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Title: More Bab Ballads
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<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h1>MORE BAB BALLADS</h1>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
<p>Contents:</p>
<p>Mister William<br />The Bumboat Woman’s Story<br />The Two
Ogres<br />Little Oliver<br />Pasha Bailey Ben<br />Lieutenant-Colonel
Flare<br />Lost Mr. Blake<br />The Baby’s Vengeance<br />The Captain
And The Mermaids<br />Annie Protheroe. A Legend of Stratford-Le-Bow<br />An
Unfortunate Likeness<br />Gregory Parable, LL.D.<br />The King Of Canoodle-Dum<br />First
Love<br />Brave Alum Bey<br />Sir Barnaby Bampton Boo<br />The Modest
Couple<br />The Martinet<br />The Sailor Boy To His Lass<br />The Reverend
Simon Magus<br />Damon v. Pythias<br />My Dream<br />The Bishop Of Rum-Ti-Foo
Again<br />A Worm Will Turn<br />The Haughty Actor<br />The Two Majors<br />Emily,
John, James, And I. A Derby Legend<br />The Perils Of Invisibility<br />Old
Paul And Old Tim<br />The Mystic Selvagee<br />The Cunning Woman<br />Phrenology<br />The
Fairy Curate<br />The Way Of Wooing<br />Hongree And Mahry. A
Recollection Of A Surrey Melodrama<br />Etiquette</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Mister William</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Oh, listen to the tale of MISTER WILLIAM, if you please,<br />Whom
naughty, naughty judges sent away beyond the seas.<br />He forged a
party’s will, which caused anxiety and strife,<br />Resulting
in his getting penal servitude for life.</p>
<p>He was a kindly goodly man, and naturally prone,<br />Instead of
taking others’ gold, to give away his own.<br />But he had heard
of Vice, and longed for only once to strike—<br />To plan <i>one</i>
little wickedness—to see what it was like.</p>
<p>He argued with himself, and said, “A spotless man am I;<br />I
can’t be more respectable, however hard I try!<br />For six and
thirty years I’ve always been as good as gold,<br />And now for
half an hour I’ll plan infamy untold!</p>
<p>“A baby who is wicked at the early age of one,<br />And then
reforms—and dies at thirty-six a spotless son,<br />Is never,
never saddled with his babyhood’s defect,<br />But earns from
worthy men consideration and respect.</p>
<p>“So one who never revelled in discreditable tricks<br />Until
he reached the comfortable age of thirty-six,<br />May then for half
an hour perpetrate a deed of shame,<br />Without incurring permanent
disgrace, or even blame.</p>
<p>“That babies don’t commit such crimes as forgery is true,<br />But
little sins develop, if you leave ’em to accrue;<br />And he who
shuns all vices as successive seasons roll,<br />Should reap at length
the benefit of so much self-control.</p>
<p>“The common sin of babyhood—objecting to be drest—<br />If
you leave it to accumulate at compound interest,<br />For anything you
know, may represent, if you’re alive,<br />A burglary or murder
at the age of thirty-five.</p>
<p>“Still, I wouldn’t take advantage of this fact, but be
content<br />With some pardonable folly—it’s a mere experiment.<br />The
greater the temptation to go wrong, the less the sin;<br />So with something
that’s particularly tempting I’ll begin.</p>
<p>“I would not steal a penny, for my income’s very fair—<br />I
do not want a penny—I have pennies and to spare—<br />And
if I stole a penny from a money-bag or till,<br />The sin would be enormous—the
temptation being <i>nil</i>.</p>
<p>“But if I broke asunder all such pettifogging bounds,<br />And
forged a party’s Will for (say) Five Hundred Thousand Pounds,<br />With
such an irresistible temptation to a haul,<br />Of course the sin must
be infinitesimally small.</p>
<p>“There’s WILSON who is dying—he has wealth from
Stock and rent—<br />If I divert his riches from their natural
descent,<br />I’m placed in a position to indulge each little
whim.”<br />So he diverted them—and they, in turn, diverted
him.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, though, by some unpardonable flaw,<br />Temptation
isn’t recognized by Britain’s Common Law;<br />Men found
him out by some peculiarity of touch,<br />And WILLIAM got a “lifer,”
which annoyed him very much.</p>
<p>For, ah! he never reconciled himself to life in gaol,<br />He fretted
and he pined, and grew dispirited and pale;<br />He was numbered like
a cabman, too, which told upon him so<br />That his spirits, once so
buoyant, grew uncomfortably low.</p>
<p>And sympathetic gaolers would remark, “It’s very true,<br />He
ain’t been brought up common, like the likes of me and you.”<br />So
they took him into hospital, and gave him mutton chops,<br />And chocolate,
and arrowroot, and buns, and malt and hops.</p>
<p>Kind Clergymen, besides, grew interested in his fate,<br />Affected
by the details of his pitiable state.<br />They waited on the Secretary,
somewhere in Whitehall,<br />Who said he would receive them any day
they liked to call.</p>
<p>“Consider, sir, the hardship of this interesting case:<br />A
prison life brings with it something very like disgrace;<br />It’s
telling on young WILLIAM, who’s reduced to skin and bone—<br />Remember
he’s a gentleman, with money of his own.</p>
<p>“He had an ample income, and of course he stands in need<br />Of
sherry with his dinner, and his customary weed;<br />No delicacies now
can pass his gentlemanly lips—<br />He misses his sea-bathing
and his continental trips.</p>
<p>“He says the other prisoners are commonplace and rude;<br />He
says he cannot relish uncongenial prison food.<br />When quite a boy
they taught him to distinguish Good from Bad,<br />And other educational
advantages he’s had.</p>
<p>“A burglar or garotter, or, indeed, a common thief<br />Is
very glad to batten on potatoes and on beef,<br />Or anything, in short,
that prison kitchens can afford,—<br />A cut above the diet in
a common workhouse ward.</p>
<p>“But beef and mutton-broth don’t seem to suit our WILLIAM’S
whim,<br />A boon to other prisoners—a punishment to him.<br />It
never was intended that the discipline of gaol<br />Should dash a convict’s
spirits, sir, or make him thin or pale.”</p>
<p>“Good Gracious Me!” that sympathetic Secretary cried,<br />“Suppose
in prison fetters MISTER WILLIAM should have died!<br />Dear me, of
course! Imprisonment for <i>Life</i> his sentence saith:<br />I’m
very glad you mentioned it—it might have been For Death!</p>
<p>“Release him with a ticket—he’ll be better then,
no doubt,<br />And tell him I apologize.” So MISTER WILLIAM’S
out.<br />I hope he will be careful in his manuscripts, I’m sure,<br />And
not begin experimentalizing any more.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Bumboat Woman’s Story</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>I’m old, my dears, and shrivelled with age, and work, and grief,<br />My
eyes are gone, and my teeth have been drawn by Time, the Thief!<br />For
terrible sights I’ve seen, and dangers great I’ve run—<br />I’m
nearly seventy now, and my work is almost done!</p>
<p>Ah! I’ve been young in my time, and I’ve played
the deuce with men!<br />I’m speaking of ten years past—I
was barely sixty then:<br />My cheeks were mellow and soft, and my eyes
were large and sweet,<br />POLL PINEAPPLE’S eyes were the standing
toast of the Royal Fleet!</p>
<p>A bumboat woman was I, and I faithfully served the ships<br />With
apples and cakes, and fowls, and beer, and halfpenny dips,<br />And
beef for the generous mess, where the officers dine at nights,<br />And
fine fresh peppermint drops for the rollicking midshipmites.</p>
<p>Of all the kind commanders who anchored in Portsmouth Bay,<br />By
far the sweetest of all was kind LIEUTENANT BELAYE.’<br />LIEUTENANT
BELAYE commanded the gunboat <i>Hot Cross Bun,<br /></i>She was seven
and thirty feet in length, and she carried a gun.</p>
<p>With a laudable view of enhancing his country’s naval pride,<br />When
people inquired her size, LIEUTENANT BELAYE replied,<br />“Oh,
my ship, my ship is the first of the Hundred and Seventy-ones!”<br />Which
meant her tonnage, but people imagined it meant her guns.</p>
<p>Whenever I went on board he would beckon me down below,<br />“Come
down, Little Buttercup, come” (for he loved to call me so),<br />And
he’d tell of the fights at sea in which he’d taken a part,<br />And
so LIEUTENANT BELAYE won poor POLL PINEAPPLE’S heart!</p>
<p>But at length his orders came, and he said one day, said he,<br />“I’m
ordered to sail with the <i>Hot Cross Bun</i> to the German Sea.”<br />And
the Portsmouth maidens wept when they learnt the evil day,<br />For
every Portsmouth maid loved good LIEUTENANT BELAYE.</p>
<p>And I went to a back back street, with plenty of cheap cheap shops,<br />And
I bought an oilskin hat and a second-hand suit of slops,<br />And I
went to LIEUTENANT BELAYE (and he never suspected <i>me</i>!)<br />And
I entered myself as a chap as wanted to go to sea.</p>
<p>We sailed that afternoon at the mystic hour of one,—<br />Remarkably
nice young men were the crew of the <i>Hot Cross Bun,<br /></i>I’m
sorry to say that I’ve heard that sailors sometimes swear,<br />But
I never yet heard a <i>Bun</i> say anything wrong, I declare.</p>
<p>When Jack Tars meet, they meet with a “Messmate, ho!
What cheer?”<br />But here, on the <i>Hot Cross Bun</i>, it was
“How do you do, my dear?”<br />When Jack Tars growl, I believe
they growl with a big big D-<br />But the strongest oath of the <i>Hot
Cross Buns</i> was a mild “Dear me!”</p>
<p>Yet, though they were all well-bred, you could scarcely call them
slick:<br />Whenever a sea was on, they were all extremely sick;<br />And
whenever the weather was calm, and the wind was light and fair,<br />They
spent more time than a sailor should on his back back hair.</p>
<p>They certainly shivered and shook when ordered aloft to run,<br />And
they screamed when LIEUTENANT BELAYE discharged his only gun.<br />And
as he was proud of his gun—such pride is hardly wrong—<br />The
Lieutenant was blazing away at intervals all day long.</p>
<p>They all agreed very well, though at times you heard it said<br />That
BILL had a way of his own of making his lips look red—<br />That
JOE looked quite his age—or somebody might declare<br />That BARNACLE’S
long pig-tail was never his own own hair.</p>
<p>BELAYE would admit that his men were of no great use to him,<br />“But,
then,” he would say, “there is little to do on a gunboat
trim<br />I can hand, and reef, and steer, and fire my big gun too—<br />And
it <i>is</i> such a treat to sail with a gentle well-bred crew.”</p>
<p>I saw him every day. How the happy moments sped!<br />Reef
topsails! Make all taut! There’s dirty weather ahead!<br />(I
do not mean that tempests threatened the <i>Hot Cross Bun:<br /></i>In
<i>that</i> case, I don’t know whatever we <i>should</i> have
done!)</p>
<p>After a fortnight’s cruise, we put into port one day,<br />And
off on leave for a week went kind LIEUTENANT BELAYE,<br />And after
a long long week had passed (and it seemed like a life),<br />LIEUTENANT
BELAYE returned to his ship with a fair young wife!</p>
<p>He up, and he says, says he, “O crew of the <i>Hot Cross Bun</i>,<br />Here
is the wife of my heart, for the Church has made us one!”<br />And
as he uttered the word, the crew went out of their wits,<br />And all
fell down in so many separate fainting-fits.</p>
<p>And then their hair came down, or off, as the case might be,<br />And
lo! the rest of the crew were simple girls, like me,<br />Who all had
fled from their homes in a sailor’s blue array,<br />To follow
the shifting fate of kind LIEUTENANT BELAYE.</p>
<p>* * * * * * * *</p>
<p>It’s strange to think that <i>I</i> should ever have loved
young men,<br />But I’m speaking of ten years past—I was
barely sixty then,<br />And now my cheeks are furrowed with grief and
age, I trow!<br />And poor POLL PINEAPPLE’S eyes have lost their
lustre now!</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Two Ogres</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Good children, list, if you’re inclined,<br />And wicked children
too—<br />This pretty ballad is designed<br />Especially for you.</p>
<p>Two ogres dwelt in Wickham Wold—<br />Each <i>traits</i> distinctive
had:<br />The younger was as good as gold,<br />The elder was as bad.</p>
<p>A wicked, disobedient son<br />Was JAMES M’ALPINE, and<br />A
contrast to the elder one,<br />Good APPLEBODY BLAND.</p>
<p>M’ALPINE—brutes like him are few—<br />In greediness
delights,<br />A melancholy victim to<br />Unchastened appetites.</p>
<p>Good, well-bred children every day<br />He ravenously ate,—<br />All
boys were fish who found their way<br />Into M’ALPINE’S
net:</p>
<p>Boys whose good breeding is innate,<br />Whose sums are always right;<br />And
boys who don’t expostulate<br />When sent to bed at night;</p>
<p>And kindly boys who never search<br />The nests of birds of song;<br />And
serious boys for whom, in church,<br />No sermon is too long.</p>
<p>Contrast with JAMES’S greedy haste<br />And comprehensive hand,<br />The
nice discriminating taste<br />Of APPLEBODY BLAND.</p>
<p>BLAND only eats bad boys, who swear—<br />Who <i>can</i> behave,
but <i>don’t—<br /></i>Disgraceful lads who say “don’t
care,”<br />And “shan’t,” and “can’t,”
and “won’t.”</p>
<p>Who wet their shoes and learn to box,<br />And say what isn’t
true,<br />Who bite their nails and jam their frocks,<br />And make
long noses too;</p>
<p>Who kick a nurse’s aged shin,<br />And sit in sulky mopes;<br />And
boys who twirl poor kittens in<br />Distracting zoëtropes.</p>
<p>But JAMES, when he was quite a youth,<br />Had often been to school,<br />And
though so bad, to tell the truth,<br />He wasn’t quite a fool.</p>
<p>At logic few with him could vie;<br />To his peculiar sect<br />He
could propose a fallacy<br />With singular effect.</p>
<p>So, when his Mentors said, “Expound—<br />Why eat good
children—why?”<br />Upon his Mentors he would round<br />With
this absurd reply:</p>
<p>“I have been taught to love the good—<br />The pure—the
unalloyed—<br />And wicked boys, I’ve understood,<br />I
always should avoid.</p>
<p>“Why do I eat good children—why?<br />Because I love
them so!”<br />(But this was empty sophistry,<br />As your Papa
can show.)</p>
<p>Now, though the learning of his friends<br />Was truly not immense,<br />They
had a way of fitting ends<br />By rule of common sense.</p>
<p>“Away, away!” his Mentors cried,<br />“Thou uncongenial
pest!<br />A quirk’s a thing we can’t abide,<br />A quibble
we detest!</p>
<p>“A fallacy in your reply<br />Our intellect descries,<br />Although
we don’t pretend to spy<br />Exactly where it lies.</p>
<p>“In misery and penal woes<br />Must end a glutton’s joys;<br />And
learn how ogres punish those<br />Who dare to eat good boys.</p>
<p>“Secured by fetter, cramp, and chain,<br />And gagged securely—so—<br />You
shall be placed in Drury Lane,<br />Where only good lads go.</p>
<p>“Surrounded there by virtuous boys,<br />You’ll suffer
torture wus<br />Than that which constantly annoys<br />Disgraceful
TANTALUS.</p>
<p>(“If you would learn the woes that vex<br />Poor TANTALUS,
down there,<br />Pray borrow of Papa an ex-<br />Purgated LEMPRIERE.)</p>
<p>“But as for BLAND who, as it seems,<br />Eats only naughty
boys,<br />We’ve planned a recompense that teems<br />With gastronomic
joys.</p>
<p>“Where wicked youths in crowds are stowed<br />He shall unquestioned
rule,<br />And have the run of Hackney Road<br />Reformatory School!”</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Little Oliver</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>EARL JOYCE he was a kind old party<br />Whom nothing ever could put
out,<br />Though eighty-two, he still was hearty,<br />Excepting as
regarded gout.</p>
<p>He had one unexampled daughter,<br />The LADY MINNIE-HAHA JOYCE,<br />Fair
MINNIE-HAHA, “Laughing Water,”<br />So called from her melodious
voice.</p>
<p>By Nature planned for lover-capture,<br />Her beauty every heart
assailed;<br />The good old nobleman with rapture<br />Observed how
widely she prevailed</p>
<p>Aloof from all the lordly flockings<br />Of titled swells who worshipped
her,<br />There stood, in pumps and cotton stockings,<br />One humble
lover—OLIVER.</p>
<p>He was no peer by Fortune petted,<br />His name recalled no bygone
age;<br />He was no lordling coronetted—<br />Alas! he was a simple
page!</p>
<p>With vain appeals he never bored her,<br />But stood in silent sorrow
by—<br />He knew how fondly he adored her,<br />And knew, alas!
how hopelessly!</p>
<p>Well grounded by a village tutor<br />In languages alive and past,<br />He’d
say unto himself, “Knee-suitor,<br />Oh, do not go beyond your
last!”</p>
<p>But though his name could boast no handle,<br />He could not every
hope resign;<br />As moths will hover round a candle,<br />So hovered
he about her shrine.</p>
<p>The brilliant candle dazed the moth well:<br />One day she sang to
her Papa<br />The air that MARIE sings with BOTHWELL<br />In NEIDERMEYER’S
opera.</p>
<p>(Therein a stable boy, it’s stated,<br />Devoutly loved a noble
dame,<br />Who ardently reciprocated<br />His rather injudicious flame.)</p>
<p>And then, before the piano closing<br />(He listened coyly at the
door),<br />She sang a song of her composing—<br />I give one
verse from half a score:</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<p>BALLAD</p>
<p>Why, pretty page, art ever sighing?<br />Is sorrow in thy heartlet
lying?<br />Come, set a-ringing<br />Thy laugh entrancing,<br />And
ever singing<br />And ever dancing.<br />Ever singing, Tra! la! la!<br />Ever
dancing, Tra! la! la!<br />Ever singing, ever dancing,<br />Ever singing,
Tra! la! la!</p>
<p>He skipped for joy like little muttons,<br />He danced like Esmeralda’s
kid.<br />(She did not mean a boy in buttons,<br />Although he fancied
that she did.)</p>
<p>Poor lad! convinced he thus would win her,<br />He wore out many
pairs of soles;<br />He danced when taking down the dinner—<br />He
danced when bringing up the coals.</p>
<p>He danced and sang (however laden)<br />With his incessant “Tra!
la! la!”<br />Which much surprised the noble maiden,<br />And
puzzled even her Papa.</p>
<p>He nourished now his flame and fanned it,<br />He even danced at
work below.<br />The upper servants wouldn’t stand it,<br />And
BOWLES the butler told him so.</p>
<p>At length on impulse acting blindly,<br />His love he laid completely
bare;<br />The gentle Earl received him kindly<br />And told the lad
to take a chair.</p>
<p>“Oh, sir,” the suitor uttered sadly,<br />“Don’t
give your indignation vent;<br />I fear you think I’m acting madly,<br />Perhaps
you think me insolent?”</p>
<p>The kindly Earl repelled the notion;<br />His noble bosom heaved
a sigh,<br />His fingers trembled with emotion,<br />A tear stood in
his mild blue eye:</p>
<p>For, oh! the scene recalled too plainly<br />The half-forgotten time
when he,<br />A boy of nine, had worshipped vainly<br />A governess
of forty-three!</p>
<p>“My boy,” he said, in tone consoling,<br />“Give
up this idle fancy—do—<br />The song you heard my daughter
trolling<br />Did not, indeed, refer to you.</p>
<p>“I feel for you, poor boy, acutely;<br />I would not wish to
give you pain;<br />Your pangs I estimate minutely,—<br />I, too,
have loved, and loved in vain.</p>
<p>“But still your humble rank and station<br />For MINNIE surely
are not meet”—<br />He said much more in conversation<br />Which
it were needless to repeat.</p>
<p>Now I’m prepared to bet a guinea,<br />Were this a mere dramatic
case,<br />The page would have eloped with MINNIE,<br />But, no—he
only left his place.</p>
<p>The simple Truth is my detective,<br />With me Sensation can’t
abide;<br />The Likely beats the mere Effective,<br />And Nature is
my only guide.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Pasha Bailey Ben</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>A proud Pasha was BAILEY BEN,<br />His wives were three, his tails
were ten;<br />His form was dignified, but stout,<br />Men called him
“Little Roundabout.”</p>
<p><i>His Importance</i></p>
<p>Pale Pilgrims came from o’er the sea<br />To wait on PASHA
BAILEY B.,<br />All bearing presents in a crowd,<br />For B. was poor
as well as proud.</p>
<p><i>His Presents</i></p>
<p>They brought him onions strung on ropes,<br />And cold boiled beef,
and telescopes,<br />And balls of string, and shrimps, and guns,<br />And
chops, and tacks, and hats, and buns.</p>
<p><i>More of them</i></p>
<p>They brought him white kid gloves, and pails,<br />And candlesticks,
and potted quails,<br />And capstan-bars, and scales and weights,<br />And
ornaments for empty grates.</p>
<p><i>Why I mention these</i></p>
<p>My tale is not of these—oh no!<br />I only mention them to
show<br />The divers gifts that divers men<br />Brought o’er the
sea to BAILEY BEN.</p>
<p><i>His Confidant</i></p>
<p>A confidant had BAILEY B.,<br />A gay Mongolian dog was he;<br />I
am not good at Turkish names,<br />And so I call him SIMPLE JAMES.</p>
<p><i>His Confidant’s Countenance</i></p>
<p>A dreadful legend you might trace<br />In SIMPLE JAMES’S honest
face,<br />For there you read, in Nature’s print,<br />“A
Scoundrel of the Deepest Tint.”</p>
<p><i>His Character</i></p>
<p>A deed of blood, or fire, or flames,<br />Was meat and drink to SIMPLE
JAMES:<br />To hide his guilt he did not plan,<br />But owned himself
a bad young man.</p>
<p><i>The Author to his Reader</i></p>
<p>And why on earth good BAILEY BEN<br />(The wisest, noblest, best
of men)<br />Made SIMPLE JAMES his right-hand man<br />Is quite beyond
my mental span.</p>
<p><i>The same, continued</i></p>
<p>But there—enough of gruesome deeds!<br />My heart, in thinking
of them, bleeds;<br />And so let SIMPLE JAMES take wing,—<br />’Tis
not of him I’m going to sing.</p>
<p><i>The Pasha’s Clerk</i></p>
<p>Good PASHA BAILEY kept a clerk<br />(For BAILEY only made his mark),<br />His
name was MATTHEW WYCOMBE COO,<br />A man of nearly forty-two.</p>
<p><i>His Accomplishments</i></p>
<p>No person that I ever knew<br />Could “yödel” half
as well as COO,<br />And Highlanders exclaimed, “Eh, weel!”<br />When
COO began to dance a reel.</p>
<p><i>His Kindness to the Pasha’s Wives</i></p>
<p>He used to dance and sing and play<br />In such an unaffected way,<br />He
cheered the unexciting lives<br />Of PASHA BAILEY’S lovely wives.</p>
<p><i>The Author to his Reader</i></p>
<p>But why should I encumber you<br />With histories of MATTHEW COO?<br />Let
MATTHEW COO at once take wing,—<br />’Tis not of COO I’m
going to sing.</p>
<p><i>The Author’s Muse</i></p>
<p>Let me recall my wandering Muse;<br />She <i>shall</i> be steady
if I choose—<br />She roves, instead of helping me<br />To tell
the deeds of BAILEY B.</p>
<p><i>The Pasha’s Visitor</i></p>
<p>One morning knocked, at half-past eight,<br />A tall Red Indian at
his gate.<br />In Turkey, as you’re p’raps aware,<br />Red
Indians are extremely rare.</p>
<p><i>The Visitor’s Outfit</i></p>
<p>Mocassins decked his graceful legs,<br />His eyes were black, and
round as eggs,<br />And on his neck, instead of beads,<br />Hung several
Catawampous seeds.</p>
<p><i>What the Visitor said</i></p>
<p>“Ho, ho!” he said, “thou pale-faced one,<br />Poor
offspring of an Eastern sun,<br />You’ve <i>never</i> seen the
Red Man skip<br />Upon the banks of Mississip!”</p>
<p><i>The Author’s Moderation</i></p>
<p>To say that BAILEY oped his eyes<br />Would feebly paint his great
surprise—<br />To say it almost made him die<br />Would be to
paint it much too high.</p>
<p><i>The Author to his Reader</i></p>
<p>But why should I ransack my head<br />To tell you all that Indian
said;<br />We’ll let the Indian man take wing,—<br />’Tis
not of him I’m going to sing.</p>
<p><i>The Reader to the Author</i></p>
<p>Come, come, I say, that’s quite enough<br />Of this absurd
disjointed stuff;<br />Now let’s get on to that affair<br />About
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL FLARE.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Lieutenant-Colonel Flare</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>The earth has armies plenty,<br />And semi-warlike bands,<br />I
dare say there are twenty<br />In European lands;<br />But, oh! in no
direction<br />You’d find one to compare<br />In brotherly affection<br />With
that of COLONEL FLARE.</p>
<p>His soldiers might be rated<br />As military Pearls.<br />As unsophisticated<br />As
pretty little girls!<br />They never smoked or ratted,<br />Or talked
of Sues or Polls;<br />The Sergeant-Major tatted,<br />The others nursed
their dolls.</p>
<p>He spent his days in teaching<br />These truly solemn facts;<br />There’s
little use in preaching,<br />Or circulating tracts.<br />(The vainest
plan invented<br />For stifling other creeds,<br />Unless it’s
supplemented<br />With charitable <i>deeds</i>.)</p>
<p>He taught his soldiers kindly<br />To give at Hunger’s call:<br />“Oh,
better far give blindly,<br />Than never give at all!<br />Though sympathy
be kindled<br />By Imposition’s game,<br />Oh, better far be swindled<br />Than
smother up its flame!”</p>
<p>His means were far from ample<br />For pleasure or for dress,<br />Yet
note this bright example<br />Of single-heartedness:<br />Though ranking
as a Colonel,<br />His pay was but a groat,<br />While their reward
diurnal<br />Was—each a five-pound note.</p>
<p>Moreover,—this evinces<br />His kindness, you’ll allow,—<br />He
fed them all like princes,<br />And lived himself on cow.<br />He set
them all regaling<br />On curious wines, and dear,<br />While he would
sit pale-ale-ing,<br />Or quaffing ginger-beer.</p>
<p>Then at his instigation<br />(A pretty fancy this)<br />Their daily
pay and ration<br />He’d take in change for his;<br />They brought
it to him weekly,<br />And he without a groan,<br />Would take it from
them meekly<br />And give them all his own!</p>
<p>Though not exactly knighted<br />As knights, of course, should be,<br />Yet
no one so delighted<br />In harmless chivalry.<br />If peasant girl
or ladye<br />Beneath misfortunes sank,<br />Whate’er distinctions
made he,<br />They were not those of rank.</p>
<p>No maiden young and comely<br />Who wanted good advice<br />(However
poor or homely)<br />Need ask him for it twice.<br />He’d wipe
away the blindness<br />That comes of teary dew;<br />His sympathetic
kindness<br />No sort of limit knew.</p>
<p>He always hated dealing<br />With men who schemed or planned;<br />A
person harsh—unfeeling—<br />The Colonel could not stand.<br />He
hated cold, suspecting,<br />Official men in blue,<br />Who pass their
lives detecting<br />The crimes that others do.</p>
<p>For men who’d shoot a sparrow,<br />Or immolate a worm<br />Beneath
a farmer’s harrow,<br />He could not find a term.<br />Humanely,
ay, and knightly<br />He dealt with such an one;<br />He took and tied
him tightly,<br />And blew him from a gun.</p>
<p>The earth has armies plenty,<br />And semi-warlike bands,<br />I’m
certain there are twenty<br />In European lands;<br />But, oh! in no
direction<br />You’d find one to compare<br />In brotherly affection<br />With
that of COLONEL FLARE.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Lost Mr. Blake</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>MR. BLAKE was a regular out-and-out hardened sinner,<br />Who was
quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to speak,<br />He was in the
habit of smoking a long pipe and drinking a glass of grog on a Sunday
after dinner,<br />And seldom thought of going to church more than twice
or—if Good Friday or Christmas Day happened to come in it—three
times a week.</p>
<p>He was quite indifferent as to the particular kinds of dresses<br />That
the clergyman wore at church where he used to go to pray,<br />And whatever
he did in the way of relieving a chap’s distresses,<br />He always
did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, hole-and-corner sort of way.</p>
<p>I have known him indulge in profane, ungentlemanly emphatics,<br />When
the Protestant Church has been divided on the subject of the proper
width of a chasuble’s hem;<br />I have even known him to sneer
at albs—and as for dalmatics,<br />Words can’t convey an
idea of the contempt he expressed for <i>them.</i></p>
<p>He didn’t believe in persons who, not being well off themselves,
are obliged to confine their charitable exertions to collecting money
from wealthier people,<br />And looked upon individuals of the former
class as ecclesiastical hawks;<br />He used to say that he would no
more think of interfering with his priest’s robes than with his
church or his steeple,<br />And that he did not consider his soul imperilled
because somebody over whom he had no influence whatever, chose to dress
himself up like an exaggerated GUY FAWKES.</p>
<p>This shocking old vagabond was so unutterably shameless<br />That
he actually went a-courting a very respectable and pious middle-aged
sister, by the name of BIGGS.<br />She was a rather attractive widow,
whose life as such had always been particularly blameless;<br />Her
first husband had left her a secure but moderate competence, owing to
some fortunate speculations in the matter of figs.</p>
<p>She was an excellent person in every way—and won the respect
even of MRS. GRUNDY,<br />She was a good housewife, too, and wouldn’t
have wasted a penny if she had owned the Koh-i-noor.<br />She was just
as strict as he was lax in her observance of Sunday,<br />And being
a good economist, and charitable besides, she took all the bones and
cold potatoes and broken pie-crusts and candle-ends (when she had quite
done with them), and made them into an excellent soup for the deserving
poor.</p>
<p>I am sorry to say that she rather took to BLAKE—that outcast
of society,<br />And when respectable brothers who were fond of her
began to look dubious and to cough,<br />She would say, “Oh, my
friends, it’s because I hope to bring this poor benighted soul
back to virtue and propriety,<br />And besides, the poor benighted soul,
with all his faults, was uncommonly well off.</p>
<p>And when MR. BLAKE’S dissipated friends called his attention
to the frown or the pout of her,<br />Whenever he did anything which
appeared to her to savour of an unmentionable place,<br />He would say
that “she would be a very decent old girl when all that nonsense
was knocked out of her,”<br />And his method of knocking it out
of her is one that covered him with disgrace.</p>
<p>She was fond of going to church services four times every Sunday,
and, four or five times in the week, and never seemed to pall of them,<br />So
he hunted out all the churches within a convenient distance that had
services at different hours, so to speak;<br />And when he had married
her he positively insisted upon their going to all of them,<br />So
they contrived to do about twelve churches every Sunday, and, if they
had luck, from twenty-two to twenty-three in the course of the week.</p>
<p>She was fond of dropping his sovereigns ostentatiously into the plate,
and she liked to see them stand out rather conspicuously against the
commonplace half-crowns and shillings,<br />So he took her to all the
charity sermons, and if by any extraordinary chance there wasn’t
a charity sermon anywhere, he would drop a couple of sovereigns (one
for him and one for her) into the poor-box at the door;<br />And as
he always deducted the sums thus given in charity from the housekeeping
money, and the money he allowed her for her bonnets and frillings,<br />She
soon began to find that even charity, if you allow it to interfere with
your personal luxuries, becomes an intolerable bore.</p>
<p>On Sundays she was always melancholy and anything but good society,<br />For
that day in her household was a day of sighings and sobbings and wringing
of hands and shaking of heads:<br />She wouldn’t hear of a button
being sewn on a glove, because it was a work neither of necessity nor
of piety,<br />And strictly prohibited her servants from amusing themselves,
or indeed doing anything at all except dusting the drawing-rooms, cleaning
the boots and shoes, cooking the parlour dinner, waiting generally on
the family, and making the beds.<br />But BLAKE even went further than
that, and said that people should do their own works of necessity, and
not delegate them to persons in a menial situation,<br />So he wouldn’t
allow his servants to do so much as even answer a bell.<br />Here he
is making his wife carry up the water for her bath to the second floor,
much against her inclination,—<br />And why in the world the gentleman
who illustrates these ballads has put him in a cocked hat is more than
I can tell.</p>
<p>After about three months of this sort of thing, taking the smooth
with the rough of it,<br />(Blacking her own boots and peeling her own
potatoes was not her notion of connubial bliss),<br />MRS. BLAKE began
to find that she had pretty nearly had enough of it,<br />And came,
in course of time, to think that BLAKE’S own original line of
conduct wasn’t so much amiss.</p>
<p>And now that wicked person—that detestable sinner (“BELIAL
BLAKE” his friends and well-wishers call him for his atrocities),<br />And
his poor deluded victim, whom all her Christian brothers dislike and
pity so,<br />Go to the parish church only on Sunday morning and afternoon
and occasionally on a week-day, and spend their evenings in connubial
fondlings and affectionate reciprocities,<br />And I should like to
know where in the world (or rather, out of it) they expect to go!</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Baby’s Vengeance</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Weary at heart and extremely ill<br />Was PALEY VOLLAIRE of Bromptonville,<br />In
a dirty lodging, with fever down,<br />Close to the Polygon, Somers
Town.</p>
<p>PALEY VOLLAIRE was an only son<br />(For why? His mother had
had but one),<br />And PALEY inherited gold and grounds<br />Worth several
hundred thousand pounds.</p>
<p>But he, like many a rich young man,<br />Through this magnificent
fortune ran,<br />And nothing was left for his daily needs<br />But
duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds.</p>
<p>Shabby and sorry and sorely sick,<br />He slept, and dreamt that
the clock’s “tick, tick,”<br />Was one of the Fates,
with a long sharp knife,<br />Snicking off bits of his shortened life.</p>
<p>He woke and counted the pips on the walls,<br />The outdoor passengers’
loud footfalls,<br />And reckoned all over, and reckoned again,<br />The
little white tufts on his counterpane.</p>
<p>A medical man to his bedside came.<br />(I can’t remember that
doctor’s name),<br />And said, “You’ll die in a very
short while<br />If you don’t set sail for Madeira’s isle.”</p>
<p>“Go to Madeira? goodness me!<br />I haven’t the money
to pay your fee!”<br />“Then, PALEY VOLLAIRE,” said
the leech, “good bye;<br />I’ll come no more, for your’re
sure to die.”</p>
<p>He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast;<br />“Oh, send,”
said he, “for FREDERICK WEST,<br />Ere senses fade or my eyes
grow dim:<br />I’ve a terrible tale to whisper him!”</p>
<p>Poor was FREDERICK’S lot in life,—<br />A dustman he
with a fair young wife,<br />A worthy man with a hard-earned store,<br />A
hundred and seventy pounds—or more.</p>
<p>FREDERICK came, and he said, “Maybe<br />You’ll say what
you happened to want with me?”<br />“Wronged boy,”
said PALEY VOLLAIRE, “I will,<br />But don’t you fidget
yourself—sit still.”</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<p>THE TERRIBLE TALE.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<p>“’Tis now some thirty-seven years ago<br />Since first
began the plot that I’m revealing,<br />A fine young woman, whom
you ought to know,<br />Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing.<br />Herself
by means of mangling reimbursing,<br />And now and then (at intervals)
wet-nursing.</p>
<p>“Two little babes dwelt in their humble cot:<br />One was her
own—the other only lent to her:<br /><i>Her own she slighted</i>.
Tempted by a lot<br />Of gold and silver regularly sent to her,<br />She
ministered unto the little other<br />In the capacity of foster-mother.</p>
<p>“<i>I was her own</i>. Oh! how I lay and sobbed<br />In
my poor cradle—deeply, deeply cursing<br />The rich man’s
pampered bantling, who had robbed<br />My only birthright—an attentive
nursing!<br />Sometimes in hatred of my foster-brother,<br />I gnashed
my gums—which terrified my mother.</p>
<p>“One day—it was quite early in the week—<br />I
<i>in</i> MY <i>cradle having placed the bantling</i>—<br />Crept
into his! He had not learnt to speak,<br />But I could see his
face with anger mantling.<br />It was imprudent—well, disgraceful
maybe,<br />For, oh! I was a bad, blackhearted baby!</p>
<p>“So great a luxury was food, I think<br />No wickedness but
I was game to try for it.<br /><i>Now</i> if I wanted anything to drink<br />At
any time, I only had to cry for it!<br /><i>Once</i>, if I dared to
weep, the bottle lacking,<br />My blubbering involved a serious smacking!</p>
<p>“We grew up in the usual way—my friend,<br />My foster-brother,
daily growing thinner,<br />While gradually I began to mend,<br />And
thrived amazingly on double dinner.<br />And every one, besides my foster-mother,<br />Believed
that either of us was the other.</p>
<p>“I came into <i>his</i> wealth—I bore <i>his</i> name,<br />I
bear it still—<i>his</i> property I squandered—<br />I mortgaged
everything—and now (oh, shame!)<br />Into a Somers Town shake-down
I’ve wandered!<br />I am no PALEY—no, VOLLAIRE—it’s
true, my boy!<br />The only rightful PALEY V. is <i>you</i>, my boy!</p>
<p>“And all I have is yours—and yours is mine.<br />I still
may place you in your true position:<br />Give me the pounds you’ve
saved, and I’ll resign<br />My noble name, my rank, and my condition.<br />So
far my wickedness in falsely owning<br />Your vasty wealth, I am at
last atoning!”</p>
<p>* * * * * * *</p>
<p>FREDERICK he was a simple soul,<br />He pulled from his pocket a
bulky roll,<br />And gave to PALEY his hard-earned store,<br />A hundred
and seventy pounds or more.</p>
<p>PALEY VOLLAIRE, with many a groan,<br />Gave FREDERICK all that he
called his own,—<br />Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean,<br />A
Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.</p>
<p>And FRED (entitled to all things there)<br />He took the fever from
MR. VOLLAIRE,<br />Which killed poor FREDERICK WEST. Meanwhile<br />VOLLAIRE
sailed off to Madeira’s isle.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Captain And The Mermaids</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>I sing a legend of the sea,<br />So hard-a-port upon your lee!<br />A
ship on starboard tack!<br />She’s bound upon a private cruise—<br />(This
is the kind of spice I use<br />To give a salt-sea smack).</p>
<p>Behold, on every afternoon<br />(Save in a gale or strong Monsoon)<br />Great
CAPTAIN CAPEL CLEGGS<br />(Great morally, though rather short)<br />Sat
at an open weather-port<br />And aired his shapely legs.</p>
<p>And Mermaids hung around in flocks,<br />On cable chains and distant
rocks,<br />To gaze upon those limbs;<br />For legs like those, of flesh
and bone,<br />Are things “not generally known”<br />To
any Merman TIMBS.</p>
<p>But Mermen didn’t seem to care<br />Much time (as far as I’m
aware)<br />With CLEGGS’S legs to spend;<br />Though Mermaids
swam around all day<br />And gazed, exclaiming, “<i>That’s</i>
the way<br />A gentleman should end!</p>
<p>“A pair of legs with well-cut knees,<br />And calves and ankles
such as these<br />Which we in rapture hail,<br />Are far more eloquent,
it’s clear<br />(When clothed in silk and kerseymere),<br />Than
any nasty tail.”</p>
<p>And CLEGGS—a worthy kind old boy—<br />Rejoiced to add
to others’ joy,<br />And, when the day was dry,<br />Because it
pleased the lookers-on,<br />He sat from morn till night—though
con-<br />Stitutionally shy.</p>
<p>At first the Mermen laughed, “Pooh! pooh!”<br />But finally
they jealous grew,<br />And sounded loud recalls;<br />But vainly.
So these fishy males<br />Declared they too would clothe their tails<br />In
silken hose and smalls.</p>
<p>They set to work, these water-men,<br />And made their nether robes—but
when<br />They drew with dainty touch<br />The kerseymere upon their
tails,<br />They found it scraped against their scales,<br />And hurt
them very much.</p>
<p>The silk, besides, with which they chose<br />To deck their tails
by way of hose<br />(They never thought of shoon),<br />For such a use
was much too thin,—<br />It tore against the caudal fin,<br />And
“went in ladders” soon.</p>
<p>So they designed another plan:<br />They sent their most seductive
man<br />This note to him to show—<br />“Our Monarch sends
to CAPTAIN CLEGGS<br />His humble compliments, and begs<br />He’ll
join him down below;</p>
<p>“We’ve pleasant homes below the sea—<br />Besides,
if CAPTAIN CLEGGS should be<br />(As our advices say)<br />A judge of
Mermaids, he will find<br />Our lady-fish of every kind<br />Inspection
will repay.”</p>
<p>Good CAPEL sent a kind reply,<br />For CAPEL thought he could descry<br />An
admirable plan<br />To study all their ways and laws—<br />(But
not their lady-fish, because<br />He was a married man).</p>
<p>The Merman sank—the Captain too<br />Jumped overboard, and
dropped from view<br />Like stone from catapult;<br />And when he reached
the Merman’s lair,<br />He certainly was welcomed there,<br />But,
ah! with what result?</p>
<p>They didn’t let him learn their law,<br />Or make a note of
what he saw,<br />Or interesting mem.:<br />The lady-fish he couldn’t
find,<br />But that, of course, he didn’t mind—<br />He
didn’t come for them.</p>
<p>For though, when CAPTAIN CAPEL sank,<br />The Mermen drawn in double
rank<br />Gave him a hearty hail,<br />Yet when secure of CAPTAIN CLEGGS,<br />They
cut off both his lovely legs,<br />And gave him <i>such</i> a tail!</p>
<p>When CAPTAIN CLEGGS returned aboard,<br />His blithesome crew convulsive
roar’d,<br />To see him altered so.<br />The Admiralty did insist<br />That
he upon the Half-pay List<br />Immediately should go.</p>
<p>In vain declared the poor old salt,<br />“It’s my misfortune—not
my fault,”<br />With tear and trembling lip—<br />In vain
poor CAPEL begged and begged.<br />“A man must be completely legged<br />Who
rules a British ship.”</p>
<p>So spake the stern First Lord aloud—<br />He was a wag, though
very proud,<br />And much rejoiced to say,<br />“You’re
only half a captain now—<br />And so, my worthy friend, I vow<br />You’ll
only get half-pay!”</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Annie Protheroe. A Legend of Stratford-Le-Bow</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Oh! listen to the tale of little ANNIE PROTHEROE.<br />She kept a
small post-office in the neighbourhood of BOW;<br />She loved a skilled
mechanic, who was famous in his day—<br />A gentle executioner
whose name was GILBERT CLAY.</p>
<p>I think I hear you say, “A dreadful subject for your rhymes!”<br />O
reader, do not shrink—he didn’t live in modern times!<br />He
lived so long ago (the sketch will show it at a glance)<br />That all
his actions glitter with the lime-light of Romance.</p>
<p>In busy times he laboured at his gentle craft all day—<br />“No
doubt you mean his Cal-craft,” you amusingly will say—<br />But,
no—he didn’t operate with common bits of string,<br />He
was a Public Headsman, which is quite another thing.</p>
<p>And when his work was over, they would ramble o’er the lea,<br />And
sit beneath the frondage of an elderberry tree,<br />And ANNIE’S
simple prattle entertained him on his walk,<br />For public executions
formed the subject of her talk.</p>
<p>And sometimes he’d explain to her, which charmed her very much,<br />How
famous operators vary very much in touch,<br />And then, perhaps, he’d
show how he himself performed the trick,<br />And illustrate his meaning
with a poppy and a stick.</p>
<p>Or, if it rained, the little maid would stop at home, and look<br />At
his favourable notices, all pasted in a book,<br />And then her cheek
would flush—her swimming eyes would dance with joy<br />In a glow
of admiration at the prowess of her boy.</p>
<p>One summer eve, at supper-time, the gentle GILBERT said<br />(As
he helped his pretty ANNIE to a slice of collared head),<br />“This
reminds me I must settle on the next ensuing day<br />The hash of that
unmitigated villain PETER GRAY.”</p>
<p>He saw his ANNIE tremble and he saw his ANNIE start,<br />Her changing
colour trumpeted the flutter at her heart;<br />Young GILBERT’S
manly bosom rose and sank with jealous fear,<br />And he said, “O
gentle ANNIE, what’s the meaning of this here?”</p>
<p>And ANNIE answered, blushing in an interesting way,<br />“You
think, no doubt, I’m sighing for that felon PETER GRAY:<br />That
I was his young woman is unquestionably true,<br />But not since I began
a-keeping company with you.”</p>
<p>Then GILBERT, who was irritable, rose and loudly swore<br />He’d
know the reason why if she refused to tell him more;<br />And she answered
(all the woman in her flashing from her eyes)<br />“You mustn’t
ask no questions, and you won’t be told no lies!</p>
<p>“Few lovers have the privilege enjoyed, my dear, by you,<br />Of
chopping off a rival’s head and quartering him too!<br />Of vengeance,
dear, to-morrow you will surely take your fill!”<br />And GILBERT
ground his molars as he answered her, “I will!”</p>
<p>Young GILBERT rose from table with a stern determined look,<br />And,
frowning, took an inexpensive hatchet from its hook;<br />And ANNIE
watched his movements with an interested air—<br />For the morrow—for
the morrow he was going to prepare!</p>
<p>He chipped it with a hammer and he chopped it with a bill,<br />He
poured sulphuric acid on the edge of it, until<br />This terrible Avenger
of the Majesty of Law<br />Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated
saw.</p>
<p>And ANNIE said, “O GILBERT, dear, I do not understand<br />Why
ever you are injuring that hatchet in your hand?’<br />He said,
“It is intended for to lacerate and flay<br />The neck of that
unmitigated villain PETER GRAY!”</p>
<p>“Now, GILBERT,” ANNIE answered, “wicked headsman,
just beware—<br />I won’t have PETER tortured with that
horrible affair;<br />If you appear with that, you may depend you’ll
rue the day.”<br />But GILBERT said, “Oh, shall I?”
which was just his nasty way.</p>
<p>He saw a look of anger from her eyes distinctly dart,<br />For ANNIE
was a woman, and had pity in her heart!<br />She wished him a good evening—he
answered with a glare;<br />She only said, “Remember, for your
ANNIE will be there!”</p>
<p>* * * * * * * *</p>
<p>The morrow GILBERT boldly on the scaffold took his stand,<br />With
a vizor on his face and with a hatchet in his hand,<br />And all the
people noticed that the Engine of the Law<br />Was far less like a hatchet
than a dissipated saw.</p>
<p>The felon very coolly loosed his collar and his stock,<br />And placed
his wicked head upon the handy little block.<br />The hatchet was uplifted
for to settle PETER GRAY,<br />When GILBERT plainly heard a woman’s
voice exclaiming, “Stay!”</p>
<p>’Twas ANNIE, gentle ANNIE, as you’ll easily believe.<br />“O
GILBERT, you must spare him, for I bring him a reprieve,<br />It came
from our Home Secretary many weeks ago,<br />And passed through that
post-office which I used to keep at Bow.</p>
<p>“I loved you, loved you madly, and you know it, GILBERT CLAY,<br />And
as I’d quite surrendered all idea of PETER GRAY,<br />I quietly
suppressed it, as you’ll clearly understand,<br />For I thought
it might be awkward if he came and claimed my hand.</p>
<p>“In anger at my secret (which I could not tell before),<br />To
lacerate poor PETER GRAY vindictively you swore;<br />I told you if
you used that blunted axe you’d rue the day,<br />And so you will,
young GILBERT, for I’ll marry PETER GRAY!”</p>
<p>[<i>And so she did.</i></p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: An Unfortunate Likeness</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>I’ve painted SHAKESPEARE all my life—<br />“An
infant” (even then at “play”!)<br />“A boy,”
with stage-ambition rife,<br />Then “Married to ANN HATHAWAY.”</p>
<p>“The bard’s first ticket night” (or “ben.”),<br />His
“First appearance on the stage,”<br />His “Call before
the curtain”—then<br />“Rejoicings when he came of
age.”</p>
<p>The bard play-writing in his room,<br />The bard a humble lawyer’s
clerk.<br />The bard a lawyer <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a>—parson
<a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a>—groom <a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a>—<br />The
bard deer-stealing, after dark.</p>
<p>The bard a tradesman <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4">{4}</a>—and
a Jew <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a>—<br />The
bard a botanist <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6">{6}</a>—a
beak <a name="citation7"></a><a href="#footnote7">{7}</a>—<br />The
bard a skilled musician <a name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8">{8}</a>
too—<br />A sheriff <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9">{9}</a>
and a surgeon <a name="citation10"></a><a href="#footnote10">{10}</a>
eke!</p>
<p>Yet critics say (a friendly stock)<br />That, though it’s evident
I try,<br />Yet even <i>I</i> can barely mock<br />The glimmer of his
wondrous eye!</p>
<p>One morning as a work I framed,<br />There passed a person, walking
hard:<br />“My gracious goodness,” I exclaimed,<br />“How
very like my dear old bard!</p>
<p>“Oh, what a model he would make!”<br />I rushed outside—impulsive
me!—<br />“Forgive the liberty I take,<br />But you’re
so very”—“Stop!” said he.</p>
<p>“You needn’t waste your breath or time,—<br />I
know what you are going to say,—<br />That you’re an artist,
and that I’m<br />Remarkably like SHAKESPEARE. Eh?</p>
<p>“You wish that I would sit to you?”<br />I clasped him
madly round the waist,<br />And breathlessly replied, “I do!”<br />“All
right,” said he, “but please make haste.”</p>
<p>I led him by his hallowed sleeve,<br />And worked away at him apace,<br />I
painted him till dewy eve,—<br />There never was a nobler face!</p>
<p>“Oh, sir,” I said, “a fortune grand<br />Is yours,
by dint of merest chance,—<br />To sport <i>his</i> brow at second-hand,<br />To
wear <i>his</i> cast-off countenance!</p>
<p>“To rub <i>his</i> eyes whene’er they ache—<br />To
wear <i>his</i> baldness ere you’re old—<br />To clean <i>his</i>
teeth when you awake—<br />To blow <i>his</i> nose when you’ve
a cold!”</p>
<p>His eyeballs glistened in his eyes—<br />I sat and watched
and smoked my pipe;<br />“Bravo!” I said, “I recognize<br />The
phrensy of your prototype!”</p>
<p>His scanty hair he wildly tore:<br />“That’s right,”
said I, “it shows your breed.”<br />He danced—he stamped—he
wildly swore—<br />“Bless me, that’s very fine indeed!”</p>
<p>“Sir,” said the grand Shakesperian boy<br />(Continuing
to blaze away),<br />“You think my face a source of joy;<br />That
shows you know not what you say.</p>
<p>“Forgive these yells and cellar-flaps:<br />I’m always
thrown in some such state<br />When on his face well-meaning chaps<br />This
wretched man congratulate.</p>
<p>“For, oh! this face—this pointed chin—<br />This
nose—this brow—these eyeballs too,<br />Have always been
the origin<br />Of all the woes I ever knew!</p>
<p>“If to the play my way I find,<br />To see a grand Shakesperian
piece,<br />I have no rest, no ease of mind<br />Until the author’s
puppets cease.</p>
<p>“Men nudge each other—thus—and say,<br />‘This
certainly is SHAKESPEARE’S son,’<br />And merry wags (of
course in play)<br />Cry ‘Author!’ when the piece is done.</p>
<p>“In church the people stare at me,<br />Their soul the sermon
never binds;<br />I catch them looking round to see,<br />And thoughts
of SHAKESPEARE fill their minds.</p>
<p>“And sculptors, fraught with cunning wile,<br />Who find it
difficult to crown<br />A bust with BROWN’S insipid smile,<br />Or
TOMKINS’S unmannered frown,</p>
<p>“Yet boldly make my face their own,<br />When (oh, presumption!)
they require<br />To animate a paving-stone<br />With SHAKESPEARE’S
intellectual fire.</p>
<p>“At parties where young ladies gaze,<br />And I attempt to
speak my joy,<br />‘Hush, pray,’ some lovely creature says,<br />‘The
fond illusion don’t destroy!’</p>
<p>“Whene’er I speak, my soul is wrung<br />With these or
some such whisperings:<br />‘’Tis pity that a SHAKESPEARE’S
tongue<br />Should say such un-Shakesperian things!’</p>
<p>“I should not thus be criticised<br />Had I a face of common
wont:<br />Don’t envy me—now, be advised!”<br />And,
now I think of it, I don’t!</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Gregory Parable, LL.D.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>A leafy cot, where no dry rot<br />Had ever been by tenant seen,<br />Where
ivy clung and wopses stung,<br />Where beeses hummed and drummed and
strummed,<br />Where treeses grew and breezes blew—<br />A thatchy
roof, quite waterproof,<br />Where countless herds of dicky-birds<br />Built
twiggy beds to lay their heads<br />(My mother begs I’ll make
it “eggs,”<br />But though it’s true that dickies
do<br />Construct a nest with chirpy noise,<br />With view to rest their
eggy joys,<br />’Neath eavy sheds, yet eggs and beds,<br />As
I explain to her in vain<br />Five hundred times, are faulty rhymes).<br />’Neath
such a cot, built on a plot<br />Of freehold land, dwelt MARY and<br />Her
worthy father, named by me<br />GREGORY PARABLE, LL.D.</p>
<p>He knew no guile, this simple man,<br />No worldly wile, or plot,
or plan,<br />Except that plot of freehold land<br />That held the cot,
and MARY, and<br />Her worthy father, named by me<br />GREGORY PARABLE,
LL.D.</p>
<p>A grave and learned scholar he,<br />Yet simple as a child could
be.<br />He’d shirk his meal to sit and cram<br />A goodish deal
of Eton Gram.<br />No man alive could him nonplus<br />With vocative
of <i>filius</i>;<br />No man alive more fully knew<br />The passive
of a verb or two;<br />None better knew the worth than he<br />Of words
that end in <i>b, d, t.<br /></i>Upon his green in early spring<br />He
might be seen endeavouring<br />To understand the hooks and crooks<br />Of
HENRY and his Latin books;<br />Or calling for his “Caesar on<br />The
Gallic War,” like any don;<br />Or, p’raps, expounding unto
all<br />How mythic BALBUS built a wall.<br />So lived the sage who’s
named by me<br />GREGORY PARABLE, LL.D.</p>
<p>To him one autumn day there came<br />A lovely youth of mystic name:<br />He
took a lodging in the house,<br />And fell a-dodging snipe and grouse,<br />For,
oh! that mild scholastic one<br />Let shooting for a single gun.</p>
<p>By three or four, when sport was o’er,<br />The Mystic One
laid by his gun,<br />And made sheep’s eyes of giant size,<br />Till
after tea, at MARY P.<br />And MARY P. (so kind was she),<br />She,
too, made eyes of giant size,<br />Whose every dart right through the
heart<br />Appeared to run that Mystic One.<br />The Doctor’s
whim engrossing him,<br />He did not know they flirted so.<br />For,
save at tea, “<i>musa musae</i>,”<br />As I’m advised,
monopolised<br />And rendered blind his giant mind.<br />But looking
up above his cup<br />One afternoon, he saw them spoon.<br />“Aha!”
quoth he, “you naughty lass!<br />As quaint old OVID says, ‘Amas!’”</p>
<p>The Mystic Youth avowed the truth,<br />And, claiming ruth, he said,
“In sooth<br />I love your daughter, aged man:<br />Refuse to
join us if you can.<br />Treat not my offer, sir, with scorn,<br />I’m
wealthy though I’m lowly born.”<br />“Young sir,”
the aged scholar said,<br />“I never thought you meant to wed:<br />Engrossed
completely with my books,<br />I little noticed lovers’ looks.<br />I’ve
lived so long away from man,<br />I do not know of any plan<br />By
which to test a lover’s worth,<br />Except, perhaps, the test
of birth.<br />I’ve half forgotten in this wild<br />A father’s
duty to his child.<br />It is his place, I think it’s said,<br />To
see his daughters richly wed<br />To dignitaries of the earth—<br />If
possible, of noble birth.<br />If noble birth is not at hand,<br />A
father may, I understand<br />(And this affords a chance for you),<br />Be
satisfied to wed her to<br />A BOUCICAULT or BARING—which<br />Means
any one who’s very rich.<br />Now, there’s an Earl who lives
hard by,—<br />My child and I will go and try<br />If he will
make the maid his bride—<br />If not, to you she shall be tied.”</p>
<p>They sought the Earl that very day;<br />The Sage began to say his
say.<br />The Earl (a very wicked man,<br />Whose face bore Vice’s
blackest ban)<br />Cut short the scholar’s simple tale,<br />And
said in voice to make them quail,<br />“Pooh! go along! you’re
drunk, no doubt—<br />Here, PETERS, turn these people out!”</p>
<p>The Sage, rebuffed in mode uncouth,<br />Returning, met the Mystic
Youth.<br />“My darling boy,” the Scholar said,<br />“Take
MARY—blessings on your head!”</p>
<p>The Mystic Boy undid his vest,<br />And took a parchment from his
breast,<br />And said, “Now, by that noble brow,<br />I ne’er
knew father such as thou!<br />The sterling rule of common sense<br />Now
reaps its proper recompense.<br />Rejoice, my soul’s unequalled
Queen,<br />For I am DUKE OF GRETNA GREEN!”</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The King Of Canoodle-Dum</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>The story of FREDERICK GOWLER,<br />A mariner of the sea,<br />Who
quitted his ship, the <i>Howler,<br /></i>A-sailing in Caribbee.<br />For
many a day he wandered,<br />Till he met in a state of rum<br />CALAMITY
POP VON PEPPERMINT DROP,<br />The King of Canoodle-Dum.</p>
<p>That monarch addressed him gaily,<br />“Hum! Golly de
do to-day?<br />Hum! Lily-white Buckra Sailee”—<br />(You
notice his playful way?)—<br />“What dickens you doin’
here, sar?<br />Why debbil you want to come?<br />Hum! Picaninnee,
dere isn’t no sea<br />In City Canoodle-Dum!”</p>
<p>And GOWLER he answered sadly,<br />“Oh, mine is a doleful tale!<br />They’ve
treated me werry badly<br />In Lunnon, from where I hail.<br />I’m
one of the Family Royal—<br />No common Jack Tar you see;<br />I’m
WILLIAM THE FOURTH, far up in the North,<br />A King in my own countree!”</p>
<p>Bang-bang! How the tom-toms thundered!<br />Bang-bang!
How they thumped this gongs!<br />Bang-bang! How the people wondered!<br />Bang-bang!
At it hammer and tongs!<br />Alliance with Kings of Europe<br />Is an
honour Canoodlers seek,<br />Her monarchs don’t stop with PEPPERMINT
DROP<br />Every day in the week!</p>
<p>FRED told them that he was undone,<br />For his people all went insane,<br />And
fired the Tower of London,<br />And Grinnidge’s Naval Fane.<br />And
some of them racked St. James’s,<br />And vented their rage upon<br />The
Church of St. Paul, the Fishmongers’ Hall,<br />And the Angel
at Islington.</p>
<p>CALAMITY POP implored him<br />In his capital to remain<br />Till
those people of his restored him<br />To power and rank again.<br />CALAMITY
POP he made him<br />A Prince of Canoodle-Dum,<br />With a couple of
caves, some beautiful slaves,<br />And the run of the royal rum.</p>
<p>Pop gave him his only daughter,<br />HUM PICKETY WIMPLE TIP:<br />FRED
vowed that if over the water<br />He went, in an English ship,<br />He’d
make her his Queen,—though truly<br />It is an unusual thing<br />For
a Caribbee brat who’s as black as your hat<br />To be wife of
an English King.</p>
<p>And all the Canoodle-Dummers<br />They copied his rolling walk,<br />His
method of draining rummers,<br />His emblematical talk.<br />For his
dress and his graceful breeding,<br />His delicate taste in rum,<br />And
his nautical way, were the talk of the day<br />In the Court of Canoodle-Dum.</p>
<p>CALAMITY POP most wisely<br />Determined in everything<br />To model
his Court precisely<br />On that of the English King;<br />And ordered
that every lady<br />And every lady’s lord<br />Should masticate
jacky (a kind of tobaccy),<br />And scatter its juice abroad.</p>
<p>They signified wonder roundly<br />At any astounding yarn,<br />By
darning their dear eyes roundly<br />(’T was all they had to darn).<br />They
“hoisted their slacks,” adjusting<br />Garments of plantain-leaves<br />With
nautical twitches (as if they wore breeches,<br />Instead of a dress
like EVE’S!)</p>
<p>They shivered their timbers proudly,<br />At a phantom forelock dragged,<br />And
called for a hornpipe loudly<br />Whenever amusement flagged.<br />“Hum!
Golly! him POP resemble,<br />Him Britisher sov’reign, hum!<br />CALAMITY
POP VON PEPPERMINT DROP,<br />De King of Canoodle-Dum!”</p>
<p>The mariner’s lively “Hollo!”<br />Enlivened Canoodle’s
plain<br />(For blessings unnumbered follow<br />In Civilization’s
train).<br />But Fortune, who loves a bathos,<br />A terrible ending
planned,<br />For ADMIRAL D. CHICKABIDDY, C.B.,<br />Placed foot on
Canoodle land!</p>
<p>That rebel, he seized KING GOWLER,<br />He threatened his royal brains,<br />And
put him aboard the <i>Howler,<br /></i>And fastened him down with chains.<br />The
<i>Howler</i> she weighed her anchor,<br />With FREDERICK nicely nailed,<br />And
off to the North with WILLIAM THE FOURTH<br />These horrible pirates
sailed.</p>
<p>CALAMITY said (with folly),<br />“Hum! nebber want him again—<br />Him
civilize all of us, golly!<br />CALAMITY suck him brain!”<br />The
people, however, were pained when<br />They saw him aboard his ship,<br />But
none of them wept for their FREDDY, except<br />HUM PICKETY WIMPLE TIP.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: First Love</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>A clergyman in Berkshire dwelt,<br />The REVEREND BERNARD POWLES,<br />And
in his church there weekly knelt<br />At least a hundred souls.</p>
<p>There little ELLEN you might see,<br />The modest rustic belle;<br />In
maidenly simplicity,<br />She loved her BERNARD well.</p>
<p>Though ELLEN wore a plain silk gown<br />Untrimmed with lace or fur,<br />Yet
not a husband in the town<br />But wished his wife like her.</p>
<p>Though sterner memories might fade,<br />You never could forget<br />The
child-form of that baby-maid,<br />The Village Violet!</p>
<p>A simple frightened loveliness,<br />Whose sacred spirit-part<br />Shrank
timidly from worldly stress,<br />And nestled in your heart.</p>
<p>POWLES woo’d with every well-worn plan<br />And all the usual
wiles<br />With which a well-schooled gentleman<br />A simple heart
beguiles.</p>
<p>The hackneyed compliments that bore<br />World-folks like you and
me,<br />Appeared to her as if they wore<br />The crown of Poesy.</p>
<p>His winking eyelid sang a song<br />Her heart could understand,<br />Eternity
seemed scarce too long<br />When BERNARD squeezed her hand.</p>
<p>He ordered down the martial crew<br />Of GODFREY’S Grenadiers,<br />And
COOTE conspired with TINNEY to<br />Ecstaticise her ears.</p>
<p>Beneath her window, veiled from eye,<br />They nightly took their
stand;<br />On birthdays supplemented by<br />The Covent Garden band.</p>
<p>And little ELLEN, all alone,<br />Enraptured sat above,<br />And
thought how blest she was to own<br />The wealth of POWLES’S love.</p>
<p>I often, often wonder what<br />Poor ELLEN saw in him;<br />For calculated
he was <i>not<br /></i>To please a woman’s whim.</p>
<p>He wasn’t good, despite the air<br />An M.B. waistcoat gives;<br />Indeed,
his dearest friends declare<br />No greater humbug lives.</p>
<p>No kind of virtue decked this priest,<br />He’d nothing to
allure;<br />He wasn’t handsome in the least,—<br />He wasn’t
even poor.</p>
<p>No—he was cursed with acres fat<br />(A Christian’s direst
ban),<br />And gold—yet, notwithstanding that,<br />Poor ELLEN
loved the man.</p>
<p>As unlike BERNARD as could be<br />Was poor old AARON WOOD<br />(Disgraceful
BERNARD’S curate he):<br />He was extremely good.</p>
<p>A BAYARD in his moral pluck<br />Without reproach or fear,<br />A
quiet venerable duck<br />With fifty pounds a year.</p>
<p>No fault had he—no fad, except<br />A tendency to strum,<br />In
mode at which you would have wept,<br />A dull harmonium.</p>
<p>He had no gold with which to hire<br />The minstrels who could best<br />Convey
a notion of the fire<br />That raged within his breast.</p>
<p>And so, when COOTE and TINNEY’S Own<br />Had tootled all they
knew,<br />And when the Guards, completely blown,<br />Exhaustedly withdrew,</p>
<p>And NELL began to sleepy feel,<br />Poor AARON then would come,<br />And
underneath her window wheel<br />His plain harmonium.</p>
<p>He woke her every morn at two,<br />And having gained her ear,<br />In
vivid colours AARON drew<br />The sluggard’s grim career.</p>
<p>He warbled Apiarian praise,<br />And taught her in his chant<br />To
shun the dog’s pugnacious ways,<br />And imitate the ant.</p>
<p>Still NELL seemed not, how much he played,<br />To love him out and
out,<br />Although the admirable maid<br />Respected him, no doubt.</p>
<p>She told him of her early vow,<br />And said as BERNARD’S wife<br />It
might be hers to show him how<br />To rectify his life.</p>
<p>“You are so pure, so kind, so true,<br />Your goodness shines
so bright,<br />What use would ELLEN be to you?<br />Believe me, you’re
all right.”</p>
<p>She wished him happiness and health,<br />And flew on lightning wings<br />To
BERNARD with his dangerous wealth<br />And all the woes it brings.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Brave Alum Bey</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Oh, big was the bosom of brave ALUM BEY,<br />And also the region
that under it lay,<br />In safety and peril remarkably cool,<br />And
he dwelt on the banks of the river Stamboul.</p>
<p>Each morning he went to his garden, to cull<br />A bunch of zenana
or sprig of bul-bul,<br />And offered the bouquet, in exquisite bloom,<br />To
BACKSHEESH, the daughter of RAHAT LAKOUM.</p>
<p>No maiden like BACKSHEESH could tastily cook<br />A kettle of kismet
or joint of tchibouk,<br />As ALUM, brave fellow! sat pensively by,<br />With
a bright sympathetic ka-bob in his eye.</p>
<p>Stern duty compelled him to leave her one day—<br />(A ship’s
supercargo was brave ALUM BEY)—<br />To pretty young BACKSHEESH
he made a salaam,<br />And sailed to the isle of Seringapatam.</p>
<p>“O ALUM,” said she, “think again, ere you go—<br />Hareems
may arise and Moguls they may blow;<br />You may strike on a fez, or
be drowned, which is wuss!”<br />But ALUM embraced her and spoke
to her thus:</p>
<p>“Cease weeping, fair BACKSHEESH! I willingly swear<br />Cork
jackets and trousers I always will wear,<br />And I also throw in a
large number of oaths<br />That I never—no, <i>never</i>—will
take off my clothes!”</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>They left Madagascar away on their right,<br />And made Clapham Common
the following night,<br />Then lay on their oars for a fortnight or
two,<br />Becalmed in the ocean of Honololu.</p>
<p>One day ALUM saw, with alarm in his breast,<br />A cloud on the nor-sow-sow-nor-sow-nor-west;<br />The
wind it arose, and the crew gave a scream,<br />For they knew it—they
knew it!—the dreaded Hareem!!</p>
<p>The mast it went over, and so did the sails,<br />Brave ALUM threw
over his casks and his bales;<br />The billows arose as the weather
grew thick,<br />And all except ALUM were terribly sick.</p>
<p>The crew were but three, but they holloa’d for nine,<br />They
howled and they blubbered with wail and with whine:<br />The skipper
he fainted away in the fore,<br />For he hadn’t the heart for
to skip any more.</p>
<p>“Ho, coward!” said ALUM, “with heart of a child!<br />Thou
son of a party whose grave is defiled!<br />Is ALUM in terror? is ALUM
afeard?<br />Ho! ho! If you had one I’d laugh at your beard.”</p>
<p>His eyeball it gleamed like a furnace of coke;<br />He boldly inflated
his clothes as he spoke;<br />He daringly felt for the corks on his
chest,<br />And he recklessly tightened the belt at his breast.</p>
<p>For he knew, the brave ALUM, that, happen what might,<br />With belts
and cork-jacketing, <i>he</i> was all right;<br />Though others might
sink, he was certain to swim,—<br />No Hareem whatever had terrors
for him!</p>
<p>They begged him to spare from his personal store<br />A single cork
garment—they asked for no more;<br />But he couldn’t, because
of the number of oaths<br />That he never—no, never!—would
take off his clothes.</p>
<p>The billows dash o’er them and topple around,<br />They see
they are pretty near sure to be drowned.<br />A terrible wave o’er
the quarter-deck breaks,<br />And the vessel it sinks in a couple of
shakes!</p>
<p>The dreadful Hareem, though it knows how to blow,<br />Expends all
its strength in a minute or so;<br />When the vessel had foundered,
as I have detailed,<br />The tempest subsided, and quiet prevailed.</p>
<p>One seized on a cork with a yelling “Ha! ha!”<br />(Its
bottle had ’prisoned a pint of Pacha)—<br />Another a toothpick—another
a tray—<br />“Alas! it is useless!” said brave ALUM
BEY.</p>
<p>“To holloa and kick is a very bad plan:<br />Get it over, my
tulips, as soon as you can;<br />You’d better lay hold of a good
lump of lead,<br />And cling to it tightly until you are dead.</p>
<p>“Just raise your hands over your pretty heads—so—<br />Right
down to the bottom you’re certain to go.<br />Ta! ta! I’m
afraid we shall not meet again”—<br />For the truly courageous
are truly humane.</p>
<p>Brave ALUM was picked up the very next day—<br />A man-o’-war
sighted him smoking away;<br />With hunger and cold he was ready to
drop,<br />So they sent him below and they gave him a chop.</p>
<p>O reader, or readress, whichever you be,<br />You weep for the crew
who have sunk in the sea?<br />O reader, or readress, read farther,
and dry<br />The bright sympathetic ka-bob in your eye.</p>
<p>That ship had a grapple with three iron spikes,—<br />It’s
lowered, and, ha! on a something it strikes!<br />They haul it aboard
with a British “heave-ho!”<br />And what it has fished the
drawing will show.</p>
<p>There was WILSON, and PARKER, and TOMLINSON, too—<br />(The
first was the captain, the others the crew)—<br />As lively and
spry as a Malabar ape,<br />Quite pleased and surprised at their happy
escape.</p>
<p>And ALUM, brave fellow, who stood in the fore,<br />And never expected
to look on them more,<br />Was really delighted to see them again,<br />For
the truly courageous are truly humane.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Sir Barnaby Bampton Boo</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>This is SIR BARNABY BAMPTON BOO,<br />Last of a noble race,<br />BARNABY
BAMPTON, coming to woo,<br />All at a deuce of a pace.<br />BARNABY
BAMPTON BOO,<br />Here is a health to you:<br />Here is wishing you
luck, you elderly buck—<br />BARNABY BAMPTON BOO!</p>
<p>The excellent women of Tuptonvee<br />Knew SIR BARNABY BOO;<br />One
of them surely his bride would be,<br />But dickens a soul knew who.<br />Women
of Tuptonvee,<br />Here is a health to ye<br />For a Baronet, dears,
you would cut off your ears,<br />Women of Tuptonvee!</p>
<p>Here are old MR. and MRS. DE PLOW<br />(PETER his Christian name),<br />They
kept seven oxen, a pig, and a cow—<br />Farming it was their game.<br />Worthy
old PETER DE PLOW,<br />Here is a health to thou:<br />Your race isn’t
run, though you’re seventy-one,<br />Worthy old PETER DE PLOW!</p>
<p>To excellent MR. and MRS. DE PLOW<br />Came SIR BARNABY BOO,<br />He
asked for their daughter, and told ’em as how<br />He was as rich
as a Jew.<br />BARNABY BAMPTON’S wealth,<br />Here is your jolly
good health:<br />I’d never repine if you came to be mine,<br />BARNABY
BAMPTON’S wealth!</p>
<p>“O great SIR BARNABY BAMPTON BOO”<br />(Said PLOW to
that titled swell),<br />“My missus has given me daughters two—<br />AMELIA
and VOLATILE NELL!”<br />AMELIA and VOLATILE NELL,<br />I hope
you’re uncommonly well:<br />You two pretty pearls—you extremely
nice girls—<br />AMELIA and VOLATILE NELL!</p>
<p>“AMELIA is passable only, in face,<br />But, oh! she’s
a worthy girl;<br />Superior morals like hers would grace<br />The home
of a belted Earl.”<br />Morality, heavenly link!<br />To you I’ll
eternally drink:<br />I’m awfully fond of that heavenly bond,<br />Morality,
heavenly link!</p>
<p>“Now NELLY’S the prettier, p’raps, of my gals,<br />But,
oh! she’s a wayward chit;<br />She dresses herself in her showy
fal-lals,<br />And doesn’t read TUPPER a bit!”<br />O TUPPER,
philosopher true,<br />How do you happen to do?<br />A publisher looks
with respect on your books,<br />For they <i>do</i> sell, philosopher
true!</p>
<p>The Bart. (I’ll be hanged if I drink him again,<br />Or
care if he’s ill or well),<br />He sneered at the goodness of
MILLY THE PLAIN,<br />And cottoned to VOLATILE NELL!<br />O VOLATILE
NELLY DE P.!<br />Be hanged if I’ll empty to thee:<br />I like
worthy maids, not mere frivolous jades,<br />VOLATILE NELLY DE P.!</p>
<p>They bolted, the Bart. and his frivolous dear,<br />And MILLY was
left to pout;<br />For years they’ve got on very well, as I hear,<br />But
soon he will rue it, no doubt.<br />O excellent MILLY DE PLOW,<br />I
really can’t drink to you now;<br />My head isn’t strong,
and the song has been long,<br />Excellent MILLY DE PLOW!</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Modest Couple</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>When man and maiden meet, I like to see a drooping eye,<br />I always
droop my own—I am the shyest of the shy.<br />I’m also fond
of bashfulness, and sitting down on thorns,<br />For modesty’s
a quality that womankind adorns.</p>
<p>Whenever I am introduced to any pretty maid,<br />My knees they knock
together, just as if I were afraid;<br />I flutter, and I stammer, and
I turn a pleasing red,<br />For to laugh, and flirt, and ogle I consider
most ill-bred.</p>
<p>But still in all these matters, as in other things below,<br />There
is a proper medium, as I’m about to show.<br />I do not recommend
a newly-married pair to try<br />To carry on as PETER carried on with
SARAH BLIGH.</p>
<p>Betrothed they were when very young—before they’d learnt
to speak<br />(For SARAH was but six days old, and PETER was a week);<br />Though
little more than babies at those early ages, yet<br />They bashfully
would faint when they occasionally met.</p>
<p>They blushed, and flushed, and fainted, till they reached the age
of nine,<br />When PETER’S good papa (he was a Baron of the Rhine)<br />Determined
to endeavour some sound argument to find<br />To bring these shy young
people to a proper frame of mind.</p>
<p>He told them that as SARAH was to be his PETER’S bride,<br />They
might at least consent to sit at table side by side;<br />He begged
that they would now and then shake hands, till he was hoarse,<br />Which
SARAH thought indelicate, and PETER very coarse.</p>
<p>And PETER in a tremble to the blushing maid would say,<br />“You
must excuse papa, MISS BLIGH,—it is his mountain way.”<br />Says
SARAH, “His behaviour I’ll endeavour to forget,<br />But
your papa’s the coarsest person that I ever met.</p>
<p>“He plighted us without our leave, when we were very young,<br />Before
we had begun articulating with the tongue.<br />His underbred suggestions
fill your SARAH with alarm;<br />Why, gracious me! he’ll ask us
next to walk out arm-in-arm!”</p>
<p>At length when SARAH reached the legal age of twenty-one,<br />The
Baron he determined to unite her to his son;<br />And SARAH in a fainting-fit
for weeks unconscious lay,<br />And PETER blushed so hard you might
have heard him miles away.</p>
<p>And when the time arrived for taking SARAH to his heart,<br />They
were married in two churches half-a-dozen miles apart<br />(Intending
to escape all public ridicule and chaff),<br />And the service was conducted
by electric telegraph.</p>
<p>And when it was concluded, and the priest had said his say,<br />Until
the time arrived when they were both to drive away,<br />They never
spoke or offered for to fondle or to fawn,<br />For <i>he</i> waited
in the attic, and <i>she</i> waited on the lawn.</p>
<p>At length, when four o’clock arrived, and it was time to go,<br />The
carriage was announced, but decent SARAH answered “No!<br />Upon
my word, I’d rather sleep my everlasting nap,<br />Than go and
ride alone with MR. PETER in a trap.”</p>
<p>And PETER’S over-sensitive and highly-polished mind<br />Wouldn’t
suffer him to sanction a proceeding of the kind;<br />And further, he
declared he suffered overwhelming shocks<br />At the bare idea of having
any coachman on the box.</p>
<p>So PETER into one turn-out incontinently rushed,<br />While SARAH
in a second trap sat modestly and blushed;<br />And MR. NEWMAN’S
coachman, on authority I’ve heard,<br />Drove away in gallant
style upon the coach-box of a third.</p>
<p>Now, though this modest couple in the matter of the car<br />Were
very likely carrying a principle too far,<br />I hold their shy behaviour
was more laudable in them<br />Than that of PETER’S brother with
MISS SARAH’S sister EM.</p>
<p>ALPHONSO, who in cool assurance all creation licks,<br />He up and
said to EMMIE (who had impudence for six),<br />“MISS EMILY, I
love you—will you marry? Say the word!”<br />And EMILY
said, “Certainly, ALPHONSO, like a bird!”</p>
<p>I do not recommend a newly-married pair to try<br />To carry on as
PETER carried on with SARAH BLIGH,<br />But still their shy behaviour
was more laudable in them<br />Than that of PETER’S brother with
MISS SARAH’S sister EM.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Martinet</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Some time ago, in simple verse<br />I sang the story true<br />Of
CAPTAIN REECE, the <i>Mantelpiece,<br /></i>And all her happy crew.</p>
<p>I showed how any captain may<br />Attach his men to him,<br />If
he but heeds their smallest needs,<br />And studies every whim.</p>
<p>Now mark how, by Draconic rule<br />And <i>hauteur</i> ill-advised,<br />The
noblest crew upon the Blue<br />May be demoralized.</p>
<p>When his ungrateful country placed<br />Kind REECE upon half-pay,<br />Without
much claim SIR BERKELY came,<br />And took command one day.</p>
<p>SIR BERKELY was a martinet—<br />A stern unyielding soul—<br />Who
ruled his ship by dint of whip<br />And horrible black-hole.</p>
<p>A sailor who was overcome<br />From having freely dined,<br />And
chanced to reel when at the wheel,<br />He instantly confined!</p>
<p>And tars who, when an action raged,<br />Appeared alarmed or scared,<br />And
those below who wished to go,<br />He very seldom spared.</p>
<p>E’en he who smote his officer<br />For punishment was booked,<br />And
mutinies upon the seas<br />He rarely overlooked.</p>
<p>In short, the happy <i>Mantelpiece</i>,<br />Where all had gone so
well,<br />Beneath that fool SIR BERKELY’S rule<br />Became a
floating hell.</p>
<p>When first SIR BERKELY came aboard<br />He read a speech to all,<br />And
told them how he’d made a vow<br />To act on duty’s call.</p>
<p>Then WILLIAM LEE, he up and said<br />(The Captain’s coxswain
he),<br />“We’ve heard the speech your honour’s made,<br />And
werry pleased we be.</p>
<p>“We won’t pretend, my lad, as how<br />We’re glad
to lose our REECE;<br />Urbane, polite, he suited quite<br />The saucy
<i>Mantelpiece.</i></p>
<p>“But if your honour gives your mind<br />To study all our ways,<br />With
dance and song we’ll jog along<br />As in those happy days.</p>
<p>“I like your honour’s looks, and feel<br />You’re
worthy of your sword.<br />Your hand, my lad—I’m doosid
glad<br />To welcome you aboard!”</p>
<p>SIR BERKELY looked amazed, as though<br />He didn’t understand.<br />“Don’t
shake your head,” good WILLIAM said,<br />“It is an honest
hand.</p>
<p>“It’s grasped a better hand than yourn—<br />Come,
gov’nor, I insist!”<br />The Captain stared—the coxswain
glared—<br />The hand became a fist!</p>
<p>“Down, upstart!” said the hardy salt;<br />But BERKELY
dodged his aim,<br />And made him go in chains below:<br />The seamen
murmured “Shame!”</p>
<p>He stopped all songs at 12 p.m.,<br />Stopped hornpipes when at sea,<br />And
swore his cot (or bunk) should not<br />Be used by aught than he.</p>
<p>He never joined their daily mess,<br />Nor asked them to his own,<br />But
chaffed in gay and social way<br />The officers alone.</p>
<p>His First Lieutenant, PETER, was<br />As useless as could be,<br />A
helpless stick, and always sick<br />When there was any sea.</p>
<p>This First Lieutenant proved to be<br />His foster-sister MAY,<br />Who
went to sea for love of he<br />In masculine array.</p>
<p>And when he learnt the curious fact,<br />Did he emotion show,<br />Or
dry her tears or end her fears<br />By marrying her? No!</p>
<p>Or did he even try to soothe<br />This maiden in her teens?<br />Oh,
no!—instead he made her wed<br />The Sergeant of Marines!</p>
<p>Of course such Spartan discipline<br />Would make an angel fret;<br />They
drew a lot, and WILLIAM shot<br />This fearful martinet.</p>
<p>The Admiralty saw how ill<br />They’d treated CAPTAIN REECE;<br />He
was restored once more aboard<br />The saucy <i>Mantelpiece.</i></p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Sailor Boy To His Lass</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>I go away this blessed day,<br />To sail across the sea, MATILDA!<br />My
vessel starts for various parts<br />At twenty after three, MATILDA.<br />I
hardly know where we may go,<br />Or if it’s near or far, MATILDA,<br />For
CAPTAIN HYDE does not confide<br />In any ’fore-mast tar, MATILDA!</p>
<p>Beneath my ban that mystic man<br />Shall suffer, <i>coûte
qui coûte</i>, MATILDA!<br />What right has he to keep from me<br />The
Admiralty route, MATILDA?<br />Because, forsooth! I am a youth<br />Of
common sailors’ lot, MATILDA!<br />Am I a man on human plan<br />Designed,
or am I not, MATILDA?</p>
<p>But there, my lass, we’ll let that pass!<br />With anxious
love I burn, MATILDA.<br />I want to know if we shall go<br />To church
when I return, MATILDA?<br />Your eyes are red, you bow your head;<br />It’s
pretty clear you thirst, MATILDA,<br />To name the day—What’s
that you say?<br />- “You’ll see me further first,”
MATILDA?</p>
<p>I can’t mistake the signs you make,<br />Although you barely
speak, MATILDA;<br />Though pure and young, you thrust your tongue<br />Right
in your pretty cheek, MATILDA!<br />My dear, I fear I hear you sneer—<br />I
do—I’m sure I do, MATILDA!<br />With simple grace you make
a face,<br />Ejaculating, “Ugh!” MATILDA.</p>
<p>Oh, pause to think before you drink<br />The dregs of Lethe’s
cup, MATILDA!<br />Remember, do, what I’ve gone through,<br />Before
you give me up, MATILDA!<br />Recall again the mental pain<br />Of what
I’ve had to do, MATILDA!<br />And be assured that I’ve endured<br />It,
all along of you, MATILDA!</p>
<p>Do you forget, my blithesome pet,<br />How once with jealous rage,
MATILDA,<br />I watched you walk and gaily talk<br />With some one thrice
your age, MATILDA?<br />You squatted free upon his knee,<br />A sight
that made me sad, MATILDA!<br />You pinched his cheek with friendly
tweak,<br />Which almost drove me mad, MATILDA!</p>
<p>I knew him not, but hoped to spot<br />Some man you thought to wed,
MATILDA!<br />I took a gun, my darling one,<br />And shot him through
the head, MATILDA!<br />I’m made of stuff that’s rough and
gruff<br />Enough, I own; but, ah, MATILDA!<br />It <i>did</i> annoy
your sailor boy<br />To find it was your pa, MATILDA!</p>
<p>I’ve passed a life of toil and strife,<br />And disappointments
deep, MATILDA;<br />I’ve lain awake with dental ache<br />Until
I fell asleep, MATILDA!<br />At times again I’ve missed a train,<br />Or
p’rhaps run short of tin, MATILDA,<br />And worn a boot on corns
that shoot,<br />Or, shaving, cut my chin, MATILDA.</p>
<p>But, oh! no trains—no dental pains—<br />Believe me when
I say, MATILDA,<br />No corns that shoot—no pinching boot<br />Upon
a summer day, MATILDA—<br />It’s my belief, could cause
such grief<br />As that I’ve suffered for, MATILDA,<br />My having
shot in vital spot<br />Your old progenitor, MATILDA.</p>
<p>Bethink you how I’ve kept the vow<br />I made one winter day,
MATILDA—<br />That, come what could, I never would<br />Remain
too long away, MATILDA.<br />And, oh! the crimes with which, at times,<br />I’ve
charged my gentle mind, MATILDA,<br />To keep the vow I made—and
now<br />You treat me so unkind, MATILDA!</p>
<p>For when at sea, off Caribbee,<br />I felt my passion burn, MATILDA,<br />By
passion egged, I went and begged<br />The captain to return, MATILDA.<br />And
when, my pet, I couldn’t get<br />That captain to agree, MATILDA,<br />Right
through a sort of open port<br />I pitched him in the sea, MATILDA!</p>
<p>Remember, too, how all the crew<br />With indignation blind, MATILDA,<br />Distinctly
swore they ne’er before<br />Had thought me so unkind, MATILDA.<br />And
how they’d shun me one by one—<br />An unforgiving group,
MATILDA—<br />I stopped their howls and sulky scowls<br />By pizening
their soup, MATILDA!</p>
<p>So pause to think, before you drink<br />The dregs of Lethe’s
cup, MATILDA;<br />Remember, do, what I’ve gone through,<br />Before
you give me up, MATILDA.<br />Recall again the mental pain<br />Of what
I’ve had to do, MATILDA,<br />And be assured that I’ve endured<br />It,
all along of you, MATILDA!</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Reverend Simon Magus</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>A rich advowson, highly prized,<br />For private sale was advertised;<br />And
many a parson made a bid;<br />The REVEREND SIMON MAGUS did.</p>
<p>He sought the agent’s: “Agent, I<br />Have come prepared
at once to buy<br />(If your demand is not too big)<br />The Cure of
Otium-cum-Digge.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” said the agent, “<i>there’s</i> a berth—<br />The
snuggest vicarage on earth;<br />No sort of duty (so I hear),<br />And
fifteen hundred pounds a year!</p>
<p>“If on the price we should agree,<br />The living soon will
vacant be;<br />The good incumbent’s ninety five,<br />And cannot
very long survive.</p>
<p>See—here’s his photograph—you see,<br />He’s
in his dotage.” “Ah, dear me!<br />Poor soul!”
said SIMON. “His decease<br />Would be a merciful release!”</p>
<p>The agent laughed—the agent blinked—<br />The agent blew
his nose and winked—<br />And poked the parson’s ribs in
play—<br />It was that agent’s vulgar way.</p>
<p>The REVEREND SIMON frowned: “I grieve<br />This light demeanour
to perceive;<br />It’s scarcely <i>comme il</i> <i>faut</i>, I
think:<br />Now—pray oblige me—do not wink.</p>
<p>“Don’t dig my waistcoat into holes—<br />Your mission
is to sell the souls<br />Of human sheep and human kids<br />To that
divine who highest bids.</p>
<p>“Do well in this, and on your head<br />Unnumbered honours
will be shed.”<br />The agent said, “Well, truth to tell,<br />I
<i>have</i> been doing very well.”</p>
<p>“You should,” said SIMON, “at your age;<br />But
now about the parsonage.<br />How many rooms does it contain?<br />Show
me the photograph again.</p>
<p>“A poor apostle’s humble house<br />Must not be too luxurious;<br />No
stately halls with oaken floor—<br />It should be decent and no
more.</p>
<p>“ No billiard-rooms—no stately trees—<br />No croquêt-grounds
or pineries.”<br />“Ah!” sighed the agent, “very
true:<br />This property won’t do for you.”</p>
<p>“All these about the house you’ll find.”—<br />“Well,”
said the parson, “never mind;<br />I’ll manage to submit
to these<br />Luxurious superfluities.</p>
<p>“A clergyman who does not shirk<br />The various calls of Christian
work,<br />Will have no leisure to employ<br />These ‘common forms’
of worldly joy.</p>
<p>“To preach three times on Sabbath days—<br />To wean
the lost from wicked ways—<br />The sick to soothe—the sane
to wed—<br />The poor to feed with meat and bread;</p>
<p> “These are the various wholesome ways<br />In which I’ll
spend my nights and days:<br />My zeal will have no time to cool<br />At
croquet, archery, or pool.”</p>
<p>The agent said, “From what I hear,<br />This living will not
suit, I fear—<br />There are no poor, no sick at all;<br />For
services there is no call.”</p>
<p>The reverend gent looked grave, “Dear me!<br />Then there is
<i>no</i> ‘society’?—<br />I mean, of course, no sinners
there<br />Whose souls will be my special care?”</p>
<p>The cunning agent shook his head,<br />“No, none—except”—(the
agent said)—<br />“The DUKE OF A., the EARL OF B.,<br />The
MARQUIS C., and VISCOUNT D.</p>
<p>“But you will not be quite alone,<br />For though they’ve
chaplains of their own,<br />Of course this noble well-bred clan<br />Receive
the parish clergyman.”</p>
<p>“Oh, silence, sir!” said SIMON M.,<br />“Dukes—Earls!
What should I care for them?<br />These worldly ranks I scorn and flout!”<br />“Of
course,” the agent said, “no doubt!”</p>
<p>“Yet I might show these men of birth<br />The hollowness of
rank on earth.”<br />The agent answered, “Very true—<br />But
I should not, if I were you.”</p>
<p>“Who sells this rich advowson, pray?”<br />The agent
winked—it was his way—<br />“His name is HART; ’twixt
me and you,<br />He is, I’m grieved to say, a Jew!”</p>
<p>“A Jew?” said SIMON, “happy find!<br />I purchase
this advowson, mind.<br />My life shall be devoted to<br />Converting
that unhappy Jew!”</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Damon v. Pythias</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Two better friends you wouldn’t pass<br />Throughout a summer’s
day,<br />Than DAMON and his PYTHIAS,—<br />Two merchant princes
they.</p>
<p>At school together they contrived<br />All sorts of boyish larks;<br />And,
later on, together thrived<br />As merry merchants’ clerks.</p>
<p>And then, when many years had flown,<br />They rose together till<br />They
bought a business of their own—<br />And they conduct it still.</p>
<p>They loved each other all their lives,<br />Dissent they never knew,<br />And,
stranger still, their very wives<br />Were rather friendly too.</p>
<p>Perhaps you think, to serve my ends,<br />These statements I refute,<br />When
I admit that these dear friends<br />Were parties to a suit?</p>
<p>But ’twas a friendly action, for<br />Good PYTHIAS, as you
see,<br />Fought merely as executor,<br />And DAMON as trustee.</p>
<p>They laughed to think, as through the throng<br />Of suitors sad
they passed,<br />That they, who’d lived and loved so long,<br />Should
go to law at last.</p>
<p>The junior briefs they kindly let<br />Two sucking counsel hold;<br />These
learned persons never yet<br />Had fingered suitors’ gold.</p>
<p>But though the happy suitors two<br />Were friendly as could be,<br />Not
so the junior counsel who<br />Were earning maiden fee.</p>
<p>They too, till then, were friends. At school<br />They’d
done each other’s sums,<br />And under Oxford’s gentle rule<br />Had
been the closest chums.</p>
<p>But now they met with scowl and grin<br />In every public place,<br />And
often snapped their fingers in<br />Each other’s learned face.</p>
<p>It almost ended in a fight<br />When they on path or stair<br />Met
face to face. They made it quite<br />A personal affair.</p>
<p>And when at length the case was called<br />(It came on rather late),<br />Spectators
really were appalled<br />To see their deadly hate.</p>
<p>One junior rose—with eyeballs tense,<br />And swollen frontal
veins:<br />To all his powers of eloquence<br />He gave the fullest
reins.</p>
<p>His argument was novel—for<br />A verdict he relied<br />On
blackening the junior<br />Upon the other side.</p>
<p>“Oh,” said the Judge, in robe and fur,<br />“The
matter in dispute<br />To arbitration pray refer—<br />This is
a friendly suit.”</p>
<p>And PYTHIAS, in merry mood,<br />Digged DAMON in the side;<br />And
DAMON, tickled with the feud,<br />With other digs replied.</p>
<p>But oh! those deadly counsel twain,<br />Who were such friends before,<br />Were
never reconciled again—<br />They quarrelled more and more.</p>
<p>At length it happened that they met<br />On Alpine heights one day,<br />And
thus they paid each one his debt,<br />Their fury had its way—</p>
<p>They seized each other in a trice,<br />With scorn and hatred filled,<br />And,
falling from a precipice,<br />They, both of them, were killed.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: My Dream</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>The other night, from cares exempt,<br />I slept—and what d’you
think I dreamt?<br />I dreamt that somehow I had come<br />To dwell
in Topsy-Turveydom—</p>
<p>Where vice is virtue—virtue, vice:<br />Where nice is nasty—nasty,
nice:<br />Where right is wrong and wrong is right—<br />Where
white is black and black is white.</p>
<p>Where babies, much to their surprise,<br />Are born astonishingly
wise;<br />With every Science on their lips,<br />And Art at all their
finger-tips.</p>
<p>For, as their nurses dandle them<br />They crow binomial theorem,<br />With
views (it seems absurd to us)<br />On differential calculus.</p>
<p>But though a babe, as I have said,<br />Is born with learning in
his head,<br />He must forget it, if he can,<br />Before he calls himself
a man.</p>
<p>For that which we call folly here,<br />Is wisdom in that favoured
sphere;<br />The wisdom we so highly prize<br />Is blatant folly in
their eyes.</p>
<p>A boy, if he would push his way,<br />Must learn some nonsense every
day;<br />And cut, to carry out this view,<br />His wisdom teeth and
wisdom too.</p>
<p>Historians burn their midnight oils,<br />Intent on giant-killers’
toils;<br />And sages close their aged eyes<br />To other sages’
lullabies.</p>
<p>Our magistrates, in duty bound,<br />Commit all robbers who are found;<br />But
there the Beaks (so people said)<br />Commit all robberies instead.</p>
<p>Our Judges, pure and wise in tone,<br />Know crime from theory alone,<br />And
glean the motives of a thief<br />From books and popular belief.</p>
<p>But there, a Judge who wants to prime<br />His mind with true ideas
of crime,<br />Derives them from the common sense<br />Of practical
experience.</p>
<p>Policemen march all folks away<br />Who practise virtue every day—<br />Of
course, I mean to say, you know,<br />What we call virtue here below.</p>
<p>For only scoundrels dare to do<br />What we consider just and true,<br />And
only good men do, in fact,<br />What we should think a dirty act.</p>
<p>But strangest of these social twirls,<br />The girls are boys—the
boys are girls!<br />The men are women, too—but then,<br /><i>Per
contra</i>, women all are men.</p>
<p>To one who to tradition clings<br />This seems an awkward state of
things,<br />But if to think it out you try,<br />It doesn’t really
signify.</p>
<p>With them, as surely as can be,<br />A sailor should be sick at sea,<br />And
not a passenger may sail<br />Who cannot smoke right through a gale.</p>
<p>A soldier (save by rarest luck)<br />Is always shot for showing pluck<br />(That
is, if others can be found<br />With pluck enough to fire a round).</p>
<p>“How strange!” I said to one I saw;<br />“You quite
upset our every law.<br />However can you get along<br />So systematically
wrong?”</p>
<p>“Dear me!” my mad informant said,<br />“Have you
no eyes within your head?<br />You sneer when you your hat should doff:<br />Why,
we begin where you leave off!</p>
<p>“Your wisest men are very far<br />Less learned than our babies
are!”<br />I mused awhile—and then, oh me!<br />I framed
this brilliant repartee:</p>
<p>“Although your babes are wiser far<br />Than our most valued
sages are,<br />Your sages, with their toys and cots,<br />Are duller
than our idiots!”</p>
<p>But this remark, I grieve to state,<br />Came just a little bit too
late<br />For as I framed it in my head,<br />I woke and found myself
in bed.</p>
<p>Still I could wish that, ’stead of here,<br />My lot were in
that favoured sphere!—<br />Where greatest fools bear off the
bell<br />I ought to do extremely well.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Bishop Of Rum-Ti-Foo Again</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>I often wonder whether you<br />Think sometimes of that Bishop, who<br />From
black but balmy Rum-ti-Foo<br />Last summer twelvemonth came.<br />Unto
your mind I p’r’aps may bring<br />Remembrance of the man
I sing<br />To-day, by simply mentioning<br />That PETER was his name.</p>
<p>Remember how that holy man<br />Came with the great Colonial clan<br />To
Synod, called Pan-Anglican;<br />And kindly recollect<br />How, having
crossed the ocean wide,<br />To please his flock all means he tried<br />Consistent
with a proper pride<br />And manly self-respect.</p>
<p>He only, of the reverend pack<br />Who minister to Christians black,<br />Brought
any useful knowledge back<br />To his Colonial fold.<br />In consequence
a place I claim<br />For “PETER” on the scroll of Fame<br />(For
PETER was that Bishop’s name,<br />As I’ve already told).</p>
<p>He carried Art, he often said,<br />To places where that timid maid<br />(Save
by Colonial Bishops’ aid)<br />Could never hope to roam.<br />The
Payne-cum-Lauri feat he taught<br />As he had learnt it; for he thought<br />The
choicest fruits of Progress ought<br />To bless the Negro’s home.</p>
<p>And he had other work to do,<br />For, while he tossed upon the Blue,<br />The
islanders of Rum-ti-Foo<br />Forgot their kindly friend.<br />Their
decent clothes they learnt to tear—<br />They learnt to say, “I
do not care,”<br />Though they, of course, were well aware<br />How
folks, who say so, end.</p>
<p>Some sailors, whom he did not know,<br />Had landed there not long
ago,<br />And taught them “Bother!” also, “Blow!”<br />(Of
wickedness the germs).<br />No need to use a casuist’s pen<br />To
prove that they were merchantmen;<br />No sailor of the Royal N.<br />Would
use such awful terms.</p>
<p>And so, when BISHOP PETER came<br />(That was the kindly Bishop’s
name),<br />He heard these dreadful oaths with shame,<br />And chid
their want of dress.<br />(Except a shell—a bangle rare—<br />A
feather here—a feather there<br />The South Pacific Negroes wear<br />Their
native nothingness.)</p>
<p>He taught them that a Bishop loathes<br />To listen to disgraceful
oaths,<br />He gave them all his left-off clothes—<br />They bent
them to his will.<br />The Bishop’s gift spreads quickly round;<br />In
PETER’S left-off clothes they bound<br />(His three-and-twenty
suits they found<br />In fair condition still).</p>
<p>The Bishop’s eyes with water fill,<br />Quite overjoyed to
find them still<br />Obedient to his sovereign will,<br />And said,
“Good Rum-ti-Foo!<br />Half-way I’ll meet you, I declare:<br />I’ll
dress myself in cowries rare,<br />And fasten feathers in my hair,<br />And
dance the ‘Cutch-chi-boo!’” <a name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11">{11}</a></p>
<p>And to conciliate his See<br />He married PICCADILLILLEE,<br />The
youngest of his twenty-three,<br />Tall—neither fat nor thin.<br />(And
though the dress he made her don<br />Looks awkwardly a girl upon,<br />It
was a great improvement on<br />The one he found her in.)</p>
<p>The Bishop in his gay canoe<br />(His wife, of course, went with
him too)<br />To some adjacent island flew,<br />To spend his honeymoon.<br />Some
day in sunny Rum-ti-Foo<br />A little PETER’ll be on view;<br />And
that (if people tell me true)<br />Is like to happen soon.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: A Worm Will Turn</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>I love a man who’ll smile and joke<br />When with misfortune
crowned;<br />Who’ll pun beneath a pauper’s yoke,<br />And
as he breaks his daily toke,<br />Conundrums gay propound.</p>
<p>Just such a man was BERNARD JUPP,<br />He scoffed at Fortune’s
frown;<br />He gaily drained his bitter cup—<br />Though Fortune
often threw him up,<br />It never cast him down.</p>
<p>Though years their share of sorrow bring,<br />We know that far above<br />All
other griefs, are griefs that spring<br />From some misfortune happening<br />To
those we really love.</p>
<p>E’en sorrow for another’s woe<br />Our BERNARD failed
to quell;<br />Though by this special form of blow<br />No person ever
suffered so,<br />Or bore his grief so well.</p>
<p>His father, wealthy and well clad,<br />And owning house and park,<br />Lost
every halfpenny he had,<br />And then became (extremely sad!)<br />A
poor attorney’s clerk.</p>
<p>All sons it surely would appal,<br />Except the passing meek,<br />To
see a father lose his all,<br />And from an independence fall<br />To
one pound ten a week!</p>
<p>But JUPP shook off this sorrow’s weight,<br />And, like a Christian
son,<br />Proved Poverty a happy fate—<br />Proved Wealth to be
a devil’s bait,<br />To lure poor sinners on.</p>
<p>With other sorrows BERNARD coped,<br />For sorrows came in packs;<br />His
cousins with their housemaids sloped—<br />His uncles forged—his
aunts eloped—<br />His sisters married blacks.</p>
<p>But BERNARD, far from murmuring<br />(Exemplar, friends, to us),<br />Determined
to his faith to cling,—<br />He made the best of everything,<br />And
argued softly thus:</p>
<p>“’Twere harsh my uncles’ forging knack<br />Too
rudely to condemn—<br />My aunts, repentant, may come back,<br />And
blacks are nothing like as black<br />As people colour them!”</p>
<p>Still Fate, with many a sorrow rife,<br />Maintained relentless fight:<br />His
grandmamma next lost her life,<br />Then died the mother of his wife,<br />But
still he seemed all right.</p>
<p>His brother fond (the only link<br />To life that bound him now)<br />One
morning, overcome by drink,<br />He broke his leg (the right, I think)<br />In
some disgraceful row.</p>
<p>But did my BERNARD swear and curse?<br />Oh no—to murmur loth,<br />He
only said, “Go, get a nurse:<br />Be thankful that it isn’t
worse;<br />You might have broken both!”</p>
<p>But worms who watch without concern<br />The cockchafer on thorns,<br />Or
beetles smashed, themselves will turn<br />If, walking through the slippery
fern,<br />You tread upon their corns.</p>
<p>One night as BERNARD made his track<br />Through Brompton home to
bed,<br />A footpad, with a vizor black,<br />Took watch and purse,
and dealt a crack<br />On BERNARD’S saint-like head.</p>
<p>It was too much—his spirit rose,<br />He looked extremely cross.<br />Men
thought him steeled to mortal foes,<br />But no—he bowed to countless
blows,<br />But kicked against this loss.</p>
<p>He finally made up his mind<br />Upon his friends to call;<br />Subscription
lists were largely signed,<br />For men were really glad to find<br />Him
mortal, after all!</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Haughty Actor</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>An actor—GIBBS, of Drury Lane—<br />Of very decent station,<br />Once
happened in a part to gain<br />Excessive approbation:<br />It sometimes
turns a fellow’s brain<br />And makes him singularly vain<br />When
he believes that he receives<br />Tremendous approbation.</p>
<p>His great success half drove him mad,<br />But no one seemed to mind
him;<br />Well, in another piece he had<br />Another part assigned him.<br />This
part was smaller, by a bit,<br />Than that in which he made a hit.<br />So,
much ill-used, he straight refused<br />To play the part assigned him.</p>
<p>* * * * * * * *</p>
<p><i>That night that actor slept, and I’ll attempt<br />To tell
you of the vivid dream he dreamt.</i></p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<p>THE DREAM.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<p>In fighting with a robber band<br />(A thing he loved sincerely)<br />A
sword struck GIBBS upon the hand,<br />And wounded it severely.<br />At
first he didn’t heed it much,<br />He thought it was a simple
touch,<br />But soon he found the weapon’s bound<br />Had wounded
him severely.</p>
<p>To Surgeon COBB he made a trip,<br />Who’d just effected featly<br />An
amputation at the hip<br />Particularly neatly.<br />A rising man was
Surgeon COBB<br />But this extremely ticklish job<br />He had achieved
(as he believed)<br />Particularly neatly.</p>
<p>The actor rang the surgeon’s bell.<br />“Observe my wounded
finger,<br />Be good enough to strap it well,<br />And prithee do not
linger.<br />That I, dear sir, may fill again<br />The Theatre Royal
Drury Lane:<br />This very night I have to fight—<br />So prithee
do not linger.”</p>
<p>“I don’t strap fingers up for doles,”<br />Replied
the haughty surgeon;<br />“To use your cant, I don’t play
<i>rôles<br /></i>Utility that verge on.<br />First amputation—nothing
less—<br />That is my line of business:<br />We surgeon nobs despise
all jobs<br />Utility that verge on</p>
<p>“When in your hip there lurks disease”<br />(So dreamt
this lively dreamer),<br />“Or devastating <i>caries<br /></i>In
<i>humerus</i> or <i>femur,<br /></i>If you can pay a handsome fee,<br />Oh,
then you may remember me—<br />With joy elate I’ll amputate<br />Your
<i>humerus</i> or <i>femur</i>.”</p>
<p>The disconcerted actor ceased<br />The haughty leech to pester,<br />But
when the wound in size increased,<br />And then began to fester,<br />He
sought a learned Counsel’s lair,<br />And told that Counsel, then
and there,<br />How COBB’S neglect of his defect<br />Had made
his finger fester.</p>
<p>“Oh, bring my action, if you please,<br />The case I pray you
urge on,<br />And win me thumping damages<br />From COBB, that haughty
surgeon.<br />He culpably neglected me<br />Although I proffered him
his fee,<br />So pray come down, in wig and gown,<br />On COBB, that
haughty surgeon!”</p>
<p>That Counsel learned in the laws,<br />With passion almost trembled.<br />He
just had gained a mighty cause<br />Before the Peers assembled!<br />Said
he, “How dare you have the face<br />To come with Common Jury
case<br />To one who wings rhetoric flings<br />Before the Peers assembled?”</p>
<p>Dispirited became our friend—<br />Depressed his moral pecker—<br />“But
stay! a thought!—I’ll gain my end,<br />And save my poor
exchequer.<br />I won’t be placed upon the shelf,<br />I’ll
take it into Court myself,<br />And legal lore display before<br />The
Court of the Exchequer.”</p>
<p>He found a Baron—one of those<br />Who with our laws supply
us—<br />In wig and silken gown and hose,<br />As if at <i>Nisi
Prius.<br /></i>But he’d just given, off the reel,<br />A famous
judgment on Appeal:<br />It scarce became his heightened fame<br />To
sit at <i>Nisi Prius.</i></p>
<p>Our friend began, with easy wit,<br />That half concealed his terror:<br />“Pooh!”
said the Judge, “I only sit<br />In <i>Banco</i> or in Error.<br />Can
you suppose, my man, that I’d<br />O’er <i>Nisi Prius</i>
Courts preside,<br />Or condescend my time to spend<br />On anything
but Error?”</p>
<p>“Too bad,” said GIBBS, “my case to shirk!<br />You
must be bad innately,<br />To save your skill for mighty work<br />Because
it’s valued greatly!”<br />But here he woke, with sudden
start.</p>
<p>* * * * * * * *</p>
<p>He wrote to say he’d play the part.<br />I’ve but to
tell he played it well—<br />The author’s words—his
native wit<br />Combined, achieved a perfect “hit”—<br />The
papers praised him greatly.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Two Majors</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>An excellent soldier who’s worthy the name<br />Loves officers
dashing and strict:<br />When good, he’s content with escaping
all blame,<br />When naughty, he likes to be licked.</p>
<p>He likes for a fault to be bullied and stormed,<br />Or imprisoned
for several days,<br />And hates, for a duty correctly performed,<br />To
be slavered with sickening praise.</p>
<p>No officer sickened with praises his <i>corps<br /></i>So little
as MAJOR LA GUERRE—<br />No officer swore at his warriors more<br />Than
MAJOR MAKREDI PREPERE.</p>
<p>Their soldiers adored them, and every grade<br />Delighted to hear
their abuse;<br />Though whenever these officers came on parade<br />They
shivered and shook in their shoes.</p>
<p>For, oh! if LA GUERRE could all praises withhold,<br />Why, so could
MAKREDI PREPERE,<br />And, oh! if MAKREDI could bluster and scold,<br />Why,
so could the mighty LA GUERRE.</p>
<p>“No doubt we deserve it—no mercy we crave—<br />Go
on—you’re conferring a boon;<br />We would rather be slanged
by a warrior brave,<br />Than praised by a wretched poltroon!”</p>
<p>MAKREDI would say that in battle’s fierce rage<br />True happiness
only was met:<br />Poor MAJOR MAKREDI, though fifty his age,<br />Had
never known happiness yet!</p>
<p>LA GUERRE would declare, “With the blood of a foe<br />No tipple
is worthy to clink.”<br />Poor fellow! he hadn’t, though
sixty or so,<br />Yet tasted his favourite drink!</p>
<p>They agreed at their mess—they agreed in the glass—<br />They
agreed in the choice of their “set,”<br />And they also
agreed in adoring, alas!<br />The Vivandière, pretty FILLETTE.</p>
<p>Agreement, you see, may be carried too far,<br />And after agreeing
all round<br />For years—in this soldierly “maid of the
bar,”<br />A bone of contention they found!</p>
<p>It may seem improper to call such a pet—<br />By a metaphor,
even—a bone;<br />But though they agreed in adoring her, yet<br />Each
wanted to make her his own.</p>
<p>“On the day that you marry her,” muttered PREPERE<br />(With
a pistol he quietly played),<br />“I’ll scatter the brains
in your noddle, I swear,<br />All over the stony parade!”</p>
<p>“I cannot do <i>that</i> to you,” answered LA GUERRE,<br />“Whatever
events may befall;<br />But this <i>I can</i> do—<i>if you</i>
wed her, <i>mon cher!<br /></i>I’ll eat you, moustachios and all!”</p>
<p>The rivals, although they would never engage,<br />Yet quarrelled
whenever they met;<br />They met in a fury and left in a rage,<br />But
neither took pretty FILLETTE.</p>
<p>“I am not afraid,” thought MAKREDI PREPERE:<br />“For
country I’m ready to fall;<br />But nobody wants, for a mere Vivandière,<br />To
be eaten, moustachios and all!</p>
<p>“Besides, though LA GUERRE has his faults, I’ll allow<br />He’s
one of the bravest of men:<br />My goodness! if I disagree with him
now,<br />I might disagree with him then.”</p>
<p>“No coward am I,” said LA GUERRE, “as you guess—<br />I
sneer at an enemy’s blade;<br />But I don’t want PREPERE
to get into a mess<br />For splashing the stony parade!”</p>
<p>One day on parade to PREPERE and LA GUERRE<br />Came CORPORAL JACOT
DEBETTE,<br />And trembling all over, he prayed of them there<br />To
give him the pretty FILLETTE.</p>
<p>“You see, I am willing to marry my bride<br />Until you’ve
arranged this affair;<br />I will blow out my brains when your honours
decide<br />Which marries the sweet Vivandière!”</p>
<p>“Well, take her,’ said both of them in a duet<br />(A
favourite form of reply),<br />“But when I am ready to marry FILLETTE.<br />Remember
you’ve promised to die!”</p>
<p>He married her then: from the flowery plains<br />Of existence the
roses they cull:<br />He lived and he died with his wife; and his brains<br />Are
reposing in peace in his skull.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Emily, John, James, And I. A Derby Legend</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>EMILY JANE was a nursery maid,<br />JAMES was a bold Life Guard,<br />JOHN
was a constable, poorly paid<br />(And I am a doggerel bard).</p>
<p>A very good girl was EMILY JANE,<br />JIMMY was good and true,<br />JOHN
was a very good man in the main<br />(And I am a good man too).</p>
<p>Rivals for EMMIE were JOHNNY and JAMES,<br />Though EMILY liked them
both;<br />She couldn’t tell which had the strongest claims<br />(And
<i>I</i> couldn’t take my oath).</p>
<p>But sooner or later you’re certain to find<br />Your sentiments
can’t lie hid—<br />JANE thought it was time that she made
up her mind<br />(And I think it was time she did).</p>
<p>Said JANE, with a smirk, and a blush on her face,<br />“I’ll
promise to wed the boy<br />Who takes me to-morrow to Epsom Race!”<br />(Which
I would have done, with joy).</p>
<p>From JOHNNY escaped an expression of pain,<br />But Jimmy said, “Done
with you!<br />I’ll take you with pleasure, my EMILY JANE!”<br />(And
I would have said so too).</p>
<p>JOHN lay on the ground, and he roared like mad<br />(For JOHNNY was
sore perplexed),<br />And he kicked very hard at a very small lad<br />(Which
<i>I</i> often do, when vexed).</p>
<p>For JOHN was on duty next day with the Force,<br />To punish all
Epsom crimes;<br />Young people <i>will</i> cross when they’re
clearing the course<br />(I do it myself, sometimes).</p>
<p>* * * * * * * *</p>
<p>The Derby Day sun glittered gaily on cads,<br />On maidens with gamboge
hair,<br />On sharpers and pickpockets, swindlers and pads,<br />(For
I, with my harp, was there).</p>
<p>And JIMMY went down with his JANE that day,<br />And JOHN by the
collar or nape<br />Seized everybody who came in his way<br />(And <i>I</i>
had a narrow escape).</p>
<p>He noticed his EMILY JANE with JIM,<br />And envied the well-made
elf;<br />And people remarked that he muttered “Oh, dim!”<br />(I
often say “dim!” myself).</p>
<p>JOHN dogged them all day, without asking their leaves;<br />For his
sergeant he told, aside,<br />That JIMMY and JANE were notorious thieves<br />(And
I think he was justified).</p>
<p>But JAMES wouldn’t dream of abstracting a fork,<br />And JENNY
would blush with shame<br />At stealing so much as a bottle or cork<br />(A
bottle I think fair game).</p>
<p>But, ah! there’s another more serious crime!<br />They wickedly
strayed upon<br />The course, at a critical moment of time<br />(I pointed
them out to JOHN).</p>
<p>The constable fell on the pair in a crack—<br />And then, with
a demon smile,<br />Let JENNY cross over, but sent JIMMY back<br />(I
played on my harp the while).</p>
<p>Stern JOHNNY their agony loud derides<br />With a very triumphant
sneer—<br />They weep and they wail from the opposite sides<br />(And
<i>I</i> shed a silent tear).</p>
<p>And JENNY is crying away like mad,<br />And JIMMY is swearing hard;<br />And
JOHNNY is looking uncommonly glad<br />(And I am a doggerel bard).</p>
<p>But JIMMY he ventured on crossing again<br />The scenes of our Isthmian
Games—<br />JOHN caught him, and collared him, giving him pain<br />(I
felt very much for JAMES).</p>
<p>JOHN led him away with a victor’s hand,<br />And JIMMY was
shortly seen<br />In the station-house under the grand Grand Stand<br />(As
many a time <i>I’ve</i> been).</p>
<p>And JIMMY, bad boy, was imprisoned for life,<br />Though EMILY pleaded
hard;<br />And JOHNNY had EMILY JANE to wife<br />(And I am a doggerel
bard).</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Perils Of Invisibility</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>OLD PETER led a wretched life—<br />Old PETER had a furious
wife;<br />Old PETER too was truly stout,<br />He measured several yards
about.</p>
<p>The little fairy PICKLEKIN<br />One summer afternoon looked in,<br />And
said, “Old PETER, how de do?<br />Can I do anything for you?</p>
<p>“I have three gifts—the first will give<br />Unbounded
riches while you live;<br />The second health where’er you be;<br />The
third, invisibility.”</p>
<p>“O little fairy PICKLEKIN,”<br />Old PETER answered with
a grin,<br />“To hesitate would be absurd,—<br />Undoubtedly
I choose the third.”</p>
<p>“’Tis yours,” the fairy said; “be quite<br />Invisible
to mortal sight<br />Whene’er you please. Remember me<br />Most
kindly, pray, to MRS. P.”</p>
<p>Old MRS. PETER overheard<br />Wee PICKLEKIN’S concluding word,<br />And,
jealous of her girlhood’s choice,<br />Said, “That was some
young woman’s voice:</p>
<p>Old PETER let her scold and swear—<br />Old PETER, bless him,
didn’t care.<br />“My dear, your rage is wasted quite—<br />Observe,
I disappear from sight!”</p>
<p>A well-bred fairy (so I’ve heard)<br />Is always faithful to
her word:<br />Old PETER vanished like a shot,<br />Put then—<i>his
suit of clothes did not</i>!</p>
<p>For when conferred the fairy slim<br />Invisibility on <i>him,<br /></i>She
popped away on fairy wings,<br />Without referring to his “things.”</p>
<p>So there remained a coat of blue,<br />A vest and double eyeglass
too,<br />His tail, his shoes, his socks as well,<br />His pair of—no,
I must not tell.</p>
<p>Old MRS. PETER soon began<br />To see the failure of his plan,<br />And
then resolved (I quote the Bard)<br />To “hoist him with his own
petard.”</p>
<p>Old PETER woke next day and dressed,<br />Put on his coat, and shoes,
and vest,<br />His shirt and stock; <i>but could not find<br />His only
pair of</i>—never mind!</p>
<p>Old PETER was a decent man,<br />And though he twigged his lady’s
plan,<br />Yet, hearing her approaching, he<br />Resumed invisibility.</p>
<p>“Dear MRS. P., my only joy,”<br />Exclaimed the horrified
old boy,<br />“Now, give them up, I beg of you—<br />You
know what I’m referring to!”</p>
<p>But no; the cross old lady swore<br />She’d keep his—what
I said before—<br />To make him publicly absurd;<br />And MRS.
PETER kept her word.</p>
<p>The poor old fellow had no rest;<br />His coat, his stick, his shoes,
his vest,<br />Were all that now met mortal eye—<br />The rest,
invisibility!</p>
<p>“Now, madam, give them up, I beg—<br />I’ve had
rheumatics in my leg;<br />Besides, until you do, it’s plain<br />I
cannot come to sight again!</p>
<p>“For though some mirth it might afford<br />To see my clothes
without their lord,<br />Yet there would rise indignant oaths<br />If
he were seen without his clothes!”</p>
<p>But no; resolved to have her quiz,<br />The lady held her own—and
his—<br />And PETER left his humble cot<br />To find a pair of—you
know what.</p>
<p>But—here’s the worst of the affair—<br />Whene’er
he came across a pair<br />Already placed for him to don,<br />He was
too stout to get them on!</p>
<p>So he resolved at once to train,<br />And walked and walked with
all his main;<br />For years he paced this mortal earth,<br />To bring
himself to decent girth.</p>
<p>At night, when all around is still,<br />You’ll find him pounding
up a hill;<br />And shrieking peasants whom he meets,<br />Fall down
in terror on the peats!</p>
<p>Old PETER walks through wind and rain,<br />Resolved to train, and
train, and train,<br />Until he weighs twelve stone’ or so—<br />And
when he does, I’ll let you know.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Old Paul And Old Tim</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>When rival adorers come courting a maid,<br />There’s something
or other may often be said,<br />Why <i>he</i> should be pitched upon
rather than <i>him.<br /></i>This wasn’t the case with Old PAUL
and Old TIM.</p>
<p>No soul could discover a reason at all<br />For marrying TIMOTHY
rather than PAUL;<br />Though all could have offered good reasons, on
oath,<br />Against marrying either—or marrying both.</p>
<p>They were equally wealthy and equally old,<br />They were equally
timid and equally bold;<br />They were equally tall as they stood in
their shoes—<br />Between them, in fact, there was nothing to
choose.</p>
<p>Had I been young EMILY, I should have said,<br />“You’re
both much too old for a pretty young maid,<br />Threescore at the least
you are verging upon”;<br />But I wasn’t young EMILY.
Let us get on.</p>
<p>No coward’s blood ran in young EMILY’S veins,<br />Her
martial old father loved bloody campaigns;<br />At the rumours of battles
all over the globe<br />He pricked up his ears like the war-horse in
“Job.”</p>
<p>He chuckled to hear of a sudden surprise—<br />Of soldiers,
compelled, through an enemy’s spies,<br />Without any knapsacks
or shakos to flee—<br />For an eminent army-contractor was he.</p>
<p>So when her two lovers, whose patience was tried,<br />Implored her
between them at once to decide,<br />She told them she’d marry
whichever might bring<br />Good proofs of his doing the pluckiest thing.</p>
<p>They both went away with a qualified joy:<br />That coward, Old PAUL,
chose a very small boy,<br />And when no one was looking, in spite of
his fears,<br />He set to work boxing that little boy’s ears.</p>
<p>The little boy struggled and tugged at his hair,<br />But the lion
was roused, and Old PAUL didn’t care;<br />He smacked him, and
whacked him, and boxed him, and kicked<br />Till the poor little beggar
was royally licked.</p>
<p>Old TIM knew a trick worth a dozen of that,<br />So he called for
his stick and he called for his hat.<br />“I’ll cover myself
with cheap glory—I’ll go<br />And wallop the Frenchmen who
live in Soho!</p>
<p>“The German invader is ravaging France<br />With infantry rifle
and cavalry lance,<br />And beautiful Paris is fighting her best<br />To
shake herself free from her terrible guest.</p>
<p>“The Frenchmen in London, in craven alarms,<br />Have all run
away from the summons to arms;<br />They haven’t the pluck of
a pigeon—I’ll go<br />And wallop the Frenchmen who skulk
in Soho!”</p>
<p>Old TIMOTHY tried it and found it succeed:<br />That day he caused
many French noses to bleed;<br />Through foggy Soho he spread fear and
dismay,<br />And Frenchmen all round him in agony lay.</p>
<p>He took care to abstain from employing his fist<br />On the old and
the crippled, for they might resist;<br />A crippled old man may have
pluck in his breast,<br />But the young and the strong ones are cowards
confest.</p>
<p>Old TIM and Old PAUL, with the list of their foes,<br />Prostrated
themselves at their EMILY’S toes:<br />“Oh, which of us
two is the pluckier blade?”<br />And EMILY answered and EMILY
said:</p>
<p>“Old TIM has thrashed runaway Frenchmen in scores,<br />Who
ought to be guarding their cities and shores;<br />Old PAUL has made
little chaps’ noses to bleed—<br />Old PAUL has accomplished
the pluckier deed!”</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Mystic Selvagee</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Perhaps already you may know<br />SIR BLENNERHASSET PORTICO?<br />A
Captain in the Navy, he—<br />A Baronet and K.C.B.<br />You do?
I thought so!<br />It was that Captain’s favourite whim<br />(A
notion not confined to him)<br />That RODNEY was the greatest tar<br />Who
ever wielded capstan-bar.<br />He had been taught so.</p>
<p>“BENBOW! CORNWALLIS! HOOD!—Belay!<br />Compared
with RODNEY”—he would say—<br />“No other tar
is worth a rap!<br />The great LORD RODNEY was the chap<br />The French
to polish!<br /> “Though, mind you, I respect LORD HOOD;<br />CORNWALLIS,
too, was rather good;<br />BENBOW could enemies repel,<br />LORD NELSON,
too, was pretty well—<br />That is, tol-lol-ish!”</p>
<p>SIR BLENNERHASSET spent his days<br />In learning RODNEY’S
little ways,<br />And closely imitated, too,<br />His mode of talking
to his crew—<br />His port and paces.<br />An ancient tar he tried
to catch<br />Who’d served in RODNEY’S famous batch;<br />But
since his time long years have fled,<br />And RODNEY’S tars are
mostly dead:<br /><i>Eheu fugaces</i>!</p>
<p>But after searching near and far,<br />At last he found an ancient
tar<br />Who served with RODNEY and his crew<br />Against the French
in ’Eighty-two,<br />(That gained the peerage).<br />He gave him
fifty pounds a year,<br />His rum, his baccy, and his beer;<br />And
had a comfortable den<br />Rigged up in what, by merchantmen,<br />Is
called the steerage.</p>
<p>“Now, JASPER”—’t was that sailor’s
name—<br />“Don’t fear that you’ll incur my
blame<br />By saying, when it seems to you,<br />That there is anything
I do<br />That RODNEY wouldn’t.”<br />The ancient sailor
turned his quid,<br />Prepared to do as he was bid:<br />“Ay,
ay, yer honour; to begin,<br />You’ve done away with ‘swifting
in’—<br />Well, sir, you shouldn’t!</p>
<p>“Upon your spars I see you’ve clapped<br />Peak halliard
blocks, all iron-capped.<br />I would not christen that a crime,<br />But
’twas not done in RODNEY’S time.<br />It looks half-witted!<br />Upon
your maintop-stay, I see,<br />You always clap a selvagee!<br />Your
stays, I see, are equalized—<br />No vessel, such as RODNEY prized,<br />Would
thus be fitted!</p>
<p>“And RODNEY, honoured sir, would grin<br />To see you turning
deadeyes in,<br />Not <i>up</i>, as in the ancient way,<br />But downwards,
like a cutter’s stay—<br />You didn’t oughter;<br />Besides,
in seizing shrouds on board,<br />Breast backstays you have quite ignored;<br />Great
RODNEY kept unto the last<br />Breast backstays on topgallant mast—<br />They
make it tauter.”</p>
<p>SIR BLENNERHASSET “swifted in,”<br />Turned deadeyes
up, and lent a fin<br />To strip (as told by JASPER KNOX)<br />The iron
capping from his blocks,<br />Where there was any.<br />SIR BLENNERHASSET
does away,<br />With selvagees from maintop-stay;<br />And though it
makes his sailors stare,<br />He rigs breast backstays everywhere—<br />In
fact, too many.</p>
<p>One morning, when the saucy craft<br />Lay calmed, old JASPER toddled
aft.<br />“My mind misgives me, sir, that we<br />Were wrong about
that selvagee—<br />I should restore it.”<br />“Good,”
said the Captain, and that day<br />Restored it to the maintop-stay.<br />Well-practised
sailors often make<br />A much more serious mistake,<br />And then ignore
it.</p>
<p>Next day old JASPER came once more:<br />“I think, sir, I was
right before.”<br />Well, up the mast the sailors skipped,<br />The
selvagee was soon unshipped,<br />And all were merry.<br />Again a day,
and JASPER came:<br />“I p’r’aps deserve your honour’s
blame,<br />I can’t make up my mind,” said he,<br />“About
that cursed selvagee—<br />It’s foolish—very.</p>
<p>“On Monday night I could have sworn<br />That maintop-stay
it should adorn,<br />On Tuesday morning I could swear<br />That selvagee
should not be there.<br />The knot’s a rasper!”<br />“Oh,
you be hanged,” said CAPTAIN P.,<br />“Here, go ashore at
Caribbee.<br />Get out—good bye—shove off—all right!”<br />Old
JASPER soon was out of sight—<br />Farewell, old JASPER!</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Cunning Woman</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>On all Arcadia’s sunny plain,<br />On all Arcadia’s hill,<br />None
were so blithe as BILL and JANE,<br />So blithe as JANE and BILL.</p>
<p>No social earthquake e’er occurred<br />To rack their common
mind:<br />To them a Panic was a word—<br />A Crisis, empty wind.</p>
<p>No Stock Exchange disturbed the lad<br />With overwhelming shocks—<br />BILL
ploughed with all the shares he had,<br />JANE planted all her stocks.</p>
<p>And learn in what a simple way<br />Their pleasures they enhanced—<br />JANE
danced like any lamb all day,<br />BILL piped as well as danced.</p>
<p>Surrounded by a twittling crew,<br />Of linnet, lark, and thrush,<br />BILL
treated his young lady to<br />This sentimental gush:</p>
<p>“Oh, JANE, how true I am to you!<br />How true you are to me!<br />And
how we woo, and how we coo!<br />So fond a pair are we!</p>
<p>“To think, dear JANE, that anyways.<br />Your chiefest end
and aim<br />Is, one of these fine summer days,<br />To bear my humble
name!”</p>
<p>Quoth JANE, “Well, as you put the case,<br />I’m true
enough, no doubt,<br />But then, you see, in this here place<br />There’s
none to cut you out.</p>
<p>“But, oh! if anybody came—<br />A Lord or any such—<br />I
do not think your humble name<br />Would fascinate me much.</p>
<p>“For though your mates, you often boast.<br />You distance
out-and-out;<br />Still, in the abstract, you’re a most<br />Uncompromising
lout!”</p>
<p>Poor BILL, he gave a heavy sigh,<br />He tried in vain to speak—<br />A
fat tear started to each eye<br />And coursed adown each cheek.</p>
<p>For, oh! right well in truth he knew<br />That very self-same day,<br />The
LORD DE JACOB PILLALOO<br />Was coming there to stay!</p>
<p>The LORD DE JACOB PILLALOO<br />All proper maidens shun—<br />He
loves all women, it is true,<br />But never marries one.</p>
<p>Now JANE, with all her mad self-will,<br />Was no coquette—oh
no!<br />She really loved her faithful BILL,<br />And thus she tuned
her woe:</p>
<p>“Oh, willow, willow, o’er the lea!<br />And willow once
again!<br />The Peer will fall in love with me!<br />Why wasn’t
I made plain?”</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>A cunning woman lived hard by,<br />A sorceressing dame,<br />MACCATACOMB
DE SALMON-EYE<br />Was her uncommon name.</p>
<p>To her good JANE, with kindly yearn<br />For BILL’S increasing
pain,<br />Repaired in secrecy to learn<br />How best to make her plain.</p>
<p>“Oh, JANE,” the worthy woman said,<br />“This mystic
phial keep,<br />And rub its liquor in your head<br />Before you go
to sleep.</p>
<p>“When you awake next day, I trow,<br />You’ll look in
form and hue<br />To others just as you do now—<br />But not to
PILLALOO!</p>
<p>“When you approach him, you will find<br />He’ll think
you coarse—unkempt—<br />And rudely bid you get behind,<br />With
undisguised contempt.”</p>
<p>The LORD DE PILLALOO arrived<br />With his expensive train,<br />And
when in state serenely hived,<br />He sent for BILL and JANE.</p>
<p>“Oh, spare her, LORD OF PILLALOO!<br />(Said BILL) if wed you
be,<br />There’s anything <i>I’d</i> rather do<br />Than
flirt with LADY P.”</p>
<p>The Lord he gazed in Jenny’s eyes,<br />He looked her through
and through:<br />The cunning woman’s prophecies<br />Were clearly
coming true.</p>
<p>LORD PILLALOO, the Rustic’s Bane<br />(Bad person he, and proud),<br /><i>He
laughed Ha! ha! at pretty</i> JANE,<br /><i>And sneered at her aloud!</i></p>
<p>He bade her get behind him then,<br />And seek her mother’s
stye—<br />Yet to her native countrymen<br />She was as fair as
aye!</p>
<p>MACCATACOMB, continue green!<br />Grow, SALMON-EYE, in might,<br />Except
for you, there might have been<br />The deuce’s own delight</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Phrenology</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>“Come, collar this bad man—<br />Around the throat he
knotted me<br />Till I to choke began—<br />In point of fact,
garotted me!”</p>
<p>So spake SIR HERBERT WRITE<br />To JAMES, Policeman Thirty-two—<br />All
ruffled with his fight<br />SIR HERBERT was, and dirty too.</p>
<p>Policeman nothing said<br />(Though he had much to say on it),<br />But
from the bad man’s head<br />He took the cap that lay on it.</p>
<p>“No, great SIR HERBERT WHITE—<br />Impossible to take
him up.<br />This man is honest quite—<br />Wherever did you rake
him up?</p>
<p>“For Burglars, Thieves, and Co.,<br />Indeed, I’m no
apologist,<br />But I, some years ago,<br />Assisted a Phrenologist.</p>
<p>“Observe his various bumps,<br />His head as I uncover it:<br />His
morals lie in lumps<br />All round about and over it.”</p>
<p>“Now take him,” said SIR WHITE,<br />“Or you will
soon be rueing it;<br />Bless me! I must be right,—<br />I
caught the fellow doing it!”</p>
<p>Policeman calmly smiled,<br />“Indeed you are mistaken, sir,<br />You’re
agitated—riled—<br />And very badly shaken, sir.</p>
<p>“Sit down, and I’ll explain<br />My system of Phrenology,<br />A
second, please, remain”—<br />(A second is horology).</p>
<p>Policeman left his beat—<br />(The Bart., no longer furious,<br />Sat
down upon a seat,<br />Observing, “This is curious!”)</p>
<p>“Oh, surely, here are signs<br />Should soften your rigidity:<br />This
gentleman combines<br />Politeness with timidity.</p>
<p>“Of Shyness here’s a lump—<br />A hole for Animosity—<br />And
like my fist his bump<br />Of Impecuniosity.</p>
<p>“Just here the bump appears<br />Of Innocent Hilarity,<br />And
just behind his ears<br />Are Faith, and Hope, and Charity.</p>
<p>He of true Christian ways<br />As bright example sent us is—<br />This
maxim he obeys,<br />‘<i>Sorte tuâ contentus sis</i>.’</p>
<p>“There, let him go his ways,<br />He needs no stern admonishing.”<br />The
Bart., in blank amaze,<br />Exclaimed, “This is astonishing!</p>
<p>“I <i>must</i> have made a mull,<br />This matter I’ve
been blind in it:<br />Examine, please, <i>my</i> skull,<br />And tell
me what you find in it.”</p>
<p>That Crusher looked, and said,<br />With unimpaired urbanity,<br />“SIR
HERBERT, you’ve a head<br />That teems with inhumanity.</p>
<p>“Here’s Murder, Envy, Strife<br />(Propensity to kill
any),<br />And Lies as large as life,<br />And heaps of Social Villany.</p>
<p>“Here’s Love of Bran-New Clothes,<br />Embezzling—Arson—Deism—<br />A
taste for Slang and Oaths,<br />And Fraudulent Trusteeism.</p>
<p>“Here’s Love of Groundless Charge—<br />Here’s
Malice, too, and Trickery,<br />Unusually large<br />Your bump of Pocket-Pickery—”</p>
<p>“Stop!” said the Bart., “my cup<br />Is full—I’m
worse than him in all;<br />Policeman, take me up—<br />No doubt
I am some criminal!”</p>
<p>That Pleeceman’s scorn grew large<br />(Phrenology had nettled
it),<br />He took that Bart. in charge—<br />I don’t know
how they settled it.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Fairy Curate</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Once a fairy<br />Light and airy<br />Married with a mortal;<br />Men,
however,<br />Never, never<br />Pass the fairy portal.<br />Slyly stealing,<br />She
to Ealing<br />Made a daily journey;<br />There she found him,<br />Clients
round him<br />(He was an attorney).</p>
<p>Long they tarried,<br />Then they married.<br />When the ceremony<br />Once
was ended,<br />Off they wended<br />On their moon of honey.<br />Twelvemonth,
maybe,<br />Saw a baby<br />(Friends performed an orgie).<br />Much
they prized him,<br />And baptized him<br />By the name of GEORGIE,</p>
<p>GEORGIE grew up;<br />Then he flew up<br />To his fairy mother.<br />Happy
meeting—<br />Pleasant greeting—<br />Kissing one another.<br />“Choose
a calling<br />Most enthralling,<br />I sincerely urge ye.”<br />“Mother,”
said he<br />(Rev’rence made he),<br />“I would join the
clergy.</p>
<p>“Give permission<br />In addition—<br />Pa will let me
do it:<br />There’s a living<br />In his giving—<br />He’ll
appoint me to it.<br />Dreams of coff’ring,<br />Easter off’ring,<br />Tithe
and rent and pew-rate,<br />So inflame me<br />(Do not blame me),<br />That
I’ll be a curate.”</p>
<p>She, with pleasure,<br />Said, “My treasure,<br />’T
is my wish precisely.<br />Do your duty,<br />There’s a beauty;<br />You
have chosen wisely.<br />Tell your father<br />I would rather<br />As
a churchman rank you.<br />You, in clover,<br />I’ll watch over.”<br />GEORGIE
said, “Oh, thank you!”</p>
<p>GEORGIE scudded,<br />Went and studied,<br />Made all preparations,<br />And
with credit<br />(Though he said it)<br />Passed examinations.<br />(Do
not quarrel<br />With him, moral,<br />Scrupulous digestions—<br />’Twas
his mother,<br />And no other,<br />Answered all the questions.)</p>
<p>Time proceeded;<br />Little needed<br />GEORGIE admonition:<br />He,
elated,<br />Vindicated<br />Clergyman’s position.<br />People
round him<br />Always found him<br />Plain and unpretending;<br />Kindly
teaching,<br />Plainly preaching,<br />All his money lending.</p>
<p>So the fairy,<br />Wise and wary,<br />Felt no sorrow rising—<br />No
occasion<br />For persuasion,<br />Warning, or advising.<br />He, resuming<br />Fairy
pluming<br />(That’s not English, is it?)<br />Oft would fly up,<br />To
the sky up,<br />Pay mamma a visit.</p>
<p>* * * * * * * *</p>
<p>Time progressing,<br />GEORGIE’S blessing<br />Grew more Ritualistic—<br />Popish
scandals,<br />Tonsures—sandals—<br />Genuflections mystic;<br />Gushing
meetings—<br />Bosom-beatings—<br />Heavenly ecstatics—<br />Broidered
spencers—<br />Copes and censers—<br />Rochets and dalmatics.</p>
<p>This quandary<br />Vexed the fairy—<br />Flew she down to Ealing.<br />“GEORGIE,
stop it!<br />Pray you, drop it;<br />Hark to my appealing:<br />To
this foolish<br />Papal rule-ish<br />Twaddle put an ending;<br />This
a swerve is<br />From our Service<br />Plain and unpretending.”</p>
<p>He, replying,<br />Answered, sighing,<br />Hawing, hemming, humming,<br />“It’s
a pity—<br />They’re so pritty;<br />Yet in mode becoming,<br />Mother
tender,<br />I’ll surrender—<br />I’ll be unaffected—”<br />But
his Bishop<br />Into <i>his</i> shop<br />Entered unexpected!</p>
<p>“Who is this, sir,—<br />Ballet miss, sir?”<br />Said
the Bishop coldly.<br />“’T is my mother,<br />And no other,”<br />GEORGIE
answered boldly.<br />“Go along, sir!<br />You are wrong, sir;<br />You
have years in plenty,<br />While this hussy<br />(Gracious mussy!)<br />Isn’t
two and twenty!”</p>
<p>(Fairies clever<br />Never, never<br />Grow in visage older;<br />And
the fairy,<br />All unwary,<br />Leant upon his shoulder!)<br />Bishop
grieved him,<br />Disbelieved him;<br />GEORGE the point grew warm on;<br />Changed
religion,<br />Like a pigeon, <a name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12">{12}</a><br />And
became a Mormon!</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: The Way Of Wooing</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>A maiden sat at her window wide,<br />Pretty enough for a Prince’s
bride,<br />Yet nobody came to claim her.<br />She sat like a beautiful
picture there,<br />With pretty bluebells and roses fair,<br />And jasmine-leaves
to frame her.<br />And why she sat there nobody knows;<br />But this
she sang as she plucked a rose,<br />The leaves around her strewing:<br />“I’ve
time to lose and power to choose;<br />’T is not so much the gallant
who woos,<br />But the gallant’s <i>way</i> of wooing!”</p>
<p>A lover came riding by awhile,<br />A wealthy lover was he, whose
smile<br />Some maids would value greatly—<br />A formal lover,
who bowed and bent,<br />With many a high-flown compliment,<br />And
cold demeanour stately,<br />“You’ve still,” said
she to her suitor stern,<br />“The ’prentice-work of your
craft to learn,<br />If thus you come a-cooing.<br />I’ve time
to lose and power to choose;<br />’T is not so much the gallant
who woos,<br />As the gallant’s <i>way</i> of wooing!”</p>
<p>A second lover came ambling by—<br />A timid lad with a frightened
eye<br />And a colour mantling highly.<br />He muttered the errand on
which he’d come,<br />Then only chuckled and bit his thumb,<br />And
simpered, simpered shyly.<br />“No,” said the maiden, “go
your way;<br />You dare but think what a man would say,<br />Yet dare
to come a-suing!<br />I’ve time to lose and power to choose;<br />’T
is not so much the gallant who woos,<br />As the gallant’s <i>way</i>
of wooing!”</p>
<p>A third rode up at a startling pace—<br />A suitor poor, with
a homely face—<br />No doubts appeared to bind him.<br />He kissed
her lips and he pressed her waist,<br />And off he rode with the maiden,
placed<br />On a pillion safe behind him.<br />And she heard the suitor
bold confide<br />This golden hint to the priest who tied<br />The knot
there’s no undoing;<br />With pretty young maidens who can choose,<br />’Tis
not so much the gallant who woos,<br />As the gallant’s <i>way</i>
of wooing!”</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Hongree And Mahry. A Recollection Of A Surrey Melodrama</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>The sun was setting in its wonted west,<br />When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant
of Chassoores,<br />Met MAHRY DAUBIGNY, the Village Rose,<br />Under
the Wizard’s Oak—old trysting-place<br />Of those who loved
in rosy Aquitaine.</p>
<p>They thought themselves unwatched, but they were not;<br />For HONGREE,
Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,<br />Found in LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES
DUBOSC<br />A rival, envious and unscrupulous,<br />Who thought it not
foul scorn to dodge his steps,<br />And listen, unperceived, to all
that passed<br />Between the simple little Village Rose<br />And HONGREE,
Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.</p>
<p>A clumsy barrack-bully was DUBOSC,<br />Quite unfamiliar with the
well-bred tact<br />That animates a proper gentleman<br />In dealing
with a girl of humble rank.<br />You’ll understand his coarseness
when I say<br />He would have married MAHRY DAUBIGNY,<br />And dragged
the unsophisticated girl<br />Into the whirl of fashionable life,<br />For
which her singularly rustic ways,<br />Her breeding (moral, but extremely
rude),<br />Her language (chaste, but ungrammatical),<br />Would absolutely
have unfitted her.<br />How different to this unreflecting boor<br />Was
HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.</p>
<p>Contemporary with the incident<br />Related in our opening paragraph,<br />Was
that sad war ’twixt Gallia and ourselves<br />That followed on
the treaty signed at Troyes;<br />And so LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC<br />(Brave
soldier, he, with all his faults of style)<br />And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant
of Chassoores,<br />Were sent by CHARLES of France against the lines<br />Of
our Sixth HENRY (Fourteen twenty-nine),<br />To drive his legions out
of Aquitaine.</p>
<p>When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,<br />Returned, suspecting
nothing, to his camp,<br />After his meeting with the Village Rose,<br />He
found inside his barrack letter-box<br />A note from the commanding
officer,<br />Requiring his attendance at head-quarters.<br />He went,
and found LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES.</p>
<p>“Young HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,<br />This night
we shall attack the English camp:<br />Be the ‘forlorn hope’
yours—you’ll lead it, sir,<br />And lead it too with credit,
I’ve no doubt.<br />As every man must certainly be killed<br />(For
you are twenty ’gainst two thousand men),<br />It is not likely
that you will return.<br />But what of that? you’ll have the benefit<br />Of
knowing that you die a soldier’s death.”</p>
<p>Obedience was young HONGREE’S strongest point,<br />But he
imagined that he only owed<br />Allegiance to his MAHRY and his King.<br />“If
MAHRY bade me lead these fated men,<br />I’d lead them—but
I do not think she would.<br />If CHARLES, my King, said, ‘Go,
my son, and die,’<br />I’d go, of course—my duty would
be clear.<br />But MAHRY is in bed asleep, I hope,<br />And CHARLES,
my King, a hundred leagues from this.<br />As for LIEUTENANT-COLONEL
JOOLES DUBOSC,<br />How know I that our monarch would approve<br />The
order he has given me to-night?<br />My King I’ve sworn in all
things to obey—<br />I’ll only take my orders from my King!”<br />Thus
HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,<br />Interpreted the terms of
his commission.</p>
<p>And HONGREE, who was wise as he was good,<br />Disguised himself
that night in ample cloak,<br />Round flapping hat, and vizor mask of
black,<br />And made, unnoticed, for the English camp.<br />He passed
the unsuspecting sentinels<br />(Who little thought a man in this disguise<br />Could
be a proper object of suspicion),<br />And ere the curfew bell had boomed
“lights out,”<br />He found in audience Bedford’s
haughty Duke.</p>
<p>“Your Grace,” he said, “start not—be not
alarmed,<br />Although a Frenchman stands before your eyes.<br />I’m
HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.<br />My Colonel will attack your
camp to-night,<br />And orders me to lead the hope forlorn.<br />Now
I am sure our excellent KING CHARLES<br />Would not approve of this;
but he’s away<br />A hundred leagues, and rather more than that.<br />So,
utterly devoted to my King,<br />Blinded by my attachment to the throne,<br />And
having but its interest at heart,<br />I feel it is my duty to disclose<br />All
schemes that emanate from COLONEL JOOLES,<br />If I believe that they
are not the kind<br />Of schemes that our good monarch would approve.”</p>
<p>“But how,” said Bedford’s Duke, “do you propose<br />That
we should overthrow your Colonel’s scheme?”<br />And HONGREE,
Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,<br />Replied at once with never-failing
tact:<br />“Oh, sir, I know this cursed country well.<br />Entrust
yourself and all your host to me;<br />I’ll lead you safely by
a secret path<br />Into the heart of COLONEL JOOLES’ array,<br />And
you can then attack them unprepared,<br />And slay my fellow-countrymen
unarmed.”</p>
<p>The thing was done. The DUKE of BEDFORD gave<br />The order,
and two thousand fighting men<br />Crept silently into the Gallic camp,<br />And
slew the Frenchmen as they lay asleep;<br />And Bedford’s haughty
Duke slew COLONEL JOOLES,<br />And gave fair MAHRY, pride of Aquitaine,<br />To
HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Ballad: Etiquette</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>The<i> Ballyshannon</i> foundered off the coast of Cariboo,<br />And
down in fathoms many went the captain and the crew;<br />Down went the
owners—greedy men whom hope of gain allured:<br />Oh, dry the
starting tear, for they were heavily insured.</p>
<p>Besides the captain and the mate, the owners and the crew,<br />The
passengers were also drowned excepting only two:<br />Young PETER GRAY,
who tasted teas for BAKER, CROOP, AND CO.,<br />And SOMERS, who from
Eastern shores imported indigo.</p>
<p>These passengers, by reason of their clinging to a mast,<br />Upon
a desert island were eventually cast.<br />They hunted for their meals,
as ALEXANDER SELKIRK used,<br />But they couldn’t chat together—they
had not been introduced.</p>
<p>For PETER GRAY, and SOMERS too, though certainly in trade,<br />Were
properly particular about the friends they made;<br />And somehow thus
they settled it without a word of mouth—<br />That GRAY should
take the northern half, while SOMERS took the south.</p>
<p>On PETER’S portion oysters grew—a delicacy rare,<br />But
oysters were a delicacy PETER couldn’t bear.<br />On SOMERS’
side was turtle, on the shingle lying thick,<br />Which SOMERS couldn’t
eat, because it always made him sick.</p>
<p>GRAY gnashed his teeth with envy as he saw a mighty store<br />Of
turtle unmolested on his fellow-creature’s shore.<br />The oysters
at his feet aside impatiently he shoved,<br />For turtle and his mother
were the only things he loved.</p>
<p>And SOMERS sighed in sorrow as he settled in the south,<br />For
the thought of PETER’S oysters brought the water to his mouth.<br />He
longed to lay him down upon the shelly bed, and stuff:<br />He had often
eaten oysters, but had never had enough.</p>
<p>How they wished an introduction to each other they had had<br />When
on board the <i>Ballyshannon</i>! And it drove them nearly mad<br />To
think how very friendly with each other they might get,<br />If it wasn’t
for the arbitrary rule of etiquette!</p>
<p>One day, when out a-hunting for the <i>mus ridiculus,<br /></i>GRAY
overheard his fellow-man soliloquizing thus:<br />“I wonder how
the playmates of my youth are getting on,<br />M’CONNELL, S. B.
WALTERS, PADDY BYLES, and ROBINSON?”</p>
<p>These simple words made PETER as delighted as could be,<br />Old
chummies at the Charterhouse were ROBINSON and he!<br />He walked straight
up to SOMERS, then he turned extremely red,<br />Hesitated, hummed and
hawed a bit, then cleared his throat, and said:</p>
<p>I beg your pardon—pray forgive me if I seem too bold,<br />But
you have breathed a name I knew familiarly of old.<br />You spoke aloud
of ROBINSON—I happened to be by.<br />You know him?”
“Yes, extremely well.” “Allow me, so do I.”</p>
<p>It was enough: they felt they could more pleasantly get on,<br />For
(ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knew ROBINSON!<br />And Mr. SOMERS’
turtle was at PETER’S service quite,<br />And Mr. SOMERS punished
PETER’S oyster-beds all night.</p>
<p>They soon became like brothers from community of wrongs:<br />They
wrote each other little odes and sang each other songs;<br />They told
each other anecdotes disparaging their wives;<br />On several occasions,
too, they saved each other’s lives.</p>
<p>They felt quite melancholy when they parted for the night,<br />And
got up in the morning soon as ever it was light;<br />Each other’s
pleasant company they reckoned so upon,<br />And all because it happened
that they both knew ROBINSON!</p>
<p>They lived for many years on that inhospitable shore,<br />And day
by day they learned to love each other more and more.<br />At last,
to their astonishment, on getting up one day,<br />They saw a frigate
anchored in the offing of the bay.</p>
<p>To PETER an idea occurred. “Suppose we cross the main?<br />So
good an opportunity may not be found again.”<br />And SOMERS thought
a minute, then ejaculated, “Done!<br />I wonder how my business
in the City’s getting on?”</p>
<p>“But stay,” said Mr. PETER: “when in England, as
you know,<br />I earned a living tasting teas for BAKER, CROOP, AND
CO.,<br />I may be superseded—my employers think me dead!”<br />“Then
come with me,” said SOMERS, “and taste indigo instead.”</p>
<p>But all their plans were scattered in a moment when they found<br />The
vessel was a convict ship from Portland, outward bound;<br />When a
boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very kind,<br />To
go on board they firmly but respectfully declined.</p>
<p>As both the happy settlers roared with laughter at the joke,<br />They
recognized a gentlemanly fellow pulling stroke:<br />’Twas ROBINSON—a
convict, in an unbecoming frock!<br />Condemned to seven years for misappropriating
stock!!!</p>
<p>They laughed no more, for SOMERS thought he had been rather rash<br />In
knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash;<br />And PETER thought
a foolish tack he must have gone upon<br />In making the acquaintance
of a friend of ROBINSON.</p>
<p>At first they didn’t quarrel very openly, I’ve heard;<br />They
nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word:<br />The word
grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head,<br />And when they
meet each other now, they cut each other dead.</p>
<p>To allocate the island they agreed by word of mouth,<br />And PETER
takes the north again, and SOMERS takes the south;<br />And PETER has
the oysters, which he hates, in layers thick,<br />And SOMERS has the
turtle—turtle always makes him sick.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>Foonotes:</h2>
<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> “Go
with me to a Notary—seal me there<br />Your single bond.”—<i>Merchant
of Venice</i>, Act I., sc. 3.</p>
<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> “And
there shall she, at Friar Lawrence’ cell,<br />Be shrived and
married.”—<i>Romeo and Juliet</i>, Act II., sc. 4.</p>
<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a> “And
give the fasting horses provender.”—<i>Henry the Fifth</i>,
Act IV., sc. 2.</p>
<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4">{4}</a> “Let
us, like merchants, show our foulest wares.”—<i>Troilus
and Cressida</i>, Act I., sc. 3.</p>
<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a> “Then
must the Jew be merciful.”—<i>Merchant of Venice</i>, Act
IV., sc. 1.</p>
<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6">{6}</a> “The
spring, the summer,<br />The chilling autumn, angry winter, change<br />Their
wonted liveries.”—<i>Midsummer Night Dream</i>, Act IV.,
sc. 1.</p>
<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7">{7}</a> “In
the county of Glo’ster, justice of the peace and <i>coram</i>.”<br /><i>Merry
Wives of Windsor</i>, Act I., sc. 1.</p>
<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8">{8}</a> “What
lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?”—<i>King John</i>, Act
V., sc. 2.</p>
<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9">{9}</a> “And
I’ll provide his executioner.”—<i>Henry the Sixth</i>
(Second Part), Act III., sc. 1.</p>
<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10">{10}</a> “The
lioness had torn some flesh away,<br />Which all this while had bled.”—<i>As
You Like It</i>, Act IV., sc. 3.</p>
<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11">{11}</a> Described
by MUNGO PARK.</p>
<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12">{12}</a> “Like
a bird.”—<i>Slang expression.</i></p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
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