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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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