen her lately?”</p> +<p>Say, must I wait till husband number one<br />Is comfortably stowed +away at Woking?<br />How is her hair most usually done?<br />And tell +me, please, will she object to smoking?<br />The colour of her eyes, +too, you may mention:<br />Come, Sibyl, prophesy—I’m all +attention.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Folly Of Brown—By A General Agent</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I knew a boor—a clownish card<br />(His only friends were pigs +and cows and<br />The poultry of a small farmyard),<br />Who came into +two hundred thousand.</p> +<p>Good fortune worked no change in BROWN,<br />Though she’s a +mighty social chymist;<br />He was a clown—and by a clown<br />I +do not mean a pantomimist.</p> +<p>It left him quiet, calm, and cool,<br />Though hardly knowing what +a crown was—<br />You can’t imagine what a fool<br />Poor +rich uneducated BROWN was!</p> +<p>He scouted all who wished to come<br />And give him monetary schooling;<br />And +I propose to give you some<br />Idea of his insensate fooling.</p> +<p>I formed a company or two—<br />(Of course I don’t know +what the rest meant,<br />I formed them solely with a view<br />To help +him to a sound investment).</p> +<p>Their objects were—their only cares—<br />To justify +their Boards in showing<br />A handsome dividend on shares<br />And +keep their good promoter going.</p> +<p>But no—the lout sticks to his brass,<br />Though shares at +par I freely proffer:<br />Yet—will it be believed?—the +ass<br />Declines, with thanks, my well-meant offer!</p> +<p>He adds, with bumpkin’s stolid grin<br />(A weakly intellect +denoting),<br />He’d rather not invest it in<br />A company of +my promoting!</p> +<p>“You have two hundred ‘thou’ or more,”<br />Said +I. “You’ll waste it, lose it, lend it;<br />Come, +take my furnished second floor,<br />I’ll gladly show you how +to spend it.”</p> +<p>But will it be believed that he,<br />With grin upon his face of +poppy,<br />Declined my aid, while thanking me<br />For what he called +my “philanthroppy”?</p> +<p>Some blind, suspicious fools rejoice<br />In doubting friends who +wouldn’t harm them;<br />They will not hear the charmer’s +voice,<br />However wisely he may charm them!</p> +<p>I showed him that his coat, all dust,<br />Top boots and cords provoked +compassion,<br />And proved that men of station must<br />Conform to +the decrees of fashion.</p> +<p>I showed him where to buy his hat<br />To coat him, trouser him, +and boot him;<br />But no—he wouldn’t hear of that—<br />“He +didn’t think the style would suit him!”</p> +<p>I offered him a county seat,<br />And made no end of an oration;<br />I +made it certainty complete,<br />And introduced the deputation.</p> +<p>But no—the clown my prospect blights—<br />(The worth +of birth it surely teaches!)<br />“Why should I want to spend +my nights<br />In Parliament, a-making speeches?</p> +<p>“I haven’t never been to school—<br />I ain’t +had not no eddication—<br />And I should surely be a fool<br />To +publish that to all the nation!”</p> +<p>I offered him a trotting horse—<br />No hack had ever trotted +faster—<br />I also offered him, of course,<br />A rare and curious +“old master.”</p> +<p>I offered to procure him weeds—<br />Wines fit for one in his +position—<br />But, though an ass in all his deeds,<br />He’d +learnt the meaning of “commission.”</p> +<p>He called me “thief” the other day,<br />And daily from +his door he thrusts me;<br />Much more of this, and soon I may<br />Begin +to think that BROWN mistrusts me.</p> +<p>So deaf to all sound Reason’s rule<br />This poor uneducated +clown is,<br />You can<i>not</i> fancy what a fool<br />Poor rich uneducated +BROWN is.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Sir Macklin</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Of all the youths I ever saw<br />None were so wicked, vain, or silly,<br />So +lost to shame and Sabbath law,<br />As worldly TOM, and BOB, and BILLY.</p> +<p>For every Sabbath day they walked<br />(Such was their gay and thoughtless +natur)<br />In parks or gardens, where they talked<br />From three to +six, or even later.</p> +<p>SIR MACKLIN was a priest severe<br />In conduct and in conversation,<br />It +did a sinner good to hear<br />Him deal in ratiocination.</p> +<p>He could in every action show<br />Some sin, and nobody could doubt +him.<br />He argued high, he argued low,<br />He also argued round about +him.</p> +<p>He wept to think each thoughtless youth<br />Contained of wickedness +a skinful,<br />And burnt to teach the awful truth,<br />That walking +out on Sunday’s sinful.</p> +<p>“Oh, youths,” said he, “I grieve to find<br />The +course of life you’ve been and hit on—<br />Sit down,” +said he, “and never mind<br />The pennies for the chairs you sit +on.</p> +<p>“My opening head is ‘Kensington,’<br />How walking +there the sinner hardens,<br />Which when I have enlarged upon,<br />I +go to ‘Secondly’—its ‘Gardens.’</p> +<p>“My ‘Thirdly’ comprehendeth ‘Hyde,’<br />Of +Secresy the guilts and shameses;<br />My ‘Fourthly’—‘Park’—its +verdure wide—<br />My ‘Fifthly’ comprehends ‘St. +James’s.’</p> +<p>“That matter settled, I shall reach<br />The ‘Sixthly’ +in my solemn tether,<br />And show that what is true of each,<br />Is +also true of all, together.</p> +<p>“Then I shall demonstrate to you,<br />According to the rules +of WHATELY,<br />That what is true of all, is true<br />Of each, considered +separately.”</p> +<p>In lavish stream his accents flow,<br />TOM, BOB, and BILLY dare +not flout him;<br />He argued high, he argued low,<br />He also argued +round about him.</p> +<p>“Ha, ha!” he said, “you loathe your ways,<br />You +writhe at these my words of warning,<br />In agony your hands you raise.”<br />(And +so they did, for they were yawning.)</p> +<p>To “Twenty-firstly” on they go,<br />The lads do not +attempt to scout him;<br />He argued high, he argued low,<br />He also +argued round about him.</p> +<p>“Ho, ho!” he cries, “you bow your crests—<br />My +eloquence has set you weeping;<br />In shame you bend upon your breasts!”<br />(And +so they did, for they were sleeping.)</p> +<p>He proved them this—he proved them that—<br />This good +but wearisome ascetic;<br />He jumped and thumped upon his hat,<br />He +was so very energetic.</p> +<p>His Bishop at this moment chanced<br />To pass, and found the road +encumbered;<br />He noticed how the Churchman danced,<br />And how his +congregation slumbered.</p> +<p>The hundred and eleventh head<br />The priest completed of his stricture;<br />“Oh, +bosh!” the worthy Bishop said,<br />And walked him off as in the +picture.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Yarn Of The “Nancy Bell”</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>’Twas on the shores that round our coast<br />From Deal to +Ramsgate span,<br />That I found alone on a piece of stone<br />An elderly +naval man.</p> +<p>His hair was weedy, his beard was long,<br />And weedy and long was +he,<br />And I heard this wight on the shore recite,<br />In a singular +minor key:</p> +<p>“Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,<br />And the mate of the +<i>Nancy</i> brig,<br />And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br />And +the crew of the captain’s gig.”</p> +<p>And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,<br />Till I really felt +afraid,<br />For I couldn’t help thinking the man had been drinking,<br />And +so I simply said:</p> +<p>“Oh, elderly man, it’s little I know<br />Of the duties +of men of the sea,<br />And I’ll eat my hand if I understand<br />However +you can be</p> +<p>“At once a cook, and a captain bold,<br />And the mate of the +<i>Nancy</i> brig,<br />And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br />And +the crew of the captain’s gig.”</p> +<p>Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which<br />Is a trick all seamen +larn,<br />And having got rid of a thumping quid,<br />He spun this +painful yarn:</p> +<p>“’Twas in the good ship <i>Nancy Bell<br /></i>That we +sailed to the Indian Sea,<br />And there on a reef we come to grief,<br />Which +has often occurred to me.</p> +<p>“And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned<br />(There was seventy-seven +o’ soul),<br />And only ten of the <i>Nancy’s</i> men<br />Said +‘Here!’ to the muster-roll.</p> +<p>“There was me and the cook and the captain bold,<br />And the +mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br />And the bo’sun tight, and +a midshipmite,<br />And the crew of the captain’s gig.</p> +<p>“For a month we’d neither wittles nor drink,<br />Till +a-hungry we did feel,<br />So we drawed a lot, and, accordin’ +shot<br />The captain for our meal.</p> +<p>“The next lot fell to the <i>Nancy’s</i> mate,<br />And +a delicate dish he made;<br />Then our appetite with the midshipmite<br />We +seven survivors stayed.</p> +<p>“And then we murdered the bo’sun tight,<br />And he much +resembled pig;<br />Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,<br />On +the crew of the captain’s gig.</p> +<p>“Then only the cook and me was left,<br />And the delicate +question, ‘Which<br />Of us two goes to the kettle?’ arose,<br />And +we argued it out as sich.</p> +<p>“For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,<br />And the cook +he worshipped me;<br />But we’d both be blowed if we’d either +be stowed<br />In the other chap’s hold, you see.</p> +<p>“‘I’ll be eat if you dines off me,’ says +TOM;<br />‘Yes, that,’ says I, ‘you’ll be,—<br />‘I’m +boiled if I die, my friend,’ quoth I;<br />And ‘Exactly +so,’ quoth he.</p> +<p>“Says he, ‘Dear JAMES, to murder me<br />Were a foolish +thing to do,<br />For don’t you see that you can’t cook +<i>me</i>,<br />While I can—and will—cook <i>you</i>!’</p> +<p>“So he boils the water, and takes the salt<br />And the pepper +in portions true<br />(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot.<br />And +some sage and parsley too.</p> +<p>“‘Come here,’ says he, with a proper pride,<br />Which +his smiling features tell,<br />‘’T will soothing be if +I let you see<br />How extremely nice you’ll smell.’</p> +<p>“And he stirred it round and round and round,<br />And he sniffed +at the foaming froth;<br />When I ups with his heels, and smothers his +squeals<br />In the scum of the boiling broth.</p> +<p>“And I eat that cook in a week or less,<br />And—as I +eating be<br />The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,<br />For +a wessel in sight I see!</p> +<p>* * * *</p> +<p>“And I never larf, and I never smile,<br />And I never lark +nor play,<br />But sit and croak, and a single joke<br />I have—which +is to say:</p> +<p>“Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,<br />And the mate of the +<i>Nancy</i> brig,<br />And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br />And +the crew of the captain’s gig!’”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Bishop Of Rum-Ti-Foo</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>From east and south the holy clan<br />Of Bishops gathered to a man;<br />To +Synod, called Pan-Anglican,<br />In flocking crowds they came.<br />Among +them was a Bishop, who<br />Had lately been appointed to<br />The balmy +isle of Rum-ti-Foo,<br />And PETER was his name.</p> +<p>His people—twenty-three in sum—<br />They played the +eloquent tum-tum,<br />And lived on scalps served up, in rum—<br />The +only sauce they knew.<br />When first good BISHOP PETER came<br />(For +PETER was that Bishop’s name),<br />To humour them, he did the +same<br />As they of Rum-ti-Foo.</p> +<p>His flock, I’ve often heard him tell,<br />(His name was PETER) +loved him well,<br />And, summoned by the sound of bell,<br />In crowds +together came.<br />“Oh, massa, why you go away?<br />Oh, MASSA +PETER, please to stay.”<br />(They called him PETER, people say,<br />Because +it was his name.)</p> +<p>He told them all good boys to be,<br />And sailed away across the +sea,<br />At London Bridge that Bishop he<br />Arrived one Tuesday night;<br />And +as that night he homeward strode<br />To his Pan-Anglican abode,<br />He +passed along the Borough Road,<br />And saw a gruesome sight.</p> +<p>He saw a crowd assembled round<br />A person dancing on the ground,<br />Who +straight began to leap and bound<br />With all his might and main.<br />To +see that dancing man he stopped,<br />Who twirled and wriggled, skipped +and hopped,<br />Then down incontinently dropped,<br />And then sprang +up again.</p> +<p>The Bishop chuckled at the sight.<br />“This style of dancing +would delight<br />A simple Rum-ti-Foozleite.<br />I’ll learn +it if I can,<br />To please the tribe when I get back.”<br />He +begged the man to teach his knack.<br />“Right Reverend Sir, in +half a crack!<br />Replied that dancing man.</p> +<p>The dancing man he worked away,<br />And taught the Bishop every +day—<br />The dancer skipped like any fay—<br />Good PETER +did the same.<br />The Bishop buckled to his task,<br />With <i>battements</i>, +and <i>pas de basque.<br /></i>(I’ll tell you, if you care to +ask,<br />That PETER was his name.)</p> +<p>“Come, walk like this,” the dancer said,<br />“Stick +out your toes—stick in your head,<br />Stalk on with quick, galvanic +tread—<br />Your fingers thus extend;<br />The attitude’s +considered quaint.”<br />The weary Bishop, feeling faint,<br />Replied, +“I do not say it ain’t,<br />But ‘Time!’ my +Christian friend!”</p> +<p>“We now proceed to something new—<br />Dance as the PAYNES +and LAURIS do,<br />Like this—one, two—one, two—one, +two.”<br />The Bishop, never proud,<br />But in an overwhelming +heat<br />(His name was PETER, I repeat)<br />Performed the PAYNE and +LAURI feat,<br />And puffed his thanks aloud.</p> +<p>Another game the dancer planned—<br />“Just take your +ankle in your hand,<br />And try, my lord, if you can stand—<br />Your +body stiff and stark.<br />If, when revisiting your see,<br />You learnt +to hop on shore—like me—<br />The novelty would striking +be,<br />And must attract remark.”</p> +<p>“No,” said the worthy Bishop, “no;<br />That is +a length to which, I trow,<br />Colonial Bishops cannot go.<br />You +may express surprise<br />At finding Bishops deal in pride—<br />But +if that trick I ever tried,<br />I should appear undignified<br />In +Rum-ti-Foozle’s eyes.</p> +<p>“The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo<br />Are well-conducted persons, +who<br />Approve a joke as much as you,<br />And laugh at it as such;<br />But +if they saw their Bishop land,<br />His leg supported in his hand,<br />The +joke they wouldn’t understand—<br />’T would pain +them very much!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Precocious Baby. A Very True Tale</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(<i>To be sung to the Air of the “Whistling Oyster</i>.”)</p> +<p>An elderly person—a prophet by trade—<br />With his quips +and tips<br />On withered old lips,<br />He married a young and a beautiful +maid;<br />The cunning old blade!<br />Though rather decayed,<br />He +married a beautiful, beautiful maid.</p> +<p>She was only eighteen, and as fair as could be,<br />With her tempting +smiles<br />And maidenly wiles,<br />And he was a trifle past seventy-three:<br />Now +what she could see<br />Is a puzzle to me,<br />In a prophet of seventy—seventy-three!</p> +<p>Of all their acquaintances bidden (or bad)<br />With their loud high +jinks<br />And underbred winks,<br />None thought they’d a family +have—but they had;<br />A dear little lad<br />Who drove ’em +half mad,<br />For he turned out a horribly fast little cad.</p> +<p>For when he was born he astonished all by,<br />With their “Law, +dear me!”<br />“Did ever you see?”<br />He’d +a pipe in his mouth and a glass in his eye,<br />A hat all awry—<br />An +octagon tie—<br />And a miniature—miniature glass in his +eye.</p> +<p>He grumbled at wearing a frock and a cap,<br />With his “Oh, +dear, oh!”<br />And his “Hang it! ’oo know!”<br />And +he turned up his nose at his excellent pap—<br />“My friends, +it’s a tap<br />Dat is not worf a rap.”<br />(Now this was +remarkably excellent pap.)</p> +<p>He’d chuck his nurse under the chin, and he’d say,<br />With +his “Fal, lal, lal”—<br />“’Oo doosed +fine gal!”<br />This shocking precocity drove ’em away:<br />“A +month from to-day<br />Is as long as I’ll stay—<br />Then +I’d wish, if you please, for to toddle away.”</p> +<p>His father, a simple old gentleman, he<br />With nursery rhyme<br />And +“Once on a time,”<br />Would tell him the story of “Little +Bo-P,”<br />“So pretty was she,<br />So pretty and wee,<br />As +pretty, as pretty, as pretty could be.”</p> +<p>But the babe, with a dig that would startle an ox,<br />With his +“C’ck! Oh, my!—<br />Go along wiz ’oo, +fie!”<br />Would exclaim, “I’m afraid ’oo a +socking ole fox.”<br />Now a father it shocks,<br />And it whitens +his locks,<br />When his little babe calls him a shocking old fox.</p> +<p>The name of his father he’d couple and pair<br />(With his +ill-bred laugh,<br />And insolent chaff)<br />With those of the nursery +heroines rare—<br />Virginia the Fair,<br />Or Good Goldenhair,<br />Till +the nuisance was more than a prophet could bear.</p> +<p>“There’s Jill and White Cat” (said the bold little +brat,<br />With his loud, “Ha, ha!”)<br />“’Oo +sly ickle Pa!<br />Wiz ’oo Beauty, Bo-Peep, and ’oo Mrs. +Jack Sprat!<br />I’ve noticed ’oo pat<br /><i>My</i> pretty +White Cat—<br />I sink dear mamma ought to know about dat!”</p> +<p>He early determined to marry and wive,<br />For better or worse<br />With +his elderly nurse—<br />Which the poor little boy didn’t +live to contrive:<br />His hearth didn’t thrive—<br />No +longer alive,<br />He died an enfeebled old dotard at five!</p> +<p>MORAL.</p> +<p>Now, elderly men of the bachelor crew,<br />With wrinkled hose<br />And +spectacled nose,<br />Don’t marry at all—you may take it +as true<br />If ever you do<br />The step you will rue,<br />For your +babes will be elderly—elderly too.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>To Phoebe</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>“Gentle, modest little flower,<br />Sweet epitome of May,<br />Love +me but for half an hour,<br />Love me, love me, little fay.”<br />Sentences +so fiercely flaming<br />In your tiny shell-like ear,<br />I should +always be exclaiming<br />If I loved you, PHOEBE dear.</p> +<p>“Smiles that thrill from any distance<br />Shed upon me while +I sing!<br />Please ecstaticize existence,<br />Love me, oh, thou fairy +thing!”<br />Words like these, outpouring sadly<br />You’d +perpetually hear,<br />If I loved you fondly, madly;—<br />But +I do not, PHOEBE dear.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Baines Carew, Gentleman</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Of all the good attorneys who<br />Have placed their names upon the +roll,<br />But few could equal BAINES CAREW<br />For tender-heartedness +and soul.</p> +<p>Whene’er he heard a tale of woe<br />From client A or client +B,<br />His grief would overcome him so<br />He’d scarce have +strength to take his fee.</p> +<p>It laid him up for many days,<br />When duty led him to distrain,<br />And +serving writs, although it pays,<br />Gave him excruciating pain.</p> +<p>He made out costs, distrained for rent,<br />Foreclosed and sued, +with moistened eye—<br />No bill of costs could represent<br />The +value of such sympathy.</p> +<p>No charges can approximate<br />The worth of sympathy with woe;—<br />Although +I think I ought to state<br />He did his best to make them so.</p> +<p>Of all the many clients who<br />Had mustered round his legal flag,<br />No +single client of the crew<br />Was half so dear as CAPTAIN BAGG.</p> +<p>Now, CAPTAIN BAGG had bowed him to<br />A heavy matrimonial yoke—<br />His +wifey had of faults a few—<br />She never could resist a joke.</p> +<p>Her chaff at first he meekly bore,<br />Till unendurable it grew.<br />“To +stop this persecution sore<br />I will consult my friend CAREW.</p> +<p>“And when CAREW’S advice I’ve got,<br />Divorce +<i>a mensâ</i> I shall try.”<br />(A legal separation—not<br /><i>A +vinculo conjugii</i>.)</p> +<p>“Oh, BAINES CAREW, my woe I’ve kept<br />A secret hitherto, +you know;”—<br />(And BAINES CAREW, ESQUIRE, he wept<br />To +hear that BAGG <i>had</i> any woe.)</p> +<p>“My case, indeed, is passing sad.<br />My wife—whom I +considered true—<br />With brutal conduct drives me mad.”<br />“I +am appalled,” said BAINES CAREW.</p> +<p>“What! sound the matrimonial knell<br />Of worthy people such +as these!<br />Why was I an attorney? Well—<br />Go on to +the <i>saevitia</i>, please.”</p> +<p>“Domestic bliss has proved my bane,—<br />A harder case +you never heard,<br />My wife (in other matters sane)<br />Pretends +that I’m a Dicky bird!</p> +<p>“She makes me sing, ‘Too-whit, too-wee!’<br />And +stand upon a rounded stick,<br />And always introduces me<br />To every +one as ‘Pretty Dick’!”</p> +<p>“Oh, dear,” said weeping BAINES CAREW,<br />“This +is the direst case I know.”<br />“I’m grieved,” +said BAGG, “at paining you—<br />“To COBB and POLTHERTHWAITE +I’ll go—</p> +<p>“To COBB’S cold, calculating ear,<br />My gruesome sorrows +I’ll impart”—<br />“No; stop,” said BAINES, +“I’ll dry my tear,<br />And steel my sympathetic heart.”</p> +<p>“She makes me perch upon a tree,<br />Rewarding me with ‘Sweety—nice!’<br />And +threatens to exhibit me<br />With four or five performing mice.”</p> +<p>“Restrain my tears I wish I could”<br />(Said BAINES), +“I don’t know what to do.”<br />Said CAPTAIN BAGG, +“You’re very good.”<br />“Oh, not at all,” +said BAINES CAREW.</p> +<p>“She makes me fire a gun,” said BAGG;<br />“And, +at a preconcerted word,<br />Climb up a ladder with a flag,<br />Like +any street performing bird.</p> +<p>“She places sugar in my way—<br />In public places calls +me ‘Sweet!’<br />She gives me groundsel every day,<br />And +hard canary-seed to eat.”</p> +<p>“Oh, woe! oh, sad! oh, dire to tell!”<br />(Said BAINES). +“Be good enough to stop.”<br />And senseless on the floor +he fell,<br />With unpremeditated flop!</p> +<p>Said CAPTAIN BAGG, “Well, really I<br />Am grieved to think +it pains you so.<br />I thank you for your sympathy;<br />But, hang +it!—come—I say, you know!”</p> +<p>But BAINES lay flat upon the floor,<br />Convulsed with sympathetic +sob;—<br />The Captain toddled off next door,<br />And gave the +case to MR. COBB.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Thomas Winterbottom Hance</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In all the towns and cities fair<br />On Merry England’s broad +expanse,<br />No swordsman ever could compare<br />With THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM +HANCE.</p> +<p>The dauntless lad could fairly hew<br />A silken handkerchief in +twain,<br />Divide a leg of mutton too—<br />And this without +unwholesome strain.</p> +<p>On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick,<br />His sabre sometimes +he’d employ—<br />No bar of lead, however thick,<br />Had +terrors for the stalwart boy.</p> +<p>At Dover daily he’d prepare<br />To hew and slash, behind, +before—<br />Which aggravated MONSIEUR PIERRE,<br />Who watched +him from the Calais shore.</p> +<p>It caused good PIERRE to swear and dance,<br />The sight annoyed +and vexed him so;<br />He was the bravest man in France—<br />He +said so, and he ought to know.</p> +<p>“Regardez donc, ce cochon gros—<br />Ce polisson! +Oh, sacré bleu!<br />Son sabre, son plomb, et ses gigots<br />Comme +cela m’ennuye, enfin, mon Dieu!</p> +<p>“Il sait que les foulards de soie<br />Give no retaliating +whack—<br />Les gigots morts n’ont pas de quoi—<br />Le +plomb don’t ever hit you back.”</p> +<p>But every day the headstrong lad<br />Cut lead and mutton more and +more;<br />And every day poor PIERRE, half mad,<br />Shrieked loud defiance +from his shore.</p> +<p>HANCE had a mother, poor and old,<br />A simple, harmless village +dame,<br />Who crowed and clapped as people told<br />Of WINTERBOTTOM’S +rising fame.</p> +<p>She said, “I’ll be upon the spot<br />To see my TOMMY’S +sabre-play;”<br />And so she left her leafy cot,<br />And walked +to Dover in a day.</p> +<p>PIERRE had a doating mother, who<br />Had heard of his defiant rage;<br /><i>His</i> +Ma was nearly ninety-two,<br />And rather dressy for her age.</p> +<p>At HANCE’S doings every morn,<br />With sheer delight <i>his</i> +mother cried;<br />And MONSIEUR PIERRE’S contemptuous scorn<br />Filled +<i>his</i> mamma with proper pride.</p> +<p>But HANCE’S powers began to fail—<br />His constitution +was not strong—<br />And PIERRE, who once was stout and hale,<br />Grew +thin from shouting all day long.</p> +<p>Their mothers saw them pale and wan,<br />Maternal anguish tore each +breast,<br />And so they met to find a plan<br />To set their offsprings’ +minds at rest.</p> +<p>Said MRS. HANCE, “Of course I shrinks<br />From bloodshed, +ma’am, as you’re aware,<br />But still they’d better +meet, I thinks.”<br />“Assurément!” said MADAME +PIERRE.</p> +<p>A sunny spot in sunny France<br />Was hit upon for this affair;<br />The +ground was picked by MRS. HANCE,<br />The stakes were pitched by MADAME +PIERRE.</p> +<p>Said MRS. H., “Your work you see—<br />Go in, my noble +boy, and win.”<br />“En garde, mon fils!” said MADAME +P.<br />“Allons!” “Go on!” “En +garde!” “Begin!”</p> +<p>(The mothers were of decent size,<br />Though not particularly tall;<br />But +in the sketch that meets your eyes<br />I’ve been obliged to draw +them small.)</p> +<p>Loud sneered the doughty man of France,<br />“Ho! ho! +Ho! ho! Ha! ha! Ha! ha!<br />“The French for ‘Pish’” +said THOMAS HANCE.<br />Said PIERRE, “L’Anglais, Monsieur, +pour ‘Bah.’”</p> +<p>Said MRS. H., “Come, one! two! three!—<br />We’re +sittin’ here to see all fair.”<br />“C’est magnifique!” +said MADAME P.,<br />“Mais, parbleu! ce n’est pas la guerre!”</p> +<p>“Je scorn un foe si lache que vous,”<br />Said PIERRE, +the doughty son of France.<br />“I fight not coward foe like you!”<br />Said +our undaunted TOMMY HANCE.</p> +<p>“The French for ‘Pooh!’” our TOMMY cried.<br />“L’Anglais +pour ‘Va!’” the Frenchman crowed.<br />And so, with +undiminished pride,<br />Each went on his respective road.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Reverend Micah Sowls</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The REVEREND MICAH SOWLS,<br />He shouts and yells and howls,<br />He +screams, he mouths, he bumps,<br />He foams, he rants, he thumps.</p> +<p>His armour he has buckled on, to wage<br />The regulation war against +the Stage;<br />And warns his congregation all to shun<br />“The +Presence-Chamber of the Evil One,”</p> +<p>The subject’s sad enough<br />To make him rant and puff,<br />And +fortunately, too,<br />His Bishop’s in a pew.</p> +<p>So REVEREND MICAH claps on extra steam,<br />His eyes are flashing +with superior gleam,<br />He is as energetic as can be,<br />For there +are fatter livings in that see.</p> +<p>The Bishop, when it’s o’er,<br />Goes through the vestry +door,<br />Where MICAH, very red,<br />Is mopping of his head.</p> +<p>“Pardon, my Lord, your SOWLS’ excessive zeal,<br />It +is a theme on which I strongly feel.”<br />(The sermon somebody +had sent him down<br />From London, at a charge of half-a-crown.)</p> +<p>The Bishop bowed his head,<br />And, acquiescing, said,<br />“I’ve +heard your well-meant rage<br />Against the Modern Stage.</p> +<p>“A modern Theatre, as I heard you say,<br />Sows seeds of evil +broadcast—well it may;<br />But let me ask you, my respected son,<br />Pray, +have you ever ventured into one?”</p> +<p>“My Lord,” said MICAH, “no!<br />I never, never +go!<br />What! Go and see a play?<br />My goodness gracious, nay!”</p> +<p>The worthy Bishop said, “My friend, no doubt<br />The Stage +may be the place you make it out;<br />But if, my REVEREND SOWLS, you +never go,<br />I don’t quite understand how you’re to know.”</p> +<p>“Well, really,” MICAH said,<br />“I’ve often +heard and read,<br />But never go—do you?”<br />The Bishop +said, “I do.”</p> +<p>“That proves me wrong,” said MICAH, in a trice:<br />“I +thought it all frivolity and vice.”<br />The Bishop handed him +a printed card;<br />“Go to a theatre where they play our Bard.”</p> +<p>The Bishop took his leave,<br />Rejoicing in his sleeve.<br />The +next ensuing day<br />SOWLS went and heard a play.</p> +<p>He saw a dreary person on the stage,<br />Who mouthed and mugged +in simulated rage,<br />Who growled and spluttered in a mode absurd,<br />And +spoke an English SOWLS had never heard.</p> +<p>For “gaunt” was spoken “garnt,”<br /> And +“haunt” transformed to “harnt,”<br /> And +“wrath “ pronounced as “rath,”<br /> And +“death” was changed to “dath.”</p> +<p>For hours and hours that dismal actor walked,<br />And talked, and +talked, and talked, and talked,<br />Till lethargy upon the parson crept,<br />And +sleepy MICAH SOWLS serenely slept.</p> +<p>He slept away until<br />The farce that closed the bill<br />Had +warned him not to stay,<br />And then he went away.</p> +<p>“I thought <i>my</i> gait ridiculous,” said he—<br />“<i>My</i> +elocution faulty as could be;<br />I thought <i>I</i> mumbled on a matchless +plan—<br />I had not seen our great Tragedian!</p> +<p>“Forgive me, if you can,<br />O great Tragedian!<br />I own +it with a sigh—<br />You’re drearier than I!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>A Discontented Sugar Broker</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A GENTLEMAN of City fame<br />Now claims your kind attention;<br />East +India broking was his game,<br />His name I shall not mention:<br />No +one of finely-pointed sense<br />Would violate a confidence,<br />And +shall <i>I</i> go<br />And do it? No!<br />His name I shall not +mention.</p> +<p>He had a trusty wife and true,<br />And very cosy quarters,<br />A +manager, a boy or two,<br />Six clerks, and seven porters.<br />A broker +must be doing well<br />(As any lunatic can tell)<br />Who can employ<br />An +active boy,<br />Six clerks, and seven porters.</p> +<p>His knocker advertised no dun,<br />No losses made him sulky,<br />He +had one sorrow—only one—<br />He was extremely bulky.<br />A +man must be, I beg to state,<br />Exceptionally fortunate<br />Who owns +his chief<br />And only grief<br />Is—being very bulky.</p> +<p>“This load,” he’d say, “I cannot bear;<br />I’m +nineteen stone or twenty!<br />Henceforward I’ll go in for air<br />And +exercise in plenty.”<br />Most people think that, should it come,<br />They +can reduce a bulging tum<br />To measures fair<br />By taking air<br />And +exercise in plenty.</p> +<p>In every weather, every day,<br />Dry, muddy, wet, or gritty,<br />He +took to dancing all the way<br />From Brompton to the City.<br />You +do not often get the chance<br />Of seeing sugar brokers dance<br />From +their abode<br />In Fulham Road<br />Through Brompton to the City.</p> +<p>He braved the gay and guileless laugh<br />Of children with their +nusses,<br />The loud uneducated chaff<br />Of clerks on omnibuses.<br />Against +all minor things that rack<br />A nicely-balanced mind, I’ll back<br />The +noisy chaff<br />And ill-bred laugh<br />Of clerks on omnibuses.</p> +<p>His friends, who heard his money chink,<br />And saw the house he +rented,<br />And knew his wife, could never think<br />What made him +discontented.<br />It never entered their pure minds<br />That fads +are of eccentric kinds,<br />Nor would they own<br />That fat alone<br />Could +make one discontented.</p> +<p>“Your riches know no kind of pause,<br />Your trade is fast +advancing;<br />You dance—but not for joy, because<br />You weep +as you are dancing.<br />To dance implies that man is glad,<br />To +weep implies that man is sad;<br />But here are you<br />Who do the +two—<br />You weep as you are dancing!”</p> +<p>His mania soon got noised about<br />And into all the papers;<br />His +size increased beyond a doubt<br />For all his reckless capers:<br />It +may seem singular to you,<br />But all his friends admit it true—<br />The +more he found<br />His figure round,<br />The more he cut his capers.</p> +<p>His bulk increased—no matter that—<br />He tried the +more to toss it—<br />He never spoke of it as “fat,”<br />But +“adipose deposit.”<br />Upon my word, it seems to me<br />Unpardonable +vanity<br />(And worse than that)<br />To call your fat<br />An “adipose +deposit.”</p> +<p>At length his brawny knees gave way,<br />And on the carpet sinking,<br />Upon +his shapeless back he lay<br />And kicked away like winking.<br />Instead +of seeing in his state<br />The finger of unswerving Fate,<br />He laboured +still<br />To work his will,<br />And kicked away like winking.</p> +<p>His friends, disgusted with him now,<br />Away in silence wended—<br />I +hardly like to tell you how<br />This dreadful story ended.<br />The +shocking sequel to impart,<br />I must employ the limner’s art—<br />If +you would know,<br />This sketch will show<br />How his exertions ended.</p> +<p>MORAL.</p> +<p>I hate to preach—I hate to prate—<br />- I’m no +fanatic croaker,<br />But learn contentment from the fate<br />Of this +East India broker.<br />He’d everything a man of taste<br />Could +ever want, except a waist;<br />And discontent<br />His size anent,<br />And +bootless perseverance blind,<br />Completely wrecked the peace of mind<br />Of +this East India broker.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Pantomime “Super” To His Mask</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Vast empty shell!<br />Impertinent, preposterous abortion!<br />With +vacant stare,<br />And ragged hair,<br />And every feature out of all +proportion!<br />Embodiment of echoing inanity!<br />Excellent type +of simpering insanity!<br />Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity!<br />I +ring thy knell!</p> +<p>To-night thou diest,<br />Beast that destroy’st my heaven-born +identity!<br />Nine weeks of nights,<br />Before the lights,<br />Swamped +in thine own preposterous nonentity,<br />I’ve been ill-treated, +cursed, and thrashed diurnally,<br />Credited for the smile you wear +externally—<br />I feel disposed to smash thy face, infernally,<br />As +there thou liest!</p> +<p>I’ve been thy brain:<br /><i>I’ve</i> been the brain +that lit thy dull concavity!<br />The human race<br />Invest <i>my</i> +face<br />With thine expression of unchecked depravity,<br />Invested +with a ghastly reciprocity,<br /><i>I’ve</i> been responsible +for thy monstrosity,<br />I, for thy wanton, blundering ferocity—<br />But +not again!</p> +<p>’T is time to toll<br />Thy knell, and that of follies pantomimical:<br />A +nine weeks’ run,<br />And thou hast done<br />All thou canst do +to make thyself inimical.<br />Adieu, embodiment of all inanity!<br />Excellent +type of simpering insanity!<br />Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity!<br />Freed +is thy soul!</p> +<p>(<i>The Mask respondeth</i>.)</p> +<p>Oh! master mine,<br />Look thou within thee, ere again ill-using +me.<br />Art thou aware<br />Of nothing there<br />Which might abuse +thee, as thou art abusing me?<br />A brain that mourns <i>thine</i> +unredeemed rascality?<br />A soul that weeps at <i>thy</i> threadbare +morality?<br />Both grieving that <i>their</i> individuality<br />Is +merged in thine?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Force Of Argument</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Lord B. was a nobleman bold<br />Who came of illustrious stocks,<br />He +was thirty or forty years old,<br />And several feet in his socks.</p> +<p>To Turniptopville-by-the-Sea<br />This elegant nobleman went,<br />For +that was a borough that he<br />Was anxious to rep-per-re-sent.</p> +<p>At local assemblies he danced<br />Until he felt thoroughly ill;<br />He +waltzed, and he galoped, and lanced,<br />And threaded the mazy quadrille.</p> +<p>The maidens of Turniptopville<br />Were simple—ingenuous—pure—<br />And +they all worked away with a will<br />The nobleman’s heart to +secure.</p> +<p>Two maidens all others beyond<br />Endeavoured his cares to dispel—<br />The +one was the lively ANN POND,<br />The other sad MARY MORELL.</p> +<p>ANN POND had determined to try<br />And carry the Earl with a rush;<br />Her +principal feature was eye,<br />Her greatest accomplishment—gush.</p> +<p>And MARY chose this for her play:<br />Whenever he looked in her +eye<br />She’d blush and turn quickly away,<br />And flitter, +and flutter, and sigh.</p> +<p>It was noticed he constantly sighed<br />As she worked out the scheme +she had planned,<br />A fact he endeavoured to hide<br />With his aristocratical +hand.</p> +<p>Old POND was a farmer, they say,<br />And so was old TOMMY MORELL.<br />In +a humble and pottering way<br />They were doing exceedingly well.</p> +<p>They both of them carried by vote<br />The Earl was a dangerous man;<br />So +nervously clearing his throat,<br />One morning old TOMMY began:</p> +<p>“My darter’s no pratty young doll—<br />I’m +a plain-spoken Zommerzet man—<br />Now what do ’ee mean +by my POLL,<br />And what do ’ee mean by his ANN?</p> +<p>Said B., “I will give you my bond<br />I mean them uncommonly +well,<br />Believe me, my excellent POND,<br />And credit me, worthy +MORELL.</p> +<p>“It’s quite indisputable, for<br />I’ll prove it +with singular ease,—<br />You shall have it in ‘Barbara’ +or<br />‘Celarent’—whichever you please.</p> +<p>‘You see, when an anchorite bows<br />To the yoke of intentional +sin,<br />If the state of the country allows,<br />Homogeny always steps +in—</p> +<p>“It’s a highly aesthetical bond,<br />As any mere ploughboy +can tell—”<br />“Of course,” replied puzzled +old POND.<br />“I see,” said old TOMMY MORELL.</p> +<p>“Very good, then,” continued the lord;<br />“When +it’s fooled to the top of its bent,<br />With a sweep of a Damocles +sword<br />The web of intention is rent.</p> +<p>“That’s patent to all of us here,<br />As any mere schoolboy +can tell.”<br />POND answered, “Of course it’s quite +clear”;<br />And so did that humbug MORELL.</p> +<p>“Its tone’s esoteric in force—<br />I trust that +I make myself clear?”<br />MORELL only answered, “Of course,”<br />While +POND slowly muttered, “Hear, hear.”</p> +<p>“Volition—celestial prize,<br />Pellucid as porphyry +cell—<br />Is based on a principle wise.”<br />“Quite +so,” exclaimed POND and MORELL.</p> +<p>“From what I have said you will see<br />That I couldn’t +wed either—in fine,<br />By Nature’s unchanging decree<br /><i>Your</i> +daughters could never be <i>mine.</i></p> +<p>“Go home to your pigs and your ricks,<br />My hands of the +matter I’ve rinsed.”<br />So they take up their hats and +their sticks, .<br />And <i>exeunt ambo</i>, convinced.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Ghost, The Gallant, The Gael, And The Goblin</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>O’er unreclaimed suburban clays<br />Some years ago were hobblin’<br />An +elderly ghost of easy ways,<br />And an influential goblin.<br />The +ghost was a sombre spectral shape,<br />A fine old five-act fogy,<br />The +goblin imp, a lithe young ape,<br />A fine low-comedy bogy.</p> +<p>And as they exercised their joints,<br />Promoting quick digestion,<br />They +talked on several curious points,<br />And raised this delicate question:<br />“Which +of us two is Number One—<br />The ghostie, or the goblin?”<br />And +o’er the point they raised in fun<br />They fairly fell a-squabblin’.</p> +<p>They’d barely speak, and each, in fine,<br />Grew more and +more reflective:<br />Each thought his own particular line<br />By chalks +the more effective.<br />At length they settled some one should<br />By +each of them be haunted,<br />And so arrange that either could<br />Exert +his prowess vaunted.</p> +<p>“The Quaint against the Statuesque”—<br />By competition +lawful—<br />The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque,<br />The +ghost the Grandly Awful.<br />“Now,” said the goblin, “here’s +my plan—<br />In attitude commanding,<br />I see a stalwart Englishman<br />By +yonder tailor’s standing.</p> +<p>“The very fittest man on earth<br />My influence to try on—<br />Of +gentle, p’r’aps of noble birth,<br />And dauntless as a +lion!<br />Now wrap yourself within your shroud—<br />Remain in +easy hearing—<br />Observe—you’ll hear him scream +aloud<br />When I begin appearing!</p> +<p>The imp with yell unearthly—wild—<br />Threw off his +dark enclosure:<br />His dauntless victim looked and smiled<br />With +singular composure.<br />For hours he tried to daunt the youth,<br />For +days, indeed, but vainly—<br />The stripling smiled!—to +tell the truth,<br />The stripling smiled inanely.</p> +<p>For weeks the goblin weird and wild,<br />That noble stripling haunted;<br />For +weeks the stripling stood and smiled,<br />Unmoved and all undaunted.<br />The +sombre ghost exclaimed, “Your plan<br />Has failed you, goblin, +plainly:<br />Now watch yon hardy Hieland man,<br />So stalwart and +ungainly.</p> +<p>“These are the men who chase the roe,<br />Whose footsteps +never falter,<br />Who bring with them, where’er they go,<br />A +smack of old SIR WALTER.<br />Of such as he, the men sublime<br />Who +lead their troops victorious,<br />Whose deeds go down to after-time,<br />Enshrined +in annals glorious!</p> +<p>“Of such as he the bard has said<br />‘Hech thrawfu’ +raltie rorkie!<br />Wi’ thecht ta’ croonie clapperhead<br />And +fash’ wi’ unco pawkie!’<br />He’ll faint away +when I appear,<br />Upon his native heather;<br />Or p’r’aps +he’ll only scream with fear,<br />Or p’r’aps the two +together.”</p> +<p>The spectre showed himself, alone,<br />To do his ghostly battling,<br />With +curdling groan and dismal moan,<br />And lots of chains a-rattling!<br />But +no—the chiel’s stout Gaelic stuff<br />Withstood all ghostly +harrying;<br />His fingers closed upon the snuff<br />Which upwards +he was carrying.</p> +<p>For days that ghost declined to stir,<br />A foggy shapeless giant—<br />For +weeks that splendid officer<br />Stared back again defiant.<br />Just +as the Englishman returned<br />The goblin’s vulgar staring,<br />Just +so the Scotchman boldly spurned<br />The ghost’s unmannered scaring.</p> +<p>For several years the ghostly twain<br />These Britons bold have +haunted,<br />But all their efforts are in vain—<br />Their victims +stand undaunted.<br />This very day the imp, and ghost,<br />Whose powers +the imp derided,<br />Stand each at his allotted post—<br />The +bet is undecided.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Phantom Curate. A Fable</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A BISHOP once—I will not name his see—<br />Annoyed his +clergy in the mode conventional;<br />From pulpit shackles never set +them free,<br />And found a sin where sin was unintentional.<br />All +pleasures ended in abuse auricular—<br />The Bishop was so terribly +particular.</p> +<p>Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man,<br />He sought to make +of human pleasures clearances;<br />And form his priests on that much-lauded +plan<br />Which pays undue attention to appearances.<br />He couldn’t +do good deeds without a psalm in ’em,<br />Although, in truth, +he bore away the palm in ’em.</p> +<p>Enraged to find a deacon at a dance,<br />Or catch a curate at some +mild frivolity,<br />He sought by open censure to enhance<br />Their +dread of joining harmless social jollity.<br />Yet he enjoyed (a fact +of notoriety)<br />The ordinary pleasures of society.</p> +<p>One evening, sitting at a pantomime<br />(Forbidden treat to those +who stood in fear of him),<br />Roaring at jokes, <i>sans</i> metre, +sense, or rhyme,<br />He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him,<br />His +peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it,<br />A curate, also heartily +enjoying it.</p> +<p>Again, ’t was Christmas Eve, and to enhance<br />His children’s +pleasure in their harmless rollicking,<br />He, like a good old fellow, +stood to dance;<br />When something checked the current of his frolicking:<br />That +curate, with a maid he treated lover-ly,<br />Stood up and figured with +him in the “Coverley!”</p> +<p>Once, yielding to an universal choice<br />(The company’s demand +was an emphatic one,<br />For the old Bishop had a glorious voice),<br />In +a quartet he joined—an operatic one.<br />Harmless enough, though +ne’er a word of grace in it,<br />When, lo! that curate came and +took the bass in it!</p> +<p>One day, when passing through a quiet street,<br />He stopped awhile +and joined a Punch’s gathering;<br />And chuckled more than solemn +folk think meet,<br />To see that gentleman his Judy lathering;<br />And +heard, as Punch was being treated penalty,<br />That phantom curate +laughing all hyaenally.</p> +<p>Now at a picnic, ’mid fair golden curls,<br />Bright eyes, +straw hats, <i>bottines</i> that fit amazingly,<br />A croquêt-bout +is planned by all the girls;<br />And he, consenting, speaks of croquêt +praisingly;<br />But suddenly declines to play at all in it—<br />The +curate fiend has come to take a ball in it!</p> +<p>Next, when at quiet sea-side village, freed<br />From cares episcopal +and ties monarchical,<br />He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant +weed,<br />In manner anything but hierarchical—<br />He sees—and +fixes an unearthly stare on it—<br />That curate’s face, +with half a yard of hair on it!</p> +<p>At length he gave a charge, and spake this word:<br />“Vicars, +your curates to enjoyment urge ye may;<br />To check their harmless +pleasuring’s absurd;<br />What laymen do without reproach, my +clergy may.”<br />He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of +him,<br />The curate vanished—no one since has heard of him.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Sensation Captain</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>No nobler captain ever trod<br />Than CAPTAIN PARKLEBURY TODD,<br />So +good—so wise—so brave, he!<br />But still, as all his friends +would own,<br />He had one folly—one alone—<br />This Captain +in the Navy.</p> +<p>I do not think I ever knew<br />A man so wholly given to<br />Creating +a sensation,<br />Or p’raps I should in justice say—<br />To +what in an Adelphi play<br />Is known as “situation.”</p> +<p>He passed his time designing traps<br />To flurry unsuspicious chaps—<br />The +taste was his innately;<br />He couldn’t walk into a room<br />Without +ejaculating “Boom!”<br />Which startled ladies greatly.</p> +<p>He’d wear a mask and muffling cloak,<br />Not, you will understand, +in joke,<br />As some assume disguises;<br />He did it, actuated by<br />A +simple love of mystery<br />And fondness for surprises.</p> +<p>I need not say he loved a maid—<br />His eloquence threw into +shade<br />All others who adored her.<br />The maid, though pleased +at first, I know,<br />Found, after several years or so,<br />Her startling +lover bored her.</p> +<p>So, when his orders came to sail,<br />She did not faint or scream +or wail,<br />Or with her tears anoint him:<br />She shook his hand, +and said “Good-bye,”<br />With laughter dancing in her eye—<br />Which +seemed to disappoint him.</p> +<p>But ere he went aboard his boat,<br />He placed around her little +throat<br />A ribbon, blue and yellow,<br />On which he hung a double-tooth—<br />A +simple token this, in sooth—<br />’Twas all he had, poor +fellow!</p> +<p>“I often wonder,” he would say,<br />When very, very +far away,<br />“If ANGELINA wears it?<br />A plan has entered +in my head:<br />I will pretend that I am dead,<br />And see how ANGY +bears it.”</p> +<p>The news he made a messmate tell.<br />His ANGELINA bore it well,<br />No +sign gave she of crazing;<br />But, steady as the Inchcape Rock,<br />His +ANGELINA stood the shock<br />With fortitude amazing.</p> +<p>She said, “Some one I must elect<br />Poor ANGELINA to protect<br />From +all who wish to harm her.<br />Since worthy CAPTAIN TODD is dead,<br />I +rather feel inclined to wed<br />A comfortable farmer.”</p> +<p>A comfortable farmer came<br />(BASSANIO TYLER was his name),<br />Who +had no end of treasure.<br />He said, “My noble gal, be mine!”<br />The +noble gal did not decline,<br />But simply said, “With pleasure.”</p> +<p>When this was told to CAPTAIN TODD,<br />At first he thought it rather +odd,<br />And felt some perturbation;<br />But very long he did not +grieve,<br />He thought he could a way perceive<br />To <i>such</i> +a situation!</p> +<p>“I’ll not reveal myself,” said he,<br />“Till +they are both in the Ecclesiastical arena;<br />Then suddenly I will +appear,<br />And paralysing them with fear,<br />Demand my ANGELINA!”</p> +<p>At length arrived the wedding day;<br />Accoutred in the usual way<br />Appeared +the bridal body;<br />The worthy clergyman began,<br />When in the gallant +Captain ran<br />And cried, “Behold your TODDY!”</p> +<p>The bridegroom, p’raps, was terrified,<br />And also possibly +the bride—<br />The bridesmaids <i>were</i> affrighted;<br />But +ANGELINA, noble soul,<br />Contrived her feelings to control,<br />And +really seemed delighted.</p> +<p>“My bride!” said gallant CAPTAIN TODD,<br />“She’s +mine, uninteresting clod!<br />My own, my darling charmer!”<br />“Oh +dear,” said she, “you’re just too late—<br />I’m +married to, I beg to state,<br />This comfortable farmer!”</p> +<p>“Indeed,” the farmer said, “she’s mine:<br />You’ve +been and cut it far too fine!”<br />“I see,” said +TODD, “I’m beaten.”<br />And so he went to sea once +more,<br />“Sensation” he for aye forswore,<br />And married +on her native shore<br />A lady whom he’d met before—<br />A +lovely Otaheitan.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Tempora Mutantur</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Letters, letters, letters, letters!<br />Some that please and some +that bore,<br />Some that threaten prison fetters<br />(Metaphorically, +fetters<br />Such as bind insolvent debtors)—<br />Invitations +by the score.</p> +<p>One from COGSON, WILES, and RAILER,<br />My attorneys, off the Strand;<br />One +from COPPERBLOCK, my tailor—<br />My unreasonable tailor—<br />One +in FLAGG’S disgusting hand.</p> +<p>One from EPHRAIM and MOSES,<br />Wanting coin without a doubt,<br />I +should like to pull their noses—<br />Their uncompromising noses;<br />One +from ALICE with the roses—<br />Ah, I know what that’s about +!</p> +<p>Time was when I waited, waited<br />For the missives that she wrote,<br />Humble +postmen execrated—<br />Loudly, deeply execrated—<br />When +I heard I wasn’t fated<br />To be gladdened with a note!</p> +<p>Time was when I’d not have bartered<br />Of her little pen +a dip<br />For a peerage duly gartered—<br />For a peerage starred +and gartered—<br />With a palace-office chartered,<br />Or a Secretaryship.</p> +<p>But the time for that is over,<br />And I wish we’d never met.<br />I’m +afraid I’ve proved a rover—<br />I’m afraid a heartless +rover—<br />Quarters in a place like Dover<br />Tend to make a +man forget.</p> +<p>Bills for carriages and horses,<br />Bills for wine and light cigar,<br />Matters +that concern the Forces—<br />News that may affect the Forces—<br />News +affecting my resources,<br />Much more interesting are!</p> +<p>And the tiny little paper,<br />With the words that seem to run<br />From +her little fingers taper<br />(They are very small and taper),<br />By +the tailor and the draper<br />Are in interest outdone.</p> +<p>And unopened it’s remaining!<br />I can read her gentle hope—<br />Her +entreaties, uncomplaining<br />(She was always uncomplaining),<br />Her +devotion never waning—<br />Through the little envelope!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>At A Pantomime. By A Bilious One</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>An Actor sits in doubtful gloom,<br />His stock-in-trade unfurled,<br />In +a damp funereal dressing-room<br />In the Theatre Royal, World.</p> +<p>He comes to town at Christmas-time,<br />And braves its icy breath,<br />To +play in that favourite pantomime,<br /><i>Harlequin Life and Death.</i></p> +<p>A hoary flowing wig his weird<br />Unearthly cranium caps,<br />He +hangs a long benevolent beard<br />On a pair of empty chaps.</p> +<p>To smooth his ghastly features down<br />The actor’s art he +cribs,—<br />A long and a flowing padded gown.<br />Bedecks his +rattling ribs.</p> +<p>He cries, “Go on—begin, begin!<br />Turn on the light +of lime—<br />I’m dressed for jolly Old Christmas, in<br />A +favourite pantomime!”</p> +<p>The curtain’s up—the stage all black—<br />Time +and the year nigh sped—<br />Time as an advertising quack—<br />The +Old Year nearly dead.</p> +<p>The wand of Time is waved, and lo!<br />Revealed Old Christmas stands,<br />And +little children chuckle and crow,<br />And laugh and clap their hands.</p> +<p>The cruel old scoundrel brightens up<br />At the death of the Olden +Year,<br />And he waves a gorgeous golden cup,<br />And bids the world +good cheer.</p> +<p>The little ones hail the festive King,—<br />No thought can +make them sad.<br />Their laughter comes with a sounding ring,<br />They +clap and crow like mad!</p> +<p>They only see in the humbug old<br />A holiday every year,<br />And +handsome gifts, and joys untold,<br />And unaccustomed cheer.</p> +<p>The old ones, palsied, blear, and hoar,<br />Their breasts in anguish +beat—<br />They’ve seen him seventy times before,<br />How +well they know the cheat!</p> +<p>They’ve seen that ghastly pantomime,<br />They’ve felt +its blighting breath,<br />They know that rollicking Christmas-time<br />Meant +Cold and Want and Death,—</p> +<p>Starvation—Poor Law Union fare—<br />And deadly cramps +and chills,<br />And illness—illness everywhere,<br />And crime, +and Christmas bills.</p> +<p>They know Old Christmas well, I ween,<br />Those men of ripened age;<br />They’ve +often, often, often seen<br />That Actor off the stage!</p> +<p>They see in his gay rotundity<br />A clumsy stuffed-out dress—<br />They +see in the cup he waves on high<br />A tinselled emptiness.</p> +<p>Those aged men so lean and wan,<br />They’ve seen it all before,<br />They +know they’ll see the charlatan<br />But twice or three times more.</p> +<p>And so they bear with dance and song,<br />And crimson foil and green,<br />They +wearily sit, and grimly long<br />For the Transformation Scene.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>King Borria Bungalee Boo</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>KING BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO<br />Was a man-eating African swell;<br />His +sigh was a hullaballoo,<br />His whisper a horrible yell—<br />A +horrible, horrible yell!</p> +<p>Four subjects, and all of them male,<br />To BORRIA doubled the knee,<br />They +were once on a far larger scale,<br />But he’d eaten the balance, +you see<br />(“Scale” and “balance” is punning, +you see).</p> +<p>There was haughty PISH-TUSH-POOH-BAH,<br />There was lumbering DOODLE-DUM-DEY,<br />Despairing +ALACK-A-DEY-AH,<br />And good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH—<br />Exemplary +TOOTLE-TUM-TEH.</p> +<p>One day there was grief in the crew,<br />For they hadn’t a +morsel of meat,<br />And BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO<br />Was dying for something +to eat—<br />“Come, provide me with something to eat!</p> +<p>“ALACK-A-DEY, famished I feel;<br />Oh, good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH,<br />Where +on earth shall I look for a meal?<br />For I haven’t no dinner +to-day!—<br />Not a morsel of dinner to-day!</p> +<p>“Dear TOOTLE-TUM, what shall we do?<br />Come, get us a meal, +or, in truth,<br />If you don’t, we shall have to eat you,<br />Oh, +adorable friend of our youth!<br />Thou beloved little friend of our +youth!”</p> +<p>And he answered, “Oh, BUNGALEE BOO,<br />For a moment I hope +you will wait,—<br />TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO<br />Is the +Queen of a neighbouring state—<br />A remarkably neighbouring +state.</p> +<p>“TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO,<br />She would pickle deliciously +cold—<br />And her four pretty Amazons, too,<br />Are enticing, +and not very old—<br />Twenty-seven is not very old.</p> +<p>“There is neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH,<br />There is rollicking +TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH,<br />There is jocular WAGGETY-WEH,<br />There is musical +DOH-REH-MI-FAH—<br />There’s the nightingale DOH-REH-MI-FAH!”</p> +<p>So the forces of BUNGALEE BOO<br />Marched forth in a terrible row,<br />And +the ladies who fought for QUEEN LOO<br />Prepared to encounter the foe—<br />This +dreadful, insatiate foe!</p> +<p>But they sharpened no weapons at all,<br />And they poisoned no arrows—not +they!<br />They made ready to conquer or fall<br />In a totally different +way—<br />An entirely different way.</p> +<p>With a crimson and pearly-white dye<br />They endeavoured to make +themselves fair,<br />With black they encircled each eye,<br />And with +yellow they painted their hair<br />(It was wool, but they thought it +was hair).</p> +<p>And the forces they met in the field:-<br />And the men of KING BORRIA +said,<br />“Amazonians, immediately yield!”<br />And their +arrows they drew to the head—<br />Yes, drew them right up to +the head.</p> +<p>But jocular WAGGETY-WEH<br />Ogled DOODLE-DUM-DEY (which was wrong),<br />And +neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH<br />Said, “TOOTLE-TUM, you go along!<br />You +naughty old dear, go along!”</p> +<p>And rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH<br />Tapped ALACK-A-DEY-AH with her +fan;<br />And musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH<br />Said, “PISH, go away, +you bad man!<br />Go away, you delightful young man!”</p> +<p>And the Amazons simpered and sighed,<br />And they ogled, and giggled, +and flushed,<br />And they opened their pretty eyes wide,<br />And they +chuckled, and flirted, and blushed<br />(At least, if they could, they’d +have blushed).</p> +<p>But haughty PISH-TUSH-POOH-BAH<br />Said, “ALACK-A-DEY, what +does this mean?”<br />And despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH<br />Said, +“They think us uncommonly green!<br />Ha! ha! most uncommonly +green!”</p> +<p>Even blundering DOODLE-DUM-DEY<br />Was insensible quite to their +leers,<br />And said good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH,<br />“It’s +your blood we desire, pretty dears—<br />We have come for our +dinners, my dears!”</p> +<p>And the Queen of the Amazons fell<br />To BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO,—<br />In +a mouthful he gulped, with a yell,<br />TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO—<br />The +pretty QUEEN TOL-THE-ROL-LOO.</p> +<p>And neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH<br />Was eaten by PISH-POOH-BAH,<br />And +light-hearted WAGGETY-WEH<br />By dismal ALACK-A-DEY-AH—<br />Despairing +ALACK-A-DEY-AH.</p> +<p>And rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH<br />Was eaten by DOODLE-DUM-DEY,<br />And +musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH<br />By good little TOOTLE-DUM-TEH—<br />Exemplary +TOOTLE-TUM-TEH!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Periwinkle Girl</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I’ve often thought that headstrong youths<br />Of decent education,<br />Determine +all-important truths,<br />With strange precipitation.</p> +<p>The ever-ready victims they,<br />Of logical illusions,<br />And +in a self-assertive way<br />They jump at strange conclusions.</p> +<p>Now take my case: Ere sorrow could<br />My ample forehead wrinkle,<br />I +had determined that I should<br />Not care to be a winkle.</p> +<p>“A winkle,” I would oft advance<br />With readiness provoking,<br />“Can +seldom flirt, and never dance,<br />Or soothe his mind by smoking.”</p> +<p>In short, I spurned the shelly joy,<br />And spoke with strange decision—<br />Men +pointed to me as a boy<br />Who held them in derision.</p> +<p>But I was young—too young, by far—<br />Or I had been +more wary,<br />I knew not then that winkles are<br />The stock-in-trade +of MARY.</p> +<p>I had not watched her sunlight blithe<br />As o’er their shells +it dances—<br />I’ve seen those winkles almost writhe<br />Beneath +her beaming glances.</p> +<p>Of slighting all the winkly brood<br />I surely had been chary,<br />If +I had known they formed the food<br />And stock-in-trade of MARY.</p> +<p>Both high and low and great and small<br />Fell prostrate at her +tootsies,<br />They all were noblemen, and all<br />Had balances at +COUTTS’S.</p> +<p>Dukes with the lovely maiden dealt,<br />DUKE BAILEY and DUKE HUMPHY,<br />Who +ate her winkles till they felt<br />Exceedingly uncomfy.</p> +<p>DUKE BAILEY greatest wealth computes,<br />And sticks, they say, +at no-thing,<br />He wears a pair of golden boots<br />And silver underclothing.</p> +<p>DUKE HUMPHY, as I understand,<br />Though mentally acuter,<br />His +boots are only silver, and<br />His underclothing pewter.</p> +<p>A third adorer had the girl,<br />A man of lowly station—<br />A +miserable grov’ling Earl<br />Besought her approbation.</p> +<p>This humble cad she did refuse<br />With much contempt and loathing,<br />He +wore a pair of leather shoes<br />And cambric underclothing!</p> +<p>“Ha! ha!” she cried. “Upon my word!<br />Well, +really—come, I never!<br />Oh, go along, it’s too absurd!<br />My +goodness! Did you ever?</p> +<p>“Two Dukes would Mary make a bride,<br />And from her foes +defend her”—<br />“Well, not exactly that,” +they cried,<br />“We offer guilty splendour.</p> +<p>“We do not offer marriage rite,<br />So please dismiss the +notion!”<br />“Oh dear,” said she, “that alters +quite<br />The state of my emotion.”</p> +<p>The Earl he up and says, says he,<br />“Dismiss them to their +orgies,<br />For I am game to marry thee<br />Quite reg’lar at +St. George’s.”</p> +<p>(He’d had, it happily befell,<br />A decent education,<br />His +views would have befitted well<br />A far superior station.)</p> +<p>His sterling worth had worked a cure,<br />She never heard him grumble;<br />She +saw his soul was good and pure,<br />Although his rank was humble.</p> +<p>Her views of earldoms and their lot,<br />All underwent expansion—<br />Come, +Virtue in an earldom’s cot!<br />Go, Vice in ducal mansion!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Thomson Green And Harriet Hale</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(To be sung to the Air of “An ’Orrible Tale.”)</p> +<p>Oh list to this incredible tale<br />Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET +HALE;<br />Its truth in one remark you’ll sum—<br />“Twaddle +twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!”</p> +<p>Oh, THOMSON GREEN was an auctioneer,<br />And made three hundred +pounds a year;<br />And HARRIET HALE, most strange to say,<br />Gave +pianoforte lessons at a sovereign a day.</p> +<p>Oh, THOMSON GREEN, I may remark,<br />Met HARRIET HALE in Regent’s +Park,<br />Where he, in a casual kind of way,<br />Spoke of the extraordinary +beauty of the day.</p> +<p>They met again, and strange, though true,<br />He courted her for +a month or two,<br />Then to her pa he said, says he,<br />“Old +man, I love your daughter and your daughter worships me!”</p> +<p>Their names were regularly banned,<br />The wedding day was settled, +and<br />I’ve ascertained by dint of search<br />They were married +on the quiet at St. Mary Abbot’s Church.</p> +<p>Oh, list to this incredible tale<br />Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET +HALE,<br />Its truth in one remark you’ll sum—<br />“Twaddle +twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!”</p> +<p>That very self-same afternoon<br />They started on their honeymoon,<br />And +(oh, astonishment!) took flight<br />To a pretty little cottage close +to Shanklin, Isle of Wight.</p> +<p>But now—you’ll doubt my word, I know—<br />In a +month they both returned, and lo!<br />Astounding fact! this happy pair<br />Took +a gentlemanly residence in Canonbury Square!</p> +<p>They led a weird and reckless life,<br />They dined each day, this +man and wife<br />(Pray disbelieve it, if you please),<br />On a joint +of meat, a pudding, and a little bit of cheese.</p> +<p>In time came those maternal joys<br />Which take the form of girls +or boys,<br />And strange to say of each they’d one—<br />A +tiddy-iddy daughter, and a tiddy-iddy son!</p> +<p>Oh, list to this incredible tale<br />Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET +HALE,<br />Its truth in one remark you’ll sum—<br />“Twaddle +twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!”</p> +<p>My name for truth is gone, I fear,<br />But, monstrous as it may +appear,<br />They let their drawing-room one day<br />To an eligible +person in the cotton-broking way.</p> +<p>Whenever THOMSON GREEN fell sick<br />His wife called in a doctor, +quick,<br />From whom some words like these would come—<br /><i>Fiat +mist. sumendum haustus</i>, in a <i>cochleyareum.</i></p> +<p>For thirty years this curious pair<br />Hung out in Canonbury Square,<br />And +somehow, wonderful to say,<br />They loved each other dearly in a quiet +sort of way.</p> +<p>Well, THOMSON GREEN fell ill and died;<br />For just a year his widow +cried,<br />And then her heart she gave away<br />To the eligible lodger +in the cotton-broking way.</p> +<p>Oh, list to this incredible tale<br />Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET +HALE,<br />Its truth in one remark you’ll sum—<br />“Twaddle +twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Bob Polter</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>BOB POLTER was a navvy, and<br />His hands were coarse, and dirty +too,<br />His homely face was rough and tanned,<br />His time of life +was thirty-two.</p> +<p>He lived among a working clan<br />(A wife he hadn’t got at +all),<br />A decent, steady, sober man—<br />No saint, however—not +at all.</p> +<p>He smoked, but in a modest way,<br />Because he thought he needed +it;<br />He drank a pot of beer a day,<br />And sometimes he exceeded +it.</p> +<p>At times he’d pass with other men<br />A loud convivial night +or two,<br />With, very likely, now and then,<br />On Saturdays, a fight +or two.</p> +<p>But still he was a sober soul,<br />A labour-never-shirking man,<br />Who +paid his way—upon the whole<br />A decent English working man.</p> +<p>One day, when at the Nelson’s Head<br />(For which he may be +blamed of you),<br />A holy man appeared, and said,<br />“Oh, +ROBERT, I’m ashamed of you.”</p> +<p>He laid his hand on ROBERT’S beer<br />Before he could drink +up any,<br />And on the floor, with sigh and tear,<br />He poured the +pot of “thruppenny.”</p> +<p>“Oh, ROBERT, at this very bar<br />A truth you’ll be +discovering,<br />A good and evil genius are<br />Around your noddle +hovering.</p> +<p>“They both are here to bid you shun<br />The other one’s +society,<br />For Total Abstinence is one,<br />The other, Inebriety.”</p> +<p>He waved his hand—a vapour came—<br />A wizard POLTER +reckoned him;<br />A bogy rose and called his name,<br />And with his +finger beckoned him.</p> +<p>The monster’s salient points to sum,—<br />His heavy +breath was portery:<br />His glowing nose suggested rum:<br />His eyes +were gin-and-<i>wor</i>tery.</p> +<p>His dress was torn—for dregs of ale<br />And slops of gin had +rusted it;<br />His pimpled face was wan and pale,<br />Where filth +had not encrusted it.</p> +<p>“Come, POLTER,” said the fiend, “begin,<br />And +keep the bowl a-flowing on—<br />A working man needs pints of +gin<br />To keep his clockwork going on.”</p> +<p>BOB shuddered: “Ah, you’ve made a miss<br />If you take +me for one of you:<br />You filthy beast, get out of this—<br />BOB +POLTER don’t wan’t none of you.”</p> +<p>The demon gave a drunken shriek,<br />And crept away in stealthiness,<br />And +lo! instead, a person sleek,<br />Who seemed to burst with healthiness.</p> +<p>“In me, as your adviser hints,<br />Of Abstinence you’ve +got a type—<br />Of MR. TWEEDIE’S pretty prints<br />I am +the happy prototype.</p> +<p>“If you abjure the social toast,<br />And pipes, and such frivolities,<br />You +possibly some day may boast<br />My prepossessing qualities!”</p> +<p>BOB rubbed his eyes, and made ’em blink:<br />“You almost +make me tremble, you!<br />If I abjure fermented drink,<br />Shall I, +indeed, resemble you?</p> +<p>“And will my whiskers curl so tight?<br />My cheeks grow smug +and muttony?<br />My face become so red and white?<br />My coat so blue +and buttony?</p> +<p>“Will trousers, such as yours, array<br />Extremities inferior?<br />Will +chubbiness assert its sway<br />All over my exterior?</p> +<p>“In this, my unenlightened state,<br />To work in heavy boots +I comes;<br />Will pumps henceforward decorate<br />My tiddle toddle +tootsicums?</p> +<p>“And shall I get so plump and fresh,<br />And look no longer +seedily?<br />My skin will henceforth fit my flesh<br />So tightly and +so TWEEDIE-ly?”</p> +<p>The phantom said, “You’ll have all this,<br />You’ll +know no kind of huffiness,<br />Your life will be one chubby bliss,<br />One +long unruffled puffiness!”</p> +<p>“Be off!” said irritated BOB.<br />“Why come you +here to bother one?<br />You pharisaical old snob,<br />You’re +wuss almost than t’other one!</p> +<p>“I takes my pipe—I takes my pot,<br />And drunk I’m +never seen to be:<br />I’m no teetotaller or sot,<br />And as +I am I mean to be!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Story Of Prince Agib</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Strike the concertina’s melancholy string!<br />Blow the spirit-stirring +harp like anything!<br />Let the piano’s martial blast<br />Rouse +the Echoes of the Past,<br />For of AGIB, PRINCE OF TARTARY, I sing!</p> +<p>Of AGIB, who, amid Tartaric scenes,<br />Wrote a lot of ballet music +in his teens:<br />His gentle spirit rolls<br />In the melody of souls—<br />Which +is pretty, but I don’t know what it means.</p> +<p>Of AGIB, who could readily, at sight,<br />Strum a march upon the +loud Theodolite.<br />He would diligently play<br />On the Zoetrope +all day,<br />And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night.</p> +<p>One winter—I am shaky in my dates—<br />Came two starving +Tartar minstrels to his gates;<br />Oh, ALLAH be obeyed,<br />How infernally +they played!<br />I remember that they called themselves the “Oüaits.”</p> +<p>Oh! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage,<br />I shall carry to the +Catacombs of Age,<br />Photographically lined<br />On the tablet of +my mind,<br />When a yesterday has faded from its page!</p> +<p>Alas! PRINCE AGIB went and asked them in;<br />Gave them beer, and +eggs, and sweets, and scent, and tin.<br />And when (as snobs would +say)<br />They had “put it all away,”<br />He requested +them to tune up and begin.</p> +<p>Though its icy horror chill you to the core,<br />I will tell you +what I never told before,—<br />The consequences true<br />Of +that awful interview,<br /><i>For I listened at the keyhole in the door</i>!</p> +<p>They played him a sonata—let me see!<br />“<i>Medulla +oblongata</i>”—key of G.<br />Then they began to sing<br />That +extremely lovely thing,<br /><i>Scherzando! ma non troppo</i>, <i>ppp</i>.”</p> +<p>He gave them money, more than they could count,<br />Scent from a +most ingenious little fount,<br />More beer, in little kegs,<br />Many +dozen hard-boiled eggs,<br />And goodies to a fabulous amount.</p> +<p>Now follows the dim horror of my tale,<br />And I feel I’m +growing gradually pale,<br />For, even at this day,<br />Though its +sting has passed away,<br />When I venture to remember it, I quail!</p> +<p>The elder of the brothers gave a squeal,<br />All-overish it made +me for to feel;<br />“Oh, PRINCE,” he says, says he,<br />“<i>If +a Prince indeed you be</i>,<br />I’ve a mystery I’m going +to reveal!</p> +<p>“Oh, listen, if you’d shun a horrid death,<br />To what +the gent who’s speaking to you saith:<br />No ‘Oüaits’ +in truth are we,<br />As you fancy that we be,<br />For (ter-remble!) +I am ALECK—this is BETH!”</p> +<p>Said AGIB, “Oh! accursed of your kind,<br />I have heard that +ye are men of evil mind!”<br />BETH gave a dreadful shriek—<br />But +before he’d time to speak<br />I was mercilessly collared from +behind.</p> +<p>In number ten or twelve, or even more,<br />They fastened me full +length upon the floor.<br />On my face extended flat,<br />I was walloped +with a cat<br />For listening at the keyhole of a door.</p> +<p>Oh! the horror of that agonizing thrill!<br />(I can feel the place +in frosty weather still).<br />For a week from ten to four<br />I was +fastened to the floor,<br />While a mercenary wopped me with a will</p> +<p>They branded me and broke me on a wheel,<br />And they left me in +an hospital to heal;<br />And, upon my solemn word,<br />I have never +never heard<br />What those Tartars had determined to reveal.</p> +<p>But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage,<br />I shall carry to the +Catacombs of Age,<br />Photographically lined<br />On the tablet of +my mind,<br />When a yesterday has faded from its page</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ellen McJones Aberdeen</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS McCLAN<br />Was the son of an elderly +labouring man;<br />You’ve guessed him a Scotchman, shrewd reader, +at sight,<br />And p’r’aps altogether, shrewd reader, you’re +right.</p> +<p>From the bonnie blue Forth to the lovely Deeside,<br />Round by Dingwall +and Wrath to the mouth of the Clyde,<br />There wasn’t a child +or a woman or man<br />Who could pipe with CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS McCLAN.</p> +<p>No other could wake such detestable groans,<br />With reed and with +chaunter—with bag and with drones:<br />All day and ill night +he delighted the chiels<br />With sniggering pibrochs and jiggety reels.</p> +<p>He’d clamber a mountain and squat on the ground,<br />And the +neighbouring maidens would gather around<br />To list to the pipes and +to gaze in his een,<br />Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN.</p> +<p>All loved their McCLAN, save a Sassenach brute,<br />Who came to +the Highlands to fish and to shoot;<br />He dressed himself up in a +Highlander way,<br />Tho’ his name it was PATTISON CORBY TORBAY.</p> +<p>TORBAY had incurred a good deal of expense<br />To make him a Scotchman +in every sense;<br />But this is a matter, you’ll readily own,<br />That +isn’t a question of tailors alone.</p> +<p>A Sassenach chief may be bonily built,<br />He may purchase a sporran, +a bonnet, and kilt;<br />Stick a skeän in his hose—wear an +acre of stripes—<br />But he cannot assume an affection for pipes.</p> +<p>CLONGLOCKETY’S pipings all night and all day<br />Quite frenzied +poor PATTISON CORBY TORBAY;<br />The girls were amused at his singular +spleen,<br />Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN,</p> +<p>“MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS, my lad,<br />With pibrochs +and reels you are driving me mad.<br />If you really must play on that +cursed affair,<br />My goodness! play something resembling an air.”</p> +<p>Boiled over the blood of MACPHAIRSON McCLAN—<br />The Clan +of Clonglocketty rose as one man;<br />For all were enraged at the insult, +I ween—<br />Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN.</p> +<p>“Let’s show,” said McCLAN, “to this Sassenach +loon<br />That the bagpipes <i>can</i> play him a regular tune.<br />Let’s +see,” said McCLAN, as he thoughtfully sat,<br />“’<i>In +my Cottage</i>’ is easy—I’ll practise at that.”</p> +<p>He blew at his “Cottage,” and blew with a will,<br />For +a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until<br />(You’ll hardly +believe it) McCLAN, I declare,<br />Elicited something resembling an +air.</p> +<p>It was wild—it was fitful—as wild as the breeze—<br />It +wandered about into several keys;<br />It was jerky, spasmodic, and +harsh, I’m aware;<br />But still it distinctly suggested an air.</p> +<p>The Sassenach screamed, and the Sassenach danced;<br />He shrieked +in his agony—bellowed and pranced;<br />And the maidens who gathered +rejoiced at the scene—<br />Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN.</p> +<p>“Hech gather, hech gather, hech gather around;<br />And fill +a’ ye lugs wi’ the exquisite sound.<br />An air fra’ +the bagpipes—beat that if ye can!<br />Hurrah for CLONGLOCKETTY +ANGUS McCLAN!”</p> +<p>The fame of his piping spread over the land:<br />Respectable widows +proposed for his hand,<br />And maidens came flocking to sit on the +green—<br />Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN.</p> +<p>One morning the fidgety Sassenach swore<br />He’d stand it +no longer—he drew his claymore,<br />And (this was, I think, in +extremely bad taste)<br />Divided CLONGLOCKETTY close to the waist.</p> +<p>Oh! loud were the wailings for ANGUS McCLAN,<br />Oh! deep was the +grief for that excellent man;<br />The maids stood aghast at the horrible +scene—<br />Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN.</p> +<p>It sorrowed poor PATTISON CORBY TORBAY<br />To find them “take +on” in this serious way;<br />He pitied the poor little fluttering +birds,<br />And solaced their souls with the following words:</p> +<p>“Oh, maidens,” said PATTISON, touching his hat,<br />“Don’t +blubber, my dears, for a fellow like that;<br />Observe, I’m a +very superior man,<br />A much better fellow than ANGUS McCLAN.”</p> +<p>They smiled when he winked and addressed them as “dears,”<br />And +they all of them vowed, as they dried up their tears,<br />A pleasanter +gentleman never was seen—<br />Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Peter The Wag</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Policeman PETER forth I drag<br />From his obscure retreat:<br />He +was a merry genial wag,<br />Who loved a mad conceit.<br />If he were +asked the time of day,<br />By country bumpkins green,<br />He not unfrequently +would say,<br />“A quarter past thirteen.”</p> +<p>If ever you by word of mouth<br />Inquired of MISTER FORTH<br />The +way to somewhere in the South,<br />He always sent you North.<br />With +little boys his beat along<br />He loved to stop and play;<br />He loved +to send old ladies wrong,<br />And teach their feet to stray.</p> +<p>He would in frolic moments, when<br />Such mischief bent upon,<br />Take +Bishops up as betting men—<br />Bid Ministers move on.<br />Then +all the worthy boys he knew<br />He regularly licked,<br />And always +collared people who<br />Had had their pockets picked.</p> +<p>He was not naturally bad,<br />Or viciously inclined,<br />But from +his early youth he had<br />A waggish turn of mind.<br />The Men of +London grimly scowled<br />With indignation wild;<br />The Men of London +gruffly growled,<br />But PETER calmly smiled.</p> +<p>Against this minion of the Crown<br />The swelling murmurs grew—<br />From +Camberwell to Kentish Town—<br />From Rotherhithe to Kew.<br />Still +humoured he his wagsome turn,<br />And fed in various ways<br />The +coward rage that dared to burn,<br />But did not dare to blaze.</p> +<p>Still, Retribution has her day,<br />Although her flight is slow:<br /><i>One +day that Crusher lost his way<br />Near Poland Street</i>, <i>Soho.<br /></i>The +haughty boy, too proud to ask,<br />To find his way resolved,<br />And +in the tangle of his task<br />Got more and more involved.</p> +<p>The Men of London, overjoyed,<br />Came there to jeer their foe,<br />And +flocking crowds completely cloyed<br />The mazes of Soho.<br />The news +on telegraphic wires<br />Sped swiftly o’er the lea,<br />Excursion +trains from distant shires<br />Brought myriads to see.</p> +<p>For weeks he trod his self-made beats<br />Through Newport- Gerrard- +Bear-<br />Greek- Rupert- Frith- Dean- Poland- Streets,<br />And into +Golden Square.<br />But all, alas! in vain, for when<br />He tried to +learn the way<br />Of little boys or grown-up men,<br />They none of +them would say.</p> +<p>Their eyes would flash—their teeth would grind—<br />Their +lips would tightly curl—<br />They’d say, “Thy way +thyself must find,<br />Thou misdirecting churl!”<br />And, similarly, +also, when<br />He tried a foreign friend;<br />Italians answered, “<i>Il +balen</i>”—<br />The French, “No comprehend.”</p> +<p>The Russ would say with gleaming eye<br />“ Sevastopol!” +and groan.<br />The Greek said, Τυπτω, τυπτομαι,<br />Τυπτω, +τυπτειν, τυπτων.”<br />To +wander thus for many a year<br />That Crusher never ceased—<br />The +Men of London dropped a tear,<br />Their anger was appeased</p> +<p>At length exploring gangs were sent<br />To find poor FORTH’S +remains—<br />A handsome grant by Parliament<br />Was voted for +their pains.<br />To seek the poor policeman out<br />Bold spirits volunteered,<br />And +when they swore they’d solve the doubt,<br />The Men of London +cheered.</p> +<p>And in a yard, dark, dank, and drear,<br />They found him, on the +floor—<br />It leads from Richmond Buildings—near<br />The +Royalty stage-door.<br />With brandy cold and brandy hot<br />They plied +him, starved and wet,<br />And made him sergeant on the spot—<br />The +Men of London’s pet!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ben Allah Achmet;—Or, The Fatal Tum</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I once did know a Turkish man<br />Whom I upon a two-pair-back met,<br />His +name it was EFFENDI KHAN<br />BACKSHEESH PASHA BEN ALLAH ACHMET.</p> +<p>A DOCTOR BROWN I also knew—<br />I’ve often eaten of +his bounty;<br />The Turk and he they lived at Hooe,<br />In Sussex, +that delightful county!</p> +<p>I knew a nice young lady there,<br />Her name was EMILY MACPHERSON,<br />And +though she wore another’s hair,<br />She was an interesting person.</p> +<p>The Turk adored the maid of Hooe<br />(Although his harem would have +shocked her).<br />But BROWN adored that maiden too:<br />He was a most +seductive doctor.</p> +<p>They’d follow her where’er she’d go—<br />A +course of action most improper;<br />She neither knew by sight, and +so<br />For neither of them cared a copper.</p> +<p>BROWN did not know that Turkish male,<br />He might have been his +sainted mother:<br />The people in this simple tale<br />Are total strangers +to each other.</p> +<p>One day that Turk he sickened sore,<br />And suffered agonies oppressive;<br />He +threw himself upon the floor<br />And rolled about in pain excessive.</p> +<p>It made him moan, it made him groan,<br />And almost wore him to +a mummy.<br />Why should I hesitate to own<br />That pain was in his +little tummy?</p> +<p>At length a doctor came, and rung<br />(As ALLAH ACHMET had desired),<br />Who +felt his pulse, looked up his tongue,<br />And hemmed and hawed, and +then inquired:</p> +<p>“Where is the pain that long has preyed<br />Upon you in so +sad a way, sir?”<br />The Turk he giggled, blushed, and said:<br />I +don’t exactly like to say, sir.”</p> +<p>“Come, nonsense!” said good DOCTOR BROWN.<br />“So +this is Turkish coyness, is it?<br />You must contrive to fight it down—<br />Come, +come, sir, please to be explicit.”</p> +<p>The Turk he shyly bit his thumb,<br />And coyly blushed like one +half-witted,<br />“The pain is in my little tum,”<br />He, +whispering, at length admitted.</p> +<p>“Then take you this, and take you that—<br />Your blood +flows sluggish in its channel—<br />You must get rid of all this +fat,<br />And wear my medicated flannel.</p> +<p>“You’ll send for me when you’re in need—<br />My +name is BROWN—your life I’ve saved it.”<br />“My +rival!” shrieked the invalid,<br />And drew a mighty sword and +waved it:</p> +<p>“This to thy weazand, Christian pest!”<br />Aloud the +Turk in frenzy yelled it,<br />And drove right through the doctor’s +chest<br />The sabre and the hand that held it.</p> +<p>The blow was a decisive one,<br />And DOCTOR BROWN grew deadly pasty,<br />“Now +see the mischief that you’ve done—<br />You Turks are so +extremely hasty.</p> +<p>“There are two DOCTOR BROWNS in Hooe—<br /><i>He’s</i> +short and stout, <i>I’m</i> tall and wizen;<br />You’ve +been and run the wrong one through,<br />That’s how the error +has arisen.”</p> +<p>The accident was thus explained,<br />Apologies were only heard now:<br />“At +my mistake I’m really pained—<br />I am, indeed—upon +my word now.</p> +<p>“With me, sir, you shall be interred,<br />A mausoleum grand +awaits me.”<br />“Oh, pray don’t say another word,<br />I’m +sure that more than compensates me.</p> +<p>“But p’r’aps, kind Turk, you’re full inside?”<br />“There’s +room,” said he, “for any number.”<br />And so they +laid them down and died.<br />In proud Stamboul they sleep their slumber,</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>The Three Kings Of Chickeraboo</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There were three niggers of Chickeraboo—<br />PACIFICO, BANG-BANG, +POPCHOP—who<br />Exclaimed, one terribly sultry day,<br />“Oh, +let’s be kings in a humble way.”</p> +<p>The first was a highly-accomplished “bones,”<br />The +next elicited banjo tones,<br />The third was a quiet, retiring chap,<br />Who +danced an excellent break-down “flap.”</p> +<p>“We niggers,” said they, “have formed a plan<br />By +which, whenever we like, we can<br />Extemporise kingdoms near the beach,<br />And +then we’ll collar a kingdom each.</p> +<p>“Three casks, from somebody else’s stores,<br />Shall +represent our island shores,<br />Their sides the ocean wide shall lave,<br />Their +heads just topping the briny wave.</p> +<p>“Great Britain’s navy scours the sea,<br />And everywhere +her ships they be;<br />She’ll recognise our rank, perhaps,<br />When +she discovers we’re Royal Chaps.</p> +<p>“If to her skirts you want to cling,<br />It’s quite +sufficient that you’re a king;<br />She does not push inquiry +far<br />To learn what sort of king you are.”</p> +<p>A ship of several thousand tons,<br />And mounting seventy-something +guns,<br />Ploughed, every year, the ocean blue,<br />Discovering kings +and countries new.</p> +<p>The brave REAR-ADMIRAL BAILEY PIP,<br />Commanding that magnificent +ship,<br />Perceived one day, his glasses through,<br />The kings that +came from Chickeraboo.</p> +<p>“Dear eyes!” said ADMIRAL PIP, “I see<br />Three +flourishing islands on our lee.<br />And, bless me! most remarkable +thing!<br />On every island stands a king!</p> +<p>“Come, lower the Admiral’s gig,” he cried,<br />“And +over the dancing waves I’ll glide;<br />That low obeisance I may +do<br />To those three kings of Chickeraboo!”</p> +<p>The Admiral pulled to the islands three;<br />The kings saluted him +gracious<i>lee</i>.<br />The Admiral, pleased at his welcome warm,<br />Unrolled +a printed Alliance form.</p> +<p>“Your Majesty, sign me this, I pray—<br />I come in a +friendly kind of way—<br />I come, if you please, with the best +intents,<br />And QUEEN VICTORIA’S compliments.”</p> +<p>The kings were pleased as they well could be;<br />The most retiring +of the three,<br />In a “cellar-flap” to his joy gave vent<br />With +a banjo-bones accompaniment.</p> +<p>The great REAR-ADMIRAL BAILEY PIP<br />Embarked on board his jolly +big ship,<br />Blue Peter flew from his lofty fore,<br />And off he +sailed to his native shore.</p> +<p>ADMIRAL PIP directly went<br />To the Lord at the head of the Government,<br />Who +made him, by a stroke of a quill,<br />BARON DE PIPPE, OF PIPPETONNEVILLE.</p> +<p>The College of Heralds permission yield<br />That he should quarter +upon his shield<br />Three islands, <i>vert</i>, on a field of blue,<br />With +the pregnant motto “Chickeraboo.”</p> +<p>Ambassadors, yes, and attachés, too,<br />Are going to sail +for Chickeraboo.<br />And, see, on the good ship’s crowded deck,<br />A +bishop, who’s going out there on spec.</p> +<p>And let us all hope that blissful things<br />May come of alliance +with darky kings,<br />And, may we never, whatever we do,<br />Declare +a war with Chickeraboo!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Joe Golightly—Or, The First Lord’s Daughter</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A tar, but poorly prized,<br />Long, shambling, and unsightly,<br />Thrashed, +bullied, and despised,<br />Was wretched JOE GOLIGHTLY.</p> +<p>He bore a workhouse brand;<br />No Pa or Ma had claimed him,<br />The +Beadle found him, and<br />The Board of Guardians named him.</p> +<p>P’r’aps some Princess’s son—<br />A beggar +p’r’aps his mother.<br /><i>He</i> rather thought the one,<br />I +rather think the other.</p> +<p>He liked his ship at sea,<br />He loved the salt sea-water,<br />He +worshipped junk, and he<br />Adored the First Lord’s daughter.</p> +<p>The First Lord’s daughter, proud,<br />Snubbed Earls and Viscounts +nightly;<br />She sneered at Barts. aloud,<br />And spurned poor Joe +Golightly.</p> +<p>Whene’er he sailed afar<br />Upon a Channel cruise, he<br />Unpacked +his light guitar<br />And sang this ballad (Boosey):</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Ballad</p> +<p>The moon is on the sea,<br />Willow!<br />The wind blows towards +the lee,<br />Willow!<br />But though I sigh and sob and cry,<br />No +Lady Jane for me,<br />Willow!</p> +<p>She says, “’Twere folly quite,<br />Willow!<br />For +me to wed a wight,<br />Willow!<br />Whose lot is cast before the mast”;<br />And +possibly she’s right,<br />Willow!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>His skipper (CAPTAIN JOYCE),<br />He gave him many a rating,<br />And +almost lost his voice<br />From thus expostulating:</p> +<p>“Lay aft, you lubber, do!<br />What’s come to that young +man, JOE?<br />Belay!—’vast heaving! you!<br />Do kindly +stop that banjo!</p> +<p>“I wish, I do—O lor’!—<br />You’d shipped +aboard a trader:<br /><i>Are</i> you a sailor or<br />A negro serenader?”</p> +<p>But still the stricken lad,<br />Aloft or on his pillow,<br />Howled +forth in accents sad<br />His aggravating “Willow!”</p> +<p>Stern love of duty bad<br />Been JOYCE’S chiefest beauty;<br />Says +he, “I love that lad,<br />But duty, damme! duty!</p> +<p>“Twelve months’ black-hole, I say,<br />Where daylight +never flashes;<br />And always twice a day<br />A good six dozen lashes!”</p> +<p>But JOSEPH had a mate,<br />A sailor stout and lusty,<br />A man +of low estate,<br />But singularly trusty.</p> +<p>Says he, “Cheer hup, young JOE!<br />I’ll tell you what +I’m arter—<br />To that Fust Lord I’ll go<br />And +ax him for his darter.</p> +<p>“To that Fust Lord I’ll go<br />And say you love her +dearly.”<br />And JOE said (weeping low),<br />“I wish you +would, sincerely!”</p> +<p>That sailor to that Lord<br />Went, soon as he had landed,<br />And +of his own accord<br />An interview demanded.</p> +<p>Says he, with seaman’s roll,<br />“My Captain (wot’s +a Tartar)<br />Guv JOE twelve months’ black-hole,<br />For lovering +your darter.</p> +<p>“He loves MISS LADY JANE<br />(I own she is his betters),<br />But +if you’ll jine them twain,<br />They’ll free him from his +fetters.</p> +<p>“And if so be as how<br />You’ll let her come aboard +ship,<br />I’ll take her with me now.”<br />“Get out!” +remarked his Lordship.</p> +<p>That honest tar repaired<br />To JOE upon the billow,<br />And told +him how he’d fared.<br />JOE only whispered, “Willow!”</p> +<p>And for that dreadful crime<br />(Young sailors, learn to shun it)<br />He’s +working out his time;<br />In six months he’ll have done it.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>To The Terrestrial Globe. By A Miserable Wretch</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Roll on, thou ball, roll on!<br />Through pathless realms of Space<br />Roll +on!<br />What though I’m in a sorry case?<br />What though I cannot +meet my bills?<br />What though I suffer toothache’s ills?<br />What +though I swallow countless pills?<br />Never <i>you</i> mind!<br />Roll +on!</p> +<p>Roll on, thou ball, roll on!<br />Through seas of inky air<br />Roll +on!<br />It’s true I’ve got no shirts to wear;<br />It’s +true my butcher’s bill is due;<br />It’s true my prospects +all look blue—<br />But don’t let that unsettle you!<br />Never +<i>you</i> mind!<br />Roll on!</p> +<p>[<i>It rolls on</i>.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Gentle Alice Brown</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It was a robber’s daughter, and her name was ALICE BROWN,<br />Her +father was the terror of a small Italian town;<br />Her mother was a +foolish, weak, but amiable old thing;<br />But it isn’t of her +parents that I’m going for to sing.</p> +<p>As ALICE was a-sitting at her window-sill one day,<br />A beautiful +young gentleman he chanced to pass that way;<br />She cast her eyes +upon him, and he looked so good and true,<br />That she thought, “I +could be happy with a gentleman like you!”</p> +<p>And every morning passed her house that cream of gentlemen,<br />She +knew she might expect him at a quarter unto ten;<br />A sorter in the +Custom-house, it was his daily road<br />(The Custom-house was fifteen +minutes’ walk from her abode).</p> +<p>But ALICE was a pious girl, who knew it wasn’t wise<br />To +look at strange young sorters with expressive purple eyes;<br />So she +sought the village priest to whom her family confessed,<br />The priest +by whom their little sins were carefully assessed.</p> +<p>“Oh, holy father,” ALICE said, “’t would +grieve you, would it not,<br />To discover that I was a most disreputable +lot?<br />Of all unhappy sinners I’m the most unhappy one!”<br />The +padre said, “Whatever have you been and gone and done?”</p> +<p>“I have helped mamma to steal a little kiddy from its dad,<br />I’ve +assisted dear papa in cutting up a little lad,<br />I’ve planned +a little burglary and forged a little cheque,<br />And slain a little +baby for the coral on its neck!”</p> +<p>The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a silent tear,<br />And +said, “You mustn’t judge yourself too heavily, my dear:<br />It’s +wrong to murder babies, little corals for to fleece;<br />But sins like +these one expiates at half-a-crown apiece.</p> +<p>“Girls will be girls—you’re very young, and flighty +in your mind;<br />Old heads upon young shoulders we must not expect +to find:<br />We mustn’t be too hard upon these little girlish +tricks—<br />Let’s see—five crimes at half-a-crown—exactly +twelve-and-six.”</p> +<p>“Oh, father,” little Alice cried, “your kindness +makes me weep,<br />You do these little things for me so singularly +cheap—<br />Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget;<br />But, +oh! there is another crime I haven’t mentioned yet!</p> +<p>“A pleasant-looking gentleman, with pretty purple eyes,<br />I’ve +noticed at my window, as I’ve sat a-catching flies;<br />He passes +by it every day as certain as can be—<br />I blush to say I’ve +winked at him, and he has winked at me!”</p> +<p>“For shame!” said FATHER PAUL, “my erring daughter! +On my word<br />This is the most distressing news that I have ever heard.<br />Why, +naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged your hand<br />To a promising +young robber, the lieutenant of his band!</p> +<p>“This dreadful piece of news will pain your worthy parents +so!<br />They are the most remunerative customers I know;<br />For many +many years they’ve kept starvation from my doors:<br />I never +knew so criminal a family as yours!</p> +<p>“The common country folk in this insipid neighbourhood<br />Have +nothing to confess, they’re so ridiculously good;<br />And if +you marry any one respectable at all,<br />Why, you’ll reform, +and what will then become of FATHER PAUL?”</p> +<p>The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon his crown,<br />And +started off in haste to tell the news to ROBBER BROWN—<br />To +tell him how his daughter, who was now for marriage fit,<br />Had winked +upon a sorter, who reciprocated it.</p> +<p>Good ROBBER BROWN he muffled up his anger pretty well:<br />He said, +“I have a notion, and that notion I will tell;<br />I will nab +this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits,<br />And get my gentle +wife to chop him into little bits.</p> +<p>“I’ve studied human nature, and I know a thing or two:<br />Though +a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do—<br />A feeling +of disgust upon her senses there will fall<br />When she looks upon +his body chopped particularly small.”</p> +<p>He traced that gallant sorter to a still suburban square;<br />He +watched his opportunity, and seized him unaware;<br />He took a life-preserver +and he hit him on the head,<br />And MRS. BROWN dissected him before +she went to bed.</p> +<p>And pretty little ALICE grew more settled in her mind,<br />She never +more was guilty of a weakness of the kind,<br />Until at length good +ROBBER BROWN bestowed her pretty hand<br />On the promising young robber, +the lieutenant of his band.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE BAB BALLADS ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named 2babb10h.htm or 2babb10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, 2babb11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 2babb10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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