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diff --git a/931-h/931-h.htm b/931-h/931-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2ffff8 --- /dev/null +++ b/931-h/931-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5235 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Bab Ballads, by W. 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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