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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:08 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/934-0.txt b/934-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..37a5cf2 --- /dev/null +++ b/934-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4301 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Songs of a Savoyard, by W. S. Gilbert + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Songs of a Savoyard + + +Author: W. S. Gilbert + + + +Release Date: August 11, 2019 [eBook #934] +[This file was first posted June 4, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF A SAVOYARD*** + + +Transcribed from the 1920 Macmillan and Co edition of “The Bab Ballads”, +also from “Fifty Bab Ballads” 1884 George Routledge and Sons edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Public domain book cover] + + + + + + Songs of a Savoyard + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +THE DARNED MOUNSEER 6 +THE ENGLISHMAN 13 +THE DISAGREEABLE MAN 16 +THE COMING BY-AND-BY 22 +THE HIGHLY RESPECTABLE GONDOLIER 26 +THE FAIRY QUEEN’S SONG 32 +IS LIFE A BOON 38 +THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL 42 +THE HEAVY DRAGOON 49 +PROPER PRIDE 56 +THE POLICEMAN’S LOT 63 +THE BAFFLED GRUMBLER 69 +THE HOUSE OF PEERS 74 +A MERRY MADRIGAL 81 +THE DUKE AND THE DUCHESS 84 +EHEU FUGACES—! 92 +THEY’LL NONE OF ’EM BE MISSED 99 +GIRL GRADUATES 106 +BRAID THE RAVEN HAIR 113 +THE WORKING MONARCH 119 +THE APE AND THE LADY 123 +ONLY ROSES 130 +THE ROVER’S APOLOGY 136 +AN APPEAL 143 +THE REWARD OF MERIT 146 +THE MAGNET AND THE CHURN 153 +THE FAMILY FOOL 161 +SANS SOUCI 169 +A RECIPE 175 +THE MERRYMAN AND HIS MAID 182 +THE SUSCEPTIBLE CHANCELLOR 191 +WHEN A MERRY MAIDEN MARRIES 198 +THE BRITISH TAR 204 +A MAN WHO WOULD WOO A FAIR MAID 209 +THE SORCERER’S SONG 211 +THE FICKLE BREEZE 219 +THE FIRST LORD’S SONG 227 +WOULD YOU KNOW? 240 +SPECULATION 254 +AH ME! 255 +THE DUKE OF PLAZA-TORO 262 +THE ÆSTHETE 271 +SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I 278 +SORRY HER LOT 286 +THE CONTEMPLATIVE SENTRY 292 +THE PHILOSOPHIC PILL 299 +BLUE BLOOD 307 +THE JUDGE’S SONG 315 +WHEN I FIRST PUT THIS UNIFORM ON 322 +SOLATIUM 329 +A NIGHTMARE 335 +DON’T FORGET! 345 +THE SUICIDE’S GRAVE 354 +HE AND SHE 361 +THE MIGHTY MUST 367 +A MIRAGE 374 +THE GHOSTS’ HIGH NOON 381 +THE HUMANE MIKADO 388 +WILLOW WALY! 397 +LIFE IS LOVELY ALL THE YEAR 403 +THE USHER’S CHARGE 411 +THE GREAT OAK TREE 418 +KING GOODHEART 424 +SLEEP ON! 431 +THE LOVE-SICK BOY 439 +POETRY EVERYWHERE 445 +HE LOVES! 453 +TRUE DIFFIDENCE 458 +THE TANGLED SKEIN 466 +MY LADY 471 +ONE AGAINST THE WORLD 473 +PUT A PENNY IN THE SLOT 480 +GOOD LITTLE GIRLS 482 +LIFE 487 +LIMITED LIABILITY 490 +ANGLICISED UTOPIA 497 +AN ENGLISH GIRL 499 +A MANAGER’S PERPLEXITIES 504 +OUT OF SORTS 506 +HOW IT’S DONE 512 +A CLASSICAL REVIVAL 515 +THE PRACTICAL JOKER 523 +THE NATIONAL ANTHEM 526 +HER TERMS 534 +THE INDEPENDENT BEE 536 +THE DISCONCERTED TENOR 547 +THE PLAYED-OUT HUMORIST 553 + + + + +THE DARNED MOUNSEER + + + I SHIPPED, d’ye see, in a Revenue sloop, + And, off Cape Finisteere, + A merchantman we see, + A Frenchman, going free, + So we made for the bold Mounseer, + D’ye see? + We made for the bold Mounseer! + But she proved to be a Frigate—and she up with her ports, + And fires with a thirty-two! + It come uncommon near, + But we answered with a cheer, + Which paralysed the Parley-voo, + D’ye see? + Which paralysed the Parley-voo! + Then our Captain he up and he says, says he, + “That chap we need not fear,— + We can take her, if we like, + She is sartin for to strike, + For she’s only a darned Mounseer, + D’ye see? + She’s only a darned Mounseer! + But to fight a French fal-lal—it’s like hittin’ of a gal— + It’s a lubberly thing for to do; + For we, with all our faults, + Why, we’re sturdy British salts, + While she’s but a Parley-voo, + D’ye see? + A miserable Parley-voo!” + + So we up with our helm, and we scuds before the breeze, + As we gives a compassionating cheer; + Froggee answers with a shout + As he sees us go about, + Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer, + D’ye see? + Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer! + And I’ll wager in their joy they kissed each other’s cheek + (Which is what them furriners do), + And they blessed their lucky stars + We were hardy British tars + Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo, + D’ye see? + Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo! + + + + +THE ENGLISHMAN + + + HE is an Englishman! + For he himself has said it, + And it’s greatly to his credit, + That he is an Englishman! + For he might have been a Roosian, + A French, or Turk, or Proosian, + Or perhaps Itali-an! + But in spite of all temptations, + To belong to other nations, + He remains an Englishman! + Hurrah! + For the true-born Englishman! + + + + +THE DISAGREEABLE MAN + + + IF you give me your attention, I will tell you what I am: + I’m a genuine philanthropist—all other kinds are sham. + Each little fault of temper and each social defect + In my erring fellow-creatures, I endeavour to correct. + To all their little weaknesses I open people’s eyes, + And little plans to snub the self-sufficient I devise; + I love my fellow-creatures—I do all the good I can— + Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man! + And I can’t think why! + + To compliments inflated I’ve a withering reply, + And vanity I always do my best to mortify; + A charitable action I can skilfully dissect; + And interested motives I’m delighted to detect. + I know everybody’s income and what everybody earns, + And I carefully compare it with the income-tax returns; + But to benefit humanity, however much I plan, + Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man! + And I can’t think why! + + I’m sure I’m no ascetic; I’m as pleasant as can be; + You’ll always find me ready with a crushing repartee; + I’ve an irritating chuckle, I’ve a celebrated sneer, + I’ve an entertaining snigger, I’ve a fascinating leer; + To everybody’s prejudice I know a thing or two; + I can tell a woman’s age in half a minute—and I do— + But although I try to make myself as pleasant as I can, + Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man! + And I can’t think why! + + + + +THE COMING BY-AND-BY + + + SAD is that woman’s lot who, year by year, + Sees, one by one, her beauties disappear; + As Time, grown weary of her heart-drawn sighs, + Impatiently begins to “dim her eyes”!— + Herself compelled, in life’s uncertain gloamings, + To wreathe her wrinkled brow with well-saved “combings”— + Reduced, with rouge, lipsalve, and pearly grey, + To “make up” for lost time, as best she may! + + Silvered is the raven hair, + Spreading is the parting straight, + Mottled the complexion fair, + Halting is the youthful gait, + Hollow is the laughter free, + Spectacled the limpid eye, + Little will be left of me, + In the coming by-and-by! + + Fading is the taper waist— + Shapeless grows the shapely limb, + And although securely laced, + Spreading is the figure trim! + Stouter than I used to be, + Still more corpulent grow I— + There will be too much of me + In the coming by-and-by! + + + + +THE HIGHLY RESPECTABLE GONDOLIER + + + I STOLE the Prince, and I brought him here, + And left him, gaily prattling + With a highly respectable Gondolier, + Who promised the Royal babe to rear, + And teach him the trade of a timoneer + With his own beloved bratling. + + Both of the babes were strong and stout, + And, considering all things, clever. + Of that there is no manner of doubt— + No probable, possible shadow of doubt— + No possible doubt whatever. + + Time sped, and when at the end of a year + I sought that infant cherished, + That highly respectable Gondolier + Was lying a corpse on his humble bier— + I dropped a Grand Inquisitor’s tear— + That Gondolier had perished! + + A taste for drink, combined with gout, + Had doubled him up for ever. + Of _that_ there is no manner of doubt— + No probable, possible shadow of doubt— + No possible doubt whatever. + + But owing, I’m much disposed to fear, + To his terrible taste for tippling, + That highly respectable Gondolier + Could never declare with a mind sincere + Which of the two was his offspring dear, + And which the Royal stripling! + + Which was which he could never make out, + Despite his best endeavour. + Of _that_ there is no manner of doubt— + No probable, possible shadow of doubt— + No possible doubt whatever. + + The children followed his old career— + (This statement can’t be parried) + Of a highly respectable Gondolier: + Well, one of the two (who will soon be here)— + But _which_ of the two is not quite clear— + Is the Royal Prince you married! + + Search in and out and round about + And you’ll discover never + A tale so free from every doubt— + All probable, possible shadow of doubt— + All possible doubt whatever! + + + + +THE FAIRY QUEEN’S SONG + + + OH, foolish fay, + Think you because + Man’s brave array + My bosom thaws + I’d disobey + Our fairy laws? + Because I fly + In realms above, + In tendency + To fall in love + Resemble I + The amorous dove? + + Oh, amorous dove! + Type of Ovidius Naso! + This heart of mine + Is soft as thine, + Although I dare not say so! + + On fire that glows + With heat intense + I turn the hose + Of Common Sense, + And out it goes + At small expense! + We must maintain + Our fairy law; + That is the main + On which to draw— + In that we gain + A Captain Shaw. + + Oh, Captain Shaw! + Type of true love kept under! + Could thy Brigade + With cold cascade + Quench my great love, I wonder! + + + + +IS LIFE A BOON + + + IS life a boon? + If so, it must befall + That Death, whene’er he call, + Must call too soon. + Though fourscore years he give + Yet one would pray to live + Another moon! + What kind of plaint have I, + Who perish in July? + I might have had to die + Perchance in June! + + Is life a thorn? + Then count it not a whit! + Man is well done with it; + Soon as he’s born + He should all means essay + To put the plague away; + And I, war-worn, + Poor captured fugitive, + My life most gladly give— + I might have had to live + Another morn! + + + + +THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL + + + I AM the very pattern of a modern Major-Gineral, + I’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral; + I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical, + From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical; + I’m very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, + I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical; + About binomial theorem I’m teeming with a lot o’ news, + With interesting facts about the square of the hypotenuse, + I’m very good at integral and differential calculus, + I know the scientific names of beings animalculous. + In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, + I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral. + + I know our mythic history—KING ARTHUR’S and SIR CARADOC’S, + I answer hard acrostics, I’ve a pretty taste for paradox; + I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of HELIOGABALUS, + In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous. + I tell undoubted RAPHAELS from GERARD DOWS and ZOFFANIES, + I know the croaking chorus from the “Frogs” of ARISTOPHANES; + Then I can hum a fugue, of which I’ve heard the music’s din afore, + And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense “Pinafore.” + Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform, + And tell you every detail of CARACTACUS’S uniform. + In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, + I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral. + + In fact, when I know what is meant by “mamelon” and “ravelin,” + When I can tell at sight a Chassepôt rifle from a javelin, + When such affairs as _sorties_ and surprises I’m more wary at, + And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat, + When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery, + When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery, + In short, when I’ve a smattering of elementary strategy, + You’ll say a better Major-Gener_al_ has never _sat_ a gee— + For my military knowledge, though I’m plucky and adventury, + Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century. + But still in learning vegetable, animal, and mineral, + I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral! + + + + +THE HEAVY DRAGOON + + + IF you want a receipt for that popular mystery, + Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon, + Take all the remarkable people in history, + Rattle them off to a popular tune! + The pluck of LORD NELSON on board of the _Victory_— + Genius of BISMARCK devising a plan; + The humour of FIELDING (which sounds contradictory)— + Coolness of PAGET about to trepan— + The grace of MOZART, that unparalleled musico— + Wit of MACAULAY, who wrote of QUEEN ANNE— + The pathos of PADDY, as rendered by BOUCICAULT— + Style of the BISHOP OF SODOR AND MAN— + The dash of a D’ORSAY, divested of quackery— + Narrative powers of DICKENS and THACKERAY— + VICTOR EMMANUEL—peak-haunting PEVERIL— + THOMAS AQUINAS, and DOCTOR SACHEVERELL— + TUPPER and TENNYSON—DANIEL DEFOE— + ANTHONY TROLLOPE and MISTER GUIZOT! + Take of these elements all that is fusible, + Melt ’em all down in a pipkin or crucible, + Set ’em to simmer and take off the scum, + And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum! + + If you want a receipt for this soldierlike paragon, + Get at the wealth of the CZAR (if you can)— + The family pride of a Spaniard from Arragon— + Force of MEPHISTO pronouncing a ban— + A smack of LORD WATERFORD, reckless and rollicky— + Swagger of RODERICK, heading his clan— + The keen penetration of PADDINGTON POLLAKY— + Grace of an Odalisque on a divan— + The genius strategic of CÆSAR or HANNIBAL— + Skill of LORD WOLSELEY in thrashing a cannibal— + Flavour of HAMLET—the STRANGER, a touch of him— + Little of MANFRED (but not very much of him)— + Beadle of Burlington—RICHARDSON’S show— + MR. MICAWBER and MADAME TUSSAUD! + Take of these elements all that is fusible— + Melt ’em all down in a pipkin or crucible— + Set ’em to simmer and take off the scum, + And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum! + + + + +PROPER PRIDE + + + THE Sun, whose rays + Are all ablaze + With ever-living glory, + Will not deny + His majesty— + He scorns to tell a story: + He won’t exclaim, + “I blush for shame, + So kindly be indulgent,” + But, fierce and bold, + In fiery gold, + He glories all effulgent! + + I mean to rule the earth, + As he the sky— + We really know our worth, + The Sun and I! + + Observe his flame, + That placid dame, + The Moon’s Celestial Highness; + There’s not a trace + Upon her face + Of diffidence or shyness: + She borrows light + That, through the night, + Mankind may all acclaim her! + And, truth to tell, + She lights up well, + So I, for one, don’t blame her! + + Ah, pray make no mistake, + We are not shy; + We’re very wide awake, + The Moon and I! + + + + +THE POLICEMAN’S LOT + + + WHEN a felon’s not engaged in his employment, + Or maturing his felonious little plans, + His capacity for innocent enjoyment + Is just as great as any honest man’s. + Our feelings we with difficulty smother + When constabulary duty’s to be done: + Ah, take one consideration with another, + A policeman’s lot is not a happy one! + + When the enterprising burglar isn’t burgling, + When the cut-throat isn’t occupied in crime, + He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling, + And listen to the merry village chime. + When the coster’s finished jumping on his mother, + He loves to lie a-basking in the sun: + Ah, take one consideration with another, + The policeman’s lot is not a happy one! + + + + +THE BAFFLED GRUMBLER + + + WHENE’ER I poke + Sarcastic joke + Replete with malice spiteful, + The people vile + Politely smile + And vote me quite delightful! + Now, when a wight + Sits up all night + Ill-natured jokes devising, + And all his wiles + Are met with smiles, + It’s hard, there’s no disguising! + Oh, don’t the days seem lank and long + When all goes right and nothing goes wrong, + And isn’t your life extremely flat + With nothing whatever to grumble at! + + When German bands, + From music stands + Play Wagner imper_fect_ly— + I bid them go— + They don’t say no, + But off they trot directly! + The organ boys + They stop their noise + With readiness surprising, + And grinning herds + Of hurdy-gurds + Retire apologising! + Oh, don’t the days seem lank and long + When all goes right and nothing goes wrong, + And isn’t your life extremely flat + With nothing whatever to grumble at! + + I’ve offered gold, + In sums untold, + To all who’d contradict me— + I’ve said I’d pay + A pound a day + To any one who kicked me— + I’ve bribed with toys + Great vulgar boys + To utter something spiteful, + But, bless you, no! + They _will_ be so + Confoundedly politeful! + In short, these aggravating lads, + They tickle my tastes, they feed my fads, + They give me this and they give me that, + And I’ve nothing whatever to grumble at! + + + + +THE HOUSE OF PEERS + + + WHEN Britain really ruled the waves— + (In good Queen Bess’s time) + The House of Peers made no pretence + To intellectual eminence, + Or scholarship sublime; + Yet Britain won her proudest bays + In good Queen Bess’s glorious days! + + When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte, + As every child can tell, + The House of Peers, throughout the war, + Did nothing in particular, + And did it very well; + Yet Britain set the world ablaze + In good King George’s glorious days! + + And while the House of Peers withholds + Its legislative hand, + And noble statesmen do not itch + To interfere with matters which + They do not understand, + As bright will shine Great Britain’s rays, + As in King George’s glorious days! + + + + +A MERRY MADRIGAL + + + BRIGHTLY dawns our wedding day; + Joyous hour, we give thee greeting! + Whither, whither art thou fleeting? + Fickle moment, prithee stay! + What though mortal joys be hollow? + Pleasures come, if sorrows follow. + Though the tocsin sound, ere long, + Ding dong! Ding dong! + Yet until the shadows fall + Over one and over all, + Sing a merry madrigal— + Fal la! + + Let us dry the ready tear; + Though the hours are surely creeping, + Little need for woeful weeping + Till the sad sundown is near. + All must sip the cup of sorrow, + I to-day and thou to-morrow: + This the close of every song— + Ding dong! Ding dong! + What though solemn shadows fall, + Sooner, later, over all? + Sing a merry madrigal— + Fal la! + + + + +THE DUKE AND THE DUCHESS + + + THE DUKE. + + Small titles and orders + For Mayors and Recorders + I get—and they’re highly delighted. + M.P.s baronetted, + Sham Colonels gazetted, + And second-rate Aldermen knighted. + Foundation-stone laying + I find very paying, + It adds a large sum to my makings. + At charity dinners + The best of speech-spinners, + I get ten per cent on the takings! + + THE DUCHESS. + + I present any lady + Whose conduct is shady + Or smacking of doubtful propriety; + When Virtue would quash her + I take and whitewash her + And launch her in first-rate society. + I recommend acres + Of clumsy dressmakers— + Their fit and their finishing touches; + A sum in addition + They pay for permission + To say that they make for the Duchess! + + THE DUKE. + + Those pressing prevailers, + The ready-made tailors, + Quote me as their great double-barrel; + I allow them to do so, + Though ROBINSON CRUSOE + Would jib at their wearing apparel! + I sit, by selection, + Upon the direction + Of several Companies bubble; + As soon as they’re floated + I’m freely bank-noted— + I’m pretty well paid for my trouble! + + THE DUCHESS. + + At middle-class party + I play at _écarté_— + And I’m by no means a beginner; + To one of my station + The remuneration— + Five guineas a night and my dinner. + I write letters blatant + On medicines patent— + And use any other you mustn’t; + And vow my complexion + Derives its perfection + From somebody’s soap—which it doesn’t. + + THE DUKE. + + We’re ready as witness + To any one’s fitness + To fill any place or preferment; + We’re often in waiting + At junket _fêting_, + And sometimes attend an interment. + In short, if you’d kindle + The spark of a swindle, + Lure simpletons into your clutches, + Or hoodwink a debtor, + You cannot do better + Than trot out a Duke or a Duchess! + + + + +EHEU FUGACES—! + + + THE air is charged with amatory numbers— + Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers’ lays. + Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers + The aching memory of the old, old days? + + Time was when Love and I were well acquainted; + Time was when we walked ever hand in hand; + A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted, + None better loved than I in all the land! + Time was, when maidens of the noblest station, + Forsaking even military men, + Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration— + Ah me, I was a fair young curate then! + + Had I a headache? sighed the maids assembled; + Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear; + Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled; + And when I coughed all thought the end was near! + I had no care—no jealous doubts hung o’er me— + For I was loved beyond all other men. + Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me— + Ah me, I was a pale young curate then! + + + + +THEY’LL NONE OF ’EM BE MISSED + + + AS some day it may happen that a victim must be found, + I’ve got a little list—I’ve got a little list + Of social offenders who might well be underground, + And who never would be missed—who never would be missed! + There’s the pestilential nuisances who write for autographs— + All people who have flabby hands and irritating laughs— + All children who are up in dates, and floor you with ’em flat— + All persons who in shaking hands, shake hands with you like _that_— + And all third persons who on spoiling _tête-à-têtes_ insist— + They’d none of ’em be missed—they’d none of ’em be missed! + + There’s the nigger serenader, and the others of his race, + And the piano organist—I’ve got him on the list! + And the people who eat peppermint and puff it in your face, + They never would be missed—they never would be missed! + Then the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone, + All centuries but this, and every country but his own; + And the lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy, + And who “doesn’t think she waltzes, but would rather like to try”; + And that _fin-de-siècle_ anomaly, the scorching motorist— + I don’t think he’d be missed—I’m _sure_ he’d not be missed! + + And that _Nisi Prius_ nuisance, who just now is rather rife, + The Judicial humorist—I’ve got _him_ on the list! + All funny fellows, comic men, and clowns of private life— + They’d none of ’em be missed—they’d none of ’em be missed! + And apologetic statesmen of the compromising kind, + Such as—What-d’ye-call-him—Thing’em-Bob, and likewise—Never-mind, + And ’St—’st—’st—and What’s-his-name, and also—You-know-who— + (The task of filling up the blanks I’d rather leave to _you_!) + But it really doesn’t matter whom you put upon the list, + For they’d none of ’em be missed—they’d none of ’em be missed! + + + + +GIRL GRADUATES + + + THEY intend to send a wire + To the moon; + And they’ll set the Thames on fire + Very soon; + Then they learn to make silk purses + With their rigs + From the ears of LADY CIRCE’S + Piggy-wigs. + And weasels at their slumbers + They’ll trepan; + To get sunbeams from cu_cum_bers + They’ve a plan. + They’ve a firmly rooted notion + They can cross the Polar Ocean, + And they’ll find Perpetual Motion + If they can! + + These are the phenomena + That every pretty domina + Hopes that we shall see + At this Universitee! + + As for fashion, they forswear it, + So they say, + And the circle—they will square it + Some fine day; + Then the little pigs they’re teaching + For to fly; + And the niggers they’ll be bleaching + By-and-by! + Each newly joined aspirant + To the clan + Must repudiate the tyrant + Known as Man; + They mock at him and flout him, + For they do not care about him, + And they’re “going to do without him” + If they can! + + These are the phenomena + That every pretty domina + Hopes that we shall see + At this Universitee! + + + + +BRAID THE RAVEN HAIR + + + BRAID the raven hair, + Weave the supple tress, + Deck the maiden fair + In her loveliness; + Paint the pretty face, + Dye the coral lip, + Emphasise the grace + Of her ladyship! + Art and nature, thus allied, + Go to make a pretty bride! + + Sit with downcast eye, + Let it brim with dew; + Try if you can cry, + We will do so, too. + When you’re summoned, start + Like a frightened roe; + Flutter, little heart, + Colour, come and go! + Modesty at marriage tide + Well becomes a pretty bride! + + + + +THE WORKING MONARCH + + + RISING early in the morning, + We proceed to light the fire, + Then our Majesty adorning + In its work-a-day attire, + We embark without delay + On the duties of the day. + + First, we polish off some batches + Of political despatches, + And foreign politicians circumvent; + Then, if business isn’t heavy, + We may hold a Royal _levée_, + Or ratify some Acts of Parliament: + Then we probably review the household troops— + With the usual “Shalloo humps” and “Shalloo hoops!” + Or receive with ceremonial and state + An interesting Eastern Potentate. + After that we generally + Go and dress our private _valet_— + + (It’s a rather nervous duty—he a touchy little man)— + Write some letters literary + For our private secretary— + (He is shaky in his spelling, so we help him if we can.) + Then, in view of cravings inner, + We go down and order dinner; + Or we polish the Regalia and the Coronation Plate— + Spend an hour in titivating + All our Gentlemen-in-Waiting; + Or we run on little errands for the Ministers of State. + Oh, philosophers may sing + Of the troubles of a King, + Yet the duties are delightful, and the privileges great; + But the privilege and pleasure + That we treasure beyond measure + Is to run on little errands for the Ministers of State! + + After luncheon (making merry + On a bun and glass of sherry), + If we’ve nothing in particular to do, + We may make a Proclamation, + Or receive a Deputation— + Then we possibly create a Peer or two. + Then we help a fellow-creature on his path + With the Garter or the Thistle or the Bath: + Or we dress and toddle off in semi-State + To a festival, a function, or a _fête_. + Then we go and stand as sentry + At the Palace (private entry), + Marching hither, marching thither, up and down and to and fro, + While the warrior on duty + Goes in search of beer and beauty + (And it generally happens that he hasn’t far to go). + He relieves us, if he’s able, + Just in time to lay the table. + + Then we dine and serve the coffee; and at half-past twelve or one, + With a pleasure that’s emphatic; + Then we seek our little attic + With the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done. + Oh, philosophers may sing + Of the troubles of a King, + But of pleasures there are many and of troubles there are none; + And the culminating pleasure + That we treasure beyond measure + Is the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done! + + + + +THE APE AND THE LADY + + + A LADY fair, of lineage high, + Was loved by an Ape, in the days gone by— + The Maid was radiant as the sun, + The Ape was a most unsightly one— + So it would not do— + His scheme fell through; + For the Maid, when his love took formal shape, + Expressed such terror + At his monstrous error, + That he stammered an apology and made his ’scape, + The picture of a disconcerted Ape. + + With a view to rise in the social scale, + He shaved his bristles, and he docked his tail, + He grew moustachios, and he took his tub, + And he paid a guinea to a toilet club. + But it would not do, + The scheme fell through— + For the Maid was Beauty’s fairest Queen, + With golden tresses, + Like a real princess’s, + While the Ape, despite his razor keen, + Was the apiest Ape that ever was seen! + + He bought white ties, and he bought dress suits, + He crammed his feet into bright tight boots, + And to start his life on a brand-new plan, + He christened himself Darwinian Man! + But it would not do, + The scheme fell through— + For the Maiden fair, whom the monkey craved, + Was a radiant Being, + With a brain far-seeing— + While a Man, however well-behaved, + At best is only a monkey shaved! + + + + +ONLY ROSES + + + TO a garden full of posies + Cometh one to gather flowers; + And he wanders through its bowers + Toying with the wanton roses, + Who, uprising from their beds, + Hold on high their shameless heads + With their pretty lips a-pouting, + Never doubting—never doubting + That for Cytherean posies + He would gather aught but roses. + + In a nest of weeds and nettles, + Lay a violet, half hidden; + Hoping that his glance unbidden + Yet might fall upon her petals. + Though she lived alone, apart, + Hope lay nestling at her heart, + But, alas! the cruel awaking + Set her little heart a-breaking, + For he gathered for his posies + Only roses—only roses! + + + + +THE ROVER’S APOLOGY + + + OH, gentlemen, listen, I pray; + Though I own that my heart has been ranging, + Of nature the laws I obey, + For nature is constantly changing. + The moon in her phases is found, + The time and the wind and the weather, + The months in succession come round, + And you don’t find two Mondays together. + Consider the moral, I pray, + Nor bring a young fellow to sorrow, + Who loves this young lady to-day, + And loves that young lady to-morrow! + + You cannot eat breakfast all day. + Nor is it the act of a sinner, + When breakfast is taken away, + To turn your attention to dinner; + And it’s not in the range of belief + That you could hold him as a glutton, + Who, when he is tired of beef, + Determines to tackle the mutton. + But this I am ready to say, + If it will diminish their sorrow, + I’ll marry this lady to-day, + And I’ll marry that lady to-morrow! + + + + +AN APPEAL + + + OH! is there not one maiden breast + Which does not feel the moral beauty + Of making worldly interest + Subordinate to sense of duty? + Who would not give up willingly + All matrimonial ambition + To rescue such a one as I + From his unfortunate position? + + Oh, is there not one maiden here, + Whose homely face and bad complexion + Have caused all hopes to disappear + Of ever winning man’s affection? + To such a one, if such there be, + I swear by heaven’s arch above you, + If you will cast your eyes on me,— + However plain you be—I’ll love you! + + + + +THE REWARD OF MERIT + + + DR. BELVILLE was regarded as the CRICHTON of his age: + His tragedies were reckoned much too thoughtful for the stage; + His poems held a noble rank, although it’s very true + That, being very proper, they were read by very few. + He was a famous Painter, too, and shone upon the “line,” + And even MR. RUSKIN came and worshipped at his shrine; + But, alas, the school he followed was heroically high— + The kind of Art men rave about, but very seldom buy; + And everybody said + “How can he be repaid— + This very great—this very good—this very gifted man?” + But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan! + + He was a great Inventor, and discovered, all alone, + A plan for making everybody’s fortune but his own; + For, in business, an Inventor’s little better than a fool, + And my highly-gifted friend was no exception to the rule. + His poems—people read them in the Quarterly Reviews— + His pictures—they engraved them in the _Illustrated News_— + His inventions—they, perhaps, might have enriched him by degrees, + But all his little income went in Patent Office fees; + And everybody said + “How can he be repaid— + This very great—this very good—this very gifted man?” + But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan! + + At last the point was given up in absolute despair, + When a distant cousin died, and he became a millionaire, + With a county seat in Parliament, a moor or two of grouse, + And a taste for making inconvenient speeches in the House! + _Then_ it flashed upon Britannia that the fittest of rewards + Was, to take him from the Commons and to put him in the Lords! + And who so fit to sit in it, deny it if you can, + As this very great—this very good—this very gifted man? + (Though I’m more than half afraid + That it sometimes may be said + That we never should have revelled in that source of proper pride, + However great his merits—if his cousin hadn’t died!) + + + + +THE MAGNET AND THE CHURN + + + A MAGNET hung in a hardware shop, + And all around was a loving crop + Of scissors and needles, nails and knives, + Offering love for all their lives; + But for iron the Magnet felt no whim, + Though he charmed iron, it charmed not him, + From needles and nails and knives he’d turn, + For he’d set his love on a Silver Churn! + His most æsthetic, + Very magnetic + Fancy took this turn— + “If I can wheedle + A knife or needle, + Why not a Silver Churn?” + + And Iron and Steel expressed surprise, + The needles opened their well-drilled eyes, + The pen-knives felt “shut up,” no doubt, + The scissors declared themselves “cut out,” + The kettles they boiled with rage, ’tis said, + While every nail went off its head, + And hither and thither began to roam, + Till a hammer came up—and drove it home, + While this magnetic + Peripatetic + Lover he lived to learn, + By no endeavour, + Can Magnet ever + Attract a Silver Churn! + + + + +THE FAMILY FOOL + + + OH! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon, + If you listen to popular rumour; + From morning to night he’s so joyous and bright, + And he bubbles with wit and good humour! + He’s so quaint and so terse, both in prose and in verse; + Yet though people forgive his transgression, + There are one or two rules that all Family Fools + Must observe, if they love their profession. + There are one or two rules, + Half-a-dozen, maybe, + That all family fools, + Of whatever degree, + Must observe if they love their profession. + + If you wish to succeed as a jester, you’ll need + To consider each person’s auricular: + What is all right for B would quite scandalise C + (For C is so very particular); + And D may be dull, and E’s very thick skull + Is as empty of brains as a ladle; + While F is F sharp, and will cry with a carp, + That he’s known your best joke from his cradle! + When your humour they flout, + You can’t let yourself go; + And it _does_ put you out + When a person says, “Oh! + I have known that old joke from my cradle!” + + If your master is surly, from getting up early + (And tempers are short in the morning), + An inopportune joke is enough to provoke + Him to give you, at once, a month’s warning. + Then if you refrain, he is at you again, + For he likes to get value for money: + He’ll ask then and there, with an insolent stare, + “If you know that you’re paid to be funny?” + It adds to the tasks + Of a merryman’s place, + When your principal asks, + With a scowl on his face, + If you know that you’re paid to be funny? + + Comes a Bishop, maybe, or a solemn D.D.— + Oh, beware of his anger provoking! + Better not pull his hair—don’t stick pins in his chair; + He won’t understand practical joking. + If the jests that you crack have an orthodox smack, + You may get a bland smile from these sages; + But should it, by chance, be imported from France, + Half-a-crown is stopped out of your wages! + It’s a general rule, + Though your zeal it may quench, + If the Family Fool + Makes a joke that’s _too_ French, + Half-a-crown is stopped out of his wages! + + Though your head it may rack with a bilious attack, + And your senses with toothache you’re losing, + And you’re mopy and flat—they don’t fine you for that + If you’re properly quaint and amusing! + Though your wife ran away with a soldier that day, + And took with her your trifle of money; + Bless your heart, they don’t mind—they’re exceedingly kind— + They don’t blame you—as long as you’re funny! + It’s a comfort to feel + If your partner should flit, + Though _you_ suffer a deal, + _They_ don’t mind it a bit— + They don’t blame you—so long as you’re funny! + + + + +SANS SOUCI + + + I CANNOT tell what this love may be + That cometh to all but not to me. + It cannot be kind as they’d imply, + Or why do these gentle ladies sigh? + It cannot be joy and rapture deep, + Or why do these gentle ladies weep? + It cannot be blissful, as ’tis said, + Or why are their eyes so wondrous red? + + If love is a thorn, they show no wit + Who foolishly hug and foster it. + If love is a weed, how simple they + Who gather and gather it, day by day! + If love is a nettle that makes you smart, + Why do you wear it next your heart? + And if it be neither of these, say I, + Why do you sit and sob and sigh? + + + + +A RECIPE + + + TAKE a pair of sparkling eyes, + Hidden, ever and anon, + In a merciful eclipse— + Do not heed their mild surprise— + Having passed the Rubicon. + Take a pair of rosy lips; + Take a figure trimly planned— + Such as admiration whets + (Be particular in this); + Take a tender little hand, + Fringed with dainty fingerettes, + Press it—in parenthesis;— + Take all these, you lucky man— + Take and keep them, if you can. + + Take a pretty little cot— + Quite a miniature affair— + Hung about with trellised vine, + Furnish it upon the spot + With the treasures rich and rare + I’ve endeavoured to define. + Live to love and love to live— + You will ripen at your ease, + Growing on the sunny side— + Fate has nothing more to give. + You’re a dainty man to please + If you are not satisfied. + Take my counsel, happy man: + Act upon it, if you can! + + + + +THE MERRYMAN AND HIS MAID + + + HE. I HAVE a song to sing, O! + SHE. Sing me your song, O! + HE. It is sung to the moon + By a love-lorn loon, + Who fled from the mocking throng, O! + It’s the song of a merryman, moping mum, + Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum, + Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, + As he sighed for the love of a ladye. + Heighdy! heighdy! + Misery me—lackadaydee! + He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb, + As he sighed for the love of a ladye! + + SHE. I have a song to sing, O! + HE. Sing me your song, O! + SHE. It is sung with the ring + Of the song maids sing + Who love with a love life-long, O! + It’s the song of a merrymaid, peerly proud, + Who loved a lord, and who laughed aloud + At the moan of the merryman, moping mum, + Whose soul was sore, whose glance was glum, + Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, + As he sighed for the love of a ladye! + Heighdy! heighdy! + Misery me—lackadaydee! + He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb, + As he sighed for the love of a ladye! + + HE. I have a song to sing, O! + SHE. Sing me your song, O! + HE. It is sung to the knell + Of a churchyard bell, + And a doleful dirge, ding dong, O! + It’s a song of a popinjay, bravely born, + Who turned up his noble nose with scorn + At the humble merrymaid, peerly proud, + Who loved that lord, and who laughed aloud + At the moan of the merryman, moping mum, + Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum, + Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, + As he sighed for the love of a ladye! + Heighdy! heighdy! + Misery me—lackadaydee! + He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb, + As he sighed for the love of a ladye! + + SHE. I have a song to sing, O! + HE. Sing me your song, O! + SHE. It is sung with a sigh + And a tear in the eye, + For it tells of a righted wrong, O! + It’s a song of a merrymaid, once so gay, + Who turned on her heel and tripped away + From the peacock popinjay, bravely born, + Who turned up his noble nose with scorn + At the humble heart that he did not prize; + And it tells how she begged, with downcast eyes, + For the love of a merryman, moping mum, + Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum, + Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, + As he sighed for the love of a ladye! + BOTH. Heighdy! heighdy! + Misery me—lackadaydee! + His pains were o’er, and he sighed no more. + For he lived in the love of a ladye! + + + + +THE SUSCEPTIBLE CHANCELLOR + + + THE law is the true embodiment + Of everything that’s excellent. + It has no kind of fault or flaw, + And I, my lords, embody the Law. + The constitutional guardian I + Of pretty young Wards in Chancery, + All very agreeable girls—and none + Is over the age of twenty-one. + A pleasant occupation for + A rather susceptible Chancellor! + + But though the compliment implied + Inflates me with legitimate pride, + It nevertheless can’t be denied + That it has its inconvenient side. + For I’m not so old, and not so plain, + And I’m quite prepared to marry again, + But there’d be the deuce to pay in the Lords + If I fell in love with one of my Wards: + Which rather tries my temper, for + I’m _such_ a susceptible Chancellor! + + And every one who’d marry a Ward + Must come to me for my accord: + So in my court I sit all day, + Giving agreeable girls away, + With one for him—and one for he— + And one for you—and one for ye— + And one for thou—and one for thee— + But never, oh never a one for me! + Which is exasperating, for + A highly susceptible Chancellor! + + + + +WHEN A MERRY MAIDEN MARRIES + + + WHEN a merry maiden marries, + Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries; + Every sound becomes a song, + All is right and nothing’s wrong! + From to-day and ever after + Let your tears be tears of laughter— + Every sigh that finds a vent + Be a sigh of sweet content! + When you marry merry maiden, + Then the air with love is laden; + Every flower is a rose, + Every goose becomes a swan, + Every kind of trouble goes + Where the last year’s snows have gone; + Sunlight takes the place of shade + When you marry merry maid! + + When a merry maiden marries + Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries; + Every sound becomes a song, + All is right, and nothing’s wrong. + Gnawing Care and aching Sorrow, + Get ye gone until to-morrow; + Jealousies in grim array, + Ye are things of yesterday! + When you marry merry maiden, + Then the air with joy is laden; + All the corners of the earth + Ring with music sweetly played, + Worry is melodious mirth, + Grief is joy in masquerade; + Sullen night is laughing day— + All the year is merry May! + + + + +THE BRITISH TAR + + + A BRITISH tar is a soaring soul, + As free as a mountain bird, + His energetic fist should be ready to resist + A dictatorial word. + His nose should pant and his lip should curl, + His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl, + His bosom should heave and his heart should glow, + And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow. + + His eyes should flash with an inborn fire, + His brow with scorn be rung; + He never should bow down to a domineering frown, + Or the tang of a tyrant tongue. + His foot should stamp and his throat should growl, + His hair should twirl and his face should scowl; + His eyes should flash and his breast protrude, + And this should be his customary attitude! + + + + +A MAN WHO WOULD WOO A FAIR MAID + + + A MAN who would woo a fair maid, + Should ’prentice himself to the trade; + And study all day, + In methodical way, + How to flatter, cajole, and persuade. + He should ’prentice himself at fourteen + And practise from morning to e’en; + And when he’s of age, + If he will, I’ll engage, + He may capture the heart of a queen! + It is purely a matter of skill, + Which all may attain if they will: + But every Jack + He must study the knack + If he wants to make sure of his Jill! + + If he’s made the best use of his time, + His twig he’ll so carefully lime + That every bird + Will come down at his word. + Whatever its plumage and clime. + He must learn that the thrill of a touch + May mean little, or nothing, or much; + It’s an instrument rare, + To be handled with care, + And ought to be treated as such. + It is purely a matter of skill, + Which all may attain if they will: + But every Jack, + He must study the knack + If he wants to make sure of his Jill! + + Then a glance may be timid or free; + It will vary in mighty degree, + From an impudent stare + To a look of despair + That no maid without pity can see. + And a glance of despair is no guide— + It may have its ridiculous side; + It may draw you a tear + Or a box on the ear; + You can never be sure till you’ve tried. + It is purely a matter of skill, + Which all may attain if they will: + But every Jack + He must study the knack + If he wants to make sure of his Jill! + + + + +THE SORCERER’S SONG + + + OH! my name is JOHN WELLINGTON WELLS— + I’m a dealer in magic and spells, + In blessings and curses, + And ever-filled purses, + In prophecies, witches, and knells! + If you want a proud foe to “make tracks”— + If you’d melt a rich uncle in wax— + You’ve but to look in + On our resident Djinn, + Number seventy, Simmery Axe. + + We’ve a first-class assortment of magic; + And for raising a posthumous shade + With effects that are comic or tragic, + There’s no cheaper house in the trade. + Love-philtre—we’ve quantities of it; + And for knowledge if any one burns, + We keep an extremely small prophet, a prophet + Who brings us unbounded returns: + For he can prophesy + With a wink _of_ his eye, + Peep with security + Into futurity, + Sum up your history, + Clear up a mystery, + Humour proclivity + For a nativity. + With mirrors so magical, + Tetrapods tragical, + Bogies spectacular, + Answers oracular, + Facts astronomical, + Solemn or comical, + And, if you want it, he + Makes a reduction on taking a quantity! + Oh! + If any one anything lacks, + He’ll find it all ready in stacks, + If he’ll only look in + On the resident Djinn, + Number seventy, Simmery Axe! + + He can raise you hosts, + Of ghosts, + And that without reflectors; + And creepy things + With wings, + And gaunt and grisly spectres! + He can fill you crowds + Of shrouds, + And horrify you vastly; + He can rack your brains + With chains, + And gibberings grim and ghastly. + Then, if you plan it, he + Changes organity + With an urbanity, + Full of Satanity, + Vexes humanity + With an inanity + Fatal to vanity— + Driving your foes to the verge of insanity. + Barring tautology, + In demonology, + ’Lectro biology, + Mystic nosology, + Spirit philology, + High class astrology, + Such is his knowledge, he + Isn’t the man to require an apology + Oh! + My name is JOHN WELLINGTON WELLS, + I’m a dealer in magic and spells, + In blessings and curses, + And ever-filled purses— + In prophecies, witches, and knells. + If any one anything lacks, + He’ll find it all ready in stacks, + If he’ll only look in + On the resident Djinn, + Number seventy, Simmery Axe! + + + + +THE FICKLE BREEZE + + + SIGHING softly to the river + Comes the loving breeze, + Setting nature all a-quiver, + Rustling through the trees! + And the brook in rippling measure + Laughs for very love, + While the poplars, in their pleasure, + Wave their arms above! + River, river, little river, + May thy loving prosper ever. + Heaven speed thee, poplar tree, + May thy wooing happy be! + + Yet, the breeze is but a rover, + When he wings away, + Brook and poplar mourn a lover! + Sighing well-a-day! + Ah, the doing and undoing + That the rogue could tell! + When the breeze is out a-wooing, + Who can woo so well? + Pretty brook, thy dream is over, + For thy love is but a rover! + Sad the lot of poplar trees, + Courted by the fickle breeze! + + + + +THE FIRST LORD’S SONG + + + WHEN I was a lad I served a term + As office boy to an Attorney’s firm; + I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor, + And I polished up the handle of the big front door. + I polished up that handle so successfullee, + That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee! + + As office boy I made such a mark + That they gave me the post of a junior clerk; + I served the writs with a smile so bland, + And I copied all the letters in a big round hand. + I copied all the letters in a hand so free, + That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee! + + In serving writs I made such a name + That an articled clerk I soon became; + I wore clean collars and a brand-new suit + For the Pass Examination at the Institute: + And that Pass Examination did so well for me, + That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee! + + Of legal knowledge I acquired such a grip + That they took me into the partnership, + And that junior partnership I ween, + Was the only ship that I ever had seen: + But that kind of ship so suited me, + That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee! + + I grew so rich that I was sent + By a pocket borough into Parliament; + I always voted at my Party’s call, + And I never thought of thinking for myself at all. + I thought so little, they rewarded me, + By making me the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee! + + Now, landsmen all, whoever you may be, + If you want to rise to the top of the tree— + If your soul isn’t fettered to an office stool, + Be careful to be guided by this golden rule— + Stick close to your desks and _never go to sea_, + And you all may be Rulers of the Queen’s Navee! + + + + +WOULD YOU KNOW? + + + WOULD you know the kind of maid + Sets my heart a flame-a? + Eyes must be downcast and staid, + Cheeks must flush for shame-a! + She may neither dance nor sing, + But, demure in everything, + Hang her head in modest way + With pouting lips that seem to say, + “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, + Though I die of shame-a!” + Please you, that’s the kind of maid + Sets my heart a flame-a! + + When a maid is bold and gay + With a tongue goes clang-a, + Flaunting it in brave array, + Maiden may go hang-a! + Sunflower gay and hollyhock + Never shall my garden stock; + Mine the blushing rose of May, + With pouting lips that seem to say + “Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, + Though I die for shame-a!” + Please you, that’s the kind of maid + Sets my heart a flame-a! + + + + +SPECULATION + + + COMES a train of little ladies + From scholastic trammels free, + Each a little bit afraid is, + Wondering what the world can be! + + Is it but a world of trouble— + Sadness set to song? + Is its beauty but a bubble + Bound to break ere long? + + Are its palaces and pleasures + Fantasies that fade? + And the glory of its treasures + Shadow of a shade? + + Schoolgirls we, eighteen and under, + From scholastic trammels free, + And we wonder—how we wonder!— + What on earth the world can be! + + + + +AH ME! + + + WHEN maiden loves, she sits and sighs, + She wanders to and fro; + Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes, + And to all questions she replies, + With a sad heigho! + ’Tis but a little word—“heigho!” + So soft, ’tis scarcely heard—“heigho!” + An idle breath— + Yet life and death + May hang upon a maid’s “heigho!” + + When maiden loves, she mopes apart, + As owl mopes on a tree; + Although she keenly feels the smart, + She cannot tell what ails her heart, + With its sad “Ah me!” + ’Tis but a foolish sigh—“Ah me!” + Born but to droop and die—“Ah me!” + Yet all the sense + Of eloquence + Lies hidden in a maid’s “Ah me!” + + + + +THE DUKE OF PLAZA-TORO + + + IN enterprise of martial kind, + When there was any fighting, + He led his regiment from behind + (He found it less exciting). + But when away his regiment ran, + His place was at the fore, O— + That celebrated, + Cultivated, + Underrated + Nobleman, + The Duke of Plaza-Toro! + In the first and foremost flight, ha, ha! + You always found that knight, ha, ha! + That celebrated, + Cultivated, + Underrated + Nobleman, + The Duke of Plaza-Toro! + + When, to evade Destruction’s hand, + To hide they all proceeded, + No soldier in that gallant band + Hid half as well as he did. + He lay concealed throughout the war, + And so preserved his gore, O! + That unaffected, + Undetected, + Well connected + Warrior, + The Duke of Plaza-Toro! + In every doughty deed, ha, ha! + He always took the lead, ha, ha! + That unaffected, + Undetected, + Well connected + Warrior, + The Duke of Plaza-Toro! + + When told that they would all be shot + Unless they left the service, + That hero hesitated not, + So marvellous his nerve is. + He sent his resignation in, + The first of all his corps, O! + That very knowing, + Overflowing, + Easy-going + Paladin, + The Duke of Plaza-Toro! + To men of grosser clay, ha, ha! + He always showed the way, ha, ha! + That very knowing, + Overflowing, + Easy-going + Paladin, + The Duke of Plaza-Toro! + + + + +THE ÆSTHETE + + + IF you’re anxious for to shine in the high æsthetic line, as a man of + culture rare, + You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms, and plant + them everywhere. + You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of your + complicated state of mind + (The meaning doesn’t matter if it’s only idle chatter of a + transcendental kind). + And every one will say, + As you walk your mystic way, + “If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep + for _me_, + Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man must + be!” + + Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days which have long since + passed away, + And convince ’em, if you can, that the reign of good QUEEN ANNE was + Culture’s palmiest day. + Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever’s fresh and new, and declare + it’s crude and mean, + And that Art stopped short in the cultivated court of the EMPRESS + JOSEPHINE. + And every one will say, + As you walk your mystic way, + “If that’s not good enough for him which is good enough for _me_, + Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind of youth must be!” + + Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion must excite your + languid spleen, + An attachment _à la_ Plato for a bashful young potato, or a + not-too-French French bean. + Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in the + high æsthetic band, + If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your mediæval + hand. + And every one will say, + As you walk your flowery way, + “If he’s content with a vegetable love which would + certainly not suit _me_, + Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man must + be!” + + + + +SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I + + + WHEN I went to the Bar as a very young man + (Said I to myself—said I), + I’ll work on a new and original plan + (Said I to myself—said I), + I’ll never assume that a rogue or a thief + Is a gentleman worthy implicit belief, + Because his attorney, has sent me a brief + (Said I to myself—said I!) + + I’ll never throw dust in a juryman’s eyes + (Said I to myself—said I), + Or hoodwink a judge who is not over-wise + (Said I to myself—said I), + Or assume that the witnesses summoned in force + In Exchequer, Queen’s Bench, Common Pleas, or Divorce, + Have perjured themselves as a matter of course + (Said I to myself—said I!) + + Ere I go into court I will read my brief through + (Said I to myself—said I), + And I’ll never take work I’m unable to do + (Said I to myself—said I). + My learned profession I’ll never disgrace + By taking a fee with a grin on my face, + When I haven’t been there to attend to the case + (Said I to myself—said I!) + + In other professions in which men engage + (Said I to myself—said I), + The Army, the Navy, the Church, and the Stage, + (Said I to myself—said I), + Professional licence, if carried too far, + Your chance of promotion will certainly mar— + And I fancy the rule might apply to the Bar + (Said I to myself—said I!) + + + + +SORRY HER LOT + + + SORRY her lot who loves too well, + Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly, + Sad are the sighs that own the spell + Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly; + Heavy the sorrow that bows the head + When Love is alive and Hope is dead! + + Sad is the hour when sets the Sun— + Dark is the night to Earth’s poor daughters, + When to the ark the wearied one + Flies from the empty waste of waters! + Heavy the sorrow that bows the head + When Love is alive and Hope is dead! + + + + +THE CONTEMPLATIVE SENTRY + + + WHEN all night long a chap remains + On sentry-go, to chase monotony + He exercises of his brains, + That is, assuming that he’s got any. + Though never nurtured in the lap + Of luxury, yet I admonish you, + I am an intellectual chap, + And think of things that would astonish you. + I often think it’s comical + How Nature always does contrive + That every boy and every gal, + That’s born into the world alive, + Is either a little Liberal, + Or else a little Conservative! + Fal lal la! + + When in that house M.P.’s divide, + If they’ve a brain and cerebellum, too, + They’ve got to leave that brain outside, + And vote just as their leaders tell ’em to. + But then the prospect of a lot + Of statesmen, all in close proximity, + A-thinking for themselves, is what + No man can face with equanimity. + Then let’s rejoice with loud Fal lal + That Nature wisely does contrive + That every boy and every gal, + That’s born into the world alive, + Is either a little Liberal, + Or else a little Conservative! + Fal lal la! + + + + +THE PHILOSOPHIC PILL + + + I’VE wisdom from the East and from the West, + That’s subject to no academic rule; + You may find it in the jeering of a jest, + Or distil it from the folly of a fool. + I can teach you with a quip, if I’ve a mind; + I can trick you into learning with a laugh; + Oh, winnow all my folly, and you’ll find + A grain or two of truth among the chaff! + + I can set a braggart quailing with a quip, + The upstart I can wither with a whim; + He may wear a merry laugh upon his lip, + But his laughter has an echo that is grim. + When they’ve offered to the world in merry guise, + Unpleasant truths are swallowed with a will— + For he who’d make his fellow-creatures wise + Should always gild the philosophic pill! + + + + +BLUE BLOOD + + + SPURN not the nobly born + With love affected, + Nor treat with virtuous scorn + The well connected. + High rank involves no shame— + We boast an equal claim + With him of humble name + To be respected! + Blue blood! Blue blood! + When virtuous love is sought, + Thy power is naught, + Though dating from the Flood, + Blue blood! + + Spare us the bitter pain + Of stern denials, + Nor with low-born disdain + Augment our trials. + Hearts just as pure and fair + May beat in Belgrave Square + As in the lowly air + Of Seven Dials! + Blue blood! Blue blood! + Of what avail art thou + To serve me now? + Though dating from the Flood, + Blue blood! + + + + +THE JUDGE’S SONG + + + WHEN I, good friends, was called to the Bar, + I’d an appetite fresh and hearty, + But I was, as many young barristers are, + An impecunious party. + I’d a swallow-tail coat of a beautiful blue— + A brief which was brought by a booby— + A couple of shirts and a collar or two, + And a ring that looked like a ruby! + + In Westminster Hall I danced a dance, + Like a semi-despondent fury; + For I thought I should never hit on a chance + Of addressing a British Jury— + But I soon got tired of third-class journeys, + And dinners of bread and water; + So I fell in love with a rich attorney’s + Elderly, ugly daughter. + + The rich attorney, he wiped his eyes, + And replied to my fond professions: + “You shall reap the reward of your enterprise, + At the Bailey and Middlesex Sessions. + You’ll soon get used to her looks,” said he, + “And a very nice girl you’ll find her— + She may very well pass for forty-three + In the dusk, with a light behind her!” + + The rich attorney was as good as his word: + The briefs came trooping gaily, + And every day my voice was heard + At the Sessions or Ancient Bailey. + All thieves who could my fees afford + Relied on my orations, + And many a burglar I’ve restored + To his friends and his relations. + + At length I became as rich as the GURNEYS— + An incubus then I thought her, + So I threw over that rich attorney’s + Elderly, ugly daughter. + The rich attorney my character high + Tried vainly to disparage— + And now, if you please, I’m ready to try + This Breach of Promise of Marriage! + + + + +WHEN I FIRST PUT THIS UNIFORM ON + + + WHEN I first put this uniform on, + I said, as I looked in the glass, + “It’s one to a million + That any civilian + My figure and form will surpass. + Gold lace has a charm for the fair, + And I’ve plenty of that, and to spare, + While a lover’s professions, + When uttered in Hessians, + Are eloquent everywhere!” + A fact that I counted upon, + When I first put this uniform on! + + I said, when I first put it on, + “It is plain to the veriest dunce + That every beauty + Will feel it her duty + To yield to its glamour at once. + They will see that I’m freely gold-laced + In a uniform handsome and chaste”— + But the peripatetics + Of long-haired æsthetics, + Are very much more to their taste— + Which I never counted upon + When I first put this uniform on! + + + + +SOLATIUM + + + COMES the broken flower— + Comes the cheated maid— + Though the tempest lower, + Rain and cloud will fade! + Take, O maid, these posies: + Though thy beauty rare + Shame the blushing roses, + They are passing fair! + Wear the flowers till they fade; + Happy be thy life, O maid! + + O’er the season vernal, + Time may cast a shade; + Sunshine, if eternal, + Makes the roses fade: + Time may do his duty; + Let the thief alone— + Winter hath a beauty + That is all his own. + Fairest days are sun and shade: + Happy be thy life, O maid! + + + + +A NIGHTMARE + + + WHEN you’re lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo’d + by anxiety, + I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in without + impropriety; + For your brain is on fire—the bedclothes conspire of usual slumber to + plunder you: + First your counterpane goes and uncovers your toes, and your sheet + slips demurely from under you; + Then the blanketing tickles—you feel like mixed pickles, so terribly + sharp is the pricking, + And you’re hot, and you’re cross, and you tumble and toss till there’s + nothing ’twixt you and the ticking. + Then the bedclothes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you pick + ’em all up in a tangle; + Next your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its usual + angle! + Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot eyeballs and + head ever aching, + But your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that you’d very + much better be waking; + For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a + steamer from Harwich, + Which is something between a large bathing-machine and a very small + second-class carriage; + And you’re giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a party of + friends and relations— + They’re a ravenous horde—and they all came on board at Sloane Square + and South Kensington Stations. + And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started that + morning from Devon); + He’s a bit undersized, and you don’t feel surprised when he tells you + he’s only eleven. + Well, you’re driving like mad with this singular lad (by the bye the + ship’s now a four-wheeler), + And you’re playing round games, and he calls you bad names when you + tell him that “ties pay the dealer”; + But this you can’t stand, so you throw up your hand, and you find + you’re as cold as an icicle, + In your shirt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks), + crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle: + And he and the crew are on bicycles too—which they’ve somehow or other + invested in— + And he’s telling the tars all the particu_lars_ of a company he’s + interested in— + It’s a scheme of devices, to get at low prices, all goods from cough + mixtures to cables + (Which tickled the sailors) by treating retailers, as though they were + all vege_ta_bles— + You get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman (first take off + his boots with a boot-tree), + And his legs will take root, and his fingers will shoot, and they’ll + blossom and bud like a fruit-tree— + From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green pea, cauliflower, + pineapple, and cranberries, + While the pastry-cook plant cherry-brandy will grant—apple puffs, and + three-corners, and banberries— + The shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by ROTHSCHILD and + BARING, + And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder + despairing— + You’re a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck, and no wonder you + snore, for your head’s on the floor, and you’ve needles and pins from + your soles to your shins, and your flesh is a-creep, for your left + leg’s asleep, and you’ve cramp in your toes, and a fly on your nose, + and some fluff in your lung, and a feverish tongue, and a thirst + that’s intense, and a general sense that you haven’t been sleeping in + clover; + But the darkness has passed, and it’s daylight at last, and the night + has been long—ditto, ditto my song—and thank goodness they’re both of + them over! + + + + +DON’T FORGET! + + + NOW, Marco, dear, + My wishes hear: + While you’re away + It’s understood + You will be good, + And not too gay. + To every trace + Of maiden grace + You will be blind, + And will not glance + By any chance + On womankind! + If you are wise, + You’ll shut your eyes + Till we arrive, + And not address + A lady less + Than forty-five; + You’ll please to frown + On every gown + That you may see; + And O, my pet, + You won’t forget + You’ve married me! + + O, my darling, O, my pet, + Whatever else you may forget, + In yonder isle beyond the sea, + O, don’t forget you’ve married me! + + You’ll lay your head + Upon your bed + At set of sun. + You will not sing + Of anything + To any one: + You’ll sit and mope + All day, I hope, + And shed a tear + Upon the life + Your little wife + Is passing here! + And if so be + You think of me, + Please tell the moon; + I’ll read it all + In rays that fall + On the lagoon: + You’ll be so kind + As tell the wind + How you may be, + And send me words + By little birds + To comfort me! + + And O, my darling, O, my pet, + Whatever else you may forget, + In yonder isle beyond the sea, + O, don’t forget you’ve married me! + + + + +THE SUICIDE’S GRAVE + + + ON a tree by a river a little tomtit + Sang “Willow, titwillow, titwillow!” + And I said to him, “Dicky-bird, why do you sit + Singing ‘Willow, titwillow, titwillow’? + Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?” I cried, + “Or a rather tough worm in your little inside?” + With a shake of his poor little head he replied, + “Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!” + + He slapped at his chest, as he sat on that bough, + Singing “Willow, titwillow, titwillow!” + And a cold perspiration bespangled his brow, + Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow! + He sobbed and he sighed, and a gurgle he gave, + Then he threw himself into the billowy wave, + And an echo arose from the suicide’s grave— + “Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!” + + Now I feel just as sure as I’m sure that my name + Isn’t Willow, titwillow, titwillow, + That ’twas blighted affection that made him exclaim, + “Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!” + And if you remain callous and obdurate, I + Shall perish as he did, and you will know why, + Though I probably shall not exclaim as I die, + “Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!” + + + + +HE AND SHE + + + HE. I know a youth who loves a little maid— + (Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!) + Silent is he, for he’s modest and afraid— + (Hey, but he’s timid as a youth can be!) + SHE. I know a maid who loves a gallant youth— + (Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!) + _She_ cannot tell him all the sad, sad truth— + (Hey, but I think that little maid will die!) + BOTH. Now tell me pray, and tell me true, + What in the world should the poor soul do? + + HE. He cannot eat and he cannot sleep— + (Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!) + Daily he goes for to wail—for to weep— + (Hey, but he’s wretched as a youth can be!) + SHE. She’s very thin and she’s very pale— + (Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!) + Daily she goes for to weep—for to wail— + (Hey, but I think that little maid will die!) + BOTH. Now tell me pray, and tell me true, + What in the world should the poor soul do? + + SHE. If I were the youth I should offer her my name— + (Hey, but her face is a sight for to see!) + HE. If I were the maid I should fan his honest flame— + (Hey, but he’s bashful as a youth can be!) + SHE. If I were the youth I should speak to her to-day— + (Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!) + HE. If I were the maid I should meet the lad half way— + (For I really do believe that timid youth will die!) + BOTH. I thank you much for your counsel true; + I’ve learnt what that poor soul ought to do! + + + + +THE MIGHTY MUST + + + COME mighty Must! + Inevitable Shall! + In thee I trust. + Time weaves my coronal! + Go mocking Is! + Go disappointing Was! + That I am this + Ye are the cursed cause! + Yet humble Second shall be First, + I ween; + And dead and buried be the curst + Has Been! + + Oh weak Might Be! + Oh May, Might, Could, Would, Should! + How powerless ye + For evil or for good! + In every sense + Your moods I cheerless call, + Whate’er your tense + Ye are Imperfect, all! + Ye have deceived the trust I’ve shown + In ye! + Away! The Mighty Must alone + Shall be! + + + + +A MIRAGE + + + WERE I thy bride, + Then the whole world beside + Were not too wide + To hold my wealth of love— + Were I thy bride! + Upon thy breast + My loving head would rest, + As on her nest + The tender turtle-dove— + Were I thy bride! + + This heart of mine + Would be one heart with thine, + And in that shrine + Our happiness would dwell— + Were I thy bride! + And all day long + Our lives should be a song: + No grief, no wrong + Should make my heart rebel— + Were I thy bride! + + The silvery flute, + The melancholy lute, + Were night-owl’s hoot + To my low-whispered coo— + Were I thy bride! + The skylark’s trill + Were but discordance shrill + To the soft thrill + Of wooing as I’d woo— + Were I thy bride! + + The rose’s sigh + Were as a carrion’s cry + To lullaby + Such as I’d sing to thee— + Were I thy bride! + A feather’s press + Were leaden heaviness + To my caress. + But then, unhappily, + I’m not thy bride! + + + + +THE GHOSTS’ HIGH NOON + + + WHEN the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the + moonlight flies, + And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies— + When the footpads quail at the night-bird’s wail, and black dogs bay + the moon, + Then is the spectres’ holiday—then is the ghosts’ high noon! + + As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie low + on the fen, + From grey tombstones are gathered the bones that once were women and + men, + And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too + soon, + For cockcrow limits our holiday—the dead of the night’s high noon! + + And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds take + flight, + With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim “good + night”; + Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its jolliest + tune, + And ushers our next high holiday—the dead of the night’s high noon! + + + + +THE HUMANE MIKADO + + + A MORE humane Mikado never + Did in Japan exist; + To nobody second, + I’m certainly reckoned + A true philanthropist. + It is my very humane endeavour + To make, to some extent, + Each evil liver + A running river + Of harmless merriment. + + My object all sublime + I shall achieve in time— + To let the punishment fit the crime— + The punishment fit the crime; + And make each prisoner pent + Unwillingly represent + A source of innocent merriment— + Of innocent merriment! + + All prosy dull society sinners, + Who chatter and bleat and bore, + Are sent to hear sermons + From mystical Germans + Who preach from ten to four: + The amateur tenor, whose vocal villainies + All desire to shirk, + Shall, during off-hours, + Exhibit his powers + To Madame Tussaud’s waxwork: + The lady who dyes a chemical yellow, + Or stains her grey hair puce, + Or pinches her figger, + Is blacked like a nigger + With permanent walnut juice: + The idiot who, in railway carriages, + Scribbles on window panes, + We only suffer + To ride on a buffer + In Parliamentary trains. + + My object all sublime + I shall achieve in time— + To let the punishment fit the crime— + The punishment fit the crime; + And make each prisoner pent + Unwillingly represent + A source of innocent merriment— + Of innocent merriment! + + The advertising quack who wearies + With tales of countless cures, + His teeth, I’ve enacted, + Shall all be extracted + By terrified amateurs: + The music-hall singer attends a series + Of masses and fugues and “ops” + By Bach, interwoven + With Spohr and Beethoven, + At classical Monday Pops: + The billiard sharp whom any one catches + His doom’s extremely hard— + He’s made to dwell + In a dungeon cell + On a spot that’s always barred; + And there he plays extravagant matches + In fitless finger-stalls, + On a cloth untrue + With a twisted cue, + And elliptical billiard balls! + + My object all sublime + I shall achieve in time— + To let the punishment fit the crime— + The punishment fit the crime; + And make each prisoner pent + Unwillingly represent + A source of innocent merriment, + Of innocent merriment! + + + + +WILLOW WALY! + + + HE. PRITHEE, pretty maiden—prithee, tell me true + (Hey, but I’m doleful, willow, willow waly!) + Have you e’er a lover a-dangling after you? + Hey, willow waly O! + I would fain discover + If you have a lover? + Hey, willow waly O! + + SHE. Gentle sir, my heart is frolicsome and free— + (Hey, but he’s doleful, willow, willow waly!) + Nobody I care for comes a-courting me— + Hey, willow waly O! + Nobody I care for + Comes a-courting—therefore, + Hey, willow waly O! + + HE. Prithee, pretty maiden, will you marry me? + (Hey, but I’m hopeful, willow, willow waly!) + I may say, at once, I’m a man of propertee— + Hey, willow waly O! + Money, I despise it, + But many people prize it, + Hey, willow waly O! + + SHE. Gentle sir, although to marry I design— + (Hey, but he’s hopeful, willow, willow waly!) + As yet I do not know you, and so I must decline. + Hey, willow waly O! + To other maidens go you— + As yet I do not know you, + Hey, willow waly O! + + + + +LIFE IS LOVELY ALL THE YEAR + + + WHEN the buds are blossoming, + Smiling welcome to the spring, + Lovers choose a wedding day— + Life is love in merry May! + + Spring is green—Fal lal la! + Summer’s rose—Fal lal la! + It is sad when Summer goes, + Fal la! + Autumn’s gold—Fal lal la! + Winter’s grey—Fal lal la! + Winter still is far away— + Fal la! + Leaves in Autumn fade and fall; + Winter is the end of all. + Spring and summer teem with glee: + Spring and summer, then, for me! + Fal la! + + In the Spring-time seed is sown: + In the Summer grass is mown: + In the Autumn you may reap: + Winter is the time for sleep. + + Spring is hope—Fal lal la! + Summer’s joy—Fal lal la! + Spring and Summer never cloy, + Fal la! + Autumn, toil—Fal lal la! + Winter, rest—Fal lal la! + Winter, after all, is best— + Fal la! + Spring and summer pleasure you, + Autumn, ay, and winter, too— + Every season has its cheer; + Life is lovely all the year! + Fal la! + + + + +THE USHER’S CHARGE + + + NOW, Jurymen, hear my advice— + All kinds of vulgar prejudice + I pray you set aside: + With stern judicial frame of mind— + From bias free of every kind, + This trial must be tried! + + Oh, listen to the plaintiff’s case: + Observe the features of her face— + The broken-hearted bride! + Condole with her distress of mind— + From bias free of every kind, + This trial must be tried! + + And when amid the plaintiff’s shrieks, + The ruffianly defendant speaks— + Upon the other side; + What _he_ may say you need not mind— + From bias free of every kind, + This trial must be tried! + + + + +THE GREAT OAK TREE + + + THERE grew a little flower + ’Neath a great oak tree: + When the tempest ’gan to lower + Little heeded she: + No need had she to cower, + For she dreaded not its power— + She was happy in the bower + Of her great oak tree! + Sing hey, + Lackaday! + Let the tears fall free + For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree! + + When she found that he was fickle, + Was that great oak tree, + She was in a pretty pickle, + As she well might be— + But his gallantries were mickle, + For Death followed with his sickle, + And her tears began to trickle + For her great oak tree! + Sing hey, + Lackaday! + Let the tears fall free + For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree! + + Said she, “He loved me never, + Did that great oak tree, + But I’m neither rich nor clever, + And so why should he? + But though fate our fortunes sever, + To be constant I’ll endeavour, + Ay, for ever and for ever, + To my great oak tree!” + Sing hey, + Lackaday! + Let the tears fall free + For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree! + + + + +KING GOODHEART + + + THERE lived a King, as I’ve been told + In the wonder-working days of old, + When hearts were twice as good as gold, + And twenty times as mellow. + Good temper triumphed in his face, + And in his heart he found a place + For all the erring human race + And every wretched fellow. + When he had Rhenish wine to drink + It made him very sad to think + That some, at junket or at jink, + Must be content with toddy: + He wished all men as rich as he + (And he was rich as rich could be), + So to the top of every tree + Promoted everybody. + + Ambassadors cropped up like hay, + Prime Ministers and such as they + Grew like asparagus in May, + And Dukes were three a penny: + Lord Chancellors were cheap as sprats, + And Bishops in their shovel hats + Were plentiful as tabby cats— + If possible, too many. + On every side Field-Marshals gleamed, + Small beer were Lords-Lieutenants deemed, + With Admirals the ocean teemed, + All round his wide dominions; + And Party Leaders you might meet + In twos and threes in every street + Maintaining, with no little heat, + Their various opinions. + + That King, although no one denies, + His heart was of abnormal size, + Yet he’d have acted otherwise + If he had been acuter. + The end is easily foretold, + When every blessed thing you hold + Is made of silver, or of gold, + You long for simple pewter. + When you have nothing else to wear + But cloth of gold and satins rare, + For cloth of gold you cease to care— + Up goes the price of shoddy: + In short, whoever you may be, + To this conclusion you’ll agree, + When every one is somebody, + Then no one’s anybody! + + + + +SLEEP ON! + + + FEAR no unlicensed entry, + Heed no bombastic talk, + While guards the British Sentry + Pall Mall and Birdcage Walk. + Let European thunders + Occasion no alarms, + Though diplomatic blunders + May cause a cry “To arms!” + Sleep on, ye pale civilians; + All thunder-clouds defy: + On Europe’s countless millions + The Sentry keeps his eye! + + Should foreign-born rapscallions + In London dare to show + Their overgrown battalions, + Be sure I’ll let you know. + Should Russians or Norwegians + Pollute our favoured clime + With rough barbaric legions, + I’ll mention it in time. + So sleep in peace, civilians, + The Continent defy; + While on its countless millions + The Sentry keeps his eye! + + + + +THE LOVE-SICK BOY + + + WHEN first my old, old love I knew, + My bosom welled with joy; + My riches at her feet I threw; + I was a love-sick boy! + No terms seemed too extravagant + Upon her to employ— + I used to mope, and sigh, and pant, + Just like a love-sick boy! + + But joy incessant palls the sense; + And love unchanged will cloy, + And she became a bore intense + Unto her love-sick boy? + With fitful glimmer burnt my flame, + And I grew cold and coy, + At last, one morning, I became + Another’s love-sick boy! + + + + +POETRY EVERYWHERE + + + WHAT time the poet hath hymned + The writhing maid, lithe-limbed, + Quivering on amaranthine asphodel, + How can he paint her woes, + Knowing, as well he knows, + That all can be set right with calomel? + + When from the poet’s plinth + The amorous colocynth + Yearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous thrills, + How can he hymn their throes + Knowing, as well he knows, + That they are only uncompounded pills? + + Is it, and can it be, + Nature hath this decree, + Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell? + Or that in all her works + Something poetic lurks, + Even in colocynth and calomel? + + + + +HE LOVES! + + + HE loves! If in the bygone years + Thine eyes have ever shed + Tears—bitter, unavailing tears, + For one untimely dead— + If in the eventide of life + Sad thoughts of her arise, + Then let the memory of thy wife + Plead for my boy—he dies! + + He dies! If fondly laid aside + In some old cabinet, + Memorials of thy long-dead bride + Lie, dearly treasured yet, + Then let her hallowed bridal dress— + Her little dainty gloves— + Her withered flowers—her faded tress— + Plead for my boy—he loves! + + + + +TRUE DIFFIDENCE + + + MY boy, you may take it from me, + That of all the afflictions accurst + With which a man’s saddled + And hampered and addled, + A diffident nature’s the worst. + Though clever as clever can be— + A Crichton of early romance— + You must stir it and stump it, + And blow your own trumpet, + Or, trust me, you haven’t a chance. + + Now take, for example, _my_ case: + I’ve a bright intellectual brain— + In all London city + There’s no one so witty— + I’ve thought so again and again. + I’ve a highly intelligent face— + My features cannot be denied— + But, whatever I try, sir, + I fail in—and why, sir? + I’m modesty personified! + + As a poet, I’m tender and quaint— + I’ve passion and fervour and grace— + From Ovid and Horace + To Swinburne and Morris, + They all of them take a back place. + Then I sing and I play and I paint; + Though none are accomplished as I, + To say so were treason: + You ask me the reason? + I’m diffident, modest, and shy! + + + + +THE TANGLED SKEIN + + + TRY we life-long, we can never + Straighten out life’s tangled skein, + Why should we, in vain endeavour, + Guess and guess and guess again? + Life’s a pudding full of plums + Care’s a canker that benumbs. + Wherefore waste our elocution + On impossible solution? + Life’s a pleasant institution, + Let us take it as it comes! + + Set aside the dull enigma, + We shall guess it all too soon; + Failure brings no kind of stigma— + Dance we to another tune! + String the lyre and fill the cup, + Lest on sorrow we should sup; + Hop and skip to Fancy’s fiddle, + Hands across and down the middle— + Life’s perhaps the only riddle + That we shrink from giving up! + + + + +MY LADY + + + BEDECKED in fashion trim, + With every curl a-quiver; + Or leaping, light of limb, + O’er rivulet and river; + Or skipping o’er the lea + On daffodil and daisy; + Or stretched beneath a tree, + All languishing and lazy; + Whatever be her mood— + Be she demurely prude + Or languishingly lazy— + My lady drives me crazy! + In vain her heart is wooed, + Whatever be her mood! + + What profit should I gain + Suppose she loved me dearly? + Her coldness turns my brain + To _verge_ of madness merely. + Her kiss—though, Heaven knows, + To dream of it were treason— + Would tend, as I suppose, + To utter loss of reason! + My state is not amiss; + I would not have a kiss + Which, in or out of season, + Might tend to loss of reason: + What profit in such bliss? + A fig for such a kiss! + + + + +ONE AGAINST THE WORLD + + + IT’S my opinion—though I own + In thinking so I’m quite alone— + In some respects I’m but a fright. + _You_ like my features, I suppose? + _I’m_ disappointed with my nose: + Some rave about it—perhaps they’re right. + My figure just sets off a fit; + But when they say it’s exquisite + (And they _do_ say so), that’s too strong. + I hope I’m not what people call + Opinionated! After all, + I’m but a goose, and may be wrong! + + When charms enthral + There’s some excuse + For measures strong; + And after all + I’m but a goose, + And may be wrong! + + My teeth are very neat, no doubt; + But after all they _may_ fall out: + _I_ think they will—some think they won’t. + My hands are small, as you may see, + But not as small as they might be, + At least, _I_ think so—others don’t. + But there, a girl may preach and prate + From morning six to evening eight, + And never stop to dine, + When all the world, although misled, + Is quite agreed on any head— + And it is quite agreed on mine! + + All said and done, + It’s little I + Against a throng. + I’m only one, + And possibly + I may be wrong! + + + + +PUT A PENNY IN THE SLOT + + + IF my action’s stiff and crude, + Do not laugh, because it’s rude. + If my gestures promise larks, + Do not make unkind remarks. + Clockwork figures may be found + Everywhere and all around. + Ten to one, if I but knew, + You are clockwork figures too. + And the motto of the lot, + “Put a penny in the slot!” + + Usurer, for money lent, + Making out his cent per cent— + Widow plump or maiden rare, + Deaf and dumb to suitor’s prayer— + Tax collectors, whom in vain + You implore to “call again”— + Cautious voter, whom you find + Slow in making up his mind— + If you’d move them on the spot, + Put a penny in the slot! + + Bland reporters in the courts, + Who suppress police reports— + Sheriff’s yeoman, pen in fist, + Making out a jury list— + Stern policemen, tall and spare, + Acting all “upon the square”— + (Which in words that plainer fall, + Means that you can square them all)— + If you want to move the lot, + Put a penny in the slot! + + + + +GOOD LITTLE GIRLS + + + ALTHOUGH of native maids the cream, + We’re brought up on the English scheme— + The best of all + For great and small + Who modesty adore. + For English girls are good as gold, + Extremely modest (so we’re told), + Demurely coy—divinely cold— + And we are that—and more. + To please papa, who argues thus— + All girls should mould themselves on us, + Because we are, + By furlongs far, + The best of all the bunch; + We show ourselves to loud applause + From ten to four without a pause— + Which is an awkward time because + It cuts into our lunch. + + Oh, maids of high and low degree, + Whose social code is rather free, + Please look at us and you will see + What good young ladies ought to be! + + And as we stand, like clockwork toys, + A lecturer papa employs + To puff and praise + Our modest ways + And guileless character— + Our well-known blush—our downcast eyes— + Our famous look of mild surprise + (Which competition still defies)— + Our celebrated “Sir!!!” + Then all the crowd take down our looks + In pocket memorandum books. + To diagnose, + Our modest pose + The kodaks do their best: + If evidence you would possess + Of what is maiden bashfulness, + You only need a button press— + And _we_ do all the rest. + + + + +LIFE + + + FIRST you’re born—and I’ll be bound you + Find a dozen strangers round you. + “Hallo,” cries the new-born baby, + “Where’s my parents? which may they be?” + Awkward silence—no reply— + Puzzled baby wonders why! + Father rises, bows politely— + Mother smiles (but not too brightly)— + Doctor mumbles like a dumb thing— + Nurse is busy mixing something.— + Every symptom tends to show + You’re decidedly _de trop_— + Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! he! ho! ho! + Time’s teetotum, + If you spin it, + Give its quotum + Once a minute: + I’ll go bail + You hit the nail, + And if you fail + The deuce is in it! + + You grow up, and you discover + What it is to be a lover. + Some young lady is selected— + Poor, perhaps, but well-connected, + Whom you hail (for Love is blind) + As the Queen of Fairy-kind. + Though she’s plain—perhaps unsightly, + Makes her face up—laces tightly, + In her form your fancy traces + All the gifts of all the graces. + Rivals none the maiden woo, + So you take her and she takes you! + Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! + Joke beginning, + Never ceases, + Till your inning + Time releases; + On your way + You blindly stray, + And day by day + The joke increases! + + Ten years later—Time progresses— + Sours your temper—thins your tresses; + Fancy, then, her chain relaxes; + Rates are facts and so are taxes. + Fairy Queen’s no longer young— + Fairy Queen has such a tongue! + Twins have probably intruded— + Quite unbidden—just as you did; + They’re a source of care and trouble— + Just as you were—only double. + Comes at last the final stroke— + Time has had his little joke! + Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! + Daily driven + (Wife as drover) + Ill you’ve thriven— + Ne’er in clover: + Lastly, when + Threescore and ten + (And not till then), + The joke is over! + Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! + Then—and then + The joke is over! + + + + +LIMITED LIABILITY + + + SOME seven men form an Association + (If possible, all Peers and Baronets), + They start off with a public declaration + To what extent they mean to pay their debts. + That’s called their Capital: if they are wary + They will not quote it at a sum immense. + The figure’s immaterial—it may vary + From eighteen million down to eighteenpence. + _I_ should put it rather low; + The good sense of doing so + Will be evident at once to any debtor. + When it’s left to you to say + What amount you mean to pay, + Why, the lower you can put it at, the better. + + They then proceed to trade with all who’ll trust ’em, + Quite irrespective of their capital + (It’s shady, but it’s sanctified by custom); + Bank, Railway, Loan, or Panama Canal. + You can’t embark on trading too tremendous— + It’s strictly fair, and based on common sense— + If you succeed, your profits are stupendous— + And if you fail, pop goes your eighteenpence. + Make the money-spinner spin! + For you only stand to win, + And you’ll never with dishonesty be twitted. + For nobody can know, + To a million or so, + To what extent your capital’s committed! + + If you come to grief, and creditors are craving + (For nothing that is planned by mortal head + Is certain in this Vale of Sorrow—saving + That one’s Liability is Limited),— + Do you suppose that signifies perdition? + If so you’re but a monetary dunce— + You merely file a Winding-Up Petition, + And start another Company at once! + Though a Rothschild you may be + In your own capacity, + As a Company you’ve come to utter sorrow— + But the Liquidators say, + “Never mind—you needn’t pay,” + So you start another Company to-morrow! + + + + +ANGLICISED UTOPIA + + + SOCIETY has quite forsaken all her wicked courses, + Which empties our police courts, and abolishes divorces. + (Divorce is nearly obsolete in England.) + No tolerance we show to undeserving rank and splendour; + For the higher his position is, the greater the offender. + (That’s a maxim that is prevalent in England.) + No Peeress at our Drawing-Room before the Presence passes + Who wouldn’t be accepted by the lower-middle classes; + Each shady dame, whatever be her rank, is bowed out neatly. + In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely! + It really is surprising + What a thorough Anglicising + We’ve brought about—Utopia’s quite another land; + In her enterprising movements, + She is England—with improvements, + Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land! + + Our city we have beautified—we’ve done it willy-nilly— + And all that isn’t Belgrave Square is Strand and Piccadilly. + (They haven’t any slummeries in England.) + We have solved the labour question with discrimination polished, + So poverty is obsolete and hunger is abolished— + (They are going to abolish it in England.) + The Chamberlain our native stage has purged, beyond a question, + Of “risky” situation and indelicate suggestion; + No piece is tolerated if it’s costumed indiscreetly— + In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely! + It really is surprising + What a thorough Anglicising + We’ve brought about—Utopia’s quite another land; + In her enterprising movements, + She is England—with improvements, + Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land! + + Our Peerage we’ve remodelled on an intellectual basis, + Which certainly is rough on our hereditary races— + (They are going to remodel it in England.) + The Brewers and the Cotton Lords no longer seek admission, + And Literary Merit meets with proper recognition— + (As Literary Merit does in England!) + Who knows but we may count among our intellectual chickens + Like them an Earl of Thackeray and p’raps a Duke of Dickens— + Lord Fildes and Viscount Millais (when they come) we’ll welcome + sweetly— + And then, this happy country will be Anglicised completely! + It really is surprising + What a thorough Anglicising + We’ve brought about—Utopia’s quite another land; + In her enterprising movements, + She is England—with improvements, + Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land! + + + + +AN ENGLISH GIRL + + + A WONDERFUL joy our eyes to bless, + In her magnificent comeliness, + Is an English girl of eleven stone two, + And five foot ten in her dancing shoe! + She follows the hounds, and on she pounds— + The “field” tails off and the muffs diminish— + Over the hedges and brooks she bounds— + Straight as a crow, from find to finish. + At cricket, her kin will lose or win— + She and her maids, on grass and clover, + Eleven maids out—eleven maids in— + (And perhaps an occasional “maiden over”). + Go search the world and search the sea, + Then come you home and sing with me + There’s no such gold and no such pearl + As a bright and beautiful English girl! + + With a ten-mile spin she stretches her limbs, + She golfs, she punts, she rows, she swims— + She plays, she sings, she dances, too, + From ten or eleven till all is blue! + At ball or drum, till small hours come + (Chaperon’s fan conceals her yawning), + She’ll waltz away like a teetotum, + And never go home till daylight’s dawning. + Lawn tennis may share her favours fair— + Her eyes a-dance and her cheeks a-glowing— + Down comes her hair, but what does she care? + It’s all her own and it’s worth the showing! + Go search the world and search the sea, + Then come you home and sing with me + There’s no such gold and no such pearl + As a bright and beautiful English girl! + + Her soul is sweet as the ocean air, + For prudery knows no haven there; + To find mock-modesty, please apply + To the conscious blush and the downcast eye. + Rich in the things contentment brings, + In every pure enjoyment wealthy, + Blithe as a beautiful bird she sings, + For body and mind are hale and healthy. + Her eyes they thrill with right goodwill— + Her heart is light as a floating feather— + As pure and bright as the mountain rill + That leaps and laughs in the Highland heather! + Go search the world and search the sea, + Then come you home and sing with me + There’s no such gold and no such pearl + As a bright and beautiful English girl! + + + + +A MANAGER’S PERPLEXITIES + + + WERE I a king in very truth, + And had a son—a guileless youth— + In probable succession; + To teach him patience, teach him tact, + How promptly in a fix to act, + He should adopt, in point of fact, + A manager’s profession. + To that condition he should stoop + (Despite a too fond mother), + With eight or ten “stars” in his troupe, + All jealous of each other! + Oh, the man who can rule a theatrical crew, + Each member a genius (and some of them two), + And manage to humour them, little and great, + Can govern a tuppenny-ha’penny State! + + Both A and B rehearsal slight— + They say they’ll be “all right at night” + (They’ve both to go to school yet); + C in each act _must_ change her dress, + D _will_ attempt to “square the press”; + E won’t play Romeo unless + His grandmother plays Juliet; + F claims all hoydens as her rights + (She’s played them thirty seasons); + And G must show herself in tights + For two convincing reasons— + Two very well-shaped reasons! + Oh, the man who can drive a theatrical team, + With wheelers and leaders in order supreme, + Can govern and rule, with a wave of his fin, + All Europe and Asia—with Ireland thrown in! + + + + +OUT OF SORTS + + + WHEN you find you’re a broken-down critter, + Who is all of a trimmle and twitter, + With your palate unpleasantly bitter, + As if you’d just bitten a pill— + When your legs are as thin as dividers, + And you’re plagued with unruly insiders, + And your spine is all creepy with spiders, + And you’re highly gamboge in the gill— + When you’ve got a beehive in your head, + And a sewing machine in each ear, + And you feel that you’ve eaten your bed, + And you’ve got a bad headache _down here_— + When such facts are about, + And these symptoms you find + In your body or crown— + Well, it’s time to look out, + You may make up your mind + You had better lie down! + + When your lips are all smeary—like tallow, + And your tongue is decidedly yallow, + With a pint of warm oil in your sw_a_llow, + And a pound of tin-tacks in your chest— + When you’re down in the mouth with the vapours, + And all over your new Morris papers + Black-beetles are cutting their capers, + And crawly things never at rest— + When you doubt if your head is your own, + And you jump when an open door slams— + Then you’ve got to a state which is known + To the medical world as “jim-jams.” + If such symptoms you find + In your body or head, + They’re not easy to quell— + You may make up your mind + You are better in bed, + For you’re not at all well! + + + + +HOW IT’S DONE + + + Bold-faced ranger + (Perfect stranger) + Meets two well-behaved young ladies + He’s attractive, + Young and active— + Each a little bit afraid is. + Youth advances, + At his glances + To their danger they awaken; + They repel him + As they tell him + He is very much mistaken. + Though they speak to him politely, + Please observe they’re sneering slightly, + Just to show he’s acting vainly. + This is Virtue saying plainly, + “Go away, young bachelor, + We are not what you take us for!” + (When addressed impertinently, + English ladies answer gently, + “Go away, young bachelor, + We are not what you take us for!”) + + As he gazes, + Hat he raises, + Enters into conversation. + Makes excuses— + This produces + Interesting agitation. + He, with daring, + Undespairing, + Gives his card—his rank discloses— + Little heeding + This proceeding, + They turn up their little noses. + Pray observe this lesson vital— + When a man of rank and title + His position first discloses, + Always cock your little noses. + When at home, let all the class + Try this in the looking-glass. + (English girls of well-bred notions + Shun all unrehearsed emotions, + English girls of highest class + Practise them before the glass.) + + His intentions + Then he mentions, + Something definite to go on— + Makes recitals + Of his titles, + Hints at settlements, and so on. + Smiling sweetly, + They, discreetly, + Ask for further evidences: + Thus invited, + He, delighted, + Gives the usual references. + This is business. Each is fluttered + When the offer’s fairly uttered. + “Which of them has his affection?” + He declines to make selection. + Do they quarrel for his dross? + Not a bit of it—they toss! + Please observe this cogent moral— + English ladies never quarrel. + When a doubt they come across, + English ladies always toss. + + + + +A CLASSICAL REVIVAL + + + AT the outset I may mention it’s my sovereign intention + To revive the classic memories of Athens at its best, + For my company possesses all the necessary dresses, + And a course of quiet cramming will supply us with the rest. + We’ve a choir hyporchematic (that is, ballet-operatic) + Who respond to the _choreutae_ of that cultivated age, + And our clever chorus-master, all but captious criticaster, + Would accept as the _choregus_ of the early Attic stage. + This return to classic ages is considered in their wages, + Which are always calculated by the day or by the week— + And I’ll pay ’em (if they’ll back me) all in _oboloi_ and _drachmae_, + Which they’ll get (if they prefer it) at the Kalends that are + Greek! + + (At this juncture I may mention + That this erudition sham + Is but classical pretension, + The result of steady “cram.”: + Periphrastic methods spurning, + To my readers all discerning + I admit this show of learning + Is the fruit of steady “cram.”!) + + In the period Socratic every dining-room was Attic + (Which suggests an architecture of a topsy-turvy kind), + There they’d satisfy their twist on a _recherché_ cold _ἄριστον_, + Which is what they called their lunch—and so may you, if you’re + inclined. + As they gradually got on, they’d _πρέπεσθαι πρὸς τὸν πότον_ + (Which is Attic for a steady and a conscientious drink). + But they mixed their wine with water—which I’m sure they didn’t + oughter— + And we Anglo-Saxons know a trick worth two of that, I think! + Then came rather risky dances (under certain circumstances) + Which would shock that worthy gentleman, the Licenser of Plays, + Corybantian mani_ac_ kick—Dionysiac or Bacchic— + And the Dithyrambic revels of those indecorous days. + + (And perhaps I’d better mention + Lest alarming you I am, + That it isn’t our intention + To perform a Dithyramb— + It displays a lot of stocking, + Which is always very shocking, + And of course I’m only mocking + At the prevalence of “cram.”) + + Yes, on reconsideration, there are customs of that nation + Which are not in strict accordance with the habits of our day, + And when I come to codify, their rules I mean to modify, + Or Mrs. Grundy, p’r’aps, may have a word or two to say: + For they hadn’t macintoshes or umbrellas or goloshes— + And a shower with their dresses must have played the very deuce, + And it must have been unpleasing when they caught a fit of sneezing, + For, it seems, of pocket-handkerchiefs they didn’t know the use. + They wore little underclothing—scarcely anything—or no-thing— + And their dress of Coan silk was quite transparent in design— + Well, in fact, in summer weather, something like the “altogether.” + And it’s _there_, I rather fancy, I shall have to draw the line! + + (And again I wish to mention + That this erudition sham + Is but classical pretension, + The result of steady “cram.” + Yet my classic love aggressive, + If you’ll pardon the possessive, + Is exceedingly impressive + When you’re passing an exam.) + + + + +THE PRACTICAL JOKER + + + OH what a fund of joy jocund lies hid in harmless hoaxes! + What keen enjoyment springs + From cheap and simple things! + What deep delight from sources trite inventive humour coaxes, + That pain and trouble brew + For every one but you! + Gunpowder placed inside its waist improves a mild Havanah, + Its unexpected flash + Burns eyebrows and moustache; + When people dine no kind of wine beats ipecacuanha, + But common sense suggests + You keep it for your guests— + Then naught annoys the organ boys like throwing red-hot coppers, + And much amusement bides + In common butter-slides. + And stringy snares across the stairs cause unexpected croppers. + Coal scuttles, recollect, + Produce the same effect. + A man possessed + Of common sense + Need not invest + At great expense— + It does not call + For pocket deep, + These jokes are all + Extremely cheap. + If you commence with eighteenpence (it’s all you’ll have to pay), + You may command a pleasant and a most instructive day. + + A good spring gun breeds endless fun, and makes men jump like rockets, + And turnip-heads on posts + Make very decent ghosts: + Then hornets sting like anything, when placed in waist-coat pockets— + Burnt cork and walnut juice + Are not without their use. + No fun compares with easy chairs whose seats are stuffed with needles— + Live shrimps their patience tax + When put down people’s backs— + Surprising, too, what one can do with fifty fat black beedles— + And treacle on a chair + Will make a Quaker swear! + Then sharp tin tacks + And pocket squirts— + And cobblers’ wax + For ladies’ skirts— + And slimy slugs + On bedroom floors— + And water jugs + On open doors— + Prepared with these cheap properties, amusing tricks to play, + Upon a friend a man may spend a most delightful day! + + + + +THE NATIONAL ANTHEM + + + A MONARCH is pestered with cares, + Though, no doubt, he can often trepan them; + But one comes in a shape he can never escape— + The implacable National Anthem! + Though for quiet and rest he may yearn, + It pursues him at every turn— + No chance of forsaking + Its _rococo_ numbers; + They haunt him when waking— + They poison his slumbers— + Like the Banbury Lady, whom every one knows, + He’s cursed with its music wherever he goes! + Though its words but imperfectly rhyme, + And the devil himself couldn’t scan them; + With composure polite he endures day and night + That illiterate National Anthem! + + It serves a good purpose, I own: + Its strains are devout and impressive— + Its heart-stirring notes raise a lump in our throats + As we burn with devotion excessive: + But the King, who’s been bored by that song + From his cradle—each day—all day long— + Who’s heard it loud-shouted + By throats operatic, + And loyally spouted + By courtiers emphatic— + By soldier—by sailor—by drum and by fife— + Small blame if he thinks it the plague of his life! + While his subjects sing loudly and long, + Their King—who would willingly ban them— + Sits, worry disguising, anathematising + That Bogie, the National Anthem! + + + + +HER TERMS + + + MY wedded life + Must every pleasure bring + On scale extensive! + If I’m your wife + I must have everything + That’s most expensive— + A lady’s-maid— + (My hair alone to do + I am not able)— + And I’m afraid + I’ve been accustomed to + A first-rate table. + These things one must consider when one marries— + And everything I wear must come from Paris! + Oh, think of that! + Oh, think of that! + I can’t wear anything that’s not from Paris! + From top to toes + Quite Frenchified I am, + If you examine. + And then—who knows?— + Perhaps some day a fam— + Perhaps a famine! + My argument’s correct, if you examine, + What should we do, if there should come a f-famine! + + Though in green pea + Yourself you needn’t stint + In July sunny, + In Januaree + It really costs a mint— + A mint of money! + No lamb for us— + House lamb at Christmas sells + At prices handsome: + Asparagus, + In winter, parallels + A Monarch’s ransom: + When purse to bread and butter barely reaches, + What is your wife to do for hot-house peaches? + Ah! tell me that! + Ah! tell me that! + What _is_ your wife to do for hot-house peaches? + Your heart and hand + Though at my feet you lay, + All others scorning! + As matters stand, + There’s nothing now to say + Except—good morning! + Though virtue be a husband’s best adorning, + That won’t pay rates and taxes—so, good morning! + + + + +THE INDEPENDENT BEE + + + A HIVE of bees, as I’ve heard say, + Said to their Queen one sultry day, + “Please your Majesty’s high position, + The hive is full and the weather is warm, + We rather think, with a due submission, + The time has come when we ought to swarm.” + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. + Up spake their Queen and thus spake she— + “This is a matter that rests with me, + Who dares opinions thus to form? + _I’ll_ tell you when it is time to swarm!” + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. + + Her Majesty wore an angry frown, + In fact, her Majesty’s foot was down— + Her Majesty sulked—declined to sup— + In short, her Majesty’s back was up. + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. + Her foot was down and her back was up! + + That hive contained one obstinate bee + (His name was Peter), and thus spake he— + “Though every bee has shown white feather, + To bow to tyranny I’m not prone— + Why should a hive swarm all together? + Surely a bee can swarm alone?” + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. + Upside down and inside out, + Backwards, forwards, round about, + Twirling here and twisting there, + Topsy turvily everywhere— + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. + Pitiful sight it was to see + Respectable elderly high-class bee, + Who kicked the beam at sixteen stone, + Trying his best to swarm alone! + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. + Trying his best to swarm alone! + + The hive were shocked to see their chum + (A strict teetotaller) teetotum— + The Queen exclaimed, “How terrible, very! + It’s perfectly clear to all the throng + Peter’s been at the old brown sherry. + Old brown sherry is much too strong— + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. + Of all who thus themselves degrade, + A stern example must be made, + To Coventry go, you tipsy bee!” + So off to Coventry town went he. + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. + There, classed with all who misbehave, + Both plausible rogue and noisome knave, + In dismal dumps he lived to own + The folly of trying to swarm alone! + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. + All came of trying to swarm alone. + + + + +THE DISCONCERTED TENOR + + + A TENOR, all singers above + (This doesn’t admit of a question), + Should keep himself quiet, + Attend to his diet, + And carefully nurse his digestion. + But when he is madly in love, + It’s certain to tell on his singing— + You can’t do chromatics + With proper emphatics + When anguish your bosom is wringing! + When distracted with worries in plenty, + And his pulse is a hundred and twenty, + And his fluttering bosom the slave of mistrust is, + A tenor can’t do himself justice. + Now observe—(_sings a high note_)— + You see, I can’t do myself justice! + + I could sing, if my fervour were mock, + It’s easy enough if you’re acting, + But when one’s emotion + Is born of devotion, + You mustn’t be over-exacting. + One ought to be firm as a rock + To venture a shake in _vibrato_; + When fervour’s expected, + Keep cool and collected, + Or never attempt _agitato_. + But, of course, when his tongue is of leather, + And his lips appear pasted together, + And his sensitive palate as dry as a crust is, + A tenor can’t do himself justice. + Now observe—(_sings a cadence_)— + It’s no use—I can’t do myself justice! + + + + +THE PLAYED-OUT HUMORIST + + + QUIXOTIC is his enterprise, and hopeless his adventure is, + Who seeks for jocularities that haven’t yet been said. + The world has joked incessantly for over fifty centuries, + And every joke that’s possible has long ago been made. + I started as a humorist with lots of mental fizziness, + But humour is a drug which it’s the fashion to abuse; + For my stock-in-trade, my fixtures, and the goodwill of the business + No reasonable offer I am likely to refuse. + And if anybody choose + He may circulate the news + That no reasonable offer I’m likely to refuse. + + Oh happy was that humorist—the first that made a pun at all— + Who when a joke occurred to him, however poor and mean, + Was absolutely certain that it never had been done at all— + How popular at dinners must that humorist have been! + + Oh the days when some stepfather for the query held a handle out, + The door-mat from the scraper, is it distant very far? + And when no one knew where Moses was when Aaron blew the candle out, + And no one had discovered that a door could be a-jar! + But your modern hearers are + In their tastes particular, + And they sneer if you inform them that a door can be a-jar! + + In search of quip and quiddity, I’ve sat all day, alone, apart— + And all that I could hit on as a problem was—to find + Analogy between a scrag of mutton and a Bony-part, + Which offers slight employment to the speculative mind: + For you cannot call it very good, however great your charity— + It’s not the sort of humour that is greeted with a shout— + And I’ve come to the conclusion that my mine of jocularity + In present Anno Domini, is worked completely out! + Though the notion you may scout, + I can prove beyond a doubt + That my mine of jocularity is utterly worked out. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF A SAVOYARD*** + + +******* This file should be named 934-0.txt or 934-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/9/3/934 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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S. Gilbert</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .5em; + text-decoration: none;} + span.red { color: red; } + body {background-color: #ffffc0; } + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Songs of a Savoyard, by W. S. Gilbert + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Songs of a Savoyard + + +Author: W. S. Gilbert + + + +Release Date: August 11, 2019 [eBook #934] +[This file was first posted June 4, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF A SAVOYARD*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1920 Macmillan and Co edition of +“The Bab Ballads”, also from “Fifty Bab +Ballads” 1884 George Routledge and Sons edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/cover.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Public domain book cover" +title= +"Public domain book cover" + src="images/cover.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>Songs of a Savoyard</h1> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Darned Mounseer</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Englishman</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Disagreeable Man</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Coming By-and-By</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page22">22</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Highly Respectable +Gondolier</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Fairy Queen’s +Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Is Life a Boon</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Modern Major-General</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Heavy Dragoon</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Proper Pride</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Policeman’s Lot</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page63">63</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Baffled Grumbler</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The House of Peers</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Merry Madrigal</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Duke And The Duchess</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page84">84</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Eheu Fugaces</span>—!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">They’ll None of ’em be +Missed</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Girl Graduates</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Braid The Raven Hair</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page113">113</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Working Monarch</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Ape And The Lady</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Only Roses</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page130">130</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Rover’s Apology</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">An Appeal</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Reward of Merit</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page146">146</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Magnet and the Churn</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Family Fool</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sans Souci</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page169">169</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Recipe</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Merryman and his Maid</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page182">182</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Susceptible Chancellor</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page191">191</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">When a Merry Maiden Marries</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page198">198</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The British Tar</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page204">204</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Man who would Woo a Fair +Maid</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Sorcerer’s Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page211">211</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Fickle Breeze</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page219">219</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The First Lord’s Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page227">227</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Would you Know</span>?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page240">240</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Speculation</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page254">254</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Ah Me</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page255">255</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Duke of Plaza-Toro</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page262">262</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Æsthete</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page271">271</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Said I to Myself, Said I</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page278">278</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sorry her Lot</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page286">286</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Contemplative Sentry</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page292">292</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Philosophic Pill</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page299">299</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Blue Blood</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page307">307</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Judge’s Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page315">315</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">When I First put this Uniform +on</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page322">322</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Solatium</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page329">329</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Nightmare</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page335">335</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Don’t Forget</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page345">345</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Suicide’s Grave</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page354">354</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">He And She</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page361">361</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Mighty Must</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Mirage</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page374">374</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Ghosts’ High Noon</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page381">381</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Humane Mikado</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page388">388</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Willow Waly</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page397">397</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Life is Lovely all the Year</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page403">403</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Usher’s Charge</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page411">411</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Great Oak Tree</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page418">418</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">King Goodheart</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page424">424</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sleep on</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page431">431</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Love-sick Boy</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page439">439</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Poetry Everywhere</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page445">445</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">He Loves</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page453">453</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">True Diffidence</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page458">458</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Tangled Skein</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page466">466</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">My Lady</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page471">471</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">One against the World</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page473">473</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Put a Penny in the Slot</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page480">480</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Good Little Girls</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page482">482</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Life</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page487">487</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Limited Liability</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page490">490</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Anglicised Utopia</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page497">497</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">An English Girl</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page499">499</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Manager’s +Perplexities</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page504">504</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Out of Sorts</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page506">506</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">How it’s Done</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page512">512</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Classical Revival</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page515">515</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Practical Joker</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page523">523</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The National Anthem</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page526">526</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Her Terms</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page534">534</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Independent Bee</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page536">536</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Disconcerted Tenor</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page547">547</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Played-out Humorist</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page553">553</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>THE +DARNED MOUNSEER</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">shipped</span>, +d’ye see, in a Revenue sloop,<br /> + And, off Cape Finisteere,<br /> + + +A merchantman we see,<br /> + + +A Frenchman, going free,<br /> + So we made for the bold +Mounseer,<br /> + + +D’ye see?<br /> + We made for the bold Mounseer!<br +/> +But she proved to be a Frigate—and she up with her +ports,<br /> + And fires with a thirty-two!<br /> + + +It come uncommon near,<br /> + + +But we answered with a cheer,<br /> + Which paralysed the Parley-voo,<br +/> + + +D’ye see?<br /> + Which paralysed the Parley-voo!<br +/> +Then our Captain he up and he says, says he,<br /> + “That chap we need not +fear,—<br /> + + +We can take her, if we like,<br /> + + +She is sartin for to strike,<br /> + For she’s only a darned +Mounseer,<br /> + + +D’ye see?<br /> + She’s only a darned +Mounseer!<br /> +But to fight a French fal-lal—it’s like hittin’ +of a gal—<br /> + It’s a lubberly thing for to +do;<br /> + + +For we, with all our faults,<br /> + + +Why, we’re sturdy British salts,<br /> + While she’s but a +Parley-voo,<br /> + + +D’ye see?<br /> + A miserable Parley-voo!”</p> +<p class="poetry">So we up with our helm, and we scuds before the +breeze,<br /> + As we gives a compassionating +cheer;<br /> + + +Froggee answers with a shout<br /> + + +As he sees us go about,<br /> + Which was grateful of the poor +Mounseer,<br /> + + +D’ye see?<br /> + Which was grateful of the poor +Mounseer!<br /> +And I’ll wager in their joy they kissed each other’s +cheek<br /> + (Which is what them furriners +do),<br /> + + +And they blessed their lucky stars<br /> + + +We were hardy British tars<br /> + Who had pity on a poor +Parley-voo,<br /> + + +D’ye see?<br /> + Who had pity on a poor +Parley-voo!</p> +<h2><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>THE +ENGLISHMAN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> is an +Englishman!<br /> + + +For he himself has said it,<br /> + + +And it’s greatly to his credit,<br /> +That he is an Englishman!<br /> + + +For he might have been a Roosian,<br /> + + +A French, or Turk, or Proosian,<br /> +Or perhaps Itali-an!<br /> + + +But in spite of all temptations,<br /> + + +To belong to other nations,<br /> +He remains an Englishman!<br /> + + +Hurrah!<br /> +For the true-born Englishman!</p> +<h2><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>THE +DISAGREEABLE MAN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> you give me your +attention, I will tell you what I am:<br /> +I’m a genuine philanthropist—all other kinds are +sham.<br /> +Each little fault of temper and each social defect<br /> +In my erring fellow-creatures, I endeavour to correct.<br /> +To all their little weaknesses I open people’s eyes,<br /> +And little plans to snub the self-sufficient I devise;<br /> +I love my fellow-creatures—I do all the good I +can—<br /> +Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man!<br /> + + +And I can’t think why!</p> +<p class="poetry">To compliments inflated I’ve a withering +reply,<br /> +And vanity I always do my best to mortify;<br /> +A charitable action I can skilfully dissect;<br /> +And interested motives I’m delighted to detect.<br /> +I know everybody’s income and what everybody earns,<br /> +And I carefully compare it with the income-tax returns;<br /> +But to benefit humanity, however much I plan,<br /> +Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man!<br /> + + +And I can’t think why!</p> +<p class="poetry">I’m sure I’m no ascetic; I’m +as pleasant as can be;<br /> +You’ll always find me ready with a crushing repartee;<br /> +I’ve an irritating chuckle, I’ve a celebrated +sneer,<br /> +I’ve an entertaining snigger, I’ve a fascinating +leer;<br /> +To everybody’s prejudice I know a thing or two;<br /> +I can tell a woman’s age in half a minute—and I +do—<br /> +But although I try to make myself as pleasant as I can,<br /> +Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man!<br /> + + +And I can’t think why!</p> +<h2><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>THE +COMING BY-AND-BY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sad</span> is that +woman’s lot who, year by year,<br /> +Sees, one by one, her beauties disappear;<br /> +As Time, grown weary of her heart-drawn sighs,<br /> +Impatiently begins to “dim her eyes”!—<br /> +Herself compelled, in life’s uncertain gloamings,<br /> +To wreathe her wrinkled brow with well-saved +“combings”—<br /> +Reduced, with rouge, lipsalve, and pearly grey,<br /> +To “make up” for lost time, as best she may!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Silvered is the raven +hair,<br /> + Spreading is the parting +straight,<br /> + Mottled the complexion fair,<br /> + Halting is the youthful gait,<br +/> + Hollow is the laughter free,<br /> + Spectacled the limpid eye,<br /> + Little will be left of me,<br /> + In the coming by-and-by!</p> +<p class="poetry">Fading is the taper waist—<br /> + Shapeless grows the shapely limb,<br /> +And although securely laced,<br /> + Spreading is the figure trim!<br /> +Stouter than I used to be,<br /> + Still more corpulent grow I—<br /> +There will be too much of me<br /> + In the coming by-and-by!</p> +<h2><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>THE +HIGHLY RESPECTABLE GONDOLIER</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">stole</span> the Prince, +and I brought him here,<br /> + + +And left him, gaily prattling<br /> +With a highly respectable Gondolier,<br /> +Who promised the Royal babe to rear,<br /> +And teach him the trade of a timoneer<br /> + + +With his own beloved bratling.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Both +of the babes were strong and stout,<br /> + + +And, considering all things, clever.<br /> + + +Of that there is no manner of doubt—<br /> + + +No probable, possible shadow of doubt—<br /> + + +No possible doubt whatever.</p> +<p class="poetry">Time sped, and when at the end of a year<br /> + + +I sought that infant cherished,<br /> +That highly respectable Gondolier<br /> +Was lying a corpse on his humble bier—<br /> +I dropped a Grand Inquisitor’s tear—<br /> + + +That Gondolier had perished!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> A +taste for drink, combined with gout,<br /> + + +Had doubled him up for ever.<br /> + + +Of <i>that</i> there is no manner of doubt—<br /> + + +No probable, possible shadow of doubt—<br /> + + +No possible doubt whatever.</p> +<p class="poetry">But owing, I’m much disposed to fear,<br +/> + + +To his terrible taste for tippling,<br /> +That highly respectable Gondolier<br /> +Could never declare with a mind sincere<br /> +Which of the two was his offspring dear,<br /> + + +And which the Royal stripling!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Which +was which he could never make out,<br /> + + +Despite his best endeavour.<br /> + + +Of <i>that</i> there is no manner of doubt—<br /> + + +No probable, possible shadow of doubt—<br /> + + +No possible doubt whatever.</p> +<p class="poetry">The children followed his old career—<br +/> + + +(This statement can’t be parried)<br /> +Of a highly respectable Gondolier:<br /> +Well, one of the two (who will soon be here)—<br /> +But <i>which</i> of the two is not quite clear—<br /> + + +Is the Royal Prince you married!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Search +in and out and round about<br /> + + +And you’ll discover never<br /> + + +A tale so free from every doubt—<br /> + + +All probable, possible shadow of doubt—<br /> + + +All possible doubt whatever!</p> +<h2><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>THE +FAIRY QUEEN’S SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>, foolish fay,<br +/> + Think you because<br /> +Man’s brave array<br /> + My bosom thaws<br /> +I’d disobey<br /> + Our fairy laws?<br /> +Because I fly<br /> + In realms above,<br /> +In tendency<br /> + To fall in love<br /> +Resemble I<br /> + The amorous dove?</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Oh, +amorous dove!<br /> + + +Type of Ovidius Naso!<br /> + + +This heart of mine<br /> + + +Is soft as thine,<br /> + + +Although I dare not say so!</p> +<p class="poetry">On fire that glows<br /> + With heat intense<br /> +I turn the hose<br /> + Of Common Sense,<br /> +And out it goes<br /> + At small expense!<br /> +We must maintain<br /> + Our fairy law;<br /> +That is the main<br /> + On which to draw—<br /> +In that we gain<br /> + A Captain Shaw.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Oh, +Captain Shaw!<br /> + + +Type of true love kept under!<br /> + + +Could thy Brigade<br /> + + +With cold cascade<br /> + + +Quench my great love, I wonder!</p> +<h2><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>IS +LIFE A BOON</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Is</span> life a boon?<br +/> + If so, it must befall<br /> + That Death, whene’er he +call,<br /> +Must call too soon.<br /> + Though fourscore years he give<br +/> + Yet one would pray to live<br /> +Another moon!<br /> + What kind of plaint have I,<br /> + Who perish in July?<br /> + I might have had to die<br /> +Perchance in June!</p> +<p class="poetry">Is life a thorn?<br /> + Then count it not a whit!<br /> + Man is well done with it;<br /> +Soon as he’s born<br /> + He should all means essay<br /> + To put the plague away;<br /> +And I, war-worn,<br /> + Poor captured fugitive,<br /> + My life most gladly give—<br +/> + I might have had to live<br /> +Another morn!</p> +<h2><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>THE +MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">am</span> the very +pattern of a modern Major-Gineral,<br /> +I’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral;<br /> +I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights +historical,<br /> +From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical;<br /> +I’m very well acquainted, too, with matters +mathematical,<br /> +I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical;<br /> +About binomial theorem I’m teeming with a lot o’ +news,<br /> +With interesting facts about the square of the hypotenuse,<br /> +I’m very good at integral and differential calculus,<br /> +I know the scientific names of beings animalculous.<br /> +In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,<br /> +I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.</p> +<p class="poetry">I know our mythic history—<span +class="smcap">King Arthur’s</span> and <span +class="smcap">Sir Caradoc’s</span>,<br /> +I answer hard acrostics, I’ve a pretty taste for +paradox;<br /> +I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of <span +class="smcap">Heliogabalus</span>,<br /> +In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous.<br /> +I tell undoubted <span class="smcap">Raphaels</span> from <span +class="smcap">Gerard Dows</span> and <span +class="smcap">Zoffanies</span>,<br /> +I know the croaking chorus from the “Frogs” of <span +class="smcap">Aristophanes</span>;<br /> +Then I can hum a fugue, of which I’ve heard the +music’s din afore,<br /> +And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense +“Pinafore.”<br /> +Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform,<br /> +And tell you every detail of <span +class="smcap">Caractacus’s</span> uniform.<br /> +In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,<br /> +I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.</p> +<p class="poetry">In fact, when I know what is meant by +“mamelon” and “ravelin,”<br /> +When I can tell at sight a Chassepôt rifle from a +javelin,<br /> +When such affairs as <i>sorties</i> and surprises I’m more +wary at,<br /> +And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat,<br /> +When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern +gunnery,<br /> +When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery,<br /> +In short, when I’ve a smattering of elementary strategy,<br +/> +You’ll say a better Major-Gener<i>al</i> has never +<i>sat</i> a gee—<br /> +For my military knowledge, though I’m plucky and +adventury,<br /> +Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century.<br /> +But still in learning vegetable, animal, and mineral,<br /> +I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral!</p> +<h2><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>THE +HEAVY DRAGOON</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> you want a +receipt for that popular mystery,<br /> + Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon,<br /> +Take all the remarkable people in history,<br /> + Rattle them off to a popular tune!<br /> +The pluck of <span class="smcap">Lord Nelson</span> on board of +the <i>Victory</i>—<br /> + Genius of <span class="smcap">Bismarck</span> +devising a plan;<br /> +The humour of <span class="smcap">Fielding</span> (which sounds +contradictory)—<br /> + Coolness of <span class="smcap">Paget</span> about +to trepan—<br /> +The grace of <span class="smcap">Mozart</span>, that unparalleled +musico—<br /> + Wit of <span class="smcap">Macaulay</span>, who +wrote of <span class="smcap">Queen Anne</span>—<br /> +The pathos of <span class="smcap">Paddy</span>, as rendered by +<span class="smcap">Boucicault</span>—<br /> + Style of the <span class="smcap">Bishop of Sodor and +Man</span>—<br /> +The dash of a D’<span class="smcap">Orsay</span>, divested +of quackery—<br /> +Narrative powers of <span class="smcap">Dickens</span> and <span +class="smcap">Thackeray</span>—<br /> +<span class="smcap">Victor Emmanuel</span>—peak-haunting +<span class="smcap">Peveril</span>—<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thomas Aquinas</span>, and <span +class="smcap">Doctor Sacheverell</span>—<br /> + <span class="smcap">Tupper</span> and <span +class="smcap">Tennyson</span>—<span class="smcap">Daniel +Defoe</span>—<br /> + <span class="smcap">Anthony Trollope</span> and +<span class="smcap">Mister Guizot</span>!<br /> + + +Take of these elements all that is fusible,<br /> + + +Melt ’em all down in a pipkin or crucible,<br /> + + +Set ’em to simmer and take off the scum,<br /> + + +And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!</p> +<p class="poetry">If you want a receipt for this soldierlike +paragon,<br /> + Get at the wealth of the <span +class="smcap">Czar</span> (if you can)—<br /> +The family pride of a Spaniard from Arragon—<br /> + Force of <span class="smcap">Mephisto</span> +pronouncing a ban—<br /> +A smack of <span class="smcap">Lord Waterford</span>, reckless +and rollicky—<br /> + Swagger of <span class="smcap">Roderick</span>, +heading his clan—<br /> +The keen penetration of <span class="smcap">Paddington +Pollaky</span>—<br /> + Grace of an Odalisque on a divan—<br /> +The genius strategic of <span class="smcap">Cæsar</span> or +<span class="smcap">Hannibal</span>—<br /> +Skill of <span class="smcap">Lord Wolseley</span> in thrashing a +cannibal—<br /> +Flavour of <span class="smcap">Hamlet</span>—the <span +class="smcap">Stranger</span>, a touch of him—<br /> +Little of <span class="smcap">Manfred</span> (but not very much +of him)—<br /> + Beadle of Burlington—<span +class="smcap">Richardson’s</span> show—<br /> + <span class="smcap">Mr. Micawber</span> and <span +class="smcap">Madame Tussaud</span>!<br /> + + +Take of these elements all that is fusible—<br /> + + +Melt ’em all down in a pipkin or crucible—<br /> + + +Set ’em to simmer and take off the scum,<br /> + + +And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!</p> +<h2><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>PROPER +PRIDE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> Sun, whose +rays<br /> +Are all ablaze<br /> + With ever-living glory,<br /> +Will not deny<br /> +His majesty—<br /> + He scorns to tell a story:<br /> +He won’t exclaim,<br /> +“I blush for shame,<br /> + So kindly be indulgent,”<br /> +But, fierce and bold,<br /> +In fiery gold,<br /> + He glories all effulgent!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> I +mean to rule the earth,<br /> + + +As he the sky—<br /> + We really know +our worth,<br /> + + +The Sun and I!</p> +<p class="poetry">Observe his flame,<br /> +That placid dame,<br /> + The Moon’s Celestial Highness;<br /> +There’s not a trace<br /> +Upon her face<br /> + Of diffidence or shyness:<br /> +She borrows light<br /> +That, through the night,<br /> + Mankind may all acclaim her!<br /> +And, truth to tell,<br /> +She lights up well,<br /> + So I, for one, don’t blame her!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Ah, +pray make no mistake,<br /> + + +We are not shy;<br /> + We’re very +wide awake,<br /> + + +The Moon and I!</p> +<h2><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>THE +POLICEMAN’S LOT</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> a felon’s +not engaged in his employment,<br /> + Or maturing his felonious little plans,<br /> +His capacity for innocent enjoyment<br /> + Is just as great as any honest man’s.<br /> +Our feelings we with difficulty smother<br /> + When constabulary duty’s to be done:<br /> +Ah, take one consideration with another,<br /> + A policeman’s lot is not a happy one!</p> +<p class="poetry">When the enterprising burglar isn’t +burgling,<br /> + When the cut-throat isn’t occupied in +crime,<br /> +He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling,<br /> + And listen to the merry village chime.<br /> +When the coster’s finished jumping on his mother,<br /> + He loves to lie a-basking in the sun:<br /> +Ah, take one consideration with another,<br /> + The policeman’s lot is not a happy one!</p> +<h2><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>THE +BAFFLED GRUMBLER</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Whene’er</span> I poke<br /> + Sarcastic joke<br /> + Replete with +malice spiteful,<br /> + The people vile<br /> + Politely smile<br /> + + +And vote me quite delightful!<br /> + Now, when a wight<br /> + Sits up all night<br /> + + +Ill-natured jokes devising,<br /> + And all his wiles<br /> + Are met with smiles,<br /> + + +It’s hard, there’s no disguising!<br /> +Oh, don’t the days seem lank and long<br /> +When all goes right and nothing goes wrong,<br /> +And isn’t your life extremely flat<br /> +With nothing whatever to grumble at!</p> +<p class="poetry"> When German +bands,<br /> + From music stands<br /> + Play Wagner +imper<i>fect</i>ly—<br /> + I bid them go—<br /> + They don’t say no,<br /> + + +But off they trot directly!<br /> + The organ boys<br /> + They stop their noise<br /> + + +With readiness surprising,<br /> + And grinning herds<br /> + Of hurdy-gurds<br /> + + +Retire apologising!<br /> +Oh, don’t the days seem lank and long<br /> +When all goes right and nothing goes wrong,<br /> +And isn’t your life extremely flat<br /> +With nothing whatever to grumble at!</p> +<p class="poetry"> I’ve +offered gold,<br /> + In sums untold,<br /> + To all +who’d contradict me—<br /> + I’ve said I’d pay<br +/> + A pound a day<br /> + + +To any one who kicked me—<br /> + I’ve bribed with toys<br /> + Great vulgar boys<br /> + + +To utter something spiteful,<br /> + But, bless you, no!<br /> + They <i>will</i> be so<br /> + + +Confoundedly politeful!<br /> +In short, these aggravating lads,<br /> +They tickle my tastes, they feed my fads,<br /> +They give me this and they give me that,<br /> +And I’ve nothing whatever to grumble at!</p> +<h2><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>THE +HOUSE OF PEERS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> Britain really +ruled the waves—<br /> + (In good Queen Bess’s time)<br /> +The House of Peers made no pretence<br /> +To intellectual eminence,<br /> + Or scholarship sublime;<br /> +Yet Britain won her proudest bays<br /> +In good Queen Bess’s glorious days!</p> +<p class="poetry">When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte,<br /> + As every child can tell,<br /> +The House of Peers, throughout the war,<br /> +Did nothing in particular,<br /> + And did it very well;<br /> +Yet Britain set the world ablaze<br /> +In good King George’s glorious days!</p> +<p class="poetry">And while the House of Peers withholds<br /> + Its legislative hand,<br /> +And noble statesmen do not itch<br /> +To interfere with matters which<br /> + They do not understand,<br /> +As bright will shine Great Britain’s rays,<br /> +As in King George’s glorious days!</p> +<h2><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>A +MERRY MADRIGAL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Brightly</span> dawns our +wedding day;<br /> + Joyous hour, we +give thee greeting!<br /> + Whither, whither +art thou fleeting?<br /> +Fickle moment, prithee stay!<br /> + What though +mortal joys be hollow?<br /> + Pleasures come, +if sorrows follow.<br /> +Though the tocsin sound, ere long,<br /> + Ding dong! Ding dong!<br /> + Yet until the +shadows fall<br /> + Over one and +over all,<br /> + Sing a merry +madrigal—<br /> + + +Fal la!</p> +<p class="poetry">Let us dry the ready tear;<br /> + Though the hours +are surely creeping,<br /> + Little need for +woeful weeping<br /> +Till the sad sundown is near.<br /> + All must sip the +cup of sorrow,<br /> + I to-day and +thou to-morrow:<br /> +This the close of every song—<br /> + Ding dong! Ding dong!<br /> + What though +solemn shadows fall,<br /> + Sooner, later, +over all?<br /> + Sing a merry +madrigal—<br /> + + +Fal la!</p> +<h2><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>THE +DUKE AND THE DUCHESS</h2> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">The Duke</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Small titles and orders<br /> +For Mayors and Recorders<br /> + I get—and they’re +highly delighted.<br /> +M.P.s baronetted,<br /> +Sham Colonels gazetted,<br /> + And second-rate Aldermen +knighted.<br /> +Foundation-stone laying<br /> +I find very paying,<br /> + It adds a large sum to my +makings.<br /> +At charity dinners<br /> +The best of speech-spinners,<br /> + I get ten per cent on the +takings!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">The Duchess</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">I present any lady<br /> +Whose conduct is shady<br /> + Or smacking of doubtful +propriety;<br /> +When Virtue would quash her<br /> +I take and whitewash her<br /> + And launch her in first-rate +society.<br /> +I recommend acres<br /> +Of clumsy dressmakers—<br /> + Their fit and their finishing +touches;<br /> +A sum in addition<br /> +They pay for permission<br /> + To say that they make for the +Duchess!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">The Duke</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Those pressing prevailers,<br /> +The ready-made tailors,<br /> + Quote me as their great +double-barrel;<br /> +I allow them to do so,<br /> +Though <span class="smcap">Robinson Crusoe</span><br /> + Would jib at their wearing +apparel!<br /> +I sit, by selection,<br /> +Upon the direction<br /> + Of several Companies bubble;<br /> +As soon as they’re floated<br /> +I’m freely bank-noted—<br /> + I’m pretty well paid for my +trouble!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">The Duchess</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">At middle-class party<br /> +I play at <i>écarté</i>—<br /> + And I’m by no means a +beginner;<br /> +To one of my station<br /> +The remuneration—<br /> + Five guineas a night and my +dinner.<br /> +I write letters blatant<br /> +On medicines patent—<br /> + And use any other you +mustn’t;<br /> +And vow my complexion<br /> +Derives its perfection<br /> + From somebody’s +soap—which it doesn’t.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">The Duke</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’re ready as witness<br /> +To any one’s fitness<br /> + To fill any place or +preferment;<br /> +We’re often in waiting<br /> +At junket <i>fêting</i>,<br /> + And sometimes attend an +interment.<br /> +In short, if you’d kindle<br /> +The spark of a swindle,<br /> + Lure simpletons into your +clutches,<br /> +Or hoodwink a debtor,<br /> +You cannot do better<br /> + Than trot out a Duke or a +Duchess!</p> +<h2><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>EHEU +FUGACES—!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> air is charged +with amatory numbers—<br /> + Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers’ lays.<br /> +Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers<br /> + The aching memory of the old, old days?</p> +<p class="poetry">Time was when Love and I were well +acquainted;<br /> + Time was when we walked ever hand in hand;<br /> +A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted,<br /> + None better loved than I in all the land!<br /> +Time was, when maidens of the noblest station,<br /> + Forsaking even military men,<br /> +Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration—<br /> + Ah me, I was a fair young curate then!</p> +<p class="poetry">Had I a headache? sighed the maids +assembled;<br /> + Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear;<br /> +Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled;<br /> + And when I coughed all thought the end was near!<br +/> +I had no care—no jealous doubts hung o’er +me—<br /> + For I was loved beyond all other men.<br /> +Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me—<br /> + Ah me, I was a pale young curate then!</p> +<h2><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>THEY’LL NONE OF ’EM BE MISSED</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> some day it may +happen that a victim must be found,<br /> + I’ve got a little list—I’ve got a +little list<br /> +Of social offenders who might well be underground,<br /> + And who never would be missed—who never would +be missed!<br /> +There’s the pestilential nuisances who write for +autographs—<br /> +All people who have flabby hands and irritating laughs—<br +/> +All children who are up in dates, and floor you with ’em +flat—<br /> +All persons who in shaking hands, shake hands with you like +<i>that</i>—<br /> +And all third persons who on spoiling +<i>tête-à-têtes</i> insist—<br /> + They’d none of ’em be +missed—they’d none of ’em be missed!</p> +<p class="poetry">There’s the nigger serenader, and the +others of his race,<br /> + And the piano organist—I’ve got him on +the list!<br /> +And the people who eat peppermint and puff it in your face,<br /> + They never would be missed—they never would be +missed!<br /> +Then the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone,<br /> +All centuries but this, and every country but his own;<br /> +And the lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy,<br /> +And who “doesn’t think she waltzes, but would rather +like to try”;<br /> +And that <i>fin-de-siècle</i> anomaly, the scorching +motorist—<br /> + I don’t think he’d be +missed—I’m <i>sure</i> he’d not be missed!</p> +<p class="poetry">And that <i>Nisi Prius</i> nuisance, who just +now is rather rife,<br /> + The Judicial humorist—I’ve got +<i>him</i> on the list!<br /> +All funny fellows, comic men, and clowns of private +life—<br /> + They’d none of ’em be +missed—they’d none of ’em be missed!<br /> +And apologetic statesmen of the compromising kind,<br /> +Such as—What-d’ye-call-him—Thing’em-Bob, +and likewise—Never-mind,<br /> +And ’St—’st—’st—and +What’s-his-name, and also—You-know-who—<br /> +(The task of filling up the blanks I’d rather leave to +<i>you</i>!)<br /> +But it really doesn’t matter whom you put upon the list,<br +/> + For they’d none of ’em be +missed—they’d none of ’em be missed!</p> +<h2><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>GIRL +GRADUATES</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">They</span> intend to send +a wire<br /> + To the moon;<br /> +And they’ll set the Thames on fire<br /> + Very soon;<br /> +Then they learn to make silk purses<br /> + With their rigs<br /> +From the ears of <span class="smcap">Lady Circe’s</span><br +/> + Piggy-wigs.<br /> +And weasels at their slumbers<br /> + They’ll trepan;<br /> +To get sunbeams from cu<i>cum</i>bers<br /> + They’ve a plan.<br /> +They’ve a firmly rooted notion<br /> +They can cross the Polar Ocean,<br /> +And they’ll find Perpetual Motion<br /> + If they can!</p> +<p class="poetry"> These are +the phenomena<br /> + That every pretty domina<br /> + Hopes that we +shall see<br /> + At this +Universitee!</p> +<p class="poetry">As for fashion, they forswear it,<br /> + So they say,<br /> +And the circle—they will square it<br /> + Some fine day;<br /> +Then the little pigs they’re teaching<br /> + For to fly;<br /> +And the niggers they’ll be bleaching<br /> + By-and-by!<br /> +Each newly joined aspirant<br /> + To the clan<br /> +Must repudiate the tyrant<br /> + Known as Man;<br /> +They mock at him and flout him,<br /> +For they do not care about him,<br /> +And they’re “going to do without him”<br /> + If they can!</p> +<p class="poetry"> These are +the phenomena<br /> + That every pretty domina<br /> + Hopes that we +shall see<br /> + At this +Universitee!</p> +<h2><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>BRAID THE RAVEN HAIR</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Braid</span> the raven +hair,<br /> + Weave the supple tress,<br /> +Deck the maiden fair<br /> + In her loveliness;<br /> +Paint the pretty face,<br /> + Dye the coral lip,<br /> +Emphasise the grace<br /> + Of her ladyship!<br /> +Art and nature, thus allied,<br /> +Go to make a pretty bride!</p> +<p class="poetry">Sit with downcast eye,<br /> + Let it brim with dew;<br /> +Try if you can cry,<br /> + We will do so, too.<br /> +When you’re summoned, start<br /> + Like a frightened roe;<br /> +Flutter, little heart,<br /> + Colour, come and go!<br /> +Modesty at marriage tide<br /> +Well becomes a pretty bride!</p> +<h2><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>THE +WORKING MONARCH</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Rising</span> early in the +morning,<br /> + We proceed to light the fire,<br +/> +Then our Majesty adorning<br /> + In its work-a-day attire,<br /> + + +We embark without delay<br /> + + +On the duties of the day.</p> +<p class="poetry">First, we polish off some batches<br /> +Of political despatches,<br /> + And foreign politicians +circumvent;<br /> +Then, if business isn’t heavy,<br /> +We may hold a Royal <i>levée</i>,<br /> + Or ratify some Acts of +Parliament:<br /> +Then we probably review the household troops—<br /> +With the usual “Shalloo humps” and “Shalloo +hoops!”<br /> +Or receive with ceremonial and state<br /> +An interesting Eastern Potentate.<br /> + After that we generally<br /> + Go and dress our private +<i>valet</i>—</p> +<p class="poetry">(It’s a rather nervous duty—he a +touchy little man)—<br /> + Write some letters literary<br /> + For our private +secretary—<br /> +(He is shaky in his spelling, so we help him if we can.)<br /> + Then, in view of cravings +inner,<br /> + We go down and order dinner;<br /> +Or we polish the Regalia and the Coronation Plate—<br /> + Spend an hour in titivating<br /> + All our Gentlemen-in-Waiting;<br +/> +Or we run on little errands for the Ministers of State.<br /> + + +Oh, philosophers may sing<br /> + + +Of the troubles of a King,<br /> + Yet the duties are delightful, and +the privileges great;<br /> + + +But the privilege and pleasure<br /> + + +That we treasure beyond measure<br /> + Is to run on little errands for +the Ministers of State!</p> +<p class="poetry">After luncheon (making merry<br /> +On a bun and glass of sherry),<br /> + If we’ve nothing in +particular to do,<br /> +We may make a Proclamation,<br /> +Or receive a Deputation—<br /> + Then we possibly create a Peer or +two.<br /> +Then we help a fellow-creature on his path<br /> +With the Garter or the Thistle or the Bath:<br /> +Or we dress and toddle off in semi-State<br /> +To a festival, a function, or a <i>fête</i>.<br /> + Then we go and stand as sentry<br +/> + At the Palace (private entry),<br +/> +Marching hither, marching thither, up and down and to and fro,<br +/> + While the warrior on duty<br /> + Goes in search of beer and +beauty<br /> +(And it generally happens that he hasn’t far to go).<br /> + He relieves us, if he’s +able,<br /> + Just in time to lay the table.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then we dine and serve the coffee; and at +half-past twelve or one,<br /> + With a pleasure that’s +emphatic;<br /> + Then we seek our little attic<br +/> +With the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done.<br /> + + +Oh, philosophers may sing<br /> + + +Of the troubles of a King,<br /> +But of pleasures there are many and of troubles there are +none;<br /> + + +And the culminating pleasure<br /> + + +That we treasure beyond measure<br /> +Is the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done!</p> +<h2><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>THE +APE AND THE LADY</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">Lady</span> fair, of +lineage high,<br /> +Was loved by an Ape, in the days gone by—<br /> +The Maid was radiant as the sun,<br /> +The Ape was a most unsightly one—<br /> + So it would not do—<br /> + His scheme fell through;<br /> +For the Maid, when his love took formal shape,<br /> + Expressed such terror<br /> + At his monstrous error,<br /> +That he stammered an apology and made his ’scape,<br /> +The picture of a disconcerted Ape.</p> +<p class="poetry">With a view to rise in the social scale,<br /> +He shaved his bristles, and he docked his tail,<br /> +He grew moustachios, and he took his tub,<br /> + And he paid a guinea to a toilet club.<br /> + But it would not do,<br /> + The scheme fell through—<br +/> +For the Maid was Beauty’s fairest Queen,<br /> + With golden tresses,<br /> + Like a real princess’s,<br +/> +While the Ape, despite his razor keen,<br /> +Was the apiest Ape that ever was seen!</p> +<p class="poetry">He bought white ties, and he bought dress +suits,<br /> +He crammed his feet into bright tight boots,<br /> +And to start his life on a brand-new plan,<br /> +He christened himself Darwinian Man!<br /> + But it would not do,<br /> + The scheme fell through—<br +/> +For the Maiden fair, whom the monkey craved,<br /> + Was a radiant Being,<br /> + With a brain far-seeing—<br +/> +While a Man, however well-behaved,<br /> +At best is only a monkey shaved!</p> +<h2><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>ONLY +ROSES</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To</span> a garden full of +posies<br /> + Cometh one to gather flowers;<br /> + And he wanders through its bowers<br /> +Toying with the wanton roses,<br /> + Who, uprising from their beds,<br /> + Hold on high their shameless heads<br /> +With their pretty lips a-pouting,<br /> +Never doubting—never doubting<br /> + That for Cytherean posies<br /> + He would gather aught but roses.</p> +<p class="poetry">In a nest of weeds and nettles,<br /> + Lay a violet, half hidden;<br /> + Hoping that his glance unbidden<br /> +Yet might fall upon her petals.<br /> + Though she lived alone, apart,<br /> + Hope lay nestling at her heart,<br /> +But, alas! the cruel awaking<br /> +Set her little heart a-breaking,<br /> + For he gathered for his posies<br /> + Only roses—only roses!</p> +<h2><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>THE +ROVER’S APOLOGY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>, gentlemen, +listen, I pray;<br /> + Though I own that my heart has been ranging,<br /> +Of nature the laws I obey,<br /> + For nature is constantly changing.<br /> +The moon in her phases is found,<br /> + The time and the wind and the weather,<br /> +The months in succession come round,<br /> + And you don’t find two Mondays together.<br /> + Consider the +moral, I pray,<br /> + + +Nor bring a young fellow to sorrow,<br /> + Who loves this +young lady to-day,<br /> + + +And loves that young lady to-morrow!</p> +<p class="poetry">You cannot eat breakfast all day.<br /> + Nor is it the act of a sinner,<br /> +When breakfast is taken away,<br /> + To turn your attention to dinner;<br /> +And it’s not in the range of belief<br /> + That you could hold him as a glutton,<br /> +Who, when he is tired of beef,<br /> + Determines to tackle the mutton.<br /> + But this I am +ready to say,<br /> + + +If it will diminish their sorrow,<br /> + I’ll marry +this lady to-day,<br /> + + +And I’ll marry that lady to-morrow!</p> +<h2><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>AN +APPEAL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! is there not one +maiden breast<br /> + Which does not feel the moral beauty<br /> +Of making worldly interest<br /> + Subordinate to sense of duty?<br /> +Who would not give up willingly<br /> + All matrimonial ambition<br /> +To rescue such a one as I<br /> + From his unfortunate position?</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, is there not one maiden here,<br /> + Whose homely face and bad complexion<br /> +Have caused all hopes to disappear<br /> + Of ever winning man’s affection?<br /> +To such a one, if such there be,<br /> + I swear by heaven’s arch above you,<br /> +If you will cast your eyes on me,—<br /> + However plain you be—I’ll love you!</p> +<h2><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>THE +REWARD OF MERIT</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Dr. Belville</span> was +regarded as the <span class="smcap">Crichton</span> of his +age:<br /> +His tragedies were reckoned much too thoughtful for the stage;<br +/> +His poems held a noble rank, although it’s very true<br /> +That, being very proper, they were read by very few.<br /> +He was a famous Painter, too, and shone upon the +“line,”<br /> +And even <span class="smcap">Mr. Ruskin</span> came and +worshipped at his shrine;<br /> +But, alas, the school he followed was heroically high—<br +/> +The kind of Art men rave about, but very seldom buy;<br /> + + +And everybody said<br /> + + +“How can he be repaid—<br /> +This very great—this very good—this very gifted +man?”<br /> +But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan!</p> +<p class="poetry">He was a great Inventor, and discovered, all +alone,<br /> +A plan for making everybody’s fortune but his own;<br /> +For, in business, an Inventor’s little better than a +fool,<br /> +And my highly-gifted friend was no exception to the rule.<br /> +His poems—people read them in the Quarterly +Reviews—<br /> +His pictures—they engraved them in the <i>Illustrated +News</i>—<br /> +His inventions—they, perhaps, might have enriched him by +degrees,<br /> +But all his little income went in Patent Office fees;<br /> + + +And everybody said<br /> + + +“How can he be repaid—<br /> +This very great—this very good—this very gifted +man?”<br /> +But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan!</p> +<p class="poetry">At last the point was given up in absolute +despair,<br /> +When a distant cousin died, and he became a millionaire,<br /> +With a county seat in Parliament, a moor or two of grouse,<br /> +And a taste for making inconvenient speeches in the House!<br /> +<i>Then</i> it flashed upon Britannia that the fittest of +rewards<br /> +Was, to take him from the Commons and to put him in the Lords!<br +/> +And who so fit to sit in it, deny it if you can,<br /> +As this very great—this very good—this very gifted +man?<br /> + + +(Though I’m more than half afraid<br /> + + +That it sometimes may be said<br /> +That we never should have revelled in that source of proper +pride,<br /> +However great his merits—if his cousin hadn’t +died!)</p> +<h2><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>THE +MAGNET AND THE CHURN</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">Magnet</span> hung in a +hardware shop,<br /> +And all around was a loving crop<br /> +Of scissors and needles, nails and knives,<br /> +Offering love for all their lives;<br /> +But for iron the Magnet felt no whim,<br /> +Though he charmed iron, it charmed not him,<br /> +From needles and nails and knives he’d turn,<br /> +For he’d set his love on a Silver Churn!<br /> + His most +æsthetic,<br /> + Very magnetic<br +/> + Fancy took this turn—<br /> + “If I can +wheedle<br /> + A knife or +needle,<br /> + Why not a Silver Churn?”</p> +<p class="poetry">And Iron and Steel expressed surprise,<br /> +The needles opened their well-drilled eyes,<br /> +The pen-knives felt “shut up,” no doubt,<br /> +The scissors declared themselves “cut out,”<br /> +The kettles they boiled with rage, ’tis said,<br /> +While every nail went off its head,<br /> +And hither and thither began to roam,<br /> +Till a hammer came up—and drove it home,<br /> + While this +magnetic<br /> + Peripatetic<br +/> + Lover he lived to learn,<br /> + By no +endeavour,<br /> + Can Magnet +ever<br /> + Attract a Silver Churn!</p> +<h2><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>THE +FAMILY FOOL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! a private +buffoon is a light-hearted loon,<br /> + If you listen to popular rumour;<br /> +From morning to night he’s so joyous and bright,<br /> + And he bubbles with wit and good humour!<br /> +He’s so quaint and so terse, both in prose and in verse;<br +/> + Yet though people forgive his transgression,<br /> +There are one or two rules that all Family Fools<br /> + Must observe, if they love their profession.<br /> + + +There are one or two rules,<br /> + + +Half-a-dozen, maybe,<br /> + + +That all family fools,<br /> + + +Of whatever degree,<br /> + Must observe if +they love their profession.</p> +<p class="poetry">If you wish to succeed as a jester, +you’ll need<br /> + To consider each person’s auricular:<br /> +What is all right for B would quite scandalise C<br /> + (For C is so very particular);<br /> +And D may be dull, and E’s very thick skull<br /> + Is as empty of brains as a ladle;<br /> +While F is F sharp, and will cry with a carp,<br /> + That he’s known your best joke from his +cradle!<br /> + + +When your humour they flout,<br /> + + +You can’t let yourself go;<br /> + + +And it <i>does</i> put you out<br /> + + +When a person says, “Oh!<br /> + I have known +that old joke from my cradle!”</p> +<p class="poetry">If your master is surly, from getting up +early<br /> + (And tempers are short in the morning),<br /> +An inopportune joke is enough to provoke<br /> + Him to give you, at once, a month’s +warning.<br /> +Then if you refrain, he is at you again,<br /> + For he likes to get value for money:<br /> +He’ll ask then and there, with an insolent stare,<br /> + “If you know that you’re paid to be +funny?”<br /> + + +It adds to the tasks<br /> + + +Of a merryman’s place,<br /> + + +When your principal asks,<br /> + + +With a scowl on his face,<br /> + If you know that +you’re paid to be funny?</p> +<p class="poetry">Comes a Bishop, maybe, or a solemn +D.D.—<br /> + Oh, beware of his anger provoking!<br /> +Better not pull his hair—don’t stick pins in his +chair;<br /> + He won’t understand practical joking.<br /> +If the jests that you crack have an orthodox smack,<br /> + You may get a bland smile from these sages;<br /> +But should it, by chance, be imported from France,<br /> + Half-a-crown is stopped out of your wages!<br /> + + +It’s a general rule,<br /> + + +Though your zeal it may quench,<br /> + + +If the Family Fool<br /> + + +Makes a joke that’s <i>too</i> French,<br /> + Half-a-crown is +stopped out of his wages!</p> +<p class="poetry">Though your head it may rack with a bilious +attack,<br /> + And your senses with toothache you’re +losing,<br /> +And you’re mopy and flat—they don’t fine you +for that<br /> + If you’re properly quaint and amusing!<br /> +Though your wife ran away with a soldier that day,<br /> + And took with her your trifle of money;<br /> +Bless your heart, they don’t mind—they’re +exceedingly kind—<br /> + They don’t blame you—as long as +you’re funny!<br /> + + +It’s a comfort to feel<br /> + + +If your partner should flit,<br /> + + +Though <i>you</i> suffer a deal,<br /> + + +<i>They</i> don’t mind it a bit—<br /> + They don’t +blame you—so long as you’re funny!</p> +<h2><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>SANS +SOUCI</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">cannot</span> tell what +this love may be<br /> +That cometh to all but not to me.<br /> +It cannot be kind as they’d imply,<br /> +Or why do these gentle ladies sigh?<br /> +It cannot be joy and rapture deep,<br /> +Or why do these gentle ladies weep?<br /> +It cannot be blissful, as ’tis said,<br /> +Or why are their eyes so wondrous red?</p> +<p class="poetry">If love is a thorn, they show no wit<br /> +Who foolishly hug and foster it.<br /> +If love is a weed, how simple they<br /> +Who gather and gather it, day by day!<br /> +If love is a nettle that makes you smart,<br /> +Why do you wear it next your heart?<br /> +And if it be neither of these, say I,<br /> +Why do you sit and sob and sigh?</p> +<h2><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>A +RECIPE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Take</span> a pair of +sparkling eyes,<br /> + Hidden, ever and anon,<br /> + + +In a merciful eclipse—<br /> +Do not heed their mild surprise—<br /> + Having passed the Rubicon.<br /> + + +Take a pair of rosy lips;<br /> +Take a figure trimly planned—<br /> + Such as admiration whets<br /> + + +(Be particular in this);<br /> +Take a tender little hand,<br /> + Fringed with dainty +fingerettes,<br /> + + +Press it—in parenthesis;—<br /> +Take all these, you lucky man—<br /> +Take and keep them, if you can.</p> +<p class="poetry">Take a pretty little cot—<br /> + Quite a miniature affair—<br +/> + + +Hung about with trellised vine,<br /> +Furnish it upon the spot<br /> + With the treasures rich and +rare<br /> + + +I’ve endeavoured to define.<br /> +Live to love and love to live—<br /> + You will ripen at your ease,<br /> + + +Growing on the sunny side—<br /> +Fate has nothing more to give.<br /> + You’re a dainty man to +please<br /> + + +If you are not satisfied.<br /> +Take my counsel, happy man:<br /> +Act upon it, if you can!</p> +<h2><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 182</span>THE +MERRYMAN AND HIS MAID</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">He</span>. +I <span class="smcap">have</span> a song to sing, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">She</span>. +Sing me your song, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">He</span>. +It is sung to the moon<br /> + + +By a love-lorn loon,<br /> + Who fled from the mocking throng, +O!<br /> +It’s the song of a merryman, moping mum,<br /> +Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum,<br /> +Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a +ladye.<br /> + + +Heighdy! heighdy!<br /> + + +Misery me—lackadaydee!<br /> +He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a +ladye!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">She</span>. +I have a song to sing, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">He</span>. +Sing me your song, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">She</span>. +It is sung with the ring<br /> + + +Of the song maids sing<br /> + Who love with a love life-long, +O!<br /> +It’s the song of a merrymaid, peerly proud,<br /> +Who loved a lord, and who laughed aloud<br /> +At the moan of the merryman, moping mum,<br /> +Whose soul was sore, whose glance was glum,<br /> +Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a +ladye!<br /> + + +Heighdy! heighdy!<br /> + + +Misery me—lackadaydee!<br /> +He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a +ladye!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">He</span>. +I have a song to sing, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">She</span>. +Sing me your song, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">He</span>. +It is sung to the knell<br /> + + +Of a churchyard bell,<br /> + And a doleful dirge, ding dong, +O!<br /> +It’s a song of a popinjay, bravely born,<br /> +Who turned up his noble nose with scorn<br /> +At the humble merrymaid, peerly proud,<br /> +Who loved that lord, and who laughed aloud<br /> +At the moan of the merryman, moping mum,<br /> +Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum,<br /> +Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a +ladye!<br /> + + +Heighdy! heighdy!<br /> + + +Misery me—lackadaydee!<br /> +He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a +ladye!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">She</span>. +I have a song to sing, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">He</span>. +Sing me your song, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">She</span>. +It is sung with a sigh<br /> + + +And a tear in the eye,<br /> + For it tells of a righted wrong, +O!<br /> +It’s a song of a merrymaid, once so gay,<br /> +Who turned on her heel and tripped away<br /> +From the peacock popinjay, bravely born,<br /> +Who turned up his noble nose with scorn<br /> +At the humble heart that he did not prize;<br /> +And it tells how she begged, with downcast eyes,<br /> +For the love of a merryman, moping mum,<br /> +Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum,<br /> +Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a ladye!<br /> +<span class="smcap">Both</span>. +Heighdy! heighdy!<br /> + + +Misery me—lackadaydee!<br /> +His pains were o’er, and he sighed no more.<br /> + For he lived in the love of a +ladye!</p> +<h2><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>THE +SUSCEPTIBLE CHANCELLOR</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> law is the true +embodiment<br /> +Of everything that’s excellent.<br /> +It has no kind of fault or flaw,<br /> +And I, my lords, embody the Law.<br /> +The constitutional guardian I<br /> +Of pretty young Wards in Chancery,<br /> +All very agreeable girls—and none<br /> +Is over the age of twenty-one.<br /> + A pleasant occupation for<br /> + A rather susceptible Chancellor!</p> +<p class="poetry">But though the compliment implied<br /> +Inflates me with legitimate pride,<br /> +It nevertheless can’t be denied<br /> +That it has its inconvenient side.<br /> +For I’m not so old, and not so plain,<br /> +And I’m quite prepared to marry again,<br /> +But there’d be the deuce to pay in the Lords<br /> +If I fell in love with one of my Wards:<br /> + Which rather tries my temper, for<br /> + I’m <i>such</i> a susceptible Chancellor!</p> +<p class="poetry">And every one who’d marry a Ward<br /> +Must come to me for my accord:<br /> +So in my court I sit all day,<br /> +Giving agreeable girls away,<br /> +With one for him—and one for he—<br /> +And one for you—and one for ye—<br /> +And one for thou—and one for thee—<br /> +But never, oh never a one for me!<br /> + Which is exasperating, for<br /> + A highly susceptible Chancellor!</p> +<h2><a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>WHEN +A MERRY MAIDEN MARRIES</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> a merry maiden +marries,<br /> +Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;<br /> + Every sound becomes a song,<br /> + All is right and nothing’s wrong!<br /> +From to-day and ever after<br /> +Let your tears be tears of laughter—<br /> + Every sigh that finds a vent<br /> + Be a sigh of sweet content!<br /> +When you marry merry maiden,<br /> +Then the air with love is laden;<br /> + Every flower is a rose,<br /> + Every goose becomes a swan,<br /> + Every kind of trouble goes<br /> + Where the last year’s snows +have gone;<br /> + Sunlight takes the place of shade<br /> + When you marry merry maid!</p> +<p class="poetry">When a merry maiden marries<br /> +Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;<br /> + Every sound becomes a song,<br /> + All is right, and nothing’s wrong.<br /> +Gnawing Care and aching Sorrow,<br /> +Get ye gone until to-morrow;<br /> + Jealousies in grim array,<br /> + Ye are things of yesterday!<br /> +When you marry merry maiden,<br /> +Then the air with joy is laden;<br /> + All the corners of the earth<br /> + Ring with music sweetly played,<br +/> + Worry is melodious mirth,<br /> + Grief is joy in masquerade;<br /> + Sullen night is laughing day—<br /> + All the year is merry May!</p> +<h2><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 204</span>THE +BRITISH TAR</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">British</span> tar is a +soaring soul,<br /> + As free as a mountain bird,<br /> +His energetic fist should be ready to resist<br /> + A dictatorial word.<br /> +His nose should pant and his lip should curl,<br /> +His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl,<br /> +His bosom should heave and his heart should glow,<br /> +And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow.</p> +<p class="poetry">His eyes should flash with an inborn fire,<br +/> + His brow with scorn be rung;<br /> +He never should bow down to a domineering frown,<br /> + Or the tang of a tyrant tongue.<br /> +His foot should stamp and his throat should growl,<br /> +His hair should twirl and his face should scowl;<br /> +His eyes should flash and his breast protrude,<br /> +And this should be his customary attitude!</p> +<h2><a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span>A +MAN WHO WOULD WOO A FAIR MAID</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">man</span> who would woo +a fair maid,<br /> +Should ’prentice himself to the trade;<br /> + And study all day,<br /> + In methodical way,<br /> +How to flatter, cajole, and persuade.<br /> +He should ’prentice himself at fourteen<br /> +And practise from morning to e’en;<br /> + And when he’s of age,<br /> + If he will, I’ll engage,<br +/> +He may capture the heart of a queen!<br /> + It is purely a +matter of skill,<br /> + Which all may +attain if they will:<br /> + + +But every Jack<br /> + + +He must study the knack<br /> + If he wants to +make sure of his Jill!</p> +<p class="poetry">If he’s made the best use of his time,<br +/> +His twig he’ll so carefully lime<br /> + That every bird<br /> + Will come down at his word.<br /> +Whatever its plumage and clime.<br /> +He must learn that the thrill of a touch<br /> +May mean little, or nothing, or much;<br /> + It’s an instrument rare,<br +/> + To be handled with care,<br /> +And ought to be treated as such.<br /> + It is purely a +matter of skill,<br /> + Which all may +attain if they will:<br /> + + +But every Jack,<br /> + + +He must study the knack<br /> + If he wants to +make sure of his Jill!</p> +<p class="poetry">Then a glance may be timid or free;<br /> +It will vary in mighty degree,<br /> + From an impudent stare<br /> + To a look of despair<br /> +That no maid without pity can see.<br /> +And a glance of despair is no guide—<br /> +It may have its ridiculous side;<br /> + It may draw you a tear<br /> + Or a box on the ear;<br /> +You can never be sure till you’ve tried.<br /> + It is purely a +matter of skill,<br /> + Which all may +attain if they will:<br /> + + +But every Jack<br /> + + +He must study the knack<br /> + If he wants to +make sure of his Jill!</p> +<h2><a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 211</span>THE +SORCERER’S SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! my name is <span +class="smcap">John Wellington Wells</span>—<br /> +I’m a dealer in magic and spells,<br /> + In blessings and curses,<br /> + And ever-filled purses,<br /> +In prophecies, witches, and knells!<br /> +If you want a proud foe to “make tracks”—<br /> +If you’d melt a rich uncle in wax—<br /> + You’ve but to look in<br /> + On our resident Djinn,<br /> +Number seventy, Simmery Axe.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ve a first-class assortment of +magic;<br /> + And for raising a posthumous shade<br /> +With effects that are comic or tragic,<br /> + There’s no cheaper house in the trade.<br /> +Love-philtre—we’ve quantities of it;<br /> + And for knowledge if any one burns,<br /> +We keep an extremely small prophet, a prophet<br /> + Who brings us unbounded returns:<br /> + For he can +prophesy<br /> + With a wink +<i>of</i> his eye,<br /> + Peep with +security<br /> + Into +futurity,<br /> + Sum up your +history,<br /> + Clear up a +mystery,<br /> + Humour +proclivity<br /> + For a +nativity.<br /> + With mirrors so +magical,<br /> + Tetrapods +tragical,<br /> + Bogies +spectacular,<br /> + Answers +oracular,<br /> + Facts +astronomical,<br /> + Solemn or +comical,<br /> + And, if you want +it, he<br /> +Makes a reduction on taking a quantity! <br /> + + +Oh!<br /> + If any one anything lacks,<br /> + He’ll find it all ready in stacks,<br /> + + +If he’ll only look in<br /> + + +On the resident Djinn,<br /> + Number seventy, Simmery Axe!</p> +<p class="poetry"> He can +raise you hosts,<br /> + + +Of ghosts,<br /> + And that without reflectors;<br /> + And creepy things<br /> + + +With wings,<br /> +And gaunt and grisly spectres!<br /> + He can fill you crowds<br /> + + +Of shrouds,<br /> +And horrify you vastly;<br /> + He can rack your brains<br /> + + +With chains,<br /> +And gibberings grim and ghastly.<br /> + Then, if you plan it, he<br /> + Changes organity<br /> + With an urbanity,<br /> + Full of Satanity,<br /> + Vexes humanity<br /> + With an inanity<br /> + Fatal to vanity—<br /> +Driving your foes to the verge of insanity.<br /> + Barring tautology,<br /> + In demonology,<br /> + ’Lectro biology,<br /> + Mystic nosology,<br /> + Spirit philology,<br /> + High class astrology,<br /> + Such is his knowledge, he<br /> +Isn’t the man to require an apology<br /> + + +Oh!<br /> +My name is <span class="smcap">John Wellington Wells</span>,<br +/> +I’m a dealer in magic and spells,<br /> + In blessings and curses,<br /> + And ever-filled purses—<br +/> +In prophecies, witches, and knells.<br /> +If any one anything lacks,<br /> +He’ll find it all ready in stacks,<br /> + If he’ll only look in<br /> + On the resident Djinn,<br /> +Number seventy, Simmery Axe!</p> +<h2><a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>THE +FICKLE BREEZE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sighing</span> softly to +the river<br /> + Comes the loving breeze,<br /> +Setting nature all a-quiver,<br /> + Rustling through the trees!<br /> +And the brook in rippling measure<br /> + Laughs for very love,<br /> +While the poplars, in their pleasure,<br /> + Wave their arms above!<br /> + River, river, +little river,<br /> + May thy loving +prosper ever.<br /> + Heaven speed +thee, poplar tree,<br /> + May thy wooing +happy be!</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet, the breeze is but a rover,<br /> + When he wings away,<br /> +Brook and poplar mourn a lover!<br /> + Sighing well-a-day!<br /> +Ah, the doing and undoing<br /> + That the rogue could tell!<br /> +When the breeze is out a-wooing,<br /> + Who can woo so well?<br /> + Pretty brook, +thy dream is over,<br /> + For thy love is +but a rover!<br /> + Sad the lot of +poplar trees,<br /> + Courted by the +fickle breeze!</p> +<h2><a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>THE +FIRST LORD’S SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> I was a lad I +served a term<br /> +As office boy to an Attorney’s firm;<br /> +I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor,<br /> +And I polished up the handle of the big front door.<br /> + I polished up that handle so +successfullee,<br /> + That now I am the Ruler of the +Queen’s Navee!</p> +<p class="poetry">As office boy I made such a mark<br /> +That they gave me the post of a junior clerk;<br /> +I served the writs with a smile so bland,<br /> +And I copied all the letters in a big round hand.<br /> + I copied all the letters in a hand +so free,<br /> + That now I am the Ruler of the +Queen’s Navee!</p> +<p class="poetry">In serving writs I made such a name<br /> +That an articled clerk I soon became;<br /> +I wore clean collars and a brand-new suit<br /> +For the Pass Examination at the Institute:<br /> + And that Pass Examination did so +well for me,<br /> + That now I am the Ruler of the +Queen’s Navee!</p> +<p class="poetry">Of legal knowledge I acquired such a grip<br /> +That they took me into the partnership,<br /> +And that junior partnership I ween,<br /> +Was the only ship that I ever had seen:<br /> + But that kind of ship so suited +me,<br /> + That now I am the Ruler of the +Queen’s Navee!</p> +<p class="poetry">I grew so rich that I was sent<br /> +By a pocket borough into Parliament;<br /> +I always voted at my Party’s call,<br /> +And I never thought of thinking for myself at all.<br /> + I thought so little, they rewarded +me,<br /> + By making me the Ruler of the +Queen’s Navee!</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, landsmen all, whoever you may be,<br /> +If you want to rise to the top of the tree—<br /> +If your soul isn’t fettered to an office stool,<br /> +Be careful to be guided by this golden rule—<br /> + Stick close to your desks and +<i>never go to sea</i>,<br /> + And you all may be Rulers of the +Queen’s Navee!</p> +<h2><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +240</span>WOULD YOU KNOW?</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Would</span> you know the +kind of maid<br /> + Sets my heart a flame-a?<br /> +Eyes must be downcast and staid,<br /> + Cheeks must flush for shame-a!<br /> + She may neither +dance nor sing,<br /> + But, demure in +everything,<br /> + Hang her head in +modest way<br /> + With pouting +lips that seem to say,<br /> + “Kiss me, +kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,<br /> + Though I die of +shame-a!”<br /> + Please you, that’s the kind of maid<br /> + Sets my heart a +flame-a!</p> +<p class="poetry">When a maid is bold and gay<br /> + With a tongue goes clang-a,<br /> +Flaunting it in brave array,<br /> + Maiden may go hang-a!<br /> + Sunflower gay +and hollyhock<br /> + Never shall my +garden stock;<br /> + Mine the +blushing rose of May,<br /> + With pouting +lips that seem to say<br /> + “Oh, kiss +me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,<br /> + Though I die for +shame-a!”<br /> + Please you, that’s the kind of maid<br /> + Sets my heart a +flame-a!</p> +<h2><a name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +254</span>SPECULATION</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Comes</span> a train of +little ladies<br /> + From scholastic trammels free,<br /> +Each a little bit afraid is,<br /> + Wondering what the world can be!</p> +<p class="poetry">Is it but a world of trouble—<br /> + Sadness set to song?<br /> +Is its beauty but a bubble<br /> + Bound to break ere long?</p> +<p class="poetry">Are its palaces and pleasures<br /> + Fantasies that fade?<br /> +And the glory of its treasures<br /> + Shadow of a shade?</p> +<p class="poetry">Schoolgirls we, eighteen and under,<br /> + From scholastic trammels free,<br /> +And we wonder—how we wonder!—<br /> + What on earth the world can be!</p> +<h2><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 255</span>AH +ME!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> maiden loves, +she sits and sighs,<br /> + + +She wanders to and fro;<br /> +Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes,<br /> +And to all questions she replies,<br /> + + +With a sad heigho!<br /> + ’Tis but a little +word—“heigho!”<br /> + So soft, ’tis scarcely +heard—“heigho!”<br /> + + +An idle breath—<br /> + + +Yet life and death<br /> + May hang upon a maid’s +“heigho!”</p> +<p class="poetry">When maiden loves, she mopes apart,<br /> + + +As owl mopes on a tree;<br /> +Although she keenly feels the smart,<br /> +She cannot tell what ails her heart,<br /> + + +With its sad “Ah me!”<br /> + ’Tis but a foolish +sigh—“Ah me!”<br /> + Born but to droop and +die—“Ah me!”<br /> + + +Yet all the sense<br /> + + +Of eloquence<br /> + Lies hidden in a maid’s +“Ah me!”</p> +<h2><a name="page262"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 262</span>THE +DUKE OF PLAZA-TORO</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> enterprise of +martial kind,<br /> + When there was any fighting,<br /> +He led his regiment from behind<br /> + (He found it less exciting).<br /> +But when away his regiment ran,<br /> + His place was at the fore, +O—<br /> + + +That celebrated,<br /> + + +Cultivated,<br /> + + +Underrated<br /> + + +Nobleman,<br /> + + +The Duke of Plaza-Toro!<br /> +In the first and foremost flight, ha, ha!<br /> +You always found that knight, ha, ha!<br /> + + +That celebrated,<br /> + + +Cultivated,<br /> + + +Underrated<br /> + + +Nobleman,<br /> + The Duke of Plaza-Toro!</p> +<p class="poetry">When, to evade Destruction’s hand,<br /> + To hide they all proceeded,<br /> +No soldier in that gallant band<br /> + Hid half as well as he did.<br /> +He lay concealed throughout the war,<br /> + And so preserved his gore, O!<br +/> + + +That unaffected,<br /> + + +Undetected,<br /> + + +Well connected<br /> + + +Warrior,<br /> + + +The Duke of Plaza-Toro!<br /> +In every doughty deed, ha, ha!<br /> +He always took the lead, ha, ha!<br /> + + +That unaffected,<br /> + + +Undetected,<br /> + + +Well connected<br /> + + +Warrior,<br /> + The Duke of Plaza-Toro!</p> +<p class="poetry">When told that they would all be shot<br /> + Unless they left the service,<br +/> +That hero hesitated not,<br /> + So marvellous his nerve is.<br /> +He sent his resignation in,<br /> + The first of all his corps, O!<br +/> + + +That very knowing,<br /> + + +Overflowing,<br /> + + +Easy-going<br /> + + +Paladin,<br /> + + +The Duke of Plaza-Toro!<br /> +To men of grosser clay, ha, ha!<br /> +He always showed the way, ha, ha!<br /> + + +That very knowing,<br /> + + +Overflowing,<br /> + + +Easy-going<br /> + + +Paladin,<br /> + The Duke of Plaza-Toro!</p> +<h2><a name="page271"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 271</span>THE +ÆSTHETE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> you’re +anxious for to shine in the high æsthetic line, as a man of +culture rare,<br /> +You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms, and +plant them everywhere.<br /> +You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of +your complicated state of mind<br /> +(The meaning doesn’t matter if it’s only idle chatter +of a transcendental kind).<br /> +And every one will say,<br /> + + +As you walk your mystic way,<br /> + + +“If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for +<i>me</i>,<br /> +Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man +must be!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days +which have long since passed away,<br /> +And convince ’em, if you can, that the reign of good <span +class="smcap">Queen Anne</span> was Culture’s palmiest +day.<br /> +Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever’s fresh and new, and +declare it’s crude and mean,<br /> +And that Art stopped short in the cultivated court of the <span +class="smcap">Empress Josephine</span>.<br /> + + +And every one will say,<br /> + + +As you walk your mystic way,<br /> +“If that’s not good enough for him which is good +enough for <i>me</i>,<br /> +Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind of youth must +be!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable +fashion must excite your languid spleen,<br /> +An attachment <i>à la</i> Plato for a bashful young +potato, or a not-too-French French bean.<br /> +Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in +the high æsthetic band,<br /> +If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your +mediæval hand.<br /> +And every one will say,<br /> + + +As you walk your flowery way,<br /> + + +“If he’s content with a vegetable love which would +certainly not suit <i>me</i>,<br /> +Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man +must be!”</p> +<h2><a name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 278</span>SAID +I TO MYSELF, SAID I</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> I went to the +Bar as a very young man<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +I’ll work on a new and original plan<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +I’ll never assume that a rogue or a thief<br /> +Is a gentleman worthy implicit belief,<br /> +Because his attorney, has sent me a brief<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I!)</p> +<p class="poetry">I’ll never throw dust in a +juryman’s eyes<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +Or hoodwink a judge who is not over-wise<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +Or assume that the witnesses summoned in force<br /> +In Exchequer, Queen’s Bench, Common Pleas, or Divorce,<br +/> +Have perjured themselves as a matter of course<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I!)</p> +<p class="poetry">Ere I go into court I will read my brief +through<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +And I’ll never take work I’m unable to do<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I).<br /> +My learned profession I’ll never disgrace<br /> +By taking a fee with a grin on my face,<br /> +When I haven’t been there to attend to the case<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I!)</p> +<p class="poetry">In other professions in which men engage<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +The Army, the Navy, the Church, and the Stage,<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +Professional licence, if carried too far,<br /> +Your chance of promotion will certainly mar—<br /> +And I fancy the rule might apply to the Bar<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I!)</p> +<h2><a name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +286</span>SORRY HER LOT</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sorry</span> her lot who +loves too well,<br /> + Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly,<br /> +Sad are the sighs that own the spell<br /> + Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly;<br /> + Heavy the sorrow that bows the +head<br /> + When Love is alive and Hope is +dead!</p> +<p class="poetry">Sad is the hour when sets the Sun—<br /> + Dark is the night to Earth’s poor +daughters,<br /> +When to the ark the wearied one<br /> + Flies from the empty waste of waters!<br /> + Heavy the sorrow that bows the +head<br /> + When Love is alive and Hope is +dead!</p> +<h2><a name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 292</span>THE +CONTEMPLATIVE SENTRY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> all night long +a chap remains<br /> + On sentry-go, to chase monotony<br /> +He exercises of his brains,<br /> + That is, assuming that he’s got any.<br /> +Though never nurtured in the lap<br /> + Of luxury, yet I admonish you,<br /> +I am an intellectual chap,<br /> + And think of things that would astonish you.<br /> + I often think +it’s comical<br /> + + +How Nature always does contrive<br /> + That every boy +and every gal,<br /> + + +That’s born into the world alive,<br /> + Is either a +little Liberal,<br /> + + +Or else a little Conservative!<br /> + + +Fal lal la!</p> +<p class="poetry">When in that house M.P.’s divide,<br /> + If they’ve a brain and cerebellum, too,<br /> +They’ve got to leave that brain outside,<br /> + And vote just as their leaders tell ’em to.<br +/> +But then the prospect of a lot<br /> + Of statesmen, all in close proximity,<br /> +A-thinking for themselves, is what<br /> + No man can face with equanimity.<br /> + Then let’s +rejoice with loud Fal lal<br /> + + +That Nature wisely does contrive<br /> + That every boy +and every gal,<br /> + + +That’s born into the world alive,<br /> + Is either a +little Liberal,<br /> + + +Or else a little Conservative!<br /> + + +Fal lal la!</p> +<h2><a name="page299"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 299</span>THE +PHILOSOPHIC PILL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">I’ve</span> wisdom +from the East and from the West,<br /> + That’s subject to no academic rule;<br /> +You may find it in the jeering of a jest,<br /> + Or distil it from the folly of a fool.<br /> +I can teach you with a quip, if I’ve a mind;<br /> + I can trick you into learning with a laugh;<br /> +Oh, winnow all my folly, and you’ll find<br /> + A grain or two of truth among the chaff!</p> +<p class="poetry">I can set a braggart quailing with a quip,<br +/> + The upstart I can wither with a whim;<br /> +He may wear a merry laugh upon his lip,<br /> + But his laughter has an echo that is grim.<br /> +When they’ve offered to the world in merry guise,<br /> + Unpleasant truths are swallowed with a +will—<br /> +For he who’d make his fellow-creatures wise<br /> + Should always gild the philosophic pill!</p> +<h2><a name="page307"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 307</span>BLUE +BLOOD</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Spurn</span> not the nobly +born<br /> + With love affected,<br /> +Nor treat with virtuous scorn<br /> + The well connected.<br /> +High rank involves no shame—<br /> +We boast an equal claim<br /> +With him of humble name<br /> + To be respected!<br /> + + +Blue blood! Blue blood!<br /> + + +When virtuous love is sought,<br /> + + +Thy power is naught,<br /> + + +Though dating from the Flood,<br /> + + +Blue blood!</p> +<p class="poetry">Spare us the bitter pain<br /> + Of stern denials,<br /> +Nor with low-born disdain<br /> + Augment our trials.<br /> +Hearts just as pure and fair<br /> +May beat in Belgrave Square<br /> +As in the lowly air<br /> + Of Seven Dials!<br /> + + +Blue blood! Blue blood!<br /> + + +Of what avail art thou<br /> + + +To serve me now?<br /> + + +Though dating from the Flood,<br /> + + +Blue blood!</p> +<h2><a name="page315"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 315</span>THE +JUDGE’S SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> I, good +friends, was called to the Bar,<br /> + I’d an appetite fresh and hearty,<br /> +But I was, as many young barristers are,<br /> + An impecunious party.<br /> +I’d a swallow-tail coat of a beautiful blue—<br /> + A brief which was brought by a booby—<br /> +A couple of shirts and a collar or two,<br /> + And a ring that looked like a ruby!</p> +<p class="poetry">In Westminster Hall I danced a dance,<br /> + Like a semi-despondent fury;<br /> +For I thought I should never hit on a chance<br /> + Of addressing a British Jury—<br /> +But I soon got tired of third-class journeys,<br /> + And dinners of bread and water;<br /> +So I fell in love with a rich attorney’s<br /> + Elderly, ugly daughter.</p> +<p class="poetry">The rich attorney, he wiped his eyes,<br /> + And replied to my fond professions:<br /> +“You shall reap the reward of your enterprise,<br /> + At the Bailey and Middlesex Sessions.<br /> +You’ll soon get used to her looks,” said he,<br /> + “And a very nice girl you’ll find +her—<br /> +She may very well pass for forty-three<br /> + In the dusk, with a light behind her!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The rich attorney was as good as his word:<br +/> + The briefs came trooping gaily,<br /> +And every day my voice was heard<br /> + At the Sessions or Ancient Bailey.<br /> +All thieves who could my fees afford<br /> + Relied on my orations,<br /> +And many a burglar I’ve restored<br /> + To his friends and his relations.</p> +<p class="poetry">At length I became as rich as the <span +class="smcap">Gurneys</span>—<br /> + An incubus then I thought her,<br /> +So I threw over that rich attorney’s<br /> + Elderly, ugly daughter.<br /> +The rich attorney my character high<br /> + Tried vainly to disparage—<br /> +And now, if you please, I’m ready to try<br /> + This Breach of Promise of Marriage!</p> +<h2><a name="page322"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 322</span>WHEN +I FIRST PUT THIS UNIFORM ON</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> I first put +this uniform on,<br /> +I said, as I looked in the glass,<br /> + “It’s one to a +million<br /> + That any civilian<br /> +My figure and form will surpass.<br /> +Gold lace has a charm for the fair,<br /> +And I’ve plenty of that, and to spare,<br /> + While a lover’s +professions,<br /> + When uttered in Hessians,<br /> +Are eloquent everywhere!”<br /> + A fact that I +counted upon,<br /> + When I first put +this uniform on!</p> +<p class="poetry">I said, when I first put it on,<br /> +“It is plain to the veriest dunce<br /> + That every beauty<br /> + Will feel it her duty<br /> +To yield to its glamour at once.<br /> +They will see that I’m freely gold-laced<br /> +In a uniform handsome and chaste”—<br /> + But the peripatetics<br /> + Of long-haired æsthetics,<br +/> +Are very much more to their taste—<br /> + Which I never +counted upon<br /> + When I first put +this uniform on!</p> +<h2><a name="page329"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +329</span>SOLATIUM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Comes</span> the broken +flower—<br /> + Comes the cheated maid—<br /> +Though the tempest lower,<br /> + Rain and cloud will fade!<br /> +Take, O maid, these posies:<br /> + Though thy beauty rare<br /> +Shame the blushing roses,<br /> + They are passing fair!<br /> + Wear the flowers +till they fade;<br /> + Happy be thy +life, O maid!</p> +<p class="poetry">O’er the season vernal,<br /> + Time may cast a shade;<br /> +Sunshine, if eternal,<br /> + Makes the roses fade:<br /> +Time may do his duty;<br /> + Let the thief alone—<br /> +Winter hath a beauty<br /> + That is all his own.<br /> + Fairest days are +sun and shade:<br /> + Happy be thy +life, O maid!</p> +<h2><a name="page335"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 335</span>A +NIGHTMARE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> you’re +lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo’d +by anxiety,<br /> +I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in +without impropriety;<br /> +For your brain is on fire—the bedclothes conspire of usual +slumber to plunder you:<br /> +First your counterpane goes and uncovers your toes, and your +sheet slips demurely from under you;<br /> +Then the blanketing tickles—you feel like mixed pickles, so +terribly sharp is the pricking,<br /> +And you’re hot, and you’re cross, and you tumble and +toss till there’s nothing ’twixt you and the +ticking.<br /> +Then the bedclothes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you +pick ’em all up in a tangle;<br /> +Next your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its +usual angle!<br /> +Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot +eyeballs and head ever aching,<br /> +But your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that +you’d very much better be waking;<br /> +For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in +a steamer from Harwich,<br /> +Which is something between a large bathing-machine and a very +small second-class carriage;<br /> +And you’re giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a +party of friends and relations—<br /> +They’re a ravenous horde—and they all came on board +at Sloane Square and South Kensington Stations.<br /> +And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started +that morning from Devon);<br /> +He’s a bit undersized, and you don’t feel surprised +when he tells you he’s only eleven.<br /> +Well, you’re driving like mad with this singular lad (by +the bye the ship’s now a four-wheeler),<br /> +And you’re playing round games, and he calls you bad names +when you tell him that “ties pay the dealer”;<br /> +But this you can’t stand, so you throw up your hand, and +you find you’re as cold as an icicle,<br /> +In your shirt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks), +crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle:<br /> +And he and the crew are on bicycles too—which they’ve +somehow or other invested in—<br /> +And he’s telling the tars all the particu<i>lars</i> of a +company he’s interested in—<br /> +It’s a scheme of devices, to get at low prices, all goods +from cough mixtures to cables<br /> +(Which tickled the sailors) by treating retailers, as though they +were all vege<i>ta</i>bles—<br /> +You get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman (first take +off his boots with a boot-tree),<br /> +And his legs will take root, and his fingers will shoot, and +they’ll blossom and bud like a fruit-tree—<br /> +From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green pea, +cauliflower, pineapple, and cranberries,<br /> +While the pastry-cook plant cherry-brandy will grant—apple +puffs, and three-corners, and banberries—<br /> +The shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by <span +class="smcap">Rothschild</span> and <span +class="smcap">Baring</span>,<br /> +And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder +despairing—<br /> +You’re a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck, and no +wonder you snore, for your head’s on the floor, and +you’ve needles and pins from your soles to your shins, and +your flesh is a-creep, for your left leg’s asleep, and +you’ve cramp in your toes, and a fly on your nose, and some +fluff in your lung, and a feverish tongue, and a thirst +that’s intense, and a general sense that you haven’t +been sleeping in clover;<br /> +But the darkness has passed, and it’s daylight at last, and +the night has been long—ditto, ditto my song—and +thank goodness they’re both of them over!</p> +<h2><a name="page345"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +345</span>DON’T FORGET!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span>, Marco, dear,<br +/> +My wishes hear:<br /> + While you’re away<br /> +It’s understood<br /> +You will be good,<br /> + And not too gay.<br /> +To every trace<br /> +Of maiden grace<br /> + You will be blind,<br /> +And will not glance<br /> +By any chance<br /> + On womankind!<br /> +If you are wise,<br /> +You’ll shut your eyes<br /> + Till we arrive,<br /> +And not address<br /> +A lady less<br /> + Than forty-five;<br /> +You’ll please to frown<br /> +On every gown<br /> + That you may see;<br /> +And O, my pet,<br /> +You won’t forget<br /> + You’ve married me!</p> +<p class="poetry">O, my darling, O, my pet,<br /> +Whatever else you may forget,<br /> +In yonder isle beyond the sea,<br /> +O, don’t forget you’ve married me!</p> +<p class="poetry">You’ll lay your head<br /> +Upon your bed<br /> + At set of sun.<br /> +You will not sing<br /> +Of anything<br /> + To any one:<br /> +You’ll sit and mope<br /> +All day, I hope,<br /> + And shed a tear<br /> +Upon the life<br /> +Your little wife<br /> + Is passing here!<br /> +And if so be<br /> +You think of me,<br /> + Please tell the moon;<br /> +I’ll read it all<br /> +In rays that fall<br /> + On the lagoon:<br /> +You’ll be so kind<br /> +As tell the wind<br /> + How you may be,<br /> +And send me words<br /> +By little birds<br /> + To comfort me!</p> +<p class="poetry">And O, my darling, O, my pet,<br /> +Whatever else you may forget,<br /> +In yonder isle beyond the sea,<br /> +O, don’t forget you’ve married me!</p> +<h2><a name="page354"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 354</span>THE +SUICIDE’S GRAVE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">On</span> a tree by a river +a little tomtit<br /> + Sang +“Willow, titwillow, titwillow!”<br /> +And I said to him, “Dicky-bird, why do you sit<br /> + Singing +‘Willow, titwillow, titwillow’?<br /> +Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?” I cried,<br /> +“Or a rather tough worm in your little inside?”<br /> +With a shake of his poor little head he replied,<br /> + “Oh, +willow, titwillow, titwillow!”</p> +<p class="poetry">He slapped at his chest, as he sat on that +bough,<br /> + Singing +“Willow, titwillow, titwillow!”<br /> +And a cold perspiration bespangled his brow,<br /> + Oh, willow, +titwillow, titwillow!<br /> +He sobbed and he sighed, and a gurgle he gave,<br /> +Then he threw himself into the billowy wave,<br /> +And an echo arose from the suicide’s grave—<br /> + “Oh, +willow, titwillow, titwillow!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Now I feel just as sure as I’m sure that +my name<br /> + Isn’t +Willow, titwillow, titwillow,<br /> +That ’twas blighted affection that made him exclaim,<br /> + “Oh, +willow, titwillow, titwillow!”<br /> +And if you remain callous and obdurate, I<br /> +Shall perish as he did, and you will know why,<br /> +Though I probably shall not exclaim as I die,<br /> + “Oh, +willow, titwillow, titwillow!”</p> +<h2><a name="page361"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 361</span>HE +AND SHE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span>. I know a +youth who loves a little maid—<br /> + (Hey, but his +face is a sight for to see!)<br /> + Silent is he, for he’s +modest and afraid—<br /> + (Hey, but +he’s timid as a youth can be!)<br /> +<span class="smcap">She</span>. I know a maid who loves a +gallant youth—<br /> + (Hey, but she +sickens as the days go by!)<br /> + <i>She</i> cannot tell him all the +sad, sad truth—<br /> + (Hey, but I +think that little maid will die!)<br /> +<span class="smcap">Both</span>. Now tell me pray, and tell +me true,<br /> + + +What in the world should the poor soul do?</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span>. He cannot +eat and he cannot sleep—<br /> + (Hey, but his +face is a sight for to see!)<br /> + Daily he goes for to +wail—for to weep—<br /> + (Hey, but +he’s wretched as a youth can be!)<br /> +<span class="smcap">She</span>. She’s very thin and +she’s very pale—<br /> + (Hey, but she +sickens as the days go by!)<br /> + Daily she goes for to +weep—for to wail—<br /> + (Hey, but I +think that little maid will die!)<br /> +<span class="smcap">Both</span>. Now tell me pray, and tell +me true,<br /> + + +What in the world should the poor soul do?</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">She</span>. If I were +the youth I should offer her my name—<br /> + (Hey, but her +face is a sight for to see!)<br /> + <span +class="smcap">He</span>. If I were the maid I should fan +his honest flame—<br /> + (Hey, but +he’s bashful as a youth can be!)<br /> +<span class="smcap">She</span>. If I were the youth I +should speak to her to-day—<br /> + (Hey, but she +sickens as the days go by!)<br /> + <span +class="smcap">He</span>. If I were the maid I should meet +the lad half way—<br /> + (For I really do +believe that timid youth will die!)<br /> +<span class="smcap">Both</span>. I thank you much for your +counsel true;<br /> + + +I’ve learnt what that poor soul ought to do!</p> +<h2><a name="page367"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 367</span>THE +MIGHTY MUST</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span> mighty Must!<br +/> + Inevitable Shall!<br /> +In thee I trust.<br /> + Time weaves my coronal!<br /> +Go mocking Is!<br /> + Go disappointing Was!<br /> +That I am this<br /> + Ye are the cursed cause!<br /> +Yet humble Second shall be First,<br /> + + +I ween;<br /> +And dead and buried be the curst<br /> + + +Has Been!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh weak Might Be!<br /> + Oh May, Might, Could, Would, Should!<br /> +How powerless ye<br /> + For evil or for good!<br /> +In every sense<br /> + Your moods I cheerless call,<br /> +Whate’er your tense<br /> + Ye are Imperfect, all!<br /> +Ye have deceived the trust I’ve shown<br /> + + +In ye!<br /> +Away! The Mighty Must alone<br /> + + +Shall be!</p> +<h2><a name="page374"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 374</span>A +MIRAGE</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Were</span> I thy bride,<br /> +Then the whole world beside<br /> + Were not too wide<br /> + + +To hold my wealth of love—<br /> + Were I thy bride!<br /> + Upon thy breast<br /> +My loving head would rest,<br /> + As on her nest<br /> + + +The tender turtle-dove—<br /> + Were I thy bride!</p> +<p class="poetry"> This heart +of mine<br /> +Would be one heart with thine,<br /> + And in that shrine<br /> + + +Our happiness would dwell—<br /> + Were I thy bride!<br /> + And all day long<br /> +Our lives should be a song:<br /> + No grief, no wrong<br /> + + +Should make my heart rebel—<br /> + Were I thy bride!</p> +<p class="poetry"> The silvery +flute,<br /> +The melancholy lute,<br /> + Were night-owl’s hoot<br /> + + +To my low-whispered coo—<br /> + Were I thy bride!<br /> + The skylark’s trill<br /> +Were but discordance shrill<br /> + To the soft thrill<br /> + + +Of wooing as I’d woo—<br /> + Were I thy bride!</p> +<p class="poetry"> The +rose’s sigh<br /> +Were as a carrion’s cry<br /> + To lullaby<br /> + + +Such as I’d sing to thee—<br /> + Were I thy bride!<br /> + A feather’s press<br /> +Were leaden heaviness<br /> + To my caress.<br /> + + +But then, unhappily,<br /> + I’m not thy bride!</p> +<h2><a name="page381"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 381</span>THE +GHOSTS’ HIGH NOON</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> the night wind +howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight +flies,<br /> +And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight +skies—<br /> +When the footpads quail at the night-bird’s wail, and black +dogs bay the moon,<br /> +Then is the spectres’ holiday—then is the +ghosts’ high noon!</p> +<p class="poetry">As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, +and the mists lie low on the fen,<br /> +From grey tombstones are gathered the bones that once were women +and men,<br /> +And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends +too soon,<br /> +For cockcrow limits our holiday—the dead of the +night’s high noon!</p> +<p class="poetry">And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to +their churchyard beds take flight,<br /> +With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim +“good night”;<br /> +Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its +jolliest tune,<br /> +And ushers our next high holiday—the dead of the +night’s high noon!</p> +<h2><a name="page388"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 388</span>THE +HUMANE MIKADO</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">more</span> humane Mikado +never<br /> + Did in Japan exist;<br /> + To nobody second,<br /> + I’m certainly reckoned<br /> + A true philanthropist.<br /> +It is my very humane endeavour<br /> + To make, to some extent,<br /> + Each evil liver<br /> + A running river<br /> + Of harmless merriment.</p> +<p class="poetry"> My object all sublime<br /> + I shall achieve in time—<br /> +To let the punishment fit the crime—<br /> + The punishment fit the crime;<br +/> + And make each prisoner pent<br /> + Unwillingly represent<br /> +A source of innocent merriment—<br /> + Of innocent +merriment!</p> +<p class="poetry">All prosy dull society sinners,<br /> + Who chatter and bleat and bore,<br /> + Are sent to hear sermons<br /> + From mystical Germans<br /> + Who preach from ten to four:<br /> +The amateur tenor, whose vocal villainies<br /> + All desire to shirk,<br /> + Shall, during off-hours,<br /> + Exhibit his powers<br /> + To Madame Tussaud’s waxwork:<br /> +The lady who dyes a chemical yellow,<br /> + Or stains her grey hair puce,<br /> + Or pinches her figger,<br /> + Is blacked like a nigger<br /> + With permanent walnut juice:<br /> +The idiot who, in railway carriages,<br /> + Scribbles on window panes,<br /> + We only suffer<br /> + To ride on a buffer<br /> + In Parliamentary trains.</p> +<p class="poetry"> My object all sublime<br /> + I shall achieve in time—<br /> +To let the punishment fit the crime—<br /> + The punishment +fit the crime;<br /> + And make each prisoner pent<br /> + Unwillingly represent<br /> +A source of innocent merriment—<br /> + Of innocent merriment!</p> +<p class="poetry">The advertising quack who wearies<br /> + With tales of countless cures,<br /> + His teeth, I’ve enacted,<br +/> + Shall all be extracted<br /> + By terrified amateurs:<br /> +The music-hall singer attends a series<br /> + Of masses and fugues and “ops”<br /> + By Bach, interwoven<br /> + With Spohr and Beethoven,<br /> + At classical Monday Pops:<br /> +The billiard sharp whom any one catches<br /> + His doom’s extremely hard—<br /> + He’s made to dwell<br /> + In a dungeon cell<br /> + On a spot that’s always barred;<br /> +And there he plays extravagant matches<br /> + In fitless finger-stalls,<br /> + On a cloth untrue<br /> + With a twisted cue,<br /> + And elliptical billiard balls!</p> +<p class="poetry"> My object all sublime<br /> + I shall achieve in time—<br /> +To let the punishment fit the crime—<br /> + The punishment fit the crime;<br +/> + And make each prisoner pent<br /> + Unwillingly represent<br /> +A source of innocent merriment,<br /> + Of innocent merriment!</p> +<h2><a name="page397"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +397</span>WILLOW WALY!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span>. <span +class="smcap">Prithee</span>, pretty maiden—prithee, tell +me true<br /> + (Hey, but +I’m doleful, willow, willow waly!)<br /> + Have you e’er a lover +a-dangling after you?<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!<br /> + + +I would fain discover<br /> + + +If you have a lover?<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">She</span>. Gentle +sir, my heart is frolicsome and free—<br /> + (Hey, but +he’s doleful, willow, willow waly!)<br /> + Nobody I care for comes a-courting +me—<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!<br /> + + +Nobody I care for<br /> + + +Comes a-courting—therefore,<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span>. Prithee, +pretty maiden, will you marry me?<br /> + (Hey, but +I’m hopeful, willow, willow waly!)<br /> + I may say, at once, I’m a +man of propertee—<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!<br /> + + +Money, I despise it,<br /> + + +But many people prize it,<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">She</span>. Gentle +sir, although to marry I design—<br /> + (Hey, but +he’s hopeful, willow, willow waly!)<br /> + As yet I do not know you, and so I +must decline.<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!<br /> + + +To other maidens go you—<br /> + + +As yet I do not know you,<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!</p> +<h2><a name="page403"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 403</span>LIFE +IS LOVELY ALL THE YEAR</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> the buds are +blossoming,<br /> +Smiling welcome to the spring,<br /> +Lovers choose a wedding day—<br /> +Life is love in merry May!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Spring is green—Fal lal +la!<br /> + Summer’s rose—Fal lal +la!<br /> + It is sad when Summer goes,<br /> + + +Fal la!<br /> + Autumn’s gold—Fal lal la!<br /> + Winter’s grey—Fal lal +la!<br /> + Winter still is far away—<br /> + + +Fal la!<br /> +Leaves in Autumn fade and fall;<br /> +Winter is the end of all.<br /> +Spring and summer teem with glee:<br /> +Spring and summer, then, for me!<br /> + + +Fal la!</p> +<p class="poetry">In the Spring-time seed is sown:<br /> +In the Summer grass is mown:<br /> +In the Autumn you may reap:<br /> +Winter is the time for sleep.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Spring is hope—Fal lal +la!<br /> + Summer’s joy—Fal lal +la!<br /> + Spring and Summer never cloy,<br /> + + +Fal la!<br /> + Autumn, toil—Fal lal la!<br /> + Winter, rest—Fal lal la!<br +/> + Winter, after all, is best—<br /> + + +Fal la!<br /> +Spring and summer pleasure you,<br /> +Autumn, ay, and winter, too—<br /> +Every season has its cheer;<br /> +Life is lovely all the year!<br /> + + +Fal la!</p> +<h2><a name="page411"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 411</span>THE +USHER’S CHARGE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span>, Jurymen, hear +my advice—<br /> +All kinds of vulgar prejudice<br /> + I pray you set aside:<br /> +With stern judicial frame of mind—<br /> +From bias free of every kind,<br /> + This trial must be tried!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, listen to the plaintiff’s case:<br /> +Observe the features of her face—<br /> + The broken-hearted bride!<br /> +Condole with her distress of mind—<br /> +From bias free of every kind,<br /> + This trial must be tried!</p> +<p class="poetry">And when amid the plaintiff’s shrieks,<br +/> +The ruffianly defendant speaks—<br /> + Upon the other side;<br /> +What <i>he</i> may say you need not mind—<br /> +From bias free of every kind,<br /> + This trial must be tried!</p> +<h2><a name="page418"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 418</span>THE +GREAT OAK TREE</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">There</span> grew a little flower<br /> + + +’Neath a great oak tree:<br /> + When the tempest ’gan to lower<br /> + + +Little heeded she:<br /> + No need had she to cower,<br /> + For she dreaded not its power—<br /> + She was happy in the bower<br /> + + +Of her great oak tree!<br /> + + +Sing hey,<br /> + + +Lackaday!<br /> + + +Let the tears fall free<br /> +For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!</p> +<p class="poetry"> When she found that he was +fickle,<br /> + + +Was that great oak tree,<br /> + She was in a pretty pickle,<br /> + + +As she well might be—<br /> + But his gallantries were mickle,<br /> + For Death followed with his sickle,<br /> + And her tears began to trickle<br /> + + +For her great oak tree!<br /> + + +Sing hey,<br /> + + +Lackaday!<br /> + + +Let the tears fall free<br /> +For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Said she, “He loved me +never,<br /> + + +Did that great oak tree,<br /> + But I’m neither rich nor clever,<br /> + + +And so why should he?<br /> + But though fate our fortunes sever,<br /> + To be constant I’ll endeavour,<br /> + Ay, for ever and for ever,<br /> + + +To my great oak tree!”<br /> + + +Sing hey,<br /> + + +Lackaday!<br /> + + +Let the tears fall free<br /> +For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!</p> +<h2><a name="page424"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 424</span>KING +GOODHEART</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> lived a King, +as I’ve been told<br /> +In the wonder-working days of old,<br /> + When hearts were twice as good as +gold,<br /> +And twenty times as mellow.<br /> +Good temper triumphed in his face,<br /> + And in his heart he found a +place<br /> +For all the erring human race<br /> +And every wretched fellow.<br /> + When he had Rhenish wine to +drink<br /> +It made him very sad to think<br /> +That some, at junket or at jink,<br /> + Must be content with toddy:<br /> +He wished all men as rich as he<br /> +(And he was rich as rich could be),<br /> +So to the top of every tree<br /> + Promoted everybody.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ambassadors cropped up like hay,<br /> +Prime Ministers and such as they<br /> + Grew like asparagus in May,<br /> +And Dukes were three a penny:<br /> +Lord Chancellors were cheap as sprats,<br /> + And Bishops in their shovel +hats<br /> +Were plentiful as tabby cats—<br /> +If possible, too many.<br /> + On every side Field-Marshals +gleamed,<br /> +Small beer were Lords-Lieutenants deemed,<br /> +With Admirals the ocean teemed,<br /> + All round his wide dominions;<br +/> +And Party Leaders you might meet<br /> +In twos and threes in every street<br /> +Maintaining, with no little heat,<br /> + Their various opinions.</p> +<p class="poetry">That King, although no one denies,<br /> +His heart was of abnormal size,<br /> + Yet he’d have acted +otherwise<br /> +If he had been acuter.<br /> +The end is easily foretold,<br /> + When every blessed thing you +hold<br /> +Is made of silver, or of gold,<br /> +You long for simple pewter.<br /> + When you have nothing else to +wear<br /> +But cloth of gold and satins rare,<br /> +For cloth of gold you cease to care—<br /> + Up goes the price of shoddy:<br /> +In short, whoever you may be,<br /> +To this conclusion you’ll agree,<br /> +When every one is somebody,<br /> + Then no one’s anybody!</p> +<h2><a name="page431"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +431</span>SLEEP ON!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fear</span> no unlicensed +entry,<br /> + Heed no bombastic talk,<br /> +While guards the British Sentry<br /> + Pall Mall and Birdcage Walk.<br /> +Let European thunders<br /> + Occasion no alarms,<br /> +Though diplomatic blunders<br /> + May cause a cry “To arms!”<br /> + Sleep on, ye +pale civilians;<br /> + + +All thunder-clouds defy:<br /> + On +Europe’s countless millions<br /> + + +The Sentry keeps his eye!</p> +<p class="poetry">Should foreign-born rapscallions<br /> + In London dare to show<br /> +Their overgrown battalions,<br /> + Be sure I’ll let you know.<br /> +Should Russians or Norwegians<br /> + Pollute our favoured clime<br /> +With rough barbaric legions,<br /> + I’ll mention it in time.<br /> + So sleep in +peace, civilians,<br /> + + +The Continent defy;<br /> + While on its +countless millions<br /> + + +The Sentry keeps his eye!</p> +<h2><a name="page439"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 439</span>THE +LOVE-SICK BOY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> first my old, +old love I knew,<br /> + My bosom welled with joy;<br /> +My riches at her feet I threw;<br /> + I was a love-sick boy!<br /> +No terms seemed too extravagant<br /> + Upon her to employ—<br /> +I used to mope, and sigh, and pant,<br /> + Just like a love-sick boy!</p> +<p class="poetry">But joy incessant palls the sense;<br /> + And love unchanged will cloy,<br /> +And she became a bore intense<br /> + Unto her love-sick boy?<br /> +With fitful glimmer burnt my flame,<br /> + And I grew cold and coy,<br /> +At last, one morning, I became<br /> + Another’s love-sick boy!</p> +<h2><a name="page445"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +445</span>POETRY EVERYWHERE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> time the poet +hath hymned<br /> +The writhing maid, lithe-limbed,<br /> + Quivering on amaranthine asphodel,<br /> +How can he paint her woes,<br /> +Knowing, as well he knows,<br /> + That all can be set right with calomel?</p> +<p class="poetry">When from the poet’s plinth<br /> +The amorous colocynth<br /> + Yearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous +thrills,<br /> +How can he hymn their throes<br /> +Knowing, as well he knows,<br /> + That they are only uncompounded pills?</p> +<p class="poetry">Is it, and can it be,<br /> +Nature hath this decree,<br /> + Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell?<br /> +Or that in all her works<br /> +Something poetic lurks,<br /> + Even in colocynth and calomel?</p> +<h2><a name="page453"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 453</span>HE +LOVES!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> loves! If +in the bygone years<br /> + Thine eyes have ever shed<br /> +Tears—bitter, unavailing tears,<br /> + For one untimely dead—<br /> +If in the eventide of life<br /> + Sad thoughts of her arise,<br /> +Then let the memory of thy wife<br /> + Plead for my boy—he dies!</p> +<p class="poetry">He dies! If fondly laid aside<br /> + In some old cabinet,<br /> +Memorials of thy long-dead bride<br /> + Lie, dearly treasured yet,<br /> +Then let her hallowed bridal dress—<br /> + Her little dainty gloves—<br /> +Her withered flowers—her faded tress—<br /> + Plead for my boy—he loves!</p> +<h2><a name="page458"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 458</span>TRUE +DIFFIDENCE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> boy, you may take +it from me,<br /> + That of all the afflictions +accurst<br /> + + +With which a man’s saddled<br /> + + +And hampered and addled,<br /> + A diffident nature’s the +worst.<br /> +Though clever as clever can be—<br /> + A Crichton of early +romance—<br /> + + +You must stir it and stump it,<br /> + + +And blow your own trumpet,<br /> + Or, trust me, you haven’t a +chance.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now take, for example, <i>my</i> case:<br /> + I’ve a bright intellectual +brain—<br /> + + +In all London city<br /> + + +There’s no one so witty—<br /> + I’ve thought so again and +again.<br /> +I’ve a highly intelligent face—<br /> + My features cannot be +denied—<br /> + + +But, whatever I try, sir,<br /> + + +I fail in—and why, sir?<br /> + I’m modesty personified!</p> +<p class="poetry">As a poet, I’m tender and +quaint—<br /> + I’ve passion and fervour and +grace—<br /> + + +From Ovid and Horace<br /> + + +To Swinburne and Morris,<br /> + They all of them take a back +place.<br /> +Then I sing and I play and I paint;<br /> + Though none are accomplished as +I,<br /> + + +To say so were treason:<br /> + + +You ask me the reason?<br /> + I’m diffident, modest, and +shy!</p> +<h2><a name="page466"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 466</span>THE +TANGLED SKEIN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Try</span> we life-long, we +can never<br /> + Straighten out life’s tangled skein,<br /> +Why should we, in vain endeavour,<br /> + Guess and guess and guess again?<br /> + + +Life’s a pudding full of plums<br /> + + +Care’s a canker that benumbs.<br /> +Wherefore waste our elocution<br /> +On impossible solution?<br /> +Life’s a pleasant institution,<br /> + + +Let us take it as it comes!</p> +<p class="poetry">Set aside the dull enigma,<br /> + We shall guess it all too soon;<br /> +Failure brings no kind of stigma—<br /> + Dance we to another tune!<br /> + + +String the lyre and fill the cup,<br /> + + +Lest on sorrow we should sup;<br /> +Hop and skip to Fancy’s fiddle,<br /> +Hands across and down the middle—<br /> +Life’s perhaps the only riddle<br /> + + +That we shrink from giving up!</p> +<h2><a name="page471"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 471</span>MY +LADY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bedecked</span> in fashion +trim,<br /> + With every curl a-quiver;<br /> +Or leaping, light of limb,<br /> + O’er rivulet and river;<br +/> +Or skipping o’er the lea<br /> + On daffodil and daisy;<br /> +Or stretched beneath a tree,<br /> + All languishing and lazy;<br /> + + +Whatever be her mood—<br /> + + +Be she demurely prude<br /> + + +Or languishingly lazy—<br /> + + +My lady drives me crazy!<br /> + + +In vain her heart is wooed,<br /> + + +Whatever be her mood!</p> +<p class="poetry">What profit should I gain<br /> + Suppose she loved me dearly?<br /> +Her coldness turns my brain<br /> + To <i>verge</i> of madness +merely.<br /> +Her kiss—though, Heaven knows,<br /> + To dream of it were +treason—<br /> +Would tend, as I suppose,<br /> + To utter loss of reason!<br /> + + +My state is not amiss;<br /> + + +I would not have a kiss<br /> + + +Which, in or out of season,<br /> + + +Might tend to loss of reason:<br /> + + +What profit in such bliss?<br /> + + +A fig for such a kiss!</p> +<h2><a name="page473"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 473</span>ONE +AGAINST THE WORLD</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It’s</span> my +opinion—though I own<br /> +In thinking so I’m quite alone—<br /> + In some respects I’m but a +fright.<br /> +<i>You</i> like my features, I suppose?<br /> +<i>I’m</i> disappointed with my nose:<br /> + Some rave about it—perhaps +they’re right.<br /> +My figure just sets off a fit;<br /> +But when they say it’s exquisite<br /> + (And they <i>do</i> say so), +that’s too strong.<br /> +I hope I’m not what people call<br /> +Opinionated! After all,<br /> + I’m but a goose, and may be +wrong!</p> +<p class="poetry">When charms enthral<br /> + There’s some excuse<br /> + For measures strong;<br /> +And after all<br /> + I’m but a goose,<br /> + And may be wrong!</p> +<p class="poetry">My teeth are very neat, no doubt;<br /> +But after all they <i>may</i> fall out:<br /> + <i>I</i> think they +will—some think they won’t.<br /> +My hands are small, as you may see,<br /> +But not as small as they might be,<br /> + At least, <i>I</i> think +so—others don’t.<br /> +But there, a girl may preach and prate<br /> +From morning six to evening eight,<br /> + And never stop to dine,<br /> +When all the world, although misled,<br /> +Is quite agreed on any head—<br /> + And it is quite agreed on +mine!</p> +<p class="poetry">All said and done,<br /> + It’s little I<br /> + Against a throng.<br /> +I’m only one,<br /> + And possibly<br /> + I may be wrong!</p> +<h2><a name="page480"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 480</span>PUT +A PENNY IN THE SLOT</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> my action’s +stiff and crude,<br /> +Do not laugh, because it’s rude.<br /> +If my gestures promise larks,<br /> +Do not make unkind remarks.<br /> +Clockwork figures may be found<br /> +Everywhere and all around.<br /> +Ten to one, if I but knew,<br /> +You are clockwork figures too.<br /> +And the motto of the lot,<br /> +“Put a penny in the slot!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Usurer, for money lent,<br /> +Making out his cent per cent—<br /> +Widow plump or maiden rare,<br /> +Deaf and dumb to suitor’s prayer—<br /> +Tax collectors, whom in vain<br /> +You implore to “call again”—<br /> +Cautious voter, whom you find<br /> +Slow in making up his mind—<br /> +If you’d move them on the spot,<br /> +Put a penny in the slot!</p> +<p class="poetry">Bland reporters in the courts,<br /> +Who suppress police reports—<br /> +Sheriff’s yeoman, pen in fist,<br /> +Making out a jury list—<br /> +Stern policemen, tall and spare,<br /> +Acting all “upon the square”—<br /> +(Which in words that plainer fall,<br /> +Means that you can square them all)—<br /> +If you want to move the lot,<br /> +Put a penny in the slot!</p> +<h2><a name="page482"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 482</span>GOOD +LITTLE GIRLS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Although</span> of native +maids the cream,<br /> +We’re brought up on the English scheme—<br /> + The best of all<br /> + For great and small<br /> + + +Who modesty adore.<br /> +For English girls are good as gold,<br /> +Extremely modest (so we’re told),<br /> +Demurely coy—divinely cold—<br /> + + +And we are that—and more.<br /> +To please papa, who argues thus—<br /> +All girls should mould themselves on us,<br /> + Because we are,<br /> + By furlongs far,<br /> + + +The best of all the bunch;<br /> +We show ourselves to loud applause<br /> +From ten to four without a pause—<br /> +Which is an awkward time because<br /> + + +It cuts into our lunch.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, maids of high and low degree,<br /> +Whose social code is rather free,<br /> +Please look at us and you will see<br /> +What good young ladies ought to be!</p> +<p class="poetry">And as we stand, like clockwork toys,<br /> +A lecturer papa employs<br /> + To puff and praise<br /> + Our modest ways<br /> + + +And guileless character—<br /> +Our well-known blush—our downcast eyes—<br /> +Our famous look of mild surprise<br /> +(Which competition still defies)—<br /> + + +Our celebrated “Sir!!!”<br /> +Then all the crowd take down our looks<br /> +In pocket memorandum books.<br /> + To diagnose,<br /> + Our modest pose<br /> + + +The kodaks do their best:<br /> +If evidence you would possess<br /> +Of what is maiden bashfulness,<br /> +You only need a button press—<br /> + + +And <i>we</i> do all the rest.</p> +<h2><a name="page487"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +487</span>LIFE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">First</span> you’re +born—and I’ll be bound you<br /> +Find a dozen strangers round you.<br /> +“Hallo,” cries the new-born baby,<br /> +“Where’s my parents? which may they be?”<br /> + Awkward silence—no +reply—<br /> + Puzzled baby wonders why!<br /> +Father rises, bows politely—<br /> +Mother smiles (but not too brightly)—<br /> +Doctor mumbles like a dumb thing—<br /> +Nurse is busy mixing something.—<br /> + Every symptom tends to show<br /> + You’re decidedly <i>de +trop</i>—<br /> + + +Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! he! ho! ho!<br /> + + +Time’s teetotum,<br /> + + +If you spin it,<br /> + + +Give its quotum<br /> + + +Once a minute:<br /> + + +I’ll go bail<br /> + + +You hit the nail,<br /> + + +And if you fail<br /> + + +The deuce is in it!</p> +<p class="poetry">You grow up, and you discover<br /> +What it is to be a lover.<br /> +Some young lady is selected—<br /> +Poor, perhaps, but well-connected,<br /> + Whom you hail (for Love is +blind)<br /> + As the Queen of Fairy-kind.<br /> +Though she’s plain—perhaps unsightly,<br /> +Makes her face up—laces tightly,<br /> +In her form your fancy traces<br /> +All the gifts of all the graces.<br /> + Rivals none the maiden woo,<br /> + So you take her and she takes +you!<br /> + + +Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!<br /> + + +Joke beginning,<br /> + + +Never ceases,<br /> + + +Till your inning<br /> + + +Time releases;<br /> + + +On your way<br /> + + +You blindly stray,<br /> + + +And day by day<br /> + + +The joke increases!</p> +<p class="poetry">Ten years later—Time progresses—<br +/> +Sours your temper—thins your tresses;<br /> +Fancy, then, her chain relaxes;<br /> +Rates are facts and so are taxes.<br /> + Fairy Queen’s no longer +young—<br /> + Fairy Queen has such a tongue!<br +/> +Twins have probably intruded—<br /> +Quite unbidden—just as you did;<br /> +They’re a source of care and trouble—<br /> +Just as you were—only double.<br /> + Comes at last the final +stroke—<br /> + Time has had his little joke!<br +/> + + +Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!<br /> + + +Daily driven<br /> + + +(Wife as drover)<br /> + + +Ill you’ve thriven—<br /> + + +Ne’er in clover:<br /> + + +Lastly, when<br /> + + +Threescore and ten<br /> + + +(And not till then),<br /> + + +The joke is over!<br /> +Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!<br /> + Then—and then<br /> + + +The joke is over!</p> +<h2><a name="page490"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +490</span>LIMITED LIABILITY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Some</span> seven men form +an Association<br /> + (If possible, all Peers and +Baronets),<br /> +They start off with a public declaration<br /> + To what extent they mean to pay +their debts.<br /> +That’s called their Capital: if they are wary<br /> + They will not quote it at a sum +immense.<br /> +The figure’s immaterial—it may vary<br /> + From eighteen million down to +eighteenpence.<br /> + + +<i>I</i> should put it rather low;<br /> + + +The good sense of doing so<br /> + Will be evident at once to any +debtor.<br /> + + +When it’s left to you to say<br /> + + +What amount you mean to pay,<br /> + Why, the lower you can put it at, +the better.</p> +<p class="poetry">They then proceed to trade with all +who’ll trust ’em,<br /> + Quite irrespective of their +capital<br /> +(It’s shady, but it’s sanctified by custom);<br /> + Bank, Railway, Loan, or Panama +Canal.<br /> +You can’t embark on trading too tremendous—<br /> + It’s strictly fair, and +based on common sense—<br /> +If you succeed, your profits are stupendous—<br /> + And if you fail, pop goes your +eighteenpence.<br /> + + +Make the money-spinner spin!<br /> + + +For you only stand to win,<br /> + And you’ll never with +dishonesty be twitted.<br /> + + +For nobody can know,<br /> + + +To a million or so,<br /> + To what extent your +capital’s committed!</p> +<p class="poetry">If you come to grief, and creditors are +craving<br /> + (For nothing that is planned by +mortal head<br /> +Is certain in this Vale of Sorrow—saving<br /> + That one’s Liability is +Limited),—<br /> +Do you suppose that signifies perdition?<br /> + If so you’re but a monetary +dunce—<br /> +You merely file a Winding-Up Petition,<br /> + And start another Company at +once!<br /> + + +Though a Rothschild you may be<br /> + + +In your own capacity,<br /> + As a Company you’ve come to +utter sorrow—<br /> + + +But the Liquidators say,<br /> + + +“Never mind—you needn’t pay,”<br /> + So you start another Company +to-morrow!</p> +<h2><a name="page497"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +497</span>ANGLICISED UTOPIA</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Society</span> has quite +forsaken all her wicked courses,<br /> +Which empties our police courts, and abolishes divorces.<br /> + + +(Divorce is nearly obsolete in England.)<br /> +No tolerance we show to undeserving rank and splendour;<br /> +For the higher his position is, the greater the offender.<br /> + + +(That’s a maxim that is prevalent in England.)<br /> +No Peeress at our Drawing-Room before the Presence passes<br /> +Who wouldn’t be accepted by the lower-middle classes;<br /> +Each shady dame, whatever be her rank, is bowed out neatly.<br /> +In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely!<br +/> + It really is +surprising<br /> + What a thorough +Anglicising<br /> + We’ve brought +about—Utopia’s quite another land;<br /> + In her +enterprising movements,<br /> + She is +England—with improvements,<br /> + Which we dutifully offer to our +mother-land!</p> +<p class="poetry">Our city we have beautified—we’ve +done it willy-nilly—<br /> +And all that isn’t Belgrave Square is Strand and +Piccadilly.<br /> + + +(They haven’t any slummeries in England.)<br /> +We have solved the labour question with discrimination +polished,<br /> +So poverty is obsolete and hunger is abolished—<br /> + + +(They are going to abolish it in England.)<br /> +The Chamberlain our native stage has purged, beyond a +question,<br /> +Of “risky” situation and indelicate suggestion;<br /> +No piece is tolerated if it’s costumed +indiscreetly—<br /> +In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely!<br +/> + It really is +surprising<br /> + What a thorough +Anglicising<br /> + We’ve brought +about—Utopia’s quite another land;<br /> + In her +enterprising movements,<br /> + She is +England—with improvements,<br /> + Which we dutifully offer to our +mother-land!</p> +<p class="poetry">Our Peerage we’ve remodelled on an +intellectual basis,<br /> +Which certainly is rough on our hereditary races—<br /> + + +(They are going to remodel it in England.)<br /> +The Brewers and the Cotton Lords no longer seek admission,<br /> +And Literary Merit meets with proper recognition—<br /> + + +(As Literary Merit does in England!)<br /> +Who knows but we may count among our intellectual chickens<br /> +Like them an Earl of Thackeray and p’raps a Duke of +Dickens—<br /> +Lord Fildes and Viscount Millais (when they come) we’ll +welcome sweetly—<br /> +And then, this happy country will be Anglicised completely!<br /> + It really is +surprising<br /> + What a thorough +Anglicising<br /> + We’ve brought +about—Utopia’s quite another land;<br /> + In her +enterprising movements,<br /> + She is +England—with improvements,<br /> + Which we dutifully offer to our +mother-land!</p> +<h2><a name="page499"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 499</span>AN +ENGLISH GIRL</h2> +<p class="poetry"> A <span +class="smcap">wonderful</span> joy our eyes to bless,<br /> + In her magnificent comeliness,<br /> + Is an English girl of eleven stone two,<br /> + And five foot ten in her dancing shoe!<br /> + + +She follows the hounds, and on she pounds—<br /> + + +The “field” tails off and the muffs +diminish—<br /> + + +Over the hedges and brooks she bounds—<br /> + + +Straight as a crow, from find to finish.<br /> + + +At cricket, her kin will lose or win—<br /> + + +She and her maids, on grass and clover,<br /> + + +Eleven maids out—eleven maids in—<br /> + + +(And perhaps an occasional “maiden over”).<br /> +Go search the world and search the sea,<br /> +Then come you home and sing with me<br /> +There’s no such gold and no such pearl<br /> +As a bright and beautiful English girl!</p> +<p class="poetry"> With a ten-mile spin she +stretches her limbs,<br /> + She golfs, she punts, she rows, she swims—<br +/> + She plays, she sings, she dances, too,<br /> + From ten or eleven till all is blue!<br /> + + +At ball or drum, till small hours come<br /> + + +(Chaperon’s fan conceals her yawning),<br /> + + +She’ll waltz away like a teetotum,<br /> + + +And never go home till daylight’s dawning.<br /> + + +Lawn tennis may share her favours fair—<br /> + + +Her eyes a-dance and her cheeks a-glowing—<br /> + + +Down comes her hair, but what does she care?<br /> + + +It’s all her own and it’s worth the showing!<br /> +Go search the world and search the sea,<br /> +Then come you home and sing with me<br /> +There’s no such gold and no such pearl<br /> +As a bright and beautiful English girl!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Her soul is sweet as the +ocean air,<br /> + For prudery knows no haven there;<br /> + To find mock-modesty, please apply<br /> + To the conscious blush and the downcast eye.<br /> + + +Rich in the things contentment brings,<br /> + + +In every pure enjoyment wealthy,<br /> + + +Blithe as a beautiful bird she sings,<br /> + + +For body and mind are hale and healthy.<br /> + + +Her eyes they thrill with right goodwill—<br /> + + +Her heart is light as a floating feather—<br /> + + +As pure and bright as the mountain rill<br /> + + +That leaps and laughs in the Highland heather!<br /> +Go search the world and search the sea,<br /> +Then come you home and sing with me<br /> +There’s no such gold and no such pearl<br /> +As a bright and beautiful English girl!</p> +<h2><a name="page504"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 504</span>A +MANAGER’S PERPLEXITIES</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Were</span> I a king in very truth,<br /> + And had a son—a guileless +youth—<br /> + + +In probable succession;<br /> + To teach him patience, teach him +tact,<br /> + How promptly in a fix to act,<br +/> + He should adopt, in point of +fact,<br /> + + +A manager’s profession.<br /> + To that condition he should +stoop<br /> + + +(Despite a too fond mother),<br /> + With eight or ten +“stars” in his troupe,<br /> + + +All jealous of each other!<br /> +Oh, the man who can rule a theatrical crew,<br /> +Each member a genius (and some of them two),<br /> +And manage to humour them, little and great,<br /> +Can govern a tuppenny-ha’penny State!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Both A and +B rehearsal slight—<br /> + They say they’ll be +“all right at night”<br /> + + +(They’ve both to go to school yet);<br /> + C in each act <i>must</i> change +her dress,<br /> + D <i>will</i> attempt to +“square the press”;<br /> + E won’t play Romeo unless<br +/> + + +His grandmother plays Juliet;<br /> + F claims all hoydens as her +rights<br /> + + +(She’s played them thirty seasons);<br /> + And G must show herself in +tights<br /> + + +For two convincing reasons—<br /> + + +Two very well-shaped reasons!<br /> +Oh, the man who can drive a theatrical team,<br /> +With wheelers and leaders in order supreme,<br /> +Can govern and rule, with a wave of his fin,<br /> +All Europe and Asia—with Ireland thrown in!</p> +<h2><a name="page506"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 506</span>OUT +OF SORTS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> you find +you’re a broken-down critter,<br /> +Who is all of a trimmle and twitter,<br /> +With your palate unpleasantly bitter,<br /> + As if you’d just bitten a +pill—<br /> +When your legs are as thin as dividers,<br /> +And you’re plagued with unruly insiders,<br /> +And your spine is all creepy with spiders,<br /> + And you’re highly gamboge in +the gill—<br /> +When you’ve got a beehive in your head,<br /> + And a sewing machine in each +ear,<br /> +And you feel that you’ve eaten your bed,<br /> + And you’ve got a bad +headache <i>down here</i>—<br /> + + +When such facts are about,<br /> + + +And these symptoms you find<br /> + + +In your body or crown—<br /> + + +Well, it’s time to look out,<br /> + + +You may make up your mind<br /> + + +You had better lie down!</p> +<p class="poetry">When your lips are all smeary—like +tallow,<br /> +And your tongue is decidedly yallow,<br /> +With a pint of warm oil in your sw<i>a</i>llow,<br /> + And a pound of tin-tacks in your +chest—<br /> +When you’re down in the mouth with the vapours,<br /> +And all over your new Morris papers<br /> +Black-beetles are cutting their capers,<br /> + And crawly things never at +rest—<br /> +When you doubt if your head is your own,<br /> + And you jump when an open door +slams—<br /> +Then you’ve got to a state which is known<br /> + To the medical world as +“jim-jams.”<br /> + + +If such symptoms you find<br /> + + +In your body or head,<br /> + + +They’re not easy to quell—<br /> + + +You may make up your mind<br /> + + +You are better in bed,<br /> + + +For you’re not at all well!</p> +<h2><a name="page512"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 512</span>HOW +IT’S DONE</h2> +<p class="poetry"> Bold-faced +ranger<br /> + (Perfect stranger)<br /> +Meets two well-behaved young ladies<br /> + He’s attractive,<br /> + Young and active—<br /> +Each a little bit afraid is.<br /> + Youth advances,<br /> + At his glances<br /> +To their danger they awaken;<br /> + They repel him<br /> + As they tell him<br /> +He is very much mistaken.<br /> +Though they speak to him politely,<br /> +Please observe they’re sneering slightly,<br /> +Just to show he’s acting vainly.<br /> +This is Virtue saying plainly,<br /> + “Go away, young bachelor,<br +/> + We are not what you take us +for!”<br /> +(When addressed impertinently,<br /> +English ladies answer gently,<br /> + “Go away, young bachelor,<br +/> + We are not what you take us +for!”)</p> +<p class="poetry"> As he +gazes,<br /> + Hat he raises,<br /> +Enters into conversation.<br /> + Makes excuses—<br /> + This produces<br /> +Interesting agitation.<br /> + He, with daring,<br /> + Undespairing,<br /> +Gives his card—his rank discloses—<br /> + Little heeding<br /> + This proceeding,<br /> +They turn up their little noses.<br /> +Pray observe this lesson vital—<br /> +When a man of rank and title<br /> +His position first discloses,<br /> +Always cock your little noses.<br /> + When at home, let all the class<br +/> + Try this in the looking-glass.<br +/> +(English girls of well-bred notions<br /> +Shun all unrehearsed emotions,<br /> + English girls of highest class<br +/> + Practise them before the +glass.)</p> +<p class="poetry"> His +intentions<br /> + Then he mentions,<br /> +Something definite to go on—<br /> + Makes recitals<br /> + Of his titles,<br /> +Hints at settlements, and so on.<br /> + Smiling sweetly,<br /> + They, discreetly,<br /> +Ask for further evidences:<br /> + Thus invited,<br /> + He, delighted,<br /> +Gives the usual references.<br /> +This is business. Each is fluttered<br /> +When the offer’s fairly uttered.<br /> +“Which of them has his affection?”<br /> +He declines to make selection.<br /> + Do they quarrel for his dross?<br +/> + Not a bit of it—they +toss!<br /> +Please observe this cogent moral—<br /> +English ladies never quarrel.<br /> + When a doubt they come across,<br +/> + English ladies always toss.</p> +<h2><a name="page515"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 515</span>A +CLASSICAL REVIVAL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">At</span> the outset I may +mention it’s my sovereign intention<br /> + To revive the classic memories of Athens at its +best,<br /> +For my company possesses all the necessary dresses,<br /> + And a course of quiet cramming will supply us with +the rest.<br /> +We’ve a choir hyporchematic (that is, ballet-operatic)<br +/> + Who respond to the <i>choreutae</i> of that +cultivated age,<br /> +And our clever chorus-master, all but captious criticaster,<br /> + Would accept as the <i>choregus</i> of the early +Attic stage.<br /> +This return to classic ages is considered in their wages,<br /> + Which are always calculated by the day or by the +week—<br /> +And I’ll pay ’em (if they’ll back me) all in +<i>oboloi</i> and <i>drachmae</i>,<br /> + Which they’ll get (if they prefer it) at the +Kalends that are Greek!</p> +<p class="poetry"> (At this juncture I may +mention<br /> + That this erudition sham<br /> + Is but classical pretension,<br /> + The result of steady +“cram.”:<br /> + Periphrastic methods spurning,<br /> + To my readers all discerning<br /> + I admit this show of learning<br /> + Is the fruit of steady +“cram.”!)</p> +<p class="poetry">In the period Socratic every dining-room was +Attic<br /> + (Which suggests an architecture of a topsy-turvy +kind),<br /> +There they’d satisfy their twist on a +<i>recherché</i> cold +<i>ἄριστον</i>,<br /> + Which is what they called their lunch—and so +may you, if you’re inclined.<br /> +As they gradually got on, they’d +<i>πρέπεσθαι +πρὸς τὸν +πότον</i><br /> + (Which is Attic for a steady and a conscientious +drink).<br /> +But they mixed their wine with water—which I’m sure +they didn’t oughter—<br /> + And we Anglo-Saxons know a trick worth two of that, +I think!<br /> +Then came rather risky dances (under certain circumstances)<br /> + Which would shock that worthy gentleman, the +Licenser of Plays,<br /> +Corybantian mani<i>ac</i> kick—Dionysiac or +Bacchic—<br /> + And the Dithyrambic revels of those indecorous +days.</p> +<p class="poetry"> (And perhaps I’d better +mention<br /> + Lest alarming you I am,<br /> + That it isn’t our intention<br /> + To perform a Dithyramb—<br +/> + It displays a lot of stocking,<br /> + Which is always very shocking,<br /> + And of course I’m only mocking<br /> + At the prevalence of +“cram.”)</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, on reconsideration, there are customs of +that nation<br /> + Which are not in strict accordance with the habits +of our day,<br /> +And when I come to codify, their rules I mean to modify,<br /> + Or Mrs. Grundy, p’r’aps, may have a word +or two to say:<br /> +For they hadn’t macintoshes or umbrellas or +goloshes—<br /> + And a shower with their dresses must have played the +very deuce,<br /> +And it must have been unpleasing when they caught a fit of +sneezing,<br /> + For, it seems, of pocket-handkerchiefs they +didn’t know the use.<br /> +They wore little underclothing—scarcely anything—or +no-thing—<br /> + And their dress of Coan silk was quite transparent +in design—<br /> +Well, in fact, in summer weather, something like the +“altogether.”<br /> + And it’s <i>there</i>, I rather fancy, I shall +have to draw the line!</p> +<p class="poetry"> (And again I wish to +mention<br /> + That this erudition sham<br /> + Is but classical pretension,<br /> + The result of steady +“cram.”<br /> + Yet my classic love aggressive,<br /> + If you’ll pardon the possessive,<br /> + Is exceedingly impressive<br /> + When you’re passing an +exam.)</p> +<h2><a name="page523"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 523</span>THE +PRACTICAL JOKER</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span> what a fund of +joy jocund lies hid in harmless hoaxes!<br /> + What keen +enjoyment springs<br /> + From cheap and +simple things!<br /> +What deep delight from sources trite inventive humour coaxes,<br +/> + That pain and +trouble brew<br /> + For every one +but you!<br /> +Gunpowder placed inside its waist improves a mild Havanah,<br /> + Its unexpected +flash<br /> + Burns eyebrows +and moustache;<br /> +When people dine no kind of wine beats ipecacuanha,<br /> + But common sense +suggests<br /> + You keep it for +your guests—<br /> +Then naught annoys the organ boys like throwing red-hot +coppers,<br /> + And much +amusement bides<br /> + In common +butter-slides.<br /> +And stringy snares across the stairs cause unexpected +croppers.<br /> + Coal scuttles, +recollect,<br /> + Produce the same +effect.<br /> + + +A man possessed<br /> + + +Of common sense<br /> + + +Need not invest<br /> + + +At great expense—<br /> + + +It does not call<br /> + + +For pocket deep,<br /> + + +These jokes are all<br /> + + +Extremely cheap.<br /> +If you commence with eighteenpence (it’s all you’ll +have to pay),<br /> +You may command a pleasant and a most instructive day.</p> +<p class="poetry">A good spring gun breeds endless fun, and makes +men jump like rockets,<br /> + And turnip-heads +on posts<br /> + Make very decent +ghosts:<br /> +Then hornets sting like anything, when placed in waist-coat +pockets—<br /> + Burnt cork and +walnut juice<br /> + Are not without +their use.<br /> +No fun compares with easy chairs whose seats are stuffed with +needles—<br /> +Live shrimps their patience tax<br /> +When put down people’s backs—<br /> +Surprising, too, what one can do with fifty fat black +beedles—<br /> + And treacle on a +chair<br /> + Will make a +Quaker swear!<br /> + + +Then sharp tin tacks<br /> + + +And pocket squirts—<br /> + + +And cobblers’ wax<br /> + + +For ladies’ skirts—<br /> + + +And slimy slugs<br /> + + +On bedroom floors—<br /> + + +And water jugs<br /> + + +On open doors—<br /> +Prepared with these cheap properties, amusing tricks to play,<br +/> +Upon a friend a man may spend a most delightful day!</p> +<h2><a name="page526"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 526</span>THE +NATIONAL ANTHEM</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">monarch</span> is +pestered with cares,<br /> + Though, no doubt, he can often +trepan them;<br /> +But one comes in a shape he can never escape—<br /> + The implacable National Anthem!<br +/> + + +Though for quiet and rest he may yearn,<br /> + + +It pursues him at every turn—<br /> + + +No chance of forsaking<br /> + + +Its <i>rococo</i> numbers;<br /> + + +They haunt him when waking—<br /> + + +They poison his slumbers—<br /> +Like the Banbury Lady, whom every one knows,<br /> +He’s cursed with its music wherever he goes!<br /> + Though its words but imperfectly +rhyme,<br /> + + +And the devil himself couldn’t scan them;<br /> + With composure polite he endures +day and night<br /> + + +That illiterate National Anthem!</p> +<p class="poetry">It serves a good purpose, I own:<br /> + Its strains are devout and +impressive—<br /> +Its heart-stirring notes raise a lump in our throats<br /> + As we burn with devotion +excessive:<br /> + + +But the King, who’s been bored by that song<br /> + + +From his cradle—each day—all day long—<br /> + + +Who’s heard it loud-shouted<br /> + + +By throats operatic,<br /> + + +And loyally spouted<br /> + + +By courtiers emphatic—<br /> +By soldier—by sailor—by drum and by fife—<br /> +Small blame if he thinks it the plague of his life!<br /> + While his subjects sing loudly and +long,<br /> + + +Their King—who would willingly ban them—<br /> + Sits, worry disguising, +anathematising<br /> + + +That Bogie, the National Anthem!</p> +<h2><a name="page534"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 534</span>HER +TERMS</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">My</span> wedded life<br /> + + +Must every pleasure bring<br /> + + +On scale extensive!<br /> + If I’m your wife<br /> + + +I must have everything<br /> + + +That’s most expensive—<br /> + A lady’s-maid—<br /> + + +(My hair alone to do<br /> + + +I am not able)—<br /> + And I’m afraid<br /> + + +I’ve been accustomed to<br /> + + +A first-rate table.<br /> +These things one must consider when one marries—<br /> +And everything I wear must come from Paris!<br /> + + +Oh, think of that!<br /> + + +Oh, think of that!<br /> +I can’t wear anything that’s not from Paris!<br /> + From top to toes<br /> + + +Quite Frenchified I am,<br /> + + +If you examine.<br /> + And then—who +knows?—<br /> + + +Perhaps some day a fam—<br /> + + +Perhaps a famine!<br /> +My argument’s correct, if you examine,<br /> +What should we do, if there should come a f-famine!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Though in +green pea<br /> + + +Yourself you needn’t stint<br /> + + +In July sunny,<br /> + In Januaree<br /> + + +It really costs a mint—<br /> + + +A mint of money!<br /> + No lamb for us—<br /> + + +House lamb at Christmas sells<br /> + + +At prices handsome:<br /> + Asparagus,<br /> + + +In winter, parallels<br /> + + +A Monarch’s ransom:<br /> +When purse to bread and butter barely reaches,<br /> +What is your wife to do for hot-house peaches?<br /> + + +Ah! tell me that!<br /> + + +Ah! tell me that!<br /> +What <i>is</i> your wife to do for hot-house peaches?<br /> + Your heart and hand<br /> + + +Though at my feet you lay,<br /> + + +All others scorning!<br /> + As matters stand,<br /> + + +There’s nothing now to say<br /> + + +Except—good morning!<br /> +Though virtue be a husband’s best adorning,<br /> +That won’t pay rates and taxes—so, good morning!</p> +<h2><a name="page536"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 536</span>THE +INDEPENDENT BEE</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">hive</span> of bees, as +I’ve heard say,<br /> +Said to their Queen one sultry day,<br /> + “Please your Majesty’s +high position,<br /> + + +The hive is full and the weather is warm,<br /> + We rather think, with a due +submission,<br /> + + +The time has come when we ought to swarm.”<br /> + + +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> +Up spake their Queen and thus spake she—<br /> +“This is a matter that rests with me,<br /> +Who dares opinions thus to form?<br /> +<i>I’ll</i> tell you when it is time to swarm!”<br /> + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her Majesty wore an angry frown,<br /> +In fact, her Majesty’s foot was down—<br /> +Her Majesty sulked—declined to sup—<br /> +In short, her Majesty’s back was up.<br /> + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> +Her foot was down and her back was up!</p> +<p class="poetry">That hive contained one obstinate bee<br /> +(His name was Peter), and thus spake he—<br /> + “Though every bee has shown +white feather,<br /> + + +To bow to tyranny I’m not prone—<br /> + Why should a hive swarm all +together?<br /> + + +Surely a bee can swarm alone?”<br /> + + +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> + + +Upside down and inside out,<br /> + + +Backwards, forwards, round about,<br /> + + +Twirling here and twisting there,<br /> + + +Topsy turvily everywhere—<br /> + + +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> + + +Pitiful sight it was to see<br /> + + +Respectable elderly high-class bee,<br /> + + +Who kicked the beam at sixteen stone,<br /> + + +Trying his best to swarm alone!<br /> + + +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> + + +Trying his best to swarm alone!</p> +<p class="poetry">The hive were shocked to see their chum<br /> +(A strict teetotaller) teetotum—<br /> + The Queen exclaimed, “How +terrible, very!<br /> + + +It’s perfectly clear to all the throng<br /> + Peter’s been at the old +brown sherry.<br /> + + +Old brown sherry is much too strong—<br /> + + +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> +Of all who thus themselves degrade,<br /> +A stern example must be made,<br /> +To Coventry go, you tipsy bee!”<br /> +So off to Coventry town went he.<br /> + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> +There, classed with all who misbehave,<br /> +Both plausible rogue and noisome knave,<br /> +In dismal dumps he lived to own<br /> +The folly of trying to swarm alone!<br /> + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> +All came of trying to swarm alone.</p> +<h2><a name="page547"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 547</span>THE +DISCONCERTED TENOR</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">tenor</span>, all singers +above<br /> + (This doesn’t admit of a +question),<br /> + + +Should keep himself quiet,<br /> + + +Attend to his diet,<br /> + And carefully nurse his +digestion.<br /> +But when he is madly in love,<br /> + It’s certain to tell on his +singing—<br /> + + +You can’t do chromatics<br /> + + +With proper emphatics<br /> + When anguish your bosom is +wringing!<br /> +When distracted with worries in plenty,<br /> +And his pulse is a hundred and twenty,<br /> +And his fluttering bosom the slave of mistrust is,<br /> + A tenor can’t do himself +justice.<br /> + + +Now observe—(<i>sings a high note</i>)—<br /> + You see, I can’t do myself +justice!</p> +<p class="poetry">I could sing, if my fervour were mock,<br /> + It’s easy enough if +you’re acting,<br /> + + +But when one’s emotion<br /> + + +Is born of devotion,<br /> + You mustn’t be +over-exacting.<br /> +One ought to be firm as a rock<br /> + To venture a shake in +<i>vibrato</i>;<br /> + + +When fervour’s expected,<br /> + + +Keep cool and collected,<br /> + Or never attempt +<i>agitato</i>.<br /> +But, of course, when his tongue is of leather,<br /> +And his lips appear pasted together,<br /> +And his sensitive palate as dry as a crust is,<br /> + A tenor can’t do himself +justice.<br /> + + +Now observe—(<i>sings a cadence</i>)—<br /> + It’s no use—I +can’t do myself justice!</p> +<h2><a name="page553"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 553</span>THE +PLAYED-OUT HUMORIST</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Quixotic</span> is his +enterprise, and hopeless his adventure is,<br /> + Who seeks for jocularities that haven’t yet +been said.<br /> +The world has joked incessantly for over fifty centuries,<br /> + And every joke that’s possible has long ago +been made.<br /> +I started as a humorist with lots of mental fizziness,<br /> + But humour is a drug which it’s the fashion to +abuse;<br /> +For my stock-in-trade, my fixtures, and the goodwill of the +business<br /> + No reasonable offer I am likely to refuse.<br /> + + +And if anybody choose<br /> + + +He may circulate the news<br /> + That no reasonable offer I’m likely to +refuse.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh happy was that humorist—the first that +made a pun at all—<br /> + Who when a joke occurred to him, however poor and +mean,<br /> +Was absolutely certain that it never had been done at +all—<br /> + How popular at dinners must that humorist have +been!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh the days when some stepfather for the query +held a handle out,<br /> + The door-mat from the scraper, is it distant very +far?<br /> +And when no one knew where Moses was when Aaron blew the candle +out,<br /> + And no one had discovered that a door could be +a-jar!<br /> + + +But your modern hearers are<br /> + + +In their tastes particular,<br /> + And they sneer if you inform them that a door can be +a-jar!</p> +<p class="poetry">In search of quip and quiddity, I’ve sat +all day, alone, apart—<br /> + And all that I could hit on as a problem +was—to find<br /> +Analogy between a scrag of mutton and a Bony-part,<br /> + Which offers slight employment to the speculative +mind:<br /> +For you cannot call it very good, however great your +charity—<br /> + It’s not the sort of humour that is greeted +with a shout—<br /> +And I’ve come to the conclusion that my mine of +jocularity<br /> + In present Anno Domini, is worked completely out!<br +/> + + +Though the notion you may scout,<br /> + + +I can prove beyond a doubt<br /> + That my mine of jocularity is utterly worked +out.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF A SAVOYARD***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 934-h.htm or 934-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/9/3/934 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Gilbert +Scanned and proofed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +Songs of a Savoyard + + + + +Contents: + +The Darned Mounseer +The Englishman +The Disagreeable Man +The Coming By-And-By +The Highly Respectable Gondolier +The Fairy Queen's Song +Is Life A Boon +The Modern Major-General +The Heavy Dragoon +Proper Pride +The Policeman's Lot +The Baffled Grumbler +The House Of Peers +A Merry Madrigal +The Duke And The Duchess +Eheu Fugaces -! +They'll None Of `Em Be Missed +Girl Graduates +Braid The Raven Hair +The Working Monarch +The Ape And The Lady +Only Roses +The Rover's Apology +An Appeal +The Reward Of Merit +The Magnet And The Churn +The Family Fool +Sans Souci +A Recipe +The Merryman And His Maid +The Susceptible Chancellor +When A Merry Maiden Marries +The British Tar +A Man Who Would Woo A Fair Maid +The Sorcerer's Song +The Fickle Breeze +The First Lord's Song +Would You Know? +Speculation +Ah Me! +The Duke Of Plaza-Toro +The Aesthete +Said I To Myself, Said I +Sorry Her Lot +The Contemplative Sentry +The Philosophic Pill +Blue Blood +The Judge's Song +When I First Put This Uniform On +Solatium +A Nightmare +Don't Forget! +The Suicide's Grave +He And She +The Mighty Must +A Mirage +The Ghosts' High Noon +The Humane Mikado +Willow Waly! +Life Is Lovely All The Year +The Usher's Charge +The Great Oak Tree +King Goodheart +Sleep On! +The Love-Sick Boy +Poetry Everywhere +He Loves! +True Diffidence +The Tangled Skein +My Lady +One Against The World +Put A Penny In The Slot +Good Little Girls +Life +Limited Liability +Anglicised Utopia +An English Girl +A Manager's Perplexities +Out Of Sorts +How It's Done +A Classical Revival +The Practical Joker +The National Anthem +Her Terms +The Independent Bee +The Disconcerted Tenor +The Played-Out Humorist + + + +Ballad: The Darned Mounseer + + + +I shipped, d'ye see, in a Revenue sloop, +And, off Cape Finisteere, +A merchantman we see, +A Frenchman, going free, +So we made for the bold Mounseer, +D'ye see? +We made for the bold Mounseer! +But she proved to be a Frigate - and she up with her ports, +And fires with a thirty-two! +It come uncommon near, +But we answered with a cheer, +Which paralysed the Parley-voo, +D'ye see? +Which paralysed the Parley-voo! + +Then our Captain he up and he says, says he, +"That chap we need not fear, - +We can take her, if we like, +She is sartin for to strike, +For she's only a darned Mounseer, +D'ye see? +She's only a darned Mounseer! +But to fight a French fal-lal - it's like hittin' of a gal - +It's a lubberly thing for to do; +For we, with all our faults, +Why, we're sturdy British salts, +While she's but a Parley-voo, +D'ye see? +A miserable Parley-voo!" + +So we up with our helm, and we scuds before the breeze, +As we gives a compassionating cheer; +Froggee answers with a shout +As he sees us go about, +Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer, +D'ye see? +Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer! +And I'll wager in their joy they kissed each other's cheek +(Which is what them furriners do), +And they blessed their lucky stars +We were hardy British tars +Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo, +D'ye see? +Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo! + + + +Ballad: The Englishman + + + +He is an Englishman! +For he himself has said it, +And it's greatly to his credit, +That he is an Englishman! +For he might have been a Roosian, +A French, or Turk, or Proosian, +Or perhaps Itali-an! +But in spite of all temptations, +To belong to other nations, +He remains an Englishman! +Hurrah! +For the true-born Englishman! + + + +Ballad: The Disagreeable Man + + + +If you give me your attention, I will tell you what I am: +I'm a genuine philanthropist - all other kinds are sham. +Each little fault of temper and each social defect +In my erring fellow-creatures, I endeavour to correct. +To all their little weaknesses I open people's eyes, +And little plans to snub the self-sufficient I devise; +I love my fellow-creatures - I do all the good I can - +Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man! +And I can't think why! + +To compliments inflated I've a withering reply, +And vanity I always do my best to mortify; +A charitable action I can skilfully dissect; +And interested motives I'm delighted to detect. +I know everybody's income and what everybody earns, +And I carefully compare it with the income-tax returns; +But to benefit humanity, however much I plan, +Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man! +And I can't think why! + +I'm sure I'm no ascetic; I'm as pleasant as can be; +You'll always find me ready with a crushing repartee; +I've an irritating chuckle, I've a celebrated sneer, +I've an entertaining snigger, I've a fascinating leer; +To everybody's prejudice I know a thing or two; +I can tell a woman's age in half a minute - and I do - +But although I try to make myself as pleasant as I can, +Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man! +And I can't think why! + + + +Ballad: The Coming By-And-By + + + +Sad is that woman's lot who, year by year, +Sees, one by one, her beauties disappear; +As Time, grown weary of her heart-drawn sighs, +Impatiently begins to "dim her eyes"! - +Herself compelled, in life's uncertain gloamings, +To wreathe her wrinkled brow with well-saved "combings" - +Reduced, with rouge, lipsalve, and pearly grey, +To "make up" for lost time, as best she may! + +Silvered is the raven hair, +Spreading is the parting straight, +Mottled the complexion fair, +Halting is the youthful gait, + +Hollow is the laughter free, +Spectacled the limpid eye, +Little will be left of me, +In the coming by-and-by! +Fading is the taper waist - +Shapeless grows the shapely limb, +And although securely laced, +Spreading is the figure trim! +Stouter than I used to be, +Still more corpulent grow I - +There will be too much of me +In the coming by-and-by! + + + +Ballad: The Highly Respectable Gondolier + + + +I stole the Prince, and I brought him here, +And left him, gaily prattling +With a highly respectable Gondolier, +Who promised the Royal babe to rear, +And teach him the trade of a timoneer +With his own beloved bratling. + +Both of the babes were strong and stout, +And, considering all things, clever. +Of that there is no manner of doubt - +No probable, possible shadow of doubt - +No possible doubt whatever. + +Time sped, and when at the end of a year +I sought that infant cherished, +That highly respectable Gondolier +Was lying a corpse on his humble bier - +I dropped a Grand Inquisitor's tear - +That Gondolier had perished! + +A taste for drink, combined with gout, +Had doubled him up for ever. +Of THAT there is no manner of doubt - +No probable, possible shadow of doubt - +No possible doubt whatever. + +But owing, I'm much disposed to fear, +To his terrible taste for tippling, +That highly respectable Gondolier +Could never declare with a mind sincere +Which of the two was his offspring dear, +And which the Royal stripling! + +Which was which he could never make out, +Despite his best endeavour. +Of THAT there is no manner of doubt - +No probable, possible shadow of doubt - +No possible doubt whatever. + +The children followed his old career - +(This statement can't be parried) +Of a highly respectable Gondolier: +Well, one of the two (who will soon be here) - +But WHICH of the two is not quite clear - +Is the Royal Prince you married! + +Search in and out and round about +And you'll discover never +A tale so free from every doubt - +All probable, possible shadow of doubt - +All possible doubt whatever! + + + +Ballad: The Fairy Queen's Song + + + +Oh, foolish fay, +Think you because +Man's brave array +My bosom thaws +I'd disobey +Our fairy laws? +Because I fly +In realms above, +In tendency +To fall in love +Resemble I +The amorous dove? + +Oh, amorous dove! +Type of Ovidius Naso! +This heart of mine +Is soft as thine, +Although I dare not say so! + +On fire that glows +With heat intense +I turn the hose +Of Common Sense, +And out it goes +At small expense! +We must maintain +Our fairy law; +That is the main +On which to draw - +In that we gain +A Captain Shaw. + +Oh, Captain Shaw! +Type of true love kept under! +Could thy Brigade +With cold cascade +Quench my great love, I wonder! + + + +Ballad: Is Life A Boon + + + +Is life a boon? +If so, it must befall +That Death, whene'er he call, +Must call too soon. +Though fourscore years he give +Yet one would pray to live +Another moon! +What kind of plaint have I, +Who perish in July? +I might have had to die +Perchance in June! + +Is life a thorn? +Then count it not a whit! +Man is well done with it; +Soon as he's born +He should all means essay +To put the plague away; +And I, war-worn, +Poor captured fugitive, +My life most gladly give - +I might have had to live +Another morn! + + + +Ballad: The Modern Major-General + + + +I am the very pattern of a modern Major-Gineral, +I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral; +I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical, +From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical; +I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, +I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical; +About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news, +With interesting facts about the square of the hypotenuse, +I'm very good at integral and differential calculus, +I know the scientific names of beings animalculous. +In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, +I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral. + +I know our mythic history - KING ARTHUR'S and SIR CARADOC'S, +I answer hard acrostics, I've a pretty taste for paradox; +I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of HELIOGABALUS, +In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous. +I tell undoubted RAPHAELS from GERARD DOWS and ZOFFANIES, +I know the croaking chorus from the "Frogs" of ARISTOPHANES; +Then I can hum a fugue, of which I've heard the music's din afore, +And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense "Pinafore." +Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform, +And tell you every detail of CARACTACUS'S uniform. +In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, +I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral. + +In fact, when I know what is meant by "mamelon" and "ravelin," +When I can tell at sight a Chassepot rifle from a javelin, +When such affairs as SORTIES and surprises I'm more wary at, +And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat, +When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery, +When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery, +In short, when I've a smattering of elementary strategy, +You'll say a better Major-GenerAL has never SAT a gee - +For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury, +Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century. +But still in learning vegetable, animal, and mineral, +I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral! + + + +Ballad: The Heavy Dragoon + + + +If you want a receipt for that popular mystery, +Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon, +Take all the remarkable people in history, +Rattle them off to a popular tune! +The pluck of LORD NELSON on board of the VICTORY - +Genius of BISMARCK devising a plan; +The humour of FIELDING (which sounds contradictory) - +Coolness of PAGET about to trepan - +The grace of MOZART, that unparalleled musico - +Wit of MACAULAY, who wrote of QUEEN ANNE - +The pathos of PADDY, as rendered by BOUCICAULT - +Style of the BISHOP OF SODOR AND MAN - +The dash of a D'ORSAY, divested of quackery - +Narrative powers of DICKENS and THACKERAY - +VICTOR EMMANUEL - peak-haunting PEVERIL - +THOMAS AQUINAS, and DOCTOR SACHEVERELL - +TUPPER and TENNYSON - DANIEL DEFOE - +ANTHONY TROLLOPE and MISTER GUIZOT! +Take of these elements all that is fusible, +Melt 'em all down in a pipkin or crucible, +Set 'em to simmer and take off the scum, +And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum! + +If you want a receipt for this soldierlike paragon, +Get at the wealth of the CZAR (if you can) - +The family pride of a Spaniard from Arragon - +Force of MEPHISTO pronouncing a ban - +A smack of LORD WATERFORD, reckless and rollicky - +Swagger of RODERICK, heading his clan - +The keen penetration of PADDINGTON POLLAKY - +Grace of an Odalisque on a divan - +The genius strategic of CAESAR or HANNIBAL - +Skill of LORD WOLSELEY in thrashing a cannibal - +Flavour of HAMLET - the STRANGER, a touch of him - +Little of MANFRED (but not very much of him) - +Beadle of Burlington - RICHARDSON'S show - +MR. MICAWBER and MADAME TUSSAUD! +Take of these elements all that is fusible - +Melt 'em all down in a pipkin or crucible - +Set 'em to simmer and take off the scum, +And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum! + + + +Ballad: Proper Pride + + + +The Sun, whose rays +Are all ablaze +With ever-living glory, +Will not deny +His majesty - +He scorns to tell a story: +He won't exclaim, +"I blush for shame, +So kindly be indulgent," +But, fierce and bold, +In fiery gold, +He glories all effulgent! + +I mean to rule the earth, +As he the sky - +We really know our worth, +The Sun and I! + +Observe his flame, +That placid dame, +The Moon's Celestial Highness; +There's not a trace +Upon her face +Of diffidence or shyness: +She borrows light +That, through the night, +Mankind may all acclaim her! +And, truth to tell, +She lights up well, +So I, for one, don't blame her! + +Ah, pray make no mistake, +We are not shy; +We're very wide awake, +The Moon and I! + + + +Ballad: The Policeman's Lot + + + +When a felon's not engaged in his employment, +Or maturing his felonious little plans, +His capacity for innocent enjoyment +Is just as great as any honest man's. +Our feelings we with difficulty smother +When constabulary duty's to be done: +Ah, take one consideration with another, +A policeman's lot is not a happy one! + +When the enterprising burglar isn't burgling, +When the cut-throat isn't occupied in crime, +He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling, +And listen to the merry village chime. +When the coster's finished jumping on his mother, +He loves to lie a-basking in the sun: +Ah, take one consideration with another, +The policeman's lot is not a happy one! + + + +Ballad: The Baffled Grumbler + + + +Whene'er I poke +Sarcastic joke +Replete with malice spiteful, +The people vile +Politely smile +And vote me quite delightful! +Now, when a wight +Sits up all night +Ill-natured jokes devising, +And all his wiles +Are met with smiles, +It's hard, there's no disguising! +Oh, don't the days seem lank and long +When all goes right and nothing goes wrong, +And isn't your life extremely flat +With nothing whatever to grumble at! + +When German bands, +From music stands +Play Wagner imperFECTly - +I bid them go - +They don't say no, +But off they trot directly! +The organ boys +They stop their noise +With readiness surprising, +And grinning herds +Of hurdy-gurds +Retire apologising! +Oh, don't the days seem lank and long +When all goes right and nothing goes wrong, +And isn't your life extremely flat +With nothing whatever to grumble at! + +I've offered gold, +In sums untold, +To all who'd contradict me - +I've said I'd pay +A pound a day +To any one who kicked me - +I've bribed with toys +Great vulgar boys +To utter something spiteful, +But, bless you, no! +They WILL be so +Confoundedly politeful! +In short, these aggravating lads, +They tickle my tastes, they feed my fads, +They give me this and they give me that, +And I've nothing whatever to grumble at! + + + +Ballad: The House Of Peers + + + +When Britain really ruled the waves - +(In good Queen Bess's time) +The House of Peers made no pretence +To intellectual eminence, +Or scholarship sublime; +Yet Britain won her proudest bays +In good Queen Bess's glorious days! + +When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte, +As every child can tell, +The House of Peers, throughout the war, +Did nothing in particular, +And did it very well; +Yet Britain set the world ablaze +In good King George's glorious days! + +And while the House of Peers withholds +Its legislative hand, +And noble statesmen do not itch +To interfere with matters which +They do not understand, +As bright will shine Great Britain's rays, +As in King George's glorious days! + + + +Ballad: A Merry Madrigal + + + +Brightly dawns our wedding day; +Joyous hour, we give thee greeting! +Whither, whither art thou fleeting? +Fickle moment, prithee stay! +What though mortal joys be hollow? +Pleasures come, if sorrows follow. +Though the tocsin sound, ere long, +Ding dong! Ding dong! +Yet until the shadows fall +Over one and over all, +Sing a merry madrigal - +Fal la! + +Let us dry the ready tear; +Though the hours are surely creeping, +Little need for woeful weeping +Till the sad sundown is near. +All must sip the cup of sorrow, +I to-day and thou to-morrow: +This the close of every song - +Ding dong! Ding dong! +What though solemn shadows fall, +Sooner, later, over all? +Sing a merry madrigal - +Fal la! + + + +Ballad: The Duke And The Duchess + + + +[THE DUKE.] +Small titles and orders +For Mayors and Recorders +I get - and they're highly delighted. +M.P.s baronetted, +Sham Colonels gazetted, +And second-rate Aldermen knighted. +Foundation-stone laying +I find very paying, +It adds a large sum to my makings. +At charity dinners +The best of speech-spinners, +I get ten per cent on the takings! + +[THE DUCHESS.] +I present any lady +Whose conduct is shady +Or smacking of doubtful propriety; +When Virtue would quash her +I take and whitewash her +And launch her in first-rate society. +I recommend acres +Of clumsy dressmakers - +Their fit and their finishing touches; +A sum in addition +They pay for permission +To say that they make for the Duchess! + +[THE DUKE.] +Those pressing prevailers, +The ready-made tailors, +Quote me as their great double-barrel; +I allow them to do so, +Though ROBINSON CRUSOE +Would jib at their wearing apparel! +I sit, by selection, +Upon the direction +Of several Companies bubble; +As soon as they're floated +I'm freely bank-noted - +I'm pretty well paid for my trouble! + +[THE DUCHESS.] +At middle-class party +I play at ECARTE - +And I'm by no means a beginner; +To one of my station +The remuneration - +Five guineas a night and my dinner. +I write letters blatant +On medicines patent - +And use any other you mustn't; +And vow my complexion +Derives its perfection +From somebody's soap - which it doesn't. + +[THE DUKE.] +We're ready as witness +To any one's fitness +To fill any place or preferment; +We're often in waiting +At junket FETING, +And sometimes attend an interment. +In short, if you'd kindle +The spark of a swindle, +Lure simpletons into your clutches, +Or hoodwink a debtor, +You cannot do better +Than trot out a Duke or a Duchess! + + + +Ballad: Eheu Fugaces -! + + + +The air is charged with amatory numbers - +Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers' lays. +Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers +The aching memory of the old, old days? + +Time was when Love and I were well acquainted; +Time was when we walked ever hand in hand; +A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted, +None better loved than I in all the land! +Time was, when maidens of the noblest station, +Forsaking even military men, +Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration - +Ah me, I was a fair young curate then! + +Had I a headache? sighed the maids assembled; +Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear; +Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled; +And when I coughed all thought the end was near! +I had no care - no jealous doubts hung o'er me - +For I was loved beyond all other men. +Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me - +Ah me, I was a pale young curate then! + + + +Ballad: They'll None Of 'Em Be Missed + + + +As some day it may happen that a victim must be found, +I've got a little list - I've got a little list +Of social offenders who might well be underground, +And who never would be missed - who never would be missed! +There's the pestilential nuisances who write for autographs - +All people who have flabby hands and irritating laughs - +All children who are up in dates, and floor you with 'em flat - +All persons who in shaking hands, shake hands with you like THAT - +And all third persons who on spoiling TETE-E-TETES insist - +They'd none of 'em be missed - they'd none of 'em be missed! + +There's the nigger serenader, and the others of his race, +And the piano organist - I've got him on the list! +And the people who eat peppermint and puff it in your face, +They never would be missed - they never would be missed! +Then the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone, +All centuries but this, and every country but his own; +And the lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy, +And who "doesn't think she waltzes, but would rather like to try"; +And that FIN-DE-SIECLE anomaly, the scorching motorist - +I don't think he'd be missed - I'm SURE he'd not be missed! + +And that NISI PRIUS nuisance, who just now is rather rife, +The Judicial humorist - I've got HIM on the list! +All funny fellows, comic men, and clowns of private life - +They'd none of 'em be missed - they'd none of 'em be missed! +And apologetic statesmen of the compromising kind, +Such as - What-d'ye-call-him - Thing'em-Bob, and likewise - Never- +mind, +And 'St - 'st - 'st - and What's-his-name, and also - You-know-who +- +(The task of filling up the blanks I'd rather leave to YOU!) +But it really doesn't matter whom you put upon the list, +For they'd none of 'em be missed - they'd none of 'em be missed! + + + +Ballad: Girl Graduates + + + +They intend to send a wire +To the moon; +And they'll set the Thames on fire +Very soon; +Then they learn to make silk purses +With their rigs +From the ears of LADY CIRCE'S +Piggy-wigs. +And weasels at their slumbers +They'll trepan; +To get sunbeams from cuCUMbers +They've a plan. +They've a firmly rooted notion +They can cross the Polar Ocean, +And they'll find Perpetual Motion +If they can! + +These are the phenomena +That every pretty domina +Hopes that we shall see +At this Universitee! + +As for fashion, they forswear it, +So they say, +And the circle - they will square it +Some fine day; +Then the little pigs they're teaching +For to fly; +And the niggers they'll be bleaching +By-and-by! +Each newly joined aspirant +To the clan +Must repudiate the tyrant +Known as Man; +They mock at him and flout him, +For they do not care about him, +And they're "going to do without him" +If they can! + +These are the phenomena +That every pretty domina +Hopes that we shall see +At this Universitee! + + + +Ballad: Braid The Raven Hair + + + +Braid the raven hair, +Weave the supple tress, +Deck the maiden fair +In her loveliness; +Paint the pretty face, +Dye the coral lip, +Emphasise the grace +Of her ladyship! +Art and nature, thus allied, +Go to make a pretty bride! + +Sit with downcast eye, +Let it brim with dew; +Try if you can cry, +We will do so, too. +When you're summoned, start +Like a frightened roe; +Flutter, little heart, +Colour, come and go! +Modesty at marriage tide +Well becomes a pretty bride! + + + +Ballad: The Working Monarch + + + +Rising early in the morning, +We proceed to light the fire, +Then our Majesty adorning +In its work-a-day attire, +We embark without delay +On the duties of the day. + +First, we polish off some batches +Of political despatches, +And foreign politicians circumvent; +Then, if business isn't heavy, +We may hold a Royal LEVEE, +Or ratify some Acts of Parliament: +Then we probably review the household troops - +With the usual "Shalloo humps" and "Shalloo hoops!" +Or receive with ceremonial and state +An interesting Eastern Potentate. +After that we generally +Go and dress our private VALET - + +(It's a rather nervous duty - he a touchy little man) - +Write some letters literary +For our private secretary - +(He is shaky in his spelling, so we help him if we can.) +Then, in view of cravings inner, +We go down and order dinner; +Or we polish the Regalia and the Coronation Plate - +Spend an hour in titivating +All our Gentlemen-in-Waiting; +Or we run on little errands for the Ministers of State. +Oh, philosophers may sing +Of the troubles of a King, +Yet the duties are delightful, and the privileges great; +But the privilege and pleasure +That we treasure beyond measure +Is to run on little errands for the Ministers of State! + +After luncheon (making merry +On a bun and glass of sherry), +If we've nothing in particular to do, +We may make a Proclamation, +Or receive a Deputation - +Then we possibly create a Peer or two. +Then we help a fellow-creature on his path +With the Garter or the Thistle or the Bath: +Or we dress and toddle off in semi-State +To a festival, a function, or a FETE. +Then we go and stand as sentry +At the Palace (private entry), +Marching hither, marching thither, up and down and to and fro, +While the warrior on duty +Goes in search of beer and beauty +(And it generally happens that he hasn't far to go). +He relieves us, if he's able, +Just in time to lay the table. + +Then we dine and serve the coffee; and at half-past twelve or one, +With a pleasure that's emphatic; +Then we seek our little attic +With the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done. +Oh, philosophers may sing +Of the troubles of a King, +But of pleasures there are many and of troubles there are none; +And the culminating pleasure +That we treasure beyond measure +Is the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done! + + + +Ballad: The Ape And The Lady + + + +A LADY fair, of lineage high, +Was loved by an Ape, in the days gone by - +The Maid was radiant as the sun, +The Ape was a most unsightly one - +So it would not do - +His scheme fell through; +For the Maid, when his love took formal shape, +Expressed such terror +At his monstrous error, +That he stammered an apology and made his 'scape, +The picture of a disconcerted Ape. + +With a view to rise in the social scale, +He shaved his bristles, and he docked his tail, +He grew moustachios, and he took his tub, +And he paid a guinea to a toilet club. +But it would not do, +The scheme fell through - +For the Maid was Beauty's fairest Queen, +With golden tresses, +Like a real princess's, +While the Ape, despite his razor keen, +Was the apiest Ape that ever was seen! + +He bought white ties, and he bought dress suits, +He crammed his feet into bright tight boots, +And to start his life on a brand-new plan, +He christened himself Darwinian Man! +But it would not do, +The scheme fell through - +For the Maiden fair, whom the monkey craved, +Was a radiant Being, +With a brain far-seeing - +While a Man, however well-behaved, +At best is only a monkey shaved! + + + +Ballad: Only Roses + + + +To a garden full of posies +Cometh one to gather flowers; +And he wanders through its bowers +Toying with the wanton roses, +Who, uprising from their beds, +Hold on high their shameless heads +With their pretty lips a-pouting, +Never doubting - never doubting +That for Cytherean posies +He would gather aught but roses. + +In a nest of weeds and nettles, +Lay a violet, half hidden; +Hoping that his glance unbidden +Yet might fall upon her petals. +Though she lived alone, apart, +Hope lay nestling at her heart, +But, alas! the cruel awaking +Set her little heart a-breaking, +For he gathered for his posies +Only roses - only roses! + + + +Ballad: The Rover's Apology + + + +Oh, gentlemen, listen, I pray; +Though I own that my heart has been ranging, +Of nature the laws I obey, +For nature is constantly changing. +The moon in her phases is found, +The time and the wind and the weather, +The months in succession come round, +And you don't find two Mondays together. +Consider the moral, I pray, +Nor bring a young fellow to sorrow, +Who loves this young lady to-day, +And loves that young lady to-morrow! + +You cannot eat breakfast all day. +Nor is it the act of a sinner, +When breakfast is taken away, +To turn your attention to dinner; +And it's not in the range of belief +That you could hold him as a glutton, +Who, when he is tired of beef, +Determines to tackle the mutton. +But this I am ready to say, +If it will diminish their sorrow, +I'll marry this lady to-day, +And I'll marry that lady to-morrow! + + + +Ballad: An Appeal + + + +Oh! is there not one maiden breast +Which does not feel the moral beauty +Of making worldly interest +Subordinate to sense of duty? +Who would not give up willingly +All matrimonial ambition +To rescue such a one as I +From his unfortunate position? + +Oh, is there not one maiden here, +Whose homely face and bad complexion +Have caused all hopes to disappear +Of ever winning man's affection? +To such a one, if such there be, +I swear by heaven's arch above you, +If you will cast your eyes on me, - +However plain you be - I'll love you! + + + +Ballad: The Reward Of Merit + + + +DR. BELVILLE was regarded as the CRICHTON of his age: +His tragedies were reckoned much too thoughtful for the stage; +His poems held a noble rank, although it's very true +That, being very proper, they were read by very few. +He was a famous Painter, too, and shone upon the "line," +And even MR. RUSKIN came and worshipped at his shrine; +But, alas, the school he followed was heroically high - +The kind of Art men rave about, but very seldom buy; +And everybody said +"How can he be repaid - +This very great - this very good - this very gifted man?" +But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan! + +He was a great Inventor, and discovered, all alone, +A plan for making everybody's fortune but his own; +For, in business, an Inventor's little better than a fool, +And my highly-gifted friend was no exception to the rule. +His poems - people read them in the Quarterly Reviews - +His pictures - they engraved them in the ILLUSTRATED NEWS - +His inventions - they, perhaps, might have enriched him by degrees, +But all his little income went in Patent Office fees; +And everybody said +"How can he be repaid - +This very great - this very good - this very gifted man?" +But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan! + +At last the point was given up in absolute despair, +When a distant cousin died, and he became a millionaire, +With a county seat in Parliament, a moor or two of grouse, +And a taste for making inconvenient speeches in the House! +THEN it flashed upon Britannia that the fittest of rewards +Was, to take him from the Commons and to put him in the Lords! +And who so fit to sit in it, deny it if you can, +As this very great - this very good - this very gifted man? +(Though I'm more than half afraid +That it sometimes may be said +That we never should have revelled in that source of proper pride, +However great his merits - if his cousin hadn't died!) + + + +Ballad: The Magnet And The Churn + + + +A MAGNET hung in a hardware shop, +And all around was a loving crop +Of scissors and needles, nails and knives, +Offering love for all their lives; +But for iron the Magnet felt no whim, +Though he charmed iron, it charmed not him, +From needles and nails and knives he'd turn, +For he'd set his love on a Silver Churn! +His most aesthetic, +Very magnetic +Fancy took this turn - +"If I can wheedle +A knife or needle, +Why not a Silver Churn?" + +And Iron and Steel expressed surprise, +The needles opened their well-drilled eyes, +The pen-knives felt "shut up," no doubt, +The scissors declared themselves "cut out," +The kettles they boiled with rage, 'tis said, +While every nail went off its head, +And hither and thither began to roam, +Till a hammer came up - and drove it home, +While this magnetic +Peripatetic +Lover he lived to learn, +By no endeavour, +Can Magnet ever +Attract a Silver Churn! + + + +Ballad: The Family Fool + + + +Oh! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon, +If you listen to popular rumour; +From morning to night he's so joyous and bright, +And he bubbles with wit and good humour! +He's so quaint and so terse, both in prose and in verse; +Yet though people forgive his transgression, +There are one or two rules that all Family Fools +Must observe, if they love their profession. +There are one or two rules, +Half-a-dozen, maybe, +That all family fools, +Of whatever degree, +Must observe if they love their profession. + +If you wish to succeed as a jester, you'll need +To consider each person's auricular: +What is all right for B would quite scandalise C +(For C is so very particular); +And D may be dull, and E's very thick skull +Is as empty of brains as a ladle; +While F is F sharp, and will cry with a carp, +That he's known your best joke from his cradle! +When your humour they flout, +You can't let yourself go; +And it DOES put you out +When a person says, "Oh! +I have known that old joke from my cradle!" + +If your master is surly, from getting up early +(And tempers are short in the morning), +An inopportune joke is enough to provoke +Him to give you, at once, a month's warning. +Then if you refrain, he is at you again, +For he likes to get value for money: +He'll ask then and there, with an insolent stare, +"If you know that you're paid to be funny?" +It adds to the tasks +Of a merryman's place, +When your principal asks, +With a scowl on his face, +If you know that you're paid to be funny? + +Comes a Bishop, maybe, or a solemn D.D. - +Oh, beware of his anger provoking! +Better not pull his hair - don't stick pins in his chair; +He won't understand practical joking. +If the jests that you crack have an orthodox smack, +You may get a bland smile from these sages; +But should it, by chance, be imported from France, +Half-a-crown is stopped out of your wages! +It's a general rule, +Though your zeal it may quench, +If the Family Fool +Makes a joke that's TOO French, +Half-a-crown is stopped out of his wages! + +Though your head it may rack with a bilious attack, +And your senses with toothache you're losing, +And you're mopy and flat - they don't fine you for that +If you're properly quaint and amusing! +Though your wife ran away with a soldier that day, +And took with her your trifle of money; +Bless your heart, they don't mind - they're exceedingly kind - +They don't blame you - as long as you're funny! +It's a comfort to feel +If your partner should flit, +Though YOU suffer a deal, +THEY don't mind it a bit - +They don't blame you - so long as you're funny! + + + +Ballad: Sans Souci + + + +I cannot tell what this love may be +That cometh to all but not to me. +It cannot be kind as they'd imply, +Or why do these gentle ladies sigh? +It cannot be joy and rapture deep, +Or why do these gentle ladies weep? +It cannot be blissful, as 'tis said, +Or why are their eyes so wondrous red? + +If love is a thorn, they show no wit +Who foolishly hug and foster it. +If love is a weed, how simple they +Who gather and gather it, day by day! +If love is a nettle that makes you smart, +Why do you wear it next your heart? +And if it be neither of these, say I, +Why do you sit and sob and sigh? + + + +Ballad: A Recipe + + + +Take a pair of sparkling eyes, +Hidden, ever and anon, +In a merciful eclipse - +Do not heed their mild surprise - +Having passed the Rubicon. +Take a pair of rosy lips; +Take a figure trimly planned - +Such as admiration whets +(Be particular in this); +Take a tender little hand, +Fringed with dainty fingerettes, +Press it - in parenthesis; - +Take all these, you lucky man - +Take and keep them, if you can. + +Take a pretty little cot - +Quite a miniature affair - +Hung about with trellised vine, +Furnish it upon the spot +With the treasures rich and rare +I've endeavoured to define. +Live to love and love to live - +You will ripen at your ease, +Growing on the sunny side - +Fate has nothing more to give. +You're a dainty man to please +If you are not satisfied. +Take my counsel, happy man: +Act upon it, if you can! + + + +Ballad: The Merryman And His Maid + + + +[HE] I have a song to sing, O! +[SHE] Sing me your song, O! +[HE] It is sung to the moon +By a love-lorn loon, +Who fled from the mocking throng, O! +It's the song of a merryman, moping mum, +Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum, +Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, +As he sighed for the love of a ladye. +Heighdy! heighdy! +Misery me - lackadaydee! +He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb, +As he sighed for the love of a ladye! + +[SHE] I have a song to sing, O! +[HE] Sing me your song, O! +[SHE] It is sung with the ring +Of the song maids sing +Who love with a love life-long, O! +It's the song of a merrymaid, peerly proud, +Who loved a lord, and who laughed aloud +At the moan of the merryman, moping mum, +Whose soul was sore, whose glance was glum, +Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, +As he sighed for the love of a ladye! +Heighdy! heighdy! +Misery me - lackadaydee! +He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb, +As he sighed for the love of a ladye! + +[HE] I have a song to sing, O! +[SHE] Sing me your song, O! +[HE] It is sung to the knell +Of a churchyard bell, +And a doleful dirge, ding dong, O! +It's a song of a popinjay, bravely born, +Who turned up his noble nose with scorn +At the humble merrymaid, peerly proud, +Who loved that lord, and who laughed aloud +At the moan of the merryman, moping mum, +Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum, +Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, +As he sighed for the love of a ladye! +Heighdy! heighdy! +Misery me - lackadaydee! +He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb, +As he sighed for the love of a ladye! + +[SHE] I have a song to sing, O! +[HE] Sing me your song, O! +[SHE] It is sung with a sigh +And a tear in the eye, +For it tells of a righted wrong, O! +It's a song of a merrymaid, once so gay, +Who turned on her heel and tripped away +From the peacock popinjay, bravely born, +Who turned up his noble nose with scorn +At the humble heart that he did not prize; +And it tells how she begged, with downcast eyes, +For the love of a merryman, moping mum, +Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum, +Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, +As he sighed for the love of a ladye! +[BOTH] Heighdy! heighdy! +Misery me - lackadaydee! +His pains were o'er, and he sighed no more. +For he lived in the love of a ladye! + + + +Ballad: The Susceptible Chancellor + + + +The law is the true embodiment +Of everything that's excellent. +It has no kind of fault or flaw, +And I, my lords, embody the Law. +The constitutional guardian I +Of pretty young Wards in Chancery, +All very agreeable girls - and none +Is over the age of twenty-one. +A pleasant occupation for +A rather susceptible Chancellor! + +But though the compliment implied +Inflates me with legitimate pride, +It nevertheless can't be denied +That it has its inconvenient side. +For I'm not so old, and not so plain, +And I'm quite prepared to marry again, +But there'd be the deuce to pay in the Lords +If I fell in love with one of my Wards: +Which rather tries my temper, for +I'm SUCH a susceptible Chancellor! + +And every one who'd marry a Ward +Must come to me for my accord: +So in my court I sit all day, +Giving agreeable girls away, +With one for him - and one for he - +And one for you - and one for ye - +And one for thou - and one for thee - +But never, oh never a one for me! +Which is exasperating, for +A highly susceptible Chancellor! + + + +Ballad: When A Merry Maiden Marries + + + +When a merry maiden marries, +Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries; +Every sound becomes a song, +All is right and nothing's wrong! +From to-day and ever after +Let your tears be tears of laughter - +Every sigh that finds a vent +Be a sigh of sweet content! +When you marry merry maiden, +Then the air with love is laden; +Every flower is a rose, +Every goose becomes a swan, +Every kind of trouble goes +Where the last year's snows have gone; +Sunlight takes the place of shade +When you marry merry maid! + +When a merry maiden marries +Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries; +Every sound becomes a song, +All is right, and nothing's wrong. +Gnawing Care and aching Sorrow, +Get ye gone until to-morrow; +Jealousies in grim array, +Ye are things of yesterday! +When you marry merry maiden, +Then the air with joy is laden; +All the corners of the earth +Ring with music sweetly played, +Worry is melodious mirth, +Grief is joy in masquerade; +Sullen night is laughing day - +All the year is merry May! + + + +Ballad: The British Tar + + + +A British tar is a soaring soul, +As free as a mountain bird, +His energetic fist should be ready to resist +A dictatorial word. +His nose should pant and his lip should curl, +His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl, +His bosom should heave and his heart should glow, +And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow. + +His eyes should flash with an inborn fire, +His brow with scorn be rung; +He never should bow down to a domineering frown, +Or the tang of a tyrant tongue. +His foot should stamp and his throat should growl, +His hair should twirl and his face should scowl; +His eyes should flash and his breast protrude, +And this should be his customary attitude! + + + +Ballad: A Man Who Would Woo A Fair Maid + + + +A man who would woo a fair maid, +Should 'prentice himself to the trade; +And study all day, +In methodical way, +How to flatter, cajole, and persuade. +He should 'prentice himself at fourteen +And practise from morning to e'en; +And when he's of age, +If he will, I'll engage, +He may capture the heart of a queen! +It is purely a matter of skill, +Which all may attain if they will: +But every Jack +He must study the knack +If he wants to make sure of his Jill! + +If he's made the best use of his time, +His twig he'll so carefully lime +That every bird +Will come down at his word. +Whatever its plumage and clime. +He must learn that the thrill of a touch +May mean little, or nothing, or much; +It's an instrument rare, +To be handled with care, +And ought to be treated as such. +It is purely a matter of skill, +Which all may attain if they will: +But every Jack, +He must study the knack +If he wants to make sure of his Jill! + +Then a glance may be timid or free; +It will vary in mighty degree, +From an impudent stare +To a look of despair +That no maid without pity can see. +And a glance of despair is no guide - +It may have its ridiculous side; +It may draw you a tear +Or a box on the ear; +You can never be sure till you've tried. +It is purely a matter of skill, +Which all may attain if they will: +But every Jack +He must study the knack +If he wants to make sure of his Jill! + + + +Ballad: The Sorcerer's Song + + + +Oh! my name is JOHN WELLINGTON WELLS - +I'm a dealer in magic and spells, +In blessings and curses, +And ever-filled purses, +In prophecies, witches, and knells! +If you want a proud foe to "make tracks" - +If you'd melt a rich uncle in wax - +You've but to look in +On our resident Djinn, +Number seventy, Simmery Axe. + +We've a first-class assortment of magic; +And for raising a posthumous shade +With effects that are comic or tragic, +There's no cheaper house in the trade. +Love-philtre - we've quantities of it; +And for knowledge if any one burns, +We keep an extremely small prophet, a prophet +Who brings us unbounded returns: +For he can prophesy +With a wink OF his eye, +Peep with security +Into futurity, +Sum up your history, +Clear up a mystery, +Humour proclivity +For a nativity. +With mirrors so magical, +Tetrapods tragical, +Bogies spectacular, +Answers oracular, +Facts astronomical, +Solemn or comical, +And, if you want it, he +Makes a reduction on taking a quantity! +Oh! +If any one anything lacks, +He'll find it all ready in stacks, +If he'll only look in +On the resident Djinn, +Number seventy, Simmery Axe! + +He can raise you hosts, +Of ghosts, +And that without reflectors; +And creepy things +With wings, +And gaunt and grisly spectres! +He can fill you crowds +Of shrouds, +And horrify you vastly; +He can rack your brains +With chains, +And gibberings grim and ghastly. +Then, if you plan it, he +Changes organity +With an urbanity, +Full of Satanity, +Vexes humanity +With an inanity +Fatal to vanity - +Driving your foes to the verge of insanity. +Barring tautology, +In demonology, +'Lectro biology, +Mystic nosology, +Spirit philology, +High class astrology, +Such is his knowledge, he +Isn't the man to require an apology +Oh! +My name is JOHN WELLINGTON WELLS, +I'm a dealer in magic and spells, +In blessings and curses, +And ever-filled purses - +In prophecies, witches, and knells. +If any one anything lacks, +He'll find it all ready in stacks, +If he'll only look in +On the resident Djinn, +Number seventy, Simmery Axe! + + + +Ballad: The Fickle Breeze + + + +Sighing softly to the river +Comes the loving breeze, +Setting nature all a-quiver, +Rustling through the trees! +And the brook in rippling measure +Laughs for very love, +While the poplars, in their pleasure, +Wave their arms above! +River, river, little river, +May thy loving prosper ever. +Heaven speed thee, poplar tree, +May thy wooing happy be! + +Yet, the breeze is but a rover, +When he wings away, +Brook and poplar mourn a lover! +Sighing well-a-day! +Ah, the doing and undoing +That the rogue could tell! +When the breeze is out a-wooing, +Who can woo so well? +Pretty brook, thy dream is over, +For thy love is but a rover! +Sad the lot of poplar trees, +Courted by the fickle breeze! + + + +Ballad: The First Lord's Song + + + +When I was a lad I served a term +As office boy to an Attorney's firm; +I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor, +And I polished up the handle of the big front door. +I polished up that handle so successfullee, +That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee! + +As office boy I made such a mark +That they gave me the post of a junior clerk; +I served the writs with a smile so bland, +And I copied all the letters in a big round hand. +I copied all the letters in a hand so free, +That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee! + +In serving writs I made such a name +That an articled clerk I soon became; +I wore clean collars and a brand-new suit +For the Pass Examination at the Institute: +And that Pass Examination did so well for me, +That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee! + +Of legal knowledge I acquired such a grip +That they took me into the partnership, +And that junior partnership I ween, +Was the only ship that I ever had seen: +But that kind of ship so suited me, +That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee! + +I grew so rich that I was sent +By a pocket borough into Parliament; +I always voted at my Party's call, +And I never thought of thinking for myself at all. +I thought so little, they rewarded me, +By making me the Ruler of the Queen's Navee! + +Now, landsmen all, whoever you may be, +If you want to rise to the top of the tree - +If your soul isn't fettered to an office stool, +Be careful to be guided by this golden rule - +Stick close to your desks and NEVER GO TO SEA, +And you all may be Rulers of the Queen's Navee! + + + +Ballad: Would You Know? + + + +Would you know the kind of maid +Sets my heart a flame-a? +Eyes must be downcast and staid, +Cheeks must flush for shame-a! +She may neither dance nor sing, +But, demure in everything, +Hang her head in modest way +With pouting lips that seem to say, +"Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, +Though I die of shame-a!" +Please you, that's the kind of maid +Sets my heart a flame-a! + +When a maid is bold and gay +With a tongue goes clang-a, +Flaunting it in brave array, +Maiden may go hang-a! +Sunflower gay and hollyhock +Never shall my garden stock; +Mine the blushing rose of May, +With pouting lips that seem to say +"Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, +Though I die for shame-a!" +Please you, that's the kind of maid +Sets my heart a flame-a! + + + +Ballad: Speculation + + + +Comes a train of little ladies +From scholastic trammels free, +Each a little bit afraid is, +Wondering what the world can be! + +Is it but a world of trouble - +Sadness set to song? +Is its beauty but a bubble +Bound to break ere long? + +Are its palaces and pleasures +Fantasies that fade? +And the glory of its treasures +Shadow of a shade? + +Schoolgirls we, eighteen and under, +From scholastic trammels free, +And we wonder - how we wonder! - +What on earth the world can be! + + + +Ballad: Ah Me! + + + +When maiden loves, she sits and sighs, +She wanders to and fro; +Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes, +And to all questions she replies, +With a sad heigho! +'Tis but a little word - "heigho!" +So soft, 'tis scarcely heard - "heigho!" +An idle breath - +Yet life and death +May hang upon a maid's "heigho!" + +When maiden loves, she mopes apart, +As owl mopes on a tree; +Although she keenly feels the smart, +She cannot tell what ails her heart, +With its sad "Ah me!" +'Tis but a foolish sigh - "Ah me!" +Born but to droop and die - "Ah me!" +Yet all the sense +Of eloquence +Lies hidden in a maid's "Ah me!" + + + +Ballad: The Duke Of Plaza-Toro + + + +In enterprise of martial kind, +When there was any fighting, +He led his regiment from behind +(He found it less exciting). +But when away his regiment ran, +His place was at the fore, O- +That celebrated, +Cultivated, +Underrated +Nobleman, +The Duke of Plaza-Toro! +In the first and foremost flight, ha, ha! +You always found that knight, ha, ha! +That celebrated, +Cultivated, +Underrated +Nobleman, +The Duke of Plaza-Toro! + +When, to evade Destruction's hand, +To hide they all proceeded, +No soldier in that gallant band +Hid half as well as he did. +He lay concealed throughout the war, +And so preserved his gore, O! +That unaffected, +Undetected, +Well connected +Warrior, +The Duke of Plaza-Toro! +In every doughty deed, ha, ha! +He always took the lead, ha, ha! +That unaffected, +Undetected, +Well connected +Warrior, +The Duke of Plaza-Toro! + +When told that they would all be shot +Unless they left the service, +That hero hesitated not, +So marvellous his nerve is. +He sent his resignation in, +The first of all his corps, O! +That very knowing, +Overflowing, +Easy-going +Paladin, +The Duke of Plaza-Toro! +To men of grosser clay, ha, ha! +He always showed the way, ha, ha! +That very knowing, +Overflowing, +Easy-going +Paladin, +The Duke of Plaza-Toro! + + + +Ballad: The Aesthete + + + +If you're anxious for to shine in the high aesthetic line, as a man +of culture rare, +You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms, and +plant them everywhere. +You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of +your complicated state of mind +(The meaning doesn't matter if it's only idle chatter of a +transcendental kind). +And every one will say, +As you walk your mystic way, +"If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for ME, +Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man must +be!" + +Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days which have long +since passed away, +And convince 'em, if you can, that the reign of good QUEEN ANNE was +Culture's palmiest day. +Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever's fresh and new, and declare +it's crude and mean, +And that Art stopped short in the cultivated court of the EMPRESS +JOSEPHINE. +And every one will say, +As you walk your mystic way, +"If that's not good enough for him which is good enough for ME, +Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind of youth must +be!" + +Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion must excite your +languid spleen, +An attachment E LA Plato for a bashful young potato, or a not-too- +French French bean. +Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in +the high aesthetic band, +If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your +mediaeval hand. +And every one will say, +As you walk your flowery way, +"If he's content with a vegetable love which would certainly not +suit ME, +Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man +must be!" + + + +Ballad: Said I To Myself, Said I + + + +When I went to the Bar as a very young man +(Said I to myself - said I), +I'll work on a new and original plan +(Said I to myself - said I), +I'll never assume that a rogue or a thief +Is a gentleman worthy implicit belief, +Because his attorney, has sent me a brief +(Said I to myself - said I!) + +I'll never throw dust in a juryman's eyes +(Said I to myself - said I), +Or hoodwink a judge who is not over-wise +(Said I to myself - said I), +Or assume that the witnesses summoned in force +In Exchequer, Queen's Bench, Common Pleas, or Divorce, +Have perjured themselves as a matter of course +(Said I to myself - said I!) + +Ere I go into court I will read my brief through +(Said I to myself - said I), +And I'll never take work I'm unable to do +(Said I to myself - said I). +My learned profession I'll never disgrace +By taking a fee with a grin on my face, +When I haven't been there to attend to the case +(Said I to myself - said I!) + +In other professions in which men engage +(Said I to myself - said I), +The Army, the Navy, the Church, and the Stage, +(Said I to myself - said I), +Professional licence, if carried too far, +Your chance of promotion will certainly mar - +And I fancy the rule might apply to the Bar +(Said I to myself - said I!) + + + +Ballad: Sorry Her Lot + + + +Sorry her lot who loves too well, +Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly, +Sad are the sighs that own the spell +Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly; +Heavy the sorrow that bows the head +When Love is alive and Hope is dead! + +Sad is the hour when sets the Sun - +Dark is the night to Earth's poor daughters, +When to the ark the wearied one +Flies from the empty waste of waters! +Heavy the sorrow that bows the head +When Love is alive and Hope is dead! + + + +Ballad: The Contemplative Sentry + + + +When all night long a chap remains +On sentry-go, to chase monotony +He exercises of his brains, +That is, assuming that he's got any. +Though never nurtured in the lap +Of luxury, yet I admonish you, +I am an intellectual chap, +And think of things that would astonish you. +I often think it's comical +How Nature always does contrive +That every boy and every gal, +That's born into the world alive, +Is either a little Liberal, +Or else a little Conservative! +Fal lal la! + +When in that house M.P.'s divide, +If they've a brain and cerebellum, too, +They've got to leave that brain outside, +And vote just as their leaders tell 'em to. +But then the prospect of a lot +Of statesmen, all in close proximity, +A-thinking for themselves, is what +No man can face with equanimity. +Then let's rejoice with loud Fal lal +That Nature wisely does contrive +That every boy and every gal, +That's born into the world alive, +Is either a little Liberal, +Or else a little Conservative! +Fal lal la! + + + +Ballad: The Philosophic Pill + + + +I've wisdom from the East and from the West, +That's subject to no academic rule; +You may find it in the jeering of a jest, +Or distil it from the folly of a fool. +I can teach you with a quip, if I've a mind; +I can trick you into learning with a laugh; +Oh, winnow all my folly, and you'll find +A grain or two of truth among the chaff! + +I can set a braggart quailing with a quip, +The upstart I can wither with a whim; +He may wear a merry laugh upon his lip, +But his laughter has an echo that is grim. +When they've offered to the world in merry guise, +Unpleasant truths are swallowed with a will - +For he who'd make his fellow-creatures wise +Should always gild the philosophic pill! + + + +Ballad: Blue Blood + + + +Spurn not the nobly born +With love affected, +Nor treat with virtuous scorn +The well connected. +High rank involves no shame - +We boast an equal claim +With him of humble name +To be respected! +Blue blood! Blue blood! +When virtuous love is sought, +Thy power is naught, +Though dating from the Flood, +Blue blood! + +Spare us the bitter pain +Of stern denials, +Nor with low-born disdain +Augment our trials. +Hearts just as pure and fair +May beat in Belgrave Square +As in the lowly air +Of Seven Dials! +Blue blood! Blue blood! +Of what avail art thou +To serve me now? +Though dating from the Flood, +Blue blood! + + + +Ballad: The Judge's Song + + + +When I, good friends, was called to the Bar, +I'd an appetite fresh and hearty, +But I was, as many young barristers are, +An impecunious party. +I'd a swallow-tail coat of a beautiful blue - +A brief which was brought by a booby - +A couple of shirts and a collar or two, +And a ring that looked like a ruby! + +In Westminster Hall I danced a dance, +Like a semi-despondent fury; +For I thought I should never hit on a chance +Of addressing a British Jury - +But I soon got tired of third-class journeys, +And dinners of bread and water; +So I fell in love with a rich attorney's +Elderly, ugly daughter. + +The rich attorney, he wiped his eyes, +And replied to my fond professions: +"You shall reap the reward of your enterprise, +At the Bailey and Middlesex Sessions. +You'll soon get used to her looks," said he, +"And a very nice girl you'll find her - +She may very well pass for forty-three +In the dusk, with a light behind her!" + +The rich attorney was as good as his word: +The briefs came trooping gaily, +And every day my voice was heard +At the Sessions or Ancient Bailey. +All thieves who could my fees afford +Relied on my orations, +And many a burglar I've restored +To his friends and his relations. + +At length I became as rich as the GURNEYS - +An incubus then I thought her, +So I threw over that rich attorney's +Elderly, ugly daughter. +The rich attorney my character high +Tried vainly to disparage - +And now, if you please, I'm ready to try +This Breach of Promise of Marriage! + + + +Ballad: When I First Put This Uniform On + + + +When I first put this uniform on, +I said, as I looked in the glass, +"It's one to a million +That any civilian +My figure and form will surpass. +Gold lace has a charm for the fair, +And I've plenty of that, and to spare, +While a lover's professions, +When uttered in Hessians, +Are eloquent everywhere!" +A fact that I counted upon, +When I first put this uniform on! + +I said, when I first put it on, +"It is plain to the veriest dunce +That every beauty +Will feel it her duty +To yield to its glamour at once. +They will see that I'm freely gold-laced +In a uniform handsome and chaste" - +But the peripatetics +Of long-haired aesthetics, +Are very much more to their taste - +Which I never counted upon +When I first put this uniform on! + + + +Ballad: Solatium + + + +Comes the broken flower - +Comes the cheated maid - +Though the tempest lower, +Rain and cloud will fade! +Take, O maid, these posies: +Though thy beauty rare +Shame the blushing roses, +They are passing fair! +Wear the flowers till they fade; +Happy be thy life, O maid! + +O'er the season vernal, +Time may cast a shade; +Sunshine, if eternal, +Makes the roses fade: +Time may do his duty; +Let the thief alone - +Winter hath a beauty +That is all his own. +Fairest days are sun and shade: +Happy be thy life, O maid! + + + +Ballad: A Nightmare + + + +When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is +taboo'd by anxiety, +I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in +without impropriety; +For your brain is on fire - the bedclothes conspire of usual +slumber to plunder you: +First your counterpane goes and uncovers your toes, and your sheet +slips demurely from under you; +Then the blanketing tickles - you feel like mixed pickles, so +terribly sharp is the pricking, +And you're hot, and you're cross, and you tumble and toss till +there's nothing 'twixt you and the ticking. +Then the bedclothes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you pick +'em all up in a tangle; +Next your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its +usual angle! +Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot eyeballs +and head ever aching, +But your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that you'd very +much better be waking; +For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a +steamer from Harwich, +Which is something between a large bathing-machine and a very small +second-class carriage; +And you're giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a party of +friends and relations - +They're a ravenous horde - and they all came on board at Sloane +Square and South Kensington Stations. +And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started that +morning from Devon); +He's a bit undersized, and you don't feel surprised when he tells +you he's only eleven. +Well, you're driving like mad with this singular lad (by the bye +the ship's now a four-wheeler), +And you're playing round games, and he calls you bad names when you +tell him that "ties pay the dealer"; +But this you can't stand, so you throw up your hand, and you find +you're as cold as an icicle, +In your shirt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks), +crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle: +And he and the crew are on bicycles too - which they've somehow or +other invested in - +And he's telling the tars all the particuLARS of a company he's +interested in - +It's a scheme of devices, to get at low prices, all goods from +cough mixtures to cables +(Which tickled the sailors) by treating retailers, as though they +were all vegeTAbles - +You get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman (first take off +his boots with a boot-tree), +And his legs will take root, and his fingers will shoot, and +they'll blossom and bud like a fruit-tree - +From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green pea, +cauliflower, pineapple, and cranberries, +While the pastry-cook plant cherry-brandy will grant - apple puffs, +and three-corners, and banberries - +The shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by ROTHSCHILD +and BARING, +And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder +despairing - +You're a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck, and no wonder +you snore, for your head's on the floor, and you've needles and +pins from your soles to your shins, and your flesh is a-creep, for +your left leg's asleep, and you've cramp in your toes, and a fly on +your nose, and some fluff in your lung, and a feverish tongue, and +a thirst that's intense, and a general sense that you haven't been +sleeping in clover; +But the darkness has passed, and it's daylight at last, and the +night has been long - ditto, ditto my song - and thank goodness +they're both of them over! + + + +Ballad: Don't Forget! + + + +Now, Marco, dear, +My wishes hear: +While you're away +It's understood +You will be good, +And not too gay. +To every trace +Of maiden grace +You will be blind, +And will not glance +By any chance +On womankind! +If you are wise, +You'll shut your eyes +Till we arrive, +And not address +A lady less +Than forty-five; +You'll please to frown +On every gown +That you may see; +And O, my pet, +You won't forget +You've married me! + +O, my darling, O, my pet, +Whatever else you may forget, +In yonder isle beyond the sea, +O, don't forget you've married me! + +You'll lay your head +Upon your bed +At set of sun. +You will not sing +Of anything +To any one: +You'll sit and mope +All day, I hope, +And shed a tear +Upon the life +Your little wife +Is passing here! +And if so be +You think of me, +Please tell the moon; +I'll read it all +In rays that fall +On the lagoon: +You'll be so kind +As tell the wind +How you may be, +And send me words +By little birds +To comfort me! + +And O, my darling, O, my pet, +Whatever else you may forget, +In yonder isle beyond the sea, +O, don't forget you've married me! + + + +Ballad: The Suicide's Grave + + + +On a tree by a river a little tomtit +Sang "Willow, titwillow, titwillow!" +And I said to him, "Dicky-bird, why do you sit +Singing 'Willow, titwillow, titwillow'? +Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?" I cried, +"Or a rather tough worm in your little inside?" +With a shake of his poor little head he replied, +"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!" + +He slapped at his chest, as he sat on that bough, +Singing "Willow, titwillow, titwillow!" +And a cold perspiration bespangled his brow, +Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow! +He sobbed and he sighed, and a gurgle he gave, +Then he threw himself into the billowy wave, +And an echo arose from the suicide's grave - +"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!" + +Now I feel just as sure as I'm sure that my name +Isn't Willow, titwillow, titwillow, +That 'twas blighted affection that made him exclaim, +"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!" +And if you remain callous and obdurate, I +Shall perish as he did, and you will know why, +Though I probably shall not exclaim as I die, +"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!" + + + +Ballad: He And She + + + +[HE.] I know a youth who loves a little maid - +(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!) +Silent is he, for he's modest and afraid - +(Hey, but he's timid as a youth can be!) +[SHE.] I know a maid who loves a gallant youth - +(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!) +SHE cannot tell him all the sad, sad truth - +(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!) +[BOTH.] Now tell me pray, and tell me true, +What in the world should the poor soul do? + +[HE.] He cannot eat and he cannot sleep - +(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!) +Daily he goes for to wail - for to weep - +(Hey, but he's wretched as a youth can be!) +[SHE.] She's very thin and she's very pale - +(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!) +Daily she goes for to weep - for to wail - +(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!) +[BOTH.] Now tell me pray, and tell me true, +What in the world should the poor soul do? + +[SHE.] If I were the youth I should offer her my name - +(Hey, but her face is a sight for to see!) +[HE.] If I were the maid I should fan his honest flame - +(Hey, but he's bashful as a youth can be!) +[SHE.] If I were the youth I should speak to her to-day - +(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!) +[HE.] If I were the maid I should meet the lad half way - +(For I really do believe that timid youth will die!) +[BOTH.] I thank you much for your counsel true; +I've learnt what that poor soul ought to do! + + + +Ballad: The Mighty Must + + + +Come mighty Must! +Inevitable Shall! +In thee I trust. +Time weaves my coronal! +Go mocking Is! +Go disappointing Was! +That I am this +Ye are the cursed cause! +Yet humble Second shall be First, +I ween; +And dead and buried be the curst +Has Been! + +Oh weak Might Be! +Oh May, Might, Could, Would, Should! +How powerless ye +For evil or for good! +In every sense +Your moods I cheerless call, +Whate'er your tense +Ye are Imperfect, all! +Ye have deceived the trust I've shown +In ye! +Away! The Mighty Must alone +Shall be! + + + +Ballad: A Mirage + + + +Were I thy bride, +Then the whole world beside +Were not too wide +To hold my wealth of love - +Were I thy bride! +Upon thy breast +My loving head would rest, +As on her nest +The tender turtle-dove - +Were I thy bride! + +This heart of mine +Would be one heart with thine, +And in that shrine +Our happiness would dwell - +Were I thy bride! +And all day long +Our lives should be a song: +No grief, no wrong +Should make my heart rebel - +Were I thy bride! + +The silvery flute, +The melancholy lute, +Were night-owl's hoot +To my low-whispered coo - +Were I thy bride! +The skylark's trill +Were but discordance shrill +To the soft thrill +Of wooing as I'd woo - +Were I thy bride! + +The rose's sigh +Were as a carrion's cry +To lullaby +Such as I'd sing to thee - +Were I thy bride! +A feather's press +Were leaden heaviness +To my caress. +But then, unhappily, +I'm not thy bride! + + + +Ballad: The Ghosts' High Noon + + + +When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the +moonlight flies, +And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies +- +When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs +bay the moon, +Then is the spectres' holiday - then is the ghosts' high noon! + +As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie +low on the fen, +From grey tombstones are gathered the bones that once were women +and men, +And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too +soon, +For cockcrow limits our holiday - the dead of the night's high +noon! + +And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds +take flight, +With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim "good +night"; +Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its +jolliest tune, +And ushers our next high holiday - the dead of the night's high +noon! + + + +Ballad: The Humane Mikado + + + +A more humane Mikado never +Did in Japan exist; +To nobody second, +I'm certainly reckoned +A true philanthropist. +It is my very humane endeavour +To make, to some extent, +Each evil liver +A running river +Of harmless merriment. + +My object all sublime +I shall achieve in time - +To let the punishment fit the crime - +The punishment fit the crime; +And make each prisoner pent +Unwillingly represent +A source of innocent merriment - +Of innocent merriment! + +All prosy dull society sinners, +Who chatter and bleat and bore, +Are sent to hear sermons +From mystical Germans +Who preach from ten to four: +The amateur tenor, whose vocal villainies +All desire to shirk, +Shall, during off-hours, +Exhibit his powers +To Madame Tussaud's waxwork: +The lady who dyes a chemical yellow, +Or stains her grey hair puce, +Or pinches her figger, +Is blacked like a nigger +With permanent walnut juice: +The idiot who, in railway carriages, +Scribbles on window panes, +We only suffer +To ride on a buffer +In Parliamentary trains. + +My object all sublime +I shall achieve in time - +To let the punishment fit the crime - +The punishment fit the crime; +And make each prisoner pent +Unwillingly represent +A source of innocent merriment - +Of innocent merriment! + +The advertising quack who wearies +With tales of countless cures, +His teeth, I've enacted, +Shall all be extracted +By terrified amateurs: +The music-hall singer attends a series +Of masses and fugues and "ops" +By Bach, interwoven +With Spohr and Beethoven, +At classical Monday Pops: +The billiard sharp whom any one catches +His doom's extremely hard - +He's made to dwell +In a dungeon cell +On a spot that's always barred; +And there he plays extravagant matches +In fitless finger-stalls, +On a cloth untrue +With a twisted cue, +And elliptical billiard balls! + +My object all sublime +I shall achieve in time - +To let the punishment fit the crime - +The punishment fit the crime; +And make each prisoner pent +Unwillingly represent +A source of innocent merriment, +Of innocent merriment! + + + +Ballad: Willow Waly! + + + +[HE.] PRITHEE, pretty maiden - prithee, tell me true +(Hey, but I'm doleful, willow, willow waly!) +Have you e'er a lover a-dangling after you? +Hey, willow waly O! +I would fain discover +If you have a lover? +Hey, willow waly O! + +[SHE.] Gentle sir, my heart is frolicsome and free - +(Hey, but he's doleful, willow, willow waly!) +Nobody I care for comes a-courting me - +Hey, willow waly O! +Nobody I care for +Comes a-courting - therefore, +Hey, willow waly O! + +[HE.] Prithee, pretty maiden, will you marry me? +(Hey, but I'm hopeful, willow, willow waly!) +I may say, at once, I'm a man of propertee - +Hey, willow waly O! +Money, I despise it, +But many people prize it, +Hey, willow waly O! + +[SHE.] Gentle sir, although to marry I design - +(Hey, but he's hopeful, willow, willow waly!) +As yet I do not know you, and so I must decline. +Hey, willow waly O! +To other maidens go you - +As yet I do not know you, +Hey, willow waly O! + + + +Ballad: Life Is Lovely All The Year + + + +When the buds are blossoming, +Smiling welcome to the spring, +Lovers choose a wedding day - +Life is love in merry May! + +Spring is green - Fal lal la! +Summer's rose - Fal lal la! +It is sad when Summer goes, +Fal la! +Autumn's gold - Fal lal la! +Winter's grey - Fal lal la! +Winter still is far away - +Fal la! +Leaves in Autumn fade and fall; +Winter is the end of all. +Spring and summer teem with glee: +Spring and summer, then, for me! +Fal la! + +In the Spring-time seed is sown: +In the Summer grass is mown: +In the Autumn you may reap: +Winter is the time for sleep. + +Spring is hope - Fal lal la! +Summer's joy - Fal lal la! +Spring and Summer never cloy, +Fal la! +Autumn, toil - Fal lal la! +Winter, rest - Fal lal la! +Winter, after all, is best - +Fal la! +Spring and summer pleasure you, +Autumn, ay, and winter, too - +Every season has its cheer; +Life is lovely all the year! +Fal la! + + + +Ballad: The Usher's Charge + + + +Now, Jurymen, hear my advice - +All kinds of vulgar prejudice +I pray you set aside: +With stern judicial frame of mind - +From bias free of every kind, +This trial must be tried! + +Oh, listen to the plaintiff's case: +Observe the features of her face - +The broken-hearted bride! +Condole with her distress of mind - +From bias free of every kind, +This trial must be tried! + +And when amid the plaintiff's shrieks, +The ruffianly defendant speaks - +Upon the other side; +What HE may say you need not mind - +From bias free of every kind, +This trial must be tried! + + + +Ballad: The Great Oak Tree + + + +There grew a little flower +'Neath a great oak tree: +When the tempest 'gan to lower +Little heeded she: +No need had she to cower, +For she dreaded not its power - +She was happy in the bower +Of her great oak tree! +Sing hey, +Lackaday! +Let the tears fall free +For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree! + +When she found that he was fickle, +Was that great oak tree, +She was in a pretty pickle, +As she well might be - +But his gallantries were mickle, +For Death followed with his sickle, +And her tears began to trickle +For her great oak tree! +Sing hey, +Lackaday! +Let the tears fall free +For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree! + +Said she, "He loved me never, +Did that great oak tree, +But I'm neither rich nor clever, +And so why should he? +But though fate our fortunes sever, +To be constant I'll endeavour, +Ay, for ever and for ever, +To my great oak tree!" +Sing hey, +Lackaday! +Let the tears fall free +For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree! + + + +Ballad: King Goodheart + + + +There lived a King, as I've been told +In the wonder-working days of old, +When hearts were twice as good as gold, +And twenty times as mellow. +Good temper triumphed in his face, +And in his heart he found a place +For all the erring human race +And every wretched fellow. +When he had Rhenish wine to drink +It made him very sad to think +That some, at junket or at jink, +Must be content with toddy: +He wished all men as rich as he +(And he was rich as rich could be), +So to the top of every tree +Promoted everybody. + +Ambassadors cropped up like hay, +Prime Ministers and such as they +Grew like asparagus in May, +And Dukes were three a penny: +Lord Chancellors were cheap as sprats, +And Bishops in their shovel hats +Were plentiful as tabby cats - +If possible, too many. +On every side Field-Marshals gleamed, +Small beer were Lords-Lieutenants deemed, +With Admirals the ocean teemed, +All round his wide dominions; +And Party Leaders you might meet +In twos and threes in every street +Maintaining, with no little heat, +Their various opinions. + +That King, although no one denies, +His heart was of abnormal size, +Yet he'd have acted otherwise +If he had been acuter. +The end is easily foretold, +When every blessed thing you hold +Is made of silver, or of gold, +You long for simple pewter. +When you have nothing else to wear +But cloth of gold and satins rare, +For cloth of gold you cease to care - +Up goes the price of shoddy: +In short, whoever you may be, +To this conclusion you'll agree, +When every one is somebody, +Then no one's anybody! + + + +Ballad: Sleep On! + + + +Fear no unlicensed entry, +Heed no bombastic talk, +While guards the British Sentry +Pall Mall and Birdcage Walk. +Let European thunders +Occasion no alarms, +Though diplomatic blunders +May cause a cry "To arms!" +Sleep on, ye pale civilians; +All thunder-clouds defy: +On Europe's countless millions +The Sentry keeps his eye! + +Should foreign-born rapscallions +In London dare to show +Their overgrown battalions, +Be sure I'll let you know. +Should Russians or Norwegians +Pollute our favoured clime +With rough barbaric legions, +I'll mention it in time. +So sleep in peace, civilians, +The Continent defy; +While on its countless millions +The Sentry keeps his eye ! + + + +Ballad: The Love-Sick Boy + + + +When first my old, old love I knew, +My bosom welled with joy; +My riches at her feet I threw; +I was a love-sick boy! +No terms seemed too extravagant +Upon her to employ - +I used to mope, and sigh, and pant, +Just like a love-sick boy! + +But joy incessant palls the sense; +And love unchanged will cloy, +And she became a bore intense +Unto her love-sick boy? +With fitful glimmer burnt my flame, +And I grew cold and coy, +At last, one morning, I became +Another's love-sick boy! + + + +Ballad: Poetry Everywhere + + + +What time the poet hath hymned +The writhing maid, lithe-limbed, +Quivering on amaranthine asphodel, +How can he paint her woes, +Knowing, as well he knows, +That all can be set right with calomel? + +When from the poet's plinth +The amorous colocynth +Yearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous thrills, +How can he hymn their throes +Knowing, as well he knows, +That they are only uncompounded pills? + +Is it, and can it be, +Nature hath this decree, +Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell? +Or that in all her works +Something poetic lurks, +Even in colocynth and calomel? + + + +Ballad: He Loves! + + + +He loves! If in the bygone years +Thine eyes have ever shed +Tears - bitter, unavailing tears, +For one untimely dead - +If in the eventide of life +Sad thoughts of her arise, +Then let the memory of thy wife +Plead for my boy - he dies! + +He dies! If fondly laid aside +In some old cabinet, +Memorials of thy long-dead bride +Lie, dearly treasured yet, +Then let her hallowed bridal dress - +Her little dainty gloves - +Her withered flowers - her faded tress - +Plead for my boy - he loves! + + + +Ballad: True Diffidence + + + +My boy, you may take it from me, +That of all the afflictions accurst +With which a man's saddled +And hampered and addled, +A diffident nature's the worst. +Though clever as clever can be - +A Crichton of early romance - +You must stir it and stump it, +And blow your own trumpet, +Or, trust me, you haven't a chance. + +Now take, for example, MY case: +I've a bright intellectual brain - +In all London city +There's no one so witty - +I've thought so again and again. +I've a highly intelligent face - +My features cannot be denied - +But, whatever I try, sir, +I fail in - and why, sir? +I'm modesty personified! + +As a poet, I'm tender and quaint - +I've passion and fervour and grace - +From Ovid and Horace +To Swinburne and Morris, +They all of them take a back place. +Then I sing and I play and I paint; +Though none are accomplished as I, +To say so were treason: +You ask me the reason? +I'm diffident, modest, and shy! + + + +Ballad: The Tangled Skein + + + +Try we life-long, we can never +Straighten out life's tangled skein, +Why should we, in vain endeavour, +Guess and guess and guess again? +Life's a pudding full of plums +Care's a canker that benumbs. +Wherefore waste our elocution +On impossible solution? +Life's a pleasant institution, +Let us take it as it comes! + +Set aside the dull enigma, +We shall guess it all too soon; +Failure brings no kind of stigma - +Dance we to another tune! +String the lyre and fill the cup, +Lest on sorrow we should sup; +Hop and skip to Fancy's fiddle, +Hands across and down the middle - +Life's perhaps the only riddle +That we shrink from giving up! + + + +Ballad: My Lady + + + +Bedecked in fashion trim, +With every curl a-quiver; +Or leaping, light of limb, +O'er rivulet and river; +Or skipping o'er the lea +On daffodil and daisy; +Or stretched beneath a tree, +All languishing and lazy; +Whatever be her mood - +Be she demurely prude +Or languishingly lazy - +My lady drives me crazy! +In vain her heart is wooed, +Whatever be her mood! + +What profit should I gain +Suppose she loved me dearly? +Her coldness turns my brain +To VERGE of madness merely. +Her kiss - though, Heaven knows, +To dream of it were treason - +Would tend, as I suppose, +To utter loss of reason! +My state is not amiss; +I would not have a kiss +Which, in or out of season, +Might tend to loss of reason: +What profit in such bliss? +A fig for such a kiss! + + + +Ballad: One Against The World + + + +It's my opinion - though I own +In thinking so I'm quite alone - +In some respects I'm but a fright. +YOU like my features, I suppose? +I'M disappointed with my nose: +Some rave about it - perhaps they're right. +My figure just sets off a fit; +But when they say it's exquisite +(And they DO say so), that's too strong. +I hope I'm not what people call +Opinionated! After all, +I'm but a goose, and may be wrong! + +When charms enthral +There's some excuse +For measures strong; +And after all +I'm but a goose, +And may be wrong! + +My teeth are very neat, no doubt; +But after all they MAY fall out: +I think they will - some think they won't. +My hands are small, as you may see, +But not as small as they might be, +At least, I think so - others don't. +But there, a girl may preach and prate +From morning six to evening eight, +And never stop to dine, +When all the world, although misled, +Is quite agreed on any head - +And it is quite agreed on mine! + +All said and done, +It's little I +Against a throng. +I'm only one, +And possibly +I may be wrong! + + + +Ballad: Put A Penny In The Slot + + + +If my action's stiff and crude, +Do not laugh, because it's rude. +If my gestures promise larks, +Do not make unkind remarks. +Clockwork figures may be found +Everywhere and all around. +Ten to one, if I but knew, +You are clockwork figures too. +And the motto of the lot, +"Put a penny in the slot!" + +Usurer, for money lent, +Making out his cent per cent - +Widow plump or maiden rare, +Deaf and dumb to suitor's prayer - +Tax collectors, whom in vain +You implore to "call again" - +Cautious voter, whom you find +Slow in making up his mind - +If you'd move them on the spot, +Put a penny in the slot! + +Bland reporters in the courts, +Who suppress police reports - +Sheriff's yeoman, pen in fist, +Making out a jury list - +Stern policemen, tall and spare, +Acting all "upon the square" - +(Which in words that plainer fall, +Means that you can square them all) - +If you want to move the lot, +Put a penny in the slot! + + + +Ballad: Good Little Girls + + + +Although of native maids the cream, +We're brought up on the English scheme - +The best of all +For great and small +Who modesty adore. +For English girls are good as gold, +Extremely modest (so we're told), +Demurely coy - divinely cold - +And we are that - and more. +To please papa, who argues thus - +All girls should mould themselves on us, +Because we are, +By furlongs far, +The best of all the bunch; +We show ourselves to loud applause +From ten to four without a pause - +Which is an awkward time because +It cuts into our lunch. + +Oh, maids of high and low degree, +Whose social code is rather free, +Please look at us and you will see +What good young ladies ought to be! + +And as we stand, like clockwork toys, +A lecturer papa employs +To puff and praise +Our modest ways +And guileless character - +Our well-known blush - our downcast eyes - +Our famous look of mild surprise +(Which competition still defies) - +Our celebrated "Sir!!!" +Then all the crowd take down our looks +In pocket memorandum books. +To diagnose, +Our modest pose +The kodaks do their best: +If evidence you would possess +Of what is maiden bashfulness, +You only need a button press - +And WE do all the rest. + + + +Ballad: Life + + + +First you're born - and I'll be bound you +Find a dozen strangers round you. +"Hallo," cries the new-born baby, +"Where's my parents? which may they be?" +Awkward silence - no reply - +Puzzled baby wonders why! +Father rises, bows politely - +Mother smiles (but not too brightly) - +Doctor mumbles like a dumb thing - +Nurse is busy mixing something. - +Every symptom tends to show +You're decidedly DE TROP - +Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! he! ho! ho! +Time's teetotum, +If you spin it, +Give its quotum +Once a minute: +I'll go bail +You hit the nail, +And if you fail +The deuce is in it! + +You grow up, and you discover +What it is to be a lover. +Some young lady is selected - +Poor, perhaps, but well-connected, +Whom you hail (for Love is blind +As the Queen of Fairy-kind. +Though she's plain - perhaps unsightly, +Makes her face up - laces tightly, +In her form your fancy traces +All the gifts of all the graces. +Rivals none the maiden woo, +So you take her and she takes you! +Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! +Joke beginning, +Never ceases, +Till your inning +Time releases; +On your way +You blindly stray, +And day by day +The joke increases! + +Ten years later - Time progresses - +Sours your temper - thins your tresses; +Fancy, then, her chain relaxes; +Rates are facts and so are taxes. +Fairy Queen's no longer young - +Fairy Queen has such a tongue! +Twins have probably intruded - +Quite unbidden - just as you did; +They're a source of care and trouble - +Just as you were - only double. +Comes at last the final stroke - +Time has had his little joke! +Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! +Daily driven +(Wife as drover) +Ill you've thriven - +Ne'er in clover: +Lastly, when +Threescore and ten +(And not till then), +The joke is over! +Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! +Then - and then +The joke is over! + + + +Ballad: Limited Liability + + + +Some seven men form an Association +(If possible, all Peers and Baronets), +They start off with a public declaration +To what extent they mean to pay their debts. +That's called their Capital: if they are wary +They will not quote it at a sum immense. +The figure's immaterial - it may vary +From eighteen million down to eighteenpence. +I should put it rather low; +The good sense of doing so +Will be evident at once to any debtor. +When it's left to you to say +What amount you mean to pay, +Why, the lower you can put it at, the better. + +They then proceed to trade with all who'll trust 'em, +Quite irrespective of their capital +(It's shady, but it's sanctified by custom); +Bank, Railway, Loan, or Panama Canal. +You can't embark on trading too tremendous - +It's strictly fair, and based on common sense - +If you succeed, your profits are stupendous - +And if you fail, pop goes your eighteenpence. +Make the money-spinner spin! +For you only stand to win, +And you'll never with dishonesty be twitted. +For nobody can know, +To a million or so, +To what extent your capital's committed! + +If you come to grief, and creditors are craving +(For nothing that is planned by mortal head +Is certain in this Vale of Sorrow - saving +That one's Liability is Limited), - +Do you suppose that signifies perdition? +If so you're but a monetary dunce - +You merely file a Winding-Up Petition, +And start another Company at once! +Though a Rothschild you may be +In your own capacity, +As a Company you've come to utter sorrow - +But the Liquidators say, +"Never mind - you needn't pay," +So you start another Company to-morrow! + + + +Ballad: Anglicised Utopia + + + +Society has quite forsaken all her wicked courses, +Which empties our police courts, and abolishes divorces. +(Divorce is nearly obsolete in England.) +No tolerance we show to undeserving rank and splendour; +For the higher his position is, the greater the offender. +(That's a maxim that is prevalent in England.) +No Peeress at our Drawing-Room before the Presence passes +Who wouldn't be accepted by the lower-middle classes; +Each shady dame, whatever be her rank, is bowed out neatly. +In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely! +It really is surprising +What a thorough Anglicising +We've brought about - Utopia's quite another land; +In her enterprising movements, +She is England - with improvements, +Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land! + +Our city we have beautified - we've done it willy-nilly - +And all that isn't Belgrave Square is Strand and Piccadilly. +(They haven't any slummeries in England.) +We have solved the labour question with discrimination polished, +So poverty is obsolete and hunger is abolished - +(They are going to abolish it in England.) +The Chamberlain our native stage has purged, beyond a question, +Of "risky" situation and indelicate suggestion; +No piece is tolerated if it's costumed indiscreetly - +In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely! +It really is surprising +What a thorough Anglicising +We've brought about - Utopia's quite another land; +In her enterprising movements, +She is England - with improvements, +Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land! + +Our Peerage we've remodelled on an intellectual basis, +Which certainly is rough on our hereditary races - +(They are going to remodel it in England.) +The Brewers and the Cotton Lords no longer seek admission, +And Literary Merit meets with proper recognition - +(As Literary Merit does in England!) +Who knows but we may count among our intellectual chickens +Like them an Earl of Thackeray and p'raps a Duke of Dickens - +Lord Fildes and Viscount Millais (when they come) we'll welcome +sweetly - +And then, this happy country will be Anglicised completely! +It really is surprising +What a thorough Anglicising +We've brought about - Utopia's quite another land; +In her enterprising movements, +She is England - with improvements, +Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land! + + + +Ballad: An English Girl + + + +A wonderful joy our eyes to bless, +In her magnificent comeliness, +Is an English girl of eleven stone two, +And five foot ten in her dancing shoe! +She follows the hounds, and on she pounds - +The "field" tails off and the muffs diminish - +Over the hedges and brooks she bounds - +Straight as a crow, from find to finish. +At cricket, her kin will lose or win - +She and her maids, on grass and clover, +Eleven maids out - eleven maids in - +(And perhaps an occasional "maiden over"). +Go search the world and search the sea, +Then come you home and sing with me +There's no such gold and no such pearl +As a bright and beautiful English girl! + +With a ten-mile spin she stretches her limbs, +She golfs, she punts, she rows, she swims - +She plays, she sings, she dances, too, +From ten or eleven till all is blue! +At ball or drum, till small hours come +(Chaperon's fan conceals her yawning), +She'll waltz away like a teetotum, +And never go home till daylight's dawning. +Lawn tennis may share her favours fair - +Her eyes a-dance and her cheeks a-glowing - +Down comes her hair, but what does she care? +It's all her own and it's worth the showing! +Go search the world and search the sea, +Then come you home and sing with me +There's no such gold and no such pearl +As a bright and beautiful English girl! + +Her soul is sweet as the ocean air, +For prudery knows no haven there; +To find mock-modesty, please apply +To the conscious blush and the downcast eye. +Rich in the things contentment brings, +In every pure enjoyment wealthy, +Blithe as a beautiful bird she sings, +For body and mind are hale and healthy. +Her eyes they thrill with right goodwill - +Her heart is light as a floating feather - +As pure and bright as the mountain rill +That leaps and laughs in the Highland heather! +Go search the world and search the sea, +Then come you home and sing with me +There's no such gold and no such pearl +As a bright and beautiful English girl! + + + +Ballad: A Manager's Perplexities + + + +Were I a king in very truth, +And had a son - a guileless youth - +In probable succession; +To teach him patience, teach him tact, +How promptly in a fix to act, +He should adopt, in point of fact, +A manager's profession. +To that condition he should stoop +(Despite a too fond mother), +With eight or ten "stars" in his troupe, +All jealous of each other! +Oh, the man who can rule a theatrical crew, +Each member a genius (and some of them two), +And manage to humour them, little and great, +Can govern a tuppenny-ha'penny State! + +Both A and B rehearsal slight - +They say they'll be "all right at night" +(They've both to go to school yet); +C in each act MUST change her dress, +D WILL attempt to "square the press"; +E won't play Romeo unless +His grandmother plays Juliet; +F claims all hoydens as her rights +(She's played them thirty seasons); +And G must show herself in tights +For two convincing reasons - +Two very well-shaped reasons! +Oh, the man who can drive a theatrical team, +With wheelers and leaders in order supreme, +Can govern and rule, with a wave of his fin, +All Europe and Asia - with Ireland thrown in! + + + +Ballad: Out Of Sorts + + + +When you find you're a broken-down critter, +Who is all of a trimmle and twitter, +With your palate unpleasantly bitter, +As if you'd just bitten a pill - +When your legs are as thin as dividers, +And you're plagued with unruly insiders, +And your spine is all creepy with spiders, +And you're highly gamboge in the gill - +When you've got a beehive in your head, +And a sewing machine in each ear, +And you feel that you've eaten your bed, +And you've got a bad headache DOWN HERE - +When such facts are about, +And these symptoms you find +In your body or crown - +Well, it's time to look out, +You may make up your mind +You had better lie down! + +When your lips are all smeary - like tallow, +And your tongue is decidedly yallow, +With a pint of warm oil in your swAllow, +And a pound of tin-tacks in your chest - +When you're down in the mouth with the vapours, +And all over your new Morris papers +Black-beetles are cutting their capers, +And crawly things never at rest - +When you doubt if your head is your own, +And you jump when an open door slams - +Then you've got to a state which is known +To the medical world as "jim-jams." +If such symptoms you find +In your body or head, +They're not easy to quell - +You may make up your mind +You are better in bed, +For you're not at all well! + + + +Ballad: How It's Done + + + +Bold-faced ranger +(Perfect stranger) +Meets two well-behaved young ladies +He's attractive, +Young and active - +Each a little bit afraid is. +Youth advances, +At his glances +To their danger they awaken; +They repel him +As they tell him +He is very much mistaken. +Though they speak to him politely, +Please observe they're sneering slightly, +Just to show he's acting vainly. +This is Virtue saying plainly, +"Go away, young bachelor, +We are not what you take us for!" +(When addressed impertinently, +English ladies answer gently, +"Go away, young bachelor, +We are not what you take us for!") + +As he gazes, +Hat he raises, +Enters into conversation. +Makes excuses - +This produces +Interesting agitation. +He, with daring, +Undespairing, +Gives his card - his rank discloses - +Little heeding +This proceeding, +They turn up their little noses. +Pray observe this lesson vital - +When a man of rank and title +His position first discloses, +Always cock your little noses. +When at home, let all the class +Try this in the looking-glass. +(English girls of well-bred notions +Shun all unrehearsed emotions, +English girls of highest class +Practise them before the glass.) + +His intentions +Then he mentions, +Something definite to go on - +Makes recitals +Of his titles, +Hints at settlements, and so on. +Smiling sweetly, +They, discreetly, +Ask for further evidences: +Thus invited, +He, delighted, +Gives the usual references. +This is business. Each is fluttered +When the offer's fairly uttered. +"Which of them has his affection?" +He declines to make selection. +Do they quarrel for his dross? +Not a bit of it - they toss! +Please observe this cogent moral - +English ladies never quarrel. +When a doubt they come across, +English ladies always toss. + + + +Ballad: A Classical Revival + + + +At the outset I may mention it's my sovereign intention +To revive the classic memories of Athens at its best, +For my company possesses all the necessary dresses, +And a course of quiet cramming will supply us with the rest. +We've a choir hyporchematic (that is, ballet-operatic) +Who respond to the CHOREUTAE of that cultivated age, +And our clever chorus-master, all but captious criticaster, +Would accept as the CHOREGUS of the early Attic stage. +This return to classic ages is considered in their wages, +Which are always calculated by the day or by the week - +And I'll pay 'em (if they'll back me) all in OBOLOI and DRACHMAE, +Which they'll get (if they prefer it) at the Kalends that are +Greek! + +(At this juncture I may mention +That this erudition sham +Is but classical pretension, +The result of steady "cram.": +Periphrastic methods spurning, +To my readers all discerning +I admit this show of learning +Is the fruit of steady cram."!) + +In the period Socratic every dining-room was Attic +(Which suggests an architecture of a topsy-turvy kind), +There they'd satisfy their twist on a RECHERCHE cold [Greek text +which cannot be reproduced], +Which is what they called their lunch - and so may you, if you're +inclined. +As they gradually got on, they'd [Greek text which cannot be +reproduced] +(Which is Attic for a steady and a conscientious drink). +But they mixed their wine with water - which I'm sure they didn't +oughter - +And we Anglo-Saxons know a trick worth two of that, I think! +Then came rather risky dances (under certain circumstances) +Which would shock that worthy gentleman, the Licenser of Plays, +Corybantian maniAC kick - Dionysiac or Bacchic - +And the Dithyrambic revels of those indecorous days. + +(And perhaps I'd better mention +Lest alarming you I am, +That it isn't our intention +To perform a Dithyramb - +It displays a lot of stocking, +Which is always very shocking, +And of course I'm only mocking +At the prevalence of "cram.") + +Yes, on reconsideration, there are customs of that nation +Which are not in strict accordance with the habits of our day, +And when I come to codify, their rules I mean to modify, +Or Mrs. Grundy, p'r'aps, may have a word or two to say: +For they hadn't macintoshes or umbrellas or goloshes - +And a shower with their dresses must have played the very deuce, +And it must have been unpleasing when they caught a fit of +sneezing, +For, it seems, of pocket-handkerchiefs they didn't know the use. +They wore little underclothing - scarcely anything - or no-thing - +And their dress of Coan silk was quite transparent in design - +Well, in fact, in summer weather, something like the "altogether." +And it's THERE, I rather fancy, I shall have to draw the line! + +(And again I wish to mention +That this erudition sham +Is but classical pretension, +The result of steady "cram." +Yet my classic love aggressive, +If you'll pardon the possessive, +Is exceedingly impressive +When you're passing an exam.) + + + +Ballad: The Practical Joker + + + +Oh what a fund of joy jocund lies hid in harmless hoaxes! +What keen enjoyment springs +From cheap and simple things! +What deep delight from sources trite inventive humour coaxes, +That pain and trouble brew +For every one but you! +Gunpowder placed inside its waist improves a mild Havanah, +Its unexpected flash +Burns eyebrows and moustache; +When people dine no kind of wine beats ipecacuanha, +But common sense suggests +You keep it for your guests - +Then naught annoys the organ boys like throwing red-hot coppers, +And much amusement bides +In common butter-slides. +And stringy snares across the stairs cause unexpected croppers. +Coal scuttles, recollect, +Produce the same effect. +A man possessed +Of common sense +Need not invest +At great expense - +It does not call +For pocket deep, +These jokes are all +Extremely cheap. +If you commence with eighteenpence (it's all you'll have to pay), +You may command a pleasant and a most instructive day. + +A good spring gun breeds endless fun, and makes men jump like +rockets, +And turnip-heads on posts +Make very decent ghosts: +Then hornets sting like anything, when placed in waist-coat pockets +- +Burnt cork and walnut juice +Are not without their use. +No fun compares with easy chairs whose seats are stuffed with +needles - +Live shrimps their patience tax +When put down people's backs - +Surprising, too, what one can do with fifty fat black beedles - +And treacle on a chair +Will make a Quaker swear! +Then sharp tin tacks +And pocket squirts - +And cobblers' wax +For ladies' skirts - +And slimy slugs +On bedroom floors - +And water jugs +On open doors - +Prepared with these cheap properties, amusing tricks to play, +Upon a friend a man may spend a most delightful day! + + + +Ballad: The National Anthem + + + +A monarch is pestered with cares, +Though, no doubt, he can often trepan them; +But one comes in a shape he can never escape - +The implacable National Anthem! +Though for quiet and rest he may yearn, +It pursues him at every turn - +No chance of forsaking +Its ROCOCO numbers; +They haunt him when waking - +They poison his slumbers - +Like the Banbury Lady, whom every one knows, +He's cursed with its music wherever he goes! +Though its words but imperfectly rhyme, +And the devil himself couldn't scan them; +With composure polite he endures day and night +That illiterate National Anthem! + +It serves a good purpose, I own: +Its strains are devout and impressive - +Its heart-stirring notes raise a lump in our throats +As we burn with devotion excessive: +But the King, who's been bored by that song +From his cradle - each day - all day long - +Who's heard it loud-shouted +By throats operatic, +And loyally spouted +By courtiers emphatic - +By soldier - by sailor - by drum and by fife - +Small blame if he thinks it the plague of his life! +While his subjects sing loudly and long, +Their King - who would willingly ban them - +Sits, worry disguising, anathematising +That Bogie, the National Anthem! + + + +Ballad: Her Terms + + + +My wedded life +Must every pleasure bring +On scale extensive! +If I'm your wife +I must have everything +That's most expensive - +A lady's-maid - +(My hair alone to do +I am not able) - +And I'm afraid +I've been accustomed to +A first-rate table. +These things one must consider when one marries - +And everything I wear must come from Paris! +Oh, think of that! +Oh, think of that! +I can't wear anything that's not from Paris! +From top to toes +Quite Frenchified I am, +If you examine. +And then - who knows? - +Perhaps some day a fam - +Perhaps a famine! +My argument's correct, if you examine, +What should we do, if there should come a f-famine! + +Though in green pea +Yourself you needn't stint +In July sunny, +In Januaree +It really costs a mint - +A mint of money! +No lamb for us - +House lamb at Christmas sells +At prices handsome: +Asparagus, +In winter, parallels +A Monarch's ransom: +When purse to bread and butter barely reaches, +What is your wife to do for hot-house peaches? +Ah! tell me that! +Ah! tell me that! +What IS your wife to do for hot-house peaches? +Your heart and hand +Though at my feet you lay, +All others scorning! +As matters stand, +There's nothing now to say +Except - good morning! +Though virtue be a husband's best adorning, +That won't pay rates and taxes - so, good morning! + + + +Ballad: The Independent Bee + + + +A hive of bees, as I've heard say, +Said to their Queen one sultry day, +"Please your Majesty's high position, +The hive is full and the weather is warm, +We rather think, with a due submission, +The time has come when we ought to swarm." +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. +Up spake their Queen and thus spake she - +"This is a matter that rests with me, +Who dares opinions thus to form? +I'LL tell you when it is time to swarm!" +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. + +Her Majesty wore an angry frown, +In fact, her Majesty's foot was down - +Her Majesty sulked - declined to sup - +In short, her Majesty's back was up. +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. +Her foot was down and her back was up! + +That hive contained one obstinate bee +(His name was Peter), and thus spake he - +"Though every bee has shown white feather, +To bow to tyranny I'm not prone - +Why should a hive swarm all together? +Surely a bee can swarm alone?" +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. +Upside down and inside out, +Backwards, forwards, round about, +Twirling here and twisting there, +Topsy turvily everywhere - +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. +Pitiful sight it was to see +Respectable elderly high-class bee, +Who kicked the beam at sixteen stone, +Trying his best to swarm alone! +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. +Trying his best to swarm alone! + +The hive were shocked to see their chum +(A strict teetotaller) teetotum - +The Queen exclaimed, "How terrible, very! +It's perfectly clear to all the throng +Peter's been at the old brown sherry. +Old brown sherry is much too strong - +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. +Of all who thus themselves degrade, +A stern example must be made, +To Coventry go, you tipsy bee!" +So off to Coventry town went he. +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. +There, classed with all who misbehave, +Both plausible rogue and noisome knave, +In dismal dumps he lived to own +The folly of trying to swarm alone! +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. +All came of trying to swarm alone. + + + +Ballad: The Disconcerted Tenor + + + +A tenor, all singers above +(This doesn't admit of a question), +Should keep himself quiet, +Attend to his diet, +And carefully nurse his digestion. +But when he is madly in love, +It's certain to tell on his singing - +You can't do chromatics +With proper emphatics +When anguish your bosom is wringing! +When distracted with worries in plenty, +And his pulse is a hundred and twenty, +And his fluttering bosom the slave of mistrust is, +A tenor can't do himself justice. +Now observe - (SINGS A HIGH NOTE) - +You see, I can't do myself justice! + +I could sing, if my fervour were mock, +It's easy enough if you're acting, +But when one's emotion +Is born of devotion, +You mustn't be over-exacting. +One ought to be firm as a rock +To venture a shake in VIBRATO; +When fervour's expected, +Keep cool and collected, +Or never attempt AGITATO. +But, of course, when his tongue is of leather, +And his lips appear pasted together, +And his sensitive palate as dry as a crust is, +A tenor can't do himself justice. +Now observe - (SINGS A CADENCE) - +It's no use - I can't do myself justice! + + + +Ballad: The Played-Out Humorist + + + +Quixotic is his enterprise, and hopeless his adventure is, +Who seeks for jocularities that haven't yet been said. +The world has joked incessantly for over fifty centuries, +And every joke that's possible has long ago been made. +I started as a humorist with lots of mental fizziness, +But humour is a drug which it's the fashion to abuse; +For my stock-in-trade, my fixtures, and the goodwill of the +business +No reasonable offer I am likely to refuse. +And if anybody choose +He may circulate the news +That no reasonable offer I'm likely to refuse. + +Oh happy was that humorist - the first that made a pun at all - +Who when a joke occurred to him, however poor and mean, +Was absolutely certain that it never had been done at all - +How popular at dinners must that humorist have been! + +Oh the days when some stepfather for the query held a handle out, +The door-mat from the scraper, is it distant very far? +And when no one knew where Moses was when Aaron blew the candle +out, +And no one had discovered that a door could be a-jar! +But your modern hearers are +In their tastes particular, +And they sneer if you inform them that a door can be a-jar! + +In search of quip and quiddity, I've sat all day, alone, apart - +And all that I could hit on as a problem was - to find +Analogy between a scrag of mutton and a Bony-part, +Which offers slight employment to the speculative mind: +For you cannot call it very good, however great your charity - +It's not the sort of humour that is greeted with a shout - +And I've come to the conclusion that my mine of jocularity +In present Anno Domini, is worked completely out! +Though the notion you may scout, +I can prove beyond a doubt +That my mine of jocularity is utterly worked out. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of The Bab Ballads by W. S. Gilbert + diff --git a/old/svyrd10.zip b/old/svyrd10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..26d5c91 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/svyrd10.zip |
