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diff --git a/934-h/934-h.htm b/934-h/934-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eaa1c4b --- /dev/null +++ b/934-h/934-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6131 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Songs of a Savoyard, by W. S. Gilbert</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .5em; + text-decoration: none;} + span.red { color: red; } + body {background-color: #ffffc0; } + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Songs of a Savoyard, by W. S. Gilbert + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Songs of a Savoyard + + +Author: W. S. Gilbert + + + +Release Date: August 11, 2019 [eBook #934] +[This file was first posted June 4, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF A SAVOYARD*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1920 Macmillan and Co edition of +“The Bab Ballads”, also from “Fifty Bab +Ballads” 1884 George Routledge and Sons edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/cover.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Public domain book cover" +title= +"Public domain book cover" + src="images/cover.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>Songs of a Savoyard</h1> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Darned Mounseer</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Englishman</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Disagreeable Man</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Coming By-and-By</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page22">22</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Highly Respectable +Gondolier</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Fairy Queen’s +Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Is Life a Boon</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Modern Major-General</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Heavy Dragoon</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Proper Pride</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Policeman’s Lot</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page63">63</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Baffled Grumbler</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The House of Peers</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Merry Madrigal</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Duke And The Duchess</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page84">84</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Eheu Fugaces</span>—!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">They’ll None of ’em be +Missed</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Girl Graduates</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Braid The Raven Hair</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page113">113</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Working Monarch</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Ape And The Lady</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Only Roses</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page130">130</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Rover’s Apology</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">An Appeal</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Reward of Merit</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page146">146</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Magnet and the Churn</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Family Fool</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sans Souci</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page169">169</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Recipe</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Merryman and his Maid</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page182">182</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Susceptible Chancellor</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page191">191</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">When a Merry Maiden Marries</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page198">198</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The British Tar</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page204">204</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Man who would Woo a Fair +Maid</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Sorcerer’s Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page211">211</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Fickle Breeze</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page219">219</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The First Lord’s Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page227">227</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Would you Know</span>?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page240">240</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Speculation</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page254">254</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Ah Me</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page255">255</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Duke of Plaza-Toro</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page262">262</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Æsthete</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page271">271</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Said I to Myself, Said I</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page278">278</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sorry her Lot</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page286">286</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Contemplative Sentry</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page292">292</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Philosophic Pill</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page299">299</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Blue Blood</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page307">307</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Judge’s Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page315">315</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">When I First put this Uniform +on</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page322">322</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Solatium</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page329">329</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Nightmare</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page335">335</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Don’t Forget</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page345">345</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Suicide’s Grave</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page354">354</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">He And She</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page361">361</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Mighty Must</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Mirage</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page374">374</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Ghosts’ High Noon</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page381">381</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Humane Mikado</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page388">388</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Willow Waly</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page397">397</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Life is Lovely all the Year</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page403">403</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Usher’s Charge</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page411">411</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Great Oak Tree</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page418">418</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">King Goodheart</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page424">424</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sleep on</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page431">431</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Love-sick Boy</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page439">439</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Poetry Everywhere</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page445">445</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">He Loves</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page453">453</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">True Diffidence</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page458">458</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Tangled Skein</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page466">466</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">My Lady</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page471">471</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">One against the World</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page473">473</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Put a Penny in the Slot</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page480">480</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Good Little Girls</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page482">482</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Life</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page487">487</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Limited Liability</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page490">490</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Anglicised Utopia</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page497">497</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">An English Girl</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page499">499</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Manager’s +Perplexities</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page504">504</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Out of Sorts</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page506">506</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">How it’s Done</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page512">512</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Classical Revival</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page515">515</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Practical Joker</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page523">523</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The National Anthem</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page526">526</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Her Terms</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page534">534</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Independent Bee</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page536">536</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Disconcerted Tenor</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page547">547</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Played-out Humorist</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page553">553</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>THE +DARNED MOUNSEER</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">shipped</span>, +d’ye see, in a Revenue sloop,<br /> + And, off Cape Finisteere,<br /> + + +A merchantman we see,<br /> + + +A Frenchman, going free,<br /> + So we made for the bold +Mounseer,<br /> + + +D’ye see?<br /> + We made for the bold Mounseer!<br +/> +But she proved to be a Frigate—and she up with her +ports,<br /> + And fires with a thirty-two!<br /> + + +It come uncommon near,<br /> + + +But we answered with a cheer,<br /> + Which paralysed the Parley-voo,<br +/> + + +D’ye see?<br /> + Which paralysed the Parley-voo!<br +/> +Then our Captain he up and he says, says he,<br /> + “That chap we need not +fear,—<br /> + + +We can take her, if we like,<br /> + + +She is sartin for to strike,<br /> + For she’s only a darned +Mounseer,<br /> + + +D’ye see?<br /> + She’s only a darned +Mounseer!<br /> +But to fight a French fal-lal—it’s like hittin’ +of a gal—<br /> + It’s a lubberly thing for to +do;<br /> + + +For we, with all our faults,<br /> + + +Why, we’re sturdy British salts,<br /> + While she’s but a +Parley-voo,<br /> + + +D’ye see?<br /> + A miserable Parley-voo!”</p> +<p class="poetry">So we up with our helm, and we scuds before the +breeze,<br /> + As we gives a compassionating +cheer;<br /> + + +Froggee answers with a shout<br /> + + +As he sees us go about,<br /> + Which was grateful of the poor +Mounseer,<br /> + + +D’ye see?<br /> + Which was grateful of the poor +Mounseer!<br /> +And I’ll wager in their joy they kissed each other’s +cheek<br /> + (Which is what them furriners +do),<br /> + + +And they blessed their lucky stars<br /> + + +We were hardy British tars<br /> + Who had pity on a poor +Parley-voo,<br /> + + +D’ye see?<br /> + Who had pity on a poor +Parley-voo!</p> +<h2><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>THE +ENGLISHMAN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> is an +Englishman!<br /> + + +For he himself has said it,<br /> + + +And it’s greatly to his credit,<br /> +That he is an Englishman!<br /> + + +For he might have been a Roosian,<br /> + + +A French, or Turk, or Proosian,<br /> +Or perhaps Itali-an!<br /> + + +But in spite of all temptations,<br /> + + +To belong to other nations,<br /> +He remains an Englishman!<br /> + + +Hurrah!<br /> +For the true-born Englishman!</p> +<h2><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>THE +DISAGREEABLE MAN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> you give me your +attention, I will tell you what I am:<br /> +I’m a genuine philanthropist—all other kinds are +sham.<br /> +Each little fault of temper and each social defect<br /> +In my erring fellow-creatures, I endeavour to correct.<br /> +To all their little weaknesses I open people’s eyes,<br /> +And little plans to snub the self-sufficient I devise;<br /> +I love my fellow-creatures—I do all the good I +can—<br /> +Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man!<br /> + + +And I can’t think why!</p> +<p class="poetry">To compliments inflated I’ve a withering +reply,<br /> +And vanity I always do my best to mortify;<br /> +A charitable action I can skilfully dissect;<br /> +And interested motives I’m delighted to detect.<br /> +I know everybody’s income and what everybody earns,<br /> +And I carefully compare it with the income-tax returns;<br /> +But to benefit humanity, however much I plan,<br /> +Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man!<br /> + + +And I can’t think why!</p> +<p class="poetry">I’m sure I’m no ascetic; I’m +as pleasant as can be;<br /> +You’ll always find me ready with a crushing repartee;<br /> +I’ve an irritating chuckle, I’ve a celebrated +sneer,<br /> +I’ve an entertaining snigger, I’ve a fascinating +leer;<br /> +To everybody’s prejudice I know a thing or two;<br /> +I can tell a woman’s age in half a minute—and I +do—<br /> +But although I try to make myself as pleasant as I can,<br /> +Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man!<br /> + + +And I can’t think why!</p> +<h2><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>THE +COMING BY-AND-BY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sad</span> is that +woman’s lot who, year by year,<br /> +Sees, one by one, her beauties disappear;<br /> +As Time, grown weary of her heart-drawn sighs,<br /> +Impatiently begins to “dim her eyes”!—<br /> +Herself compelled, in life’s uncertain gloamings,<br /> +To wreathe her wrinkled brow with well-saved +“combings”—<br /> +Reduced, with rouge, lipsalve, and pearly grey,<br /> +To “make up” for lost time, as best she may!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Silvered is the raven +hair,<br /> + Spreading is the parting +straight,<br /> + Mottled the complexion fair,<br /> + Halting is the youthful gait,<br +/> + Hollow is the laughter free,<br /> + Spectacled the limpid eye,<br /> + Little will be left of me,<br /> + In the coming by-and-by!</p> +<p class="poetry">Fading is the taper waist—<br /> + Shapeless grows the shapely limb,<br /> +And although securely laced,<br /> + Spreading is the figure trim!<br /> +Stouter than I used to be,<br /> + Still more corpulent grow I—<br /> +There will be too much of me<br /> + In the coming by-and-by!</p> +<h2><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>THE +HIGHLY RESPECTABLE GONDOLIER</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">stole</span> the Prince, +and I brought him here,<br /> + + +And left him, gaily prattling<br /> +With a highly respectable Gondolier,<br /> +Who promised the Royal babe to rear,<br /> +And teach him the trade of a timoneer<br /> + + +With his own beloved bratling.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Both +of the babes were strong and stout,<br /> + + +And, considering all things, clever.<br /> + + +Of that there is no manner of doubt—<br /> + + +No probable, possible shadow of doubt—<br /> + + +No possible doubt whatever.</p> +<p class="poetry">Time sped, and when at the end of a year<br /> + + +I sought that infant cherished,<br /> +That highly respectable Gondolier<br /> +Was lying a corpse on his humble bier—<br /> +I dropped a Grand Inquisitor’s tear—<br /> + + +That Gondolier had perished!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> A +taste for drink, combined with gout,<br /> + + +Had doubled him up for ever.<br /> + + +Of <i>that</i> there is no manner of doubt—<br /> + + +No probable, possible shadow of doubt—<br /> + + +No possible doubt whatever.</p> +<p class="poetry">But owing, I’m much disposed to fear,<br +/> + + +To his terrible taste for tippling,<br /> +That highly respectable Gondolier<br /> +Could never declare with a mind sincere<br /> +Which of the two was his offspring dear,<br /> + + +And which the Royal stripling!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Which +was which he could never make out,<br /> + + +Despite his best endeavour.<br /> + + +Of <i>that</i> there is no manner of doubt—<br /> + + +No probable, possible shadow of doubt—<br /> + + +No possible doubt whatever.</p> +<p class="poetry">The children followed his old career—<br +/> + + +(This statement can’t be parried)<br /> +Of a highly respectable Gondolier:<br /> +Well, one of the two (who will soon be here)—<br /> +But <i>which</i> of the two is not quite clear—<br /> + + +Is the Royal Prince you married!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Search +in and out and round about<br /> + + +And you’ll discover never<br /> + + +A tale so free from every doubt—<br /> + + +All probable, possible shadow of doubt—<br /> + + +All possible doubt whatever!</p> +<h2><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>THE +FAIRY QUEEN’S SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>, foolish fay,<br +/> + Think you because<br /> +Man’s brave array<br /> + My bosom thaws<br /> +I’d disobey<br /> + Our fairy laws?<br /> +Because I fly<br /> + In realms above,<br /> +In tendency<br /> + To fall in love<br /> +Resemble I<br /> + The amorous dove?</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Oh, +amorous dove!<br /> + + +Type of Ovidius Naso!<br /> + + +This heart of mine<br /> + + +Is soft as thine,<br /> + + +Although I dare not say so!</p> +<p class="poetry">On fire that glows<br /> + With heat intense<br /> +I turn the hose<br /> + Of Common Sense,<br /> +And out it goes<br /> + At small expense!<br /> +We must maintain<br /> + Our fairy law;<br /> +That is the main<br /> + On which to draw—<br /> +In that we gain<br /> + A Captain Shaw.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Oh, +Captain Shaw!<br /> + + +Type of true love kept under!<br /> + + +Could thy Brigade<br /> + + +With cold cascade<br /> + + +Quench my great love, I wonder!</p> +<h2><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>IS +LIFE A BOON</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Is</span> life a boon?<br +/> + If so, it must befall<br /> + That Death, whene’er he +call,<br /> +Must call too soon.<br /> + Though fourscore years he give<br +/> + Yet one would pray to live<br /> +Another moon!<br /> + What kind of plaint have I,<br /> + Who perish in July?<br /> + I might have had to die<br /> +Perchance in June!</p> +<p class="poetry">Is life a thorn?<br /> + Then count it not a whit!<br /> + Man is well done with it;<br /> +Soon as he’s born<br /> + He should all means essay<br /> + To put the plague away;<br /> +And I, war-worn,<br /> + Poor captured fugitive,<br /> + My life most gladly give—<br +/> + I might have had to live<br /> +Another morn!</p> +<h2><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>THE +MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">am</span> the very +pattern of a modern Major-Gineral,<br /> +I’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral;<br /> +I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights +historical,<br /> +From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical;<br /> +I’m very well acquainted, too, with matters +mathematical,<br /> +I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical;<br /> +About binomial theorem I’m teeming with a lot o’ +news,<br /> +With interesting facts about the square of the hypotenuse,<br /> +I’m very good at integral and differential calculus,<br /> +I know the scientific names of beings animalculous.<br /> +In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,<br /> +I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.</p> +<p class="poetry">I know our mythic history—<span +class="smcap">King Arthur’s</span> and <span +class="smcap">Sir Caradoc’s</span>,<br /> +I answer hard acrostics, I’ve a pretty taste for +paradox;<br /> +I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of <span +class="smcap">Heliogabalus</span>,<br /> +In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous.<br /> +I tell undoubted <span class="smcap">Raphaels</span> from <span +class="smcap">Gerard Dows</span> and <span +class="smcap">Zoffanies</span>,<br /> +I know the croaking chorus from the “Frogs” of <span +class="smcap">Aristophanes</span>;<br /> +Then I can hum a fugue, of which I’ve heard the +music’s din afore,<br /> +And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense +“Pinafore.”<br /> +Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform,<br /> +And tell you every detail of <span +class="smcap">Caractacus’s</span> uniform.<br /> +In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,<br /> +I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.</p> +<p class="poetry">In fact, when I know what is meant by +“mamelon” and “ravelin,”<br /> +When I can tell at sight a Chassepôt rifle from a +javelin,<br /> +When such affairs as <i>sorties</i> and surprises I’m more +wary at,<br /> +And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat,<br /> +When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern +gunnery,<br /> +When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery,<br /> +In short, when I’ve a smattering of elementary strategy,<br +/> +You’ll say a better Major-Gener<i>al</i> has never +<i>sat</i> a gee—<br /> +For my military knowledge, though I’m plucky and +adventury,<br /> +Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century.<br /> +But still in learning vegetable, animal, and mineral,<br /> +I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral!</p> +<h2><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>THE +HEAVY DRAGOON</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> you want a +receipt for that popular mystery,<br /> + Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon,<br /> +Take all the remarkable people in history,<br /> + Rattle them off to a popular tune!<br /> +The pluck of <span class="smcap">Lord Nelson</span> on board of +the <i>Victory</i>—<br /> + Genius of <span class="smcap">Bismarck</span> +devising a plan;<br /> +The humour of <span class="smcap">Fielding</span> (which sounds +contradictory)—<br /> + Coolness of <span class="smcap">Paget</span> about +to trepan—<br /> +The grace of <span class="smcap">Mozart</span>, that unparalleled +musico—<br /> + Wit of <span class="smcap">Macaulay</span>, who +wrote of <span class="smcap">Queen Anne</span>—<br /> +The pathos of <span class="smcap">Paddy</span>, as rendered by +<span class="smcap">Boucicault</span>—<br /> + Style of the <span class="smcap">Bishop of Sodor and +Man</span>—<br /> +The dash of a D’<span class="smcap">Orsay</span>, divested +of quackery—<br /> +Narrative powers of <span class="smcap">Dickens</span> and <span +class="smcap">Thackeray</span>—<br /> +<span class="smcap">Victor Emmanuel</span>—peak-haunting +<span class="smcap">Peveril</span>—<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thomas Aquinas</span>, and <span +class="smcap">Doctor Sacheverell</span>—<br /> + <span class="smcap">Tupper</span> and <span +class="smcap">Tennyson</span>—<span class="smcap">Daniel +Defoe</span>—<br /> + <span class="smcap">Anthony Trollope</span> and +<span class="smcap">Mister Guizot</span>!<br /> + + +Take of these elements all that is fusible,<br /> + + +Melt ’em all down in a pipkin or crucible,<br /> + + +Set ’em to simmer and take off the scum,<br /> + + +And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!</p> +<p class="poetry">If you want a receipt for this soldierlike +paragon,<br /> + Get at the wealth of the <span +class="smcap">Czar</span> (if you can)—<br /> +The family pride of a Spaniard from Arragon—<br /> + Force of <span class="smcap">Mephisto</span> +pronouncing a ban—<br /> +A smack of <span class="smcap">Lord Waterford</span>, reckless +and rollicky—<br /> + Swagger of <span class="smcap">Roderick</span>, +heading his clan—<br /> +The keen penetration of <span class="smcap">Paddington +Pollaky</span>—<br /> + Grace of an Odalisque on a divan—<br /> +The genius strategic of <span class="smcap">Cæsar</span> or +<span class="smcap">Hannibal</span>—<br /> +Skill of <span class="smcap">Lord Wolseley</span> in thrashing a +cannibal—<br /> +Flavour of <span class="smcap">Hamlet</span>—the <span +class="smcap">Stranger</span>, a touch of him—<br /> +Little of <span class="smcap">Manfred</span> (but not very much +of him)—<br /> + Beadle of Burlington—<span +class="smcap">Richardson’s</span> show—<br /> + <span class="smcap">Mr. Micawber</span> and <span +class="smcap">Madame Tussaud</span>!<br /> + + +Take of these elements all that is fusible—<br /> + + +Melt ’em all down in a pipkin or crucible—<br /> + + +Set ’em to simmer and take off the scum,<br /> + + +And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!</p> +<h2><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>PROPER +PRIDE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> Sun, whose +rays<br /> +Are all ablaze<br /> + With ever-living glory,<br /> +Will not deny<br /> +His majesty—<br /> + He scorns to tell a story:<br /> +He won’t exclaim,<br /> +“I blush for shame,<br /> + So kindly be indulgent,”<br /> +But, fierce and bold,<br /> +In fiery gold,<br /> + He glories all effulgent!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> I +mean to rule the earth,<br /> + + +As he the sky—<br /> + We really know +our worth,<br /> + + +The Sun and I!</p> +<p class="poetry">Observe his flame,<br /> +That placid dame,<br /> + The Moon’s Celestial Highness;<br /> +There’s not a trace<br /> +Upon her face<br /> + Of diffidence or shyness:<br /> +She borrows light<br /> +That, through the night,<br /> + Mankind may all acclaim her!<br /> +And, truth to tell,<br /> +She lights up well,<br /> + So I, for one, don’t blame her!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Ah, +pray make no mistake,<br /> + + +We are not shy;<br /> + We’re very +wide awake,<br /> + + +The Moon and I!</p> +<h2><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>THE +POLICEMAN’S LOT</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> a felon’s +not engaged in his employment,<br /> + Or maturing his felonious little plans,<br /> +His capacity for innocent enjoyment<br /> + Is just as great as any honest man’s.<br /> +Our feelings we with difficulty smother<br /> + When constabulary duty’s to be done:<br /> +Ah, take one consideration with another,<br /> + A policeman’s lot is not a happy one!</p> +<p class="poetry">When the enterprising burglar isn’t +burgling,<br /> + When the cut-throat isn’t occupied in +crime,<br /> +He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling,<br /> + And listen to the merry village chime.<br /> +When the coster’s finished jumping on his mother,<br /> + He loves to lie a-basking in the sun:<br /> +Ah, take one consideration with another,<br /> + The policeman’s lot is not a happy one!</p> +<h2><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>THE +BAFFLED GRUMBLER</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Whene’er</span> I poke<br /> + Sarcastic joke<br /> + Replete with +malice spiteful,<br /> + The people vile<br /> + Politely smile<br /> + + +And vote me quite delightful!<br /> + Now, when a wight<br /> + Sits up all night<br /> + + +Ill-natured jokes devising,<br /> + And all his wiles<br /> + Are met with smiles,<br /> + + +It’s hard, there’s no disguising!<br /> +Oh, don’t the days seem lank and long<br /> +When all goes right and nothing goes wrong,<br /> +And isn’t your life extremely flat<br /> +With nothing whatever to grumble at!</p> +<p class="poetry"> When German +bands,<br /> + From music stands<br /> + Play Wagner +imper<i>fect</i>ly—<br /> + I bid them go—<br /> + They don’t say no,<br /> + + +But off they trot directly!<br /> + The organ boys<br /> + They stop their noise<br /> + + +With readiness surprising,<br /> + And grinning herds<br /> + Of hurdy-gurds<br /> + + +Retire apologising!<br /> +Oh, don’t the days seem lank and long<br /> +When all goes right and nothing goes wrong,<br /> +And isn’t your life extremely flat<br /> +With nothing whatever to grumble at!</p> +<p class="poetry"> I’ve +offered gold,<br /> + In sums untold,<br /> + To all +who’d contradict me—<br /> + I’ve said I’d pay<br +/> + A pound a day<br /> + + +To any one who kicked me—<br /> + I’ve bribed with toys<br /> + Great vulgar boys<br /> + + +To utter something spiteful,<br /> + But, bless you, no!<br /> + They <i>will</i> be so<br /> + + +Confoundedly politeful!<br /> +In short, these aggravating lads,<br /> +They tickle my tastes, they feed my fads,<br /> +They give me this and they give me that,<br /> +And I’ve nothing whatever to grumble at!</p> +<h2><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>THE +HOUSE OF PEERS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> Britain really +ruled the waves—<br /> + (In good Queen Bess’s time)<br /> +The House of Peers made no pretence<br /> +To intellectual eminence,<br /> + Or scholarship sublime;<br /> +Yet Britain won her proudest bays<br /> +In good Queen Bess’s glorious days!</p> +<p class="poetry">When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte,<br /> + As every child can tell,<br /> +The House of Peers, throughout the war,<br /> +Did nothing in particular,<br /> + And did it very well;<br /> +Yet Britain set the world ablaze<br /> +In good King George’s glorious days!</p> +<p class="poetry">And while the House of Peers withholds<br /> + Its legislative hand,<br /> +And noble statesmen do not itch<br /> +To interfere with matters which<br /> + They do not understand,<br /> +As bright will shine Great Britain’s rays,<br /> +As in King George’s glorious days!</p> +<h2><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>A +MERRY MADRIGAL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Brightly</span> dawns our +wedding day;<br /> + Joyous hour, we +give thee greeting!<br /> + Whither, whither +art thou fleeting?<br /> +Fickle moment, prithee stay!<br /> + What though +mortal joys be hollow?<br /> + Pleasures come, +if sorrows follow.<br /> +Though the tocsin sound, ere long,<br /> + Ding dong! Ding dong!<br /> + Yet until the +shadows fall<br /> + Over one and +over all,<br /> + Sing a merry +madrigal—<br /> + + +Fal la!</p> +<p class="poetry">Let us dry the ready tear;<br /> + Though the hours +are surely creeping,<br /> + Little need for +woeful weeping<br /> +Till the sad sundown is near.<br /> + All must sip the +cup of sorrow,<br /> + I to-day and +thou to-morrow:<br /> +This the close of every song—<br /> + Ding dong! Ding dong!<br /> + What though +solemn shadows fall,<br /> + Sooner, later, +over all?<br /> + Sing a merry +madrigal—<br /> + + +Fal la!</p> +<h2><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>THE +DUKE AND THE DUCHESS</h2> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">The Duke</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Small titles and orders<br /> +For Mayors and Recorders<br /> + I get—and they’re +highly delighted.<br /> +M.P.s baronetted,<br /> +Sham Colonels gazetted,<br /> + And second-rate Aldermen +knighted.<br /> +Foundation-stone laying<br /> +I find very paying,<br /> + It adds a large sum to my +makings.<br /> +At charity dinners<br /> +The best of speech-spinners,<br /> + I get ten per cent on the +takings!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">The Duchess</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">I present any lady<br /> +Whose conduct is shady<br /> + Or smacking of doubtful +propriety;<br /> +When Virtue would quash her<br /> +I take and whitewash her<br /> + And launch her in first-rate +society.<br /> +I recommend acres<br /> +Of clumsy dressmakers—<br /> + Their fit and their finishing +touches;<br /> +A sum in addition<br /> +They pay for permission<br /> + To say that they make for the +Duchess!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">The Duke</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Those pressing prevailers,<br /> +The ready-made tailors,<br /> + Quote me as their great +double-barrel;<br /> +I allow them to do so,<br /> +Though <span class="smcap">Robinson Crusoe</span><br /> + Would jib at their wearing +apparel!<br /> +I sit, by selection,<br /> +Upon the direction<br /> + Of several Companies bubble;<br /> +As soon as they’re floated<br /> +I’m freely bank-noted—<br /> + I’m pretty well paid for my +trouble!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">The Duchess</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">At middle-class party<br /> +I play at <i>écarté</i>—<br /> + And I’m by no means a +beginner;<br /> +To one of my station<br /> +The remuneration—<br /> + Five guineas a night and my +dinner.<br /> +I write letters blatant<br /> +On medicines patent—<br /> + And use any other you +mustn’t;<br /> +And vow my complexion<br /> +Derives its perfection<br /> + From somebody’s +soap—which it doesn’t.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">The Duke</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’re ready as witness<br /> +To any one’s fitness<br /> + To fill any place or +preferment;<br /> +We’re often in waiting<br /> +At junket <i>fêting</i>,<br /> + And sometimes attend an +interment.<br /> +In short, if you’d kindle<br /> +The spark of a swindle,<br /> + Lure simpletons into your +clutches,<br /> +Or hoodwink a debtor,<br /> +You cannot do better<br /> + Than trot out a Duke or a +Duchess!</p> +<h2><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>EHEU +FUGACES—!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> air is charged +with amatory numbers—<br /> + Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers’ lays.<br /> +Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers<br /> + The aching memory of the old, old days?</p> +<p class="poetry">Time was when Love and I were well +acquainted;<br /> + Time was when we walked ever hand in hand;<br /> +A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted,<br /> + None better loved than I in all the land!<br /> +Time was, when maidens of the noblest station,<br /> + Forsaking even military men,<br /> +Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration—<br /> + Ah me, I was a fair young curate then!</p> +<p class="poetry">Had I a headache? sighed the maids +assembled;<br /> + Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear;<br /> +Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled;<br /> + And when I coughed all thought the end was near!<br +/> +I had no care—no jealous doubts hung o’er +me—<br /> + For I was loved beyond all other men.<br /> +Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me—<br /> + Ah me, I was a pale young curate then!</p> +<h2><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>THEY’LL NONE OF ’EM BE MISSED</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> some day it may +happen that a victim must be found,<br /> + I’ve got a little list—I’ve got a +little list<br /> +Of social offenders who might well be underground,<br /> + And who never would be missed—who never would +be missed!<br /> +There’s the pestilential nuisances who write for +autographs—<br /> +All people who have flabby hands and irritating laughs—<br +/> +All children who are up in dates, and floor you with ’em +flat—<br /> +All persons who in shaking hands, shake hands with you like +<i>that</i>—<br /> +And all third persons who on spoiling +<i>tête-à-têtes</i> insist—<br /> + They’d none of ’em be +missed—they’d none of ’em be missed!</p> +<p class="poetry">There’s the nigger serenader, and the +others of his race,<br /> + And the piano organist—I’ve got him on +the list!<br /> +And the people who eat peppermint and puff it in your face,<br /> + They never would be missed—they never would be +missed!<br /> +Then the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone,<br /> +All centuries but this, and every country but his own;<br /> +And the lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy,<br /> +And who “doesn’t think she waltzes, but would rather +like to try”;<br /> +And that <i>fin-de-siècle</i> anomaly, the scorching +motorist—<br /> + I don’t think he’d be +missed—I’m <i>sure</i> he’d not be missed!</p> +<p class="poetry">And that <i>Nisi Prius</i> nuisance, who just +now is rather rife,<br /> + The Judicial humorist—I’ve got +<i>him</i> on the list!<br /> +All funny fellows, comic men, and clowns of private +life—<br /> + They’d none of ’em be +missed—they’d none of ’em be missed!<br /> +And apologetic statesmen of the compromising kind,<br /> +Such as—What-d’ye-call-him—Thing’em-Bob, +and likewise—Never-mind,<br /> +And ’St—’st—’st—and +What’s-his-name, and also—You-know-who—<br /> +(The task of filling up the blanks I’d rather leave to +<i>you</i>!)<br /> +But it really doesn’t matter whom you put upon the list,<br +/> + For they’d none of ’em be +missed—they’d none of ’em be missed!</p> +<h2><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>GIRL +GRADUATES</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">They</span> intend to send +a wire<br /> + To the moon;<br /> +And they’ll set the Thames on fire<br /> + Very soon;<br /> +Then they learn to make silk purses<br /> + With their rigs<br /> +From the ears of <span class="smcap">Lady Circe’s</span><br +/> + Piggy-wigs.<br /> +And weasels at their slumbers<br /> + They’ll trepan;<br /> +To get sunbeams from cu<i>cum</i>bers<br /> + They’ve a plan.<br /> +They’ve a firmly rooted notion<br /> +They can cross the Polar Ocean,<br /> +And they’ll find Perpetual Motion<br /> + If they can!</p> +<p class="poetry"> These are +the phenomena<br /> + That every pretty domina<br /> + Hopes that we +shall see<br /> + At this +Universitee!</p> +<p class="poetry">As for fashion, they forswear it,<br /> + So they say,<br /> +And the circle—they will square it<br /> + Some fine day;<br /> +Then the little pigs they’re teaching<br /> + For to fly;<br /> +And the niggers they’ll be bleaching<br /> + By-and-by!<br /> +Each newly joined aspirant<br /> + To the clan<br /> +Must repudiate the tyrant<br /> + Known as Man;<br /> +They mock at him and flout him,<br /> +For they do not care about him,<br /> +And they’re “going to do without him”<br /> + If they can!</p> +<p class="poetry"> These are +the phenomena<br /> + That every pretty domina<br /> + Hopes that we +shall see<br /> + At this +Universitee!</p> +<h2><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>BRAID THE RAVEN HAIR</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Braid</span> the raven +hair,<br /> + Weave the supple tress,<br /> +Deck the maiden fair<br /> + In her loveliness;<br /> +Paint the pretty face,<br /> + Dye the coral lip,<br /> +Emphasise the grace<br /> + Of her ladyship!<br /> +Art and nature, thus allied,<br /> +Go to make a pretty bride!</p> +<p class="poetry">Sit with downcast eye,<br /> + Let it brim with dew;<br /> +Try if you can cry,<br /> + We will do so, too.<br /> +When you’re summoned, start<br /> + Like a frightened roe;<br /> +Flutter, little heart,<br /> + Colour, come and go!<br /> +Modesty at marriage tide<br /> +Well becomes a pretty bride!</p> +<h2><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>THE +WORKING MONARCH</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Rising</span> early in the +morning,<br /> + We proceed to light the fire,<br +/> +Then our Majesty adorning<br /> + In its work-a-day attire,<br /> + + +We embark without delay<br /> + + +On the duties of the day.</p> +<p class="poetry">First, we polish off some batches<br /> +Of political despatches,<br /> + And foreign politicians +circumvent;<br /> +Then, if business isn’t heavy,<br /> +We may hold a Royal <i>levée</i>,<br /> + Or ratify some Acts of +Parliament:<br /> +Then we probably review the household troops—<br /> +With the usual “Shalloo humps” and “Shalloo +hoops!”<br /> +Or receive with ceremonial and state<br /> +An interesting Eastern Potentate.<br /> + After that we generally<br /> + Go and dress our private +<i>valet</i>—</p> +<p class="poetry">(It’s a rather nervous duty—he a +touchy little man)—<br /> + Write some letters literary<br /> + For our private +secretary—<br /> +(He is shaky in his spelling, so we help him if we can.)<br /> + Then, in view of cravings +inner,<br /> + We go down and order dinner;<br /> +Or we polish the Regalia and the Coronation Plate—<br /> + Spend an hour in titivating<br /> + All our Gentlemen-in-Waiting;<br +/> +Or we run on little errands for the Ministers of State.<br /> + + +Oh, philosophers may sing<br /> + + +Of the troubles of a King,<br /> + Yet the duties are delightful, and +the privileges great;<br /> + + +But the privilege and pleasure<br /> + + +That we treasure beyond measure<br /> + Is to run on little errands for +the Ministers of State!</p> +<p class="poetry">After luncheon (making merry<br /> +On a bun and glass of sherry),<br /> + If we’ve nothing in +particular to do,<br /> +We may make a Proclamation,<br /> +Or receive a Deputation—<br /> + Then we possibly create a Peer or +two.<br /> +Then we help a fellow-creature on his path<br /> +With the Garter or the Thistle or the Bath:<br /> +Or we dress and toddle off in semi-State<br /> +To a festival, a function, or a <i>fête</i>.<br /> + Then we go and stand as sentry<br +/> + At the Palace (private entry),<br +/> +Marching hither, marching thither, up and down and to and fro,<br +/> + While the warrior on duty<br /> + Goes in search of beer and +beauty<br /> +(And it generally happens that he hasn’t far to go).<br /> + He relieves us, if he’s +able,<br /> + Just in time to lay the table.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then we dine and serve the coffee; and at +half-past twelve or one,<br /> + With a pleasure that’s +emphatic;<br /> + Then we seek our little attic<br +/> +With the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done.<br /> + + +Oh, philosophers may sing<br /> + + +Of the troubles of a King,<br /> +But of pleasures there are many and of troubles there are +none;<br /> + + +And the culminating pleasure<br /> + + +That we treasure beyond measure<br /> +Is the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done!</p> +<h2><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>THE +APE AND THE LADY</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">Lady</span> fair, of +lineage high,<br /> +Was loved by an Ape, in the days gone by—<br /> +The Maid was radiant as the sun,<br /> +The Ape was a most unsightly one—<br /> + So it would not do—<br /> + His scheme fell through;<br /> +For the Maid, when his love took formal shape,<br /> + Expressed such terror<br /> + At his monstrous error,<br /> +That he stammered an apology and made his ’scape,<br /> +The picture of a disconcerted Ape.</p> +<p class="poetry">With a view to rise in the social scale,<br /> +He shaved his bristles, and he docked his tail,<br /> +He grew moustachios, and he took his tub,<br /> + And he paid a guinea to a toilet club.<br /> + But it would not do,<br /> + The scheme fell through—<br +/> +For the Maid was Beauty’s fairest Queen,<br /> + With golden tresses,<br /> + Like a real princess’s,<br +/> +While the Ape, despite his razor keen,<br /> +Was the apiest Ape that ever was seen!</p> +<p class="poetry">He bought white ties, and he bought dress +suits,<br /> +He crammed his feet into bright tight boots,<br /> +And to start his life on a brand-new plan,<br /> +He christened himself Darwinian Man!<br /> + But it would not do,<br /> + The scheme fell through—<br +/> +For the Maiden fair, whom the monkey craved,<br /> + Was a radiant Being,<br /> + With a brain far-seeing—<br +/> +While a Man, however well-behaved,<br /> +At best is only a monkey shaved!</p> +<h2><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>ONLY +ROSES</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To</span> a garden full of +posies<br /> + Cometh one to gather flowers;<br /> + And he wanders through its bowers<br /> +Toying with the wanton roses,<br /> + Who, uprising from their beds,<br /> + Hold on high their shameless heads<br /> +With their pretty lips a-pouting,<br /> +Never doubting—never doubting<br /> + That for Cytherean posies<br /> + He would gather aught but roses.</p> +<p class="poetry">In a nest of weeds and nettles,<br /> + Lay a violet, half hidden;<br /> + Hoping that his glance unbidden<br /> +Yet might fall upon her petals.<br /> + Though she lived alone, apart,<br /> + Hope lay nestling at her heart,<br /> +But, alas! the cruel awaking<br /> +Set her little heart a-breaking,<br /> + For he gathered for his posies<br /> + Only roses—only roses!</p> +<h2><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>THE +ROVER’S APOLOGY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>, gentlemen, +listen, I pray;<br /> + Though I own that my heart has been ranging,<br /> +Of nature the laws I obey,<br /> + For nature is constantly changing.<br /> +The moon in her phases is found,<br /> + The time and the wind and the weather,<br /> +The months in succession come round,<br /> + And you don’t find two Mondays together.<br /> + Consider the +moral, I pray,<br /> + + +Nor bring a young fellow to sorrow,<br /> + Who loves this +young lady to-day,<br /> + + +And loves that young lady to-morrow!</p> +<p class="poetry">You cannot eat breakfast all day.<br /> + Nor is it the act of a sinner,<br /> +When breakfast is taken away,<br /> + To turn your attention to dinner;<br /> +And it’s not in the range of belief<br /> + That you could hold him as a glutton,<br /> +Who, when he is tired of beef,<br /> + Determines to tackle the mutton.<br /> + But this I am +ready to say,<br /> + + +If it will diminish their sorrow,<br /> + I’ll marry +this lady to-day,<br /> + + +And I’ll marry that lady to-morrow!</p> +<h2><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>AN +APPEAL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! is there not one +maiden breast<br /> + Which does not feel the moral beauty<br /> +Of making worldly interest<br /> + Subordinate to sense of duty?<br /> +Who would not give up willingly<br /> + All matrimonial ambition<br /> +To rescue such a one as I<br /> + From his unfortunate position?</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, is there not one maiden here,<br /> + Whose homely face and bad complexion<br /> +Have caused all hopes to disappear<br /> + Of ever winning man’s affection?<br /> +To such a one, if such there be,<br /> + I swear by heaven’s arch above you,<br /> +If you will cast your eyes on me,—<br /> + However plain you be—I’ll love you!</p> +<h2><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>THE +REWARD OF MERIT</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Dr. Belville</span> was +regarded as the <span class="smcap">Crichton</span> of his +age:<br /> +His tragedies were reckoned much too thoughtful for the stage;<br +/> +His poems held a noble rank, although it’s very true<br /> +That, being very proper, they were read by very few.<br /> +He was a famous Painter, too, and shone upon the +“line,”<br /> +And even <span class="smcap">Mr. Ruskin</span> came and +worshipped at his shrine;<br /> +But, alas, the school he followed was heroically high—<br +/> +The kind of Art men rave about, but very seldom buy;<br /> + + +And everybody said<br /> + + +“How can he be repaid—<br /> +This very great—this very good—this very gifted +man?”<br /> +But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan!</p> +<p class="poetry">He was a great Inventor, and discovered, all +alone,<br /> +A plan for making everybody’s fortune but his own;<br /> +For, in business, an Inventor’s little better than a +fool,<br /> +And my highly-gifted friend was no exception to the rule.<br /> +His poems—people read them in the Quarterly +Reviews—<br /> +His pictures—they engraved them in the <i>Illustrated +News</i>—<br /> +His inventions—they, perhaps, might have enriched him by +degrees,<br /> +But all his little income went in Patent Office fees;<br /> + + +And everybody said<br /> + + +“How can he be repaid—<br /> +This very great—this very good—this very gifted +man?”<br /> +But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan!</p> +<p class="poetry">At last the point was given up in absolute +despair,<br /> +When a distant cousin died, and he became a millionaire,<br /> +With a county seat in Parliament, a moor or two of grouse,<br /> +And a taste for making inconvenient speeches in the House!<br /> +<i>Then</i> it flashed upon Britannia that the fittest of +rewards<br /> +Was, to take him from the Commons and to put him in the Lords!<br +/> +And who so fit to sit in it, deny it if you can,<br /> +As this very great—this very good—this very gifted +man?<br /> + + +(Though I’m more than half afraid<br /> + + +That it sometimes may be said<br /> +That we never should have revelled in that source of proper +pride,<br /> +However great his merits—if his cousin hadn’t +died!)</p> +<h2><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>THE +MAGNET AND THE CHURN</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">Magnet</span> hung in a +hardware shop,<br /> +And all around was a loving crop<br /> +Of scissors and needles, nails and knives,<br /> +Offering love for all their lives;<br /> +But for iron the Magnet felt no whim,<br /> +Though he charmed iron, it charmed not him,<br /> +From needles and nails and knives he’d turn,<br /> +For he’d set his love on a Silver Churn!<br /> + His most +æsthetic,<br /> + Very magnetic<br +/> + Fancy took this turn—<br /> + “If I can +wheedle<br /> + A knife or +needle,<br /> + Why not a Silver Churn?”</p> +<p class="poetry">And Iron and Steel expressed surprise,<br /> +The needles opened their well-drilled eyes,<br /> +The pen-knives felt “shut up,” no doubt,<br /> +The scissors declared themselves “cut out,”<br /> +The kettles they boiled with rage, ’tis said,<br /> +While every nail went off its head,<br /> +And hither and thither began to roam,<br /> +Till a hammer came up—and drove it home,<br /> + While this +magnetic<br /> + Peripatetic<br +/> + Lover he lived to learn,<br /> + By no +endeavour,<br /> + Can Magnet +ever<br /> + Attract a Silver Churn!</p> +<h2><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>THE +FAMILY FOOL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! a private +buffoon is a light-hearted loon,<br /> + If you listen to popular rumour;<br /> +From morning to night he’s so joyous and bright,<br /> + And he bubbles with wit and good humour!<br /> +He’s so quaint and so terse, both in prose and in verse;<br +/> + Yet though people forgive his transgression,<br /> +There are one or two rules that all Family Fools<br /> + Must observe, if they love their profession.<br /> + + +There are one or two rules,<br /> + + +Half-a-dozen, maybe,<br /> + + +That all family fools,<br /> + + +Of whatever degree,<br /> + Must observe if +they love their profession.</p> +<p class="poetry">If you wish to succeed as a jester, +you’ll need<br /> + To consider each person’s auricular:<br /> +What is all right for B would quite scandalise C<br /> + (For C is so very particular);<br /> +And D may be dull, and E’s very thick skull<br /> + Is as empty of brains as a ladle;<br /> +While F is F sharp, and will cry with a carp,<br /> + That he’s known your best joke from his +cradle!<br /> + + +When your humour they flout,<br /> + + +You can’t let yourself go;<br /> + + +And it <i>does</i> put you out<br /> + + +When a person says, “Oh!<br /> + I have known +that old joke from my cradle!”</p> +<p class="poetry">If your master is surly, from getting up +early<br /> + (And tempers are short in the morning),<br /> +An inopportune joke is enough to provoke<br /> + Him to give you, at once, a month’s +warning.<br /> +Then if you refrain, he is at you again,<br /> + For he likes to get value for money:<br /> +He’ll ask then and there, with an insolent stare,<br /> + “If you know that you’re paid to be +funny?”<br /> + + +It adds to the tasks<br /> + + +Of a merryman’s place,<br /> + + +When your principal asks,<br /> + + +With a scowl on his face,<br /> + If you know that +you’re paid to be funny?</p> +<p class="poetry">Comes a Bishop, maybe, or a solemn +D.D.—<br /> + Oh, beware of his anger provoking!<br /> +Better not pull his hair—don’t stick pins in his +chair;<br /> + He won’t understand practical joking.<br /> +If the jests that you crack have an orthodox smack,<br /> + You may get a bland smile from these sages;<br /> +But should it, by chance, be imported from France,<br /> + Half-a-crown is stopped out of your wages!<br /> + + +It’s a general rule,<br /> + + +Though your zeal it may quench,<br /> + + +If the Family Fool<br /> + + +Makes a joke that’s <i>too</i> French,<br /> + Half-a-crown is +stopped out of his wages!</p> +<p class="poetry">Though your head it may rack with a bilious +attack,<br /> + And your senses with toothache you’re +losing,<br /> +And you’re mopy and flat—they don’t fine you +for that<br /> + If you’re properly quaint and amusing!<br /> +Though your wife ran away with a soldier that day,<br /> + And took with her your trifle of money;<br /> +Bless your heart, they don’t mind—they’re +exceedingly kind—<br /> + They don’t blame you—as long as +you’re funny!<br /> + + +It’s a comfort to feel<br /> + + +If your partner should flit,<br /> + + +Though <i>you</i> suffer a deal,<br /> + + +<i>They</i> don’t mind it a bit—<br /> + They don’t +blame you—so long as you’re funny!</p> +<h2><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>SANS +SOUCI</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">cannot</span> tell what +this love may be<br /> +That cometh to all but not to me.<br /> +It cannot be kind as they’d imply,<br /> +Or why do these gentle ladies sigh?<br /> +It cannot be joy and rapture deep,<br /> +Or why do these gentle ladies weep?<br /> +It cannot be blissful, as ’tis said,<br /> +Or why are their eyes so wondrous red?</p> +<p class="poetry">If love is a thorn, they show no wit<br /> +Who foolishly hug and foster it.<br /> +If love is a weed, how simple they<br /> +Who gather and gather it, day by day!<br /> +If love is a nettle that makes you smart,<br /> +Why do you wear it next your heart?<br /> +And if it be neither of these, say I,<br /> +Why do you sit and sob and sigh?</p> +<h2><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>A +RECIPE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Take</span> a pair of +sparkling eyes,<br /> + Hidden, ever and anon,<br /> + + +In a merciful eclipse—<br /> +Do not heed their mild surprise—<br /> + Having passed the Rubicon.<br /> + + +Take a pair of rosy lips;<br /> +Take a figure trimly planned—<br /> + Such as admiration whets<br /> + + +(Be particular in this);<br /> +Take a tender little hand,<br /> + Fringed with dainty +fingerettes,<br /> + + +Press it—in parenthesis;—<br /> +Take all these, you lucky man—<br /> +Take and keep them, if you can.</p> +<p class="poetry">Take a pretty little cot—<br /> + Quite a miniature affair—<br +/> + + +Hung about with trellised vine,<br /> +Furnish it upon the spot<br /> + With the treasures rich and +rare<br /> + + +I’ve endeavoured to define.<br /> +Live to love and love to live—<br /> + You will ripen at your ease,<br /> + + +Growing on the sunny side—<br /> +Fate has nothing more to give.<br /> + You’re a dainty man to +please<br /> + + +If you are not satisfied.<br /> +Take my counsel, happy man:<br /> +Act upon it, if you can!</p> +<h2><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 182</span>THE +MERRYMAN AND HIS MAID</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">He</span>. +I <span class="smcap">have</span> a song to sing, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">She</span>. +Sing me your song, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">He</span>. +It is sung to the moon<br /> + + +By a love-lorn loon,<br /> + Who fled from the mocking throng, +O!<br /> +It’s the song of a merryman, moping mum,<br /> +Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum,<br /> +Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a +ladye.<br /> + + +Heighdy! heighdy!<br /> + + +Misery me—lackadaydee!<br /> +He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a +ladye!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">She</span>. +I have a song to sing, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">He</span>. +Sing me your song, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">She</span>. +It is sung with the ring<br /> + + +Of the song maids sing<br /> + Who love with a love life-long, +O!<br /> +It’s the song of a merrymaid, peerly proud,<br /> +Who loved a lord, and who laughed aloud<br /> +At the moan of the merryman, moping mum,<br /> +Whose soul was sore, whose glance was glum,<br /> +Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a +ladye!<br /> + + +Heighdy! heighdy!<br /> + + +Misery me—lackadaydee!<br /> +He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a +ladye!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">He</span>. +I have a song to sing, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">She</span>. +Sing me your song, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">He</span>. +It is sung to the knell<br /> + + +Of a churchyard bell,<br /> + And a doleful dirge, ding dong, +O!<br /> +It’s a song of a popinjay, bravely born,<br /> +Who turned up his noble nose with scorn<br /> +At the humble merrymaid, peerly proud,<br /> +Who loved that lord, and who laughed aloud<br /> +At the moan of the merryman, moping mum,<br /> +Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum,<br /> +Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a +ladye!<br /> + + +Heighdy! heighdy!<br /> + + +Misery me—lackadaydee!<br /> +He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a +ladye!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">She</span>. +I have a song to sing, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">He</span>. +Sing me your song, O!<br /> +<span +class="smcap">She</span>. +It is sung with a sigh<br /> + + +And a tear in the eye,<br /> + For it tells of a righted wrong, +O!<br /> +It’s a song of a merrymaid, once so gay,<br /> +Who turned on her heel and tripped away<br /> +From the peacock popinjay, bravely born,<br /> +Who turned up his noble nose with scorn<br /> +At the humble heart that he did not prize;<br /> +And it tells how she begged, with downcast eyes,<br /> +For the love of a merryman, moping mum,<br /> +Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum,<br /> +Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,<br /> + As he sighed for the love of a ladye!<br /> +<span class="smcap">Both</span>. +Heighdy! heighdy!<br /> + + +Misery me—lackadaydee!<br /> +His pains were o’er, and he sighed no more.<br /> + For he lived in the love of a +ladye!</p> +<h2><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>THE +SUSCEPTIBLE CHANCELLOR</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> law is the true +embodiment<br /> +Of everything that’s excellent.<br /> +It has no kind of fault or flaw,<br /> +And I, my lords, embody the Law.<br /> +The constitutional guardian I<br /> +Of pretty young Wards in Chancery,<br /> +All very agreeable girls—and none<br /> +Is over the age of twenty-one.<br /> + A pleasant occupation for<br /> + A rather susceptible Chancellor!</p> +<p class="poetry">But though the compliment implied<br /> +Inflates me with legitimate pride,<br /> +It nevertheless can’t be denied<br /> +That it has its inconvenient side.<br /> +For I’m not so old, and not so plain,<br /> +And I’m quite prepared to marry again,<br /> +But there’d be the deuce to pay in the Lords<br /> +If I fell in love with one of my Wards:<br /> + Which rather tries my temper, for<br /> + I’m <i>such</i> a susceptible Chancellor!</p> +<p class="poetry">And every one who’d marry a Ward<br /> +Must come to me for my accord:<br /> +So in my court I sit all day,<br /> +Giving agreeable girls away,<br /> +With one for him—and one for he—<br /> +And one for you—and one for ye—<br /> +And one for thou—and one for thee—<br /> +But never, oh never a one for me!<br /> + Which is exasperating, for<br /> + A highly susceptible Chancellor!</p> +<h2><a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>WHEN +A MERRY MAIDEN MARRIES</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> a merry maiden +marries,<br /> +Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;<br /> + Every sound becomes a song,<br /> + All is right and nothing’s wrong!<br /> +From to-day and ever after<br /> +Let your tears be tears of laughter—<br /> + Every sigh that finds a vent<br /> + Be a sigh of sweet content!<br /> +When you marry merry maiden,<br /> +Then the air with love is laden;<br /> + Every flower is a rose,<br /> + Every goose becomes a swan,<br /> + Every kind of trouble goes<br /> + Where the last year’s snows +have gone;<br /> + Sunlight takes the place of shade<br /> + When you marry merry maid!</p> +<p class="poetry">When a merry maiden marries<br /> +Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;<br /> + Every sound becomes a song,<br /> + All is right, and nothing’s wrong.<br /> +Gnawing Care and aching Sorrow,<br /> +Get ye gone until to-morrow;<br /> + Jealousies in grim array,<br /> + Ye are things of yesterday!<br /> +When you marry merry maiden,<br /> +Then the air with joy is laden;<br /> + All the corners of the earth<br /> + Ring with music sweetly played,<br +/> + Worry is melodious mirth,<br /> + Grief is joy in masquerade;<br /> + Sullen night is laughing day—<br /> + All the year is merry May!</p> +<h2><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 204</span>THE +BRITISH TAR</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">British</span> tar is a +soaring soul,<br /> + As free as a mountain bird,<br /> +His energetic fist should be ready to resist<br /> + A dictatorial word.<br /> +His nose should pant and his lip should curl,<br /> +His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl,<br /> +His bosom should heave and his heart should glow,<br /> +And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow.</p> +<p class="poetry">His eyes should flash with an inborn fire,<br +/> + His brow with scorn be rung;<br /> +He never should bow down to a domineering frown,<br /> + Or the tang of a tyrant tongue.<br /> +His foot should stamp and his throat should growl,<br /> +His hair should twirl and his face should scowl;<br /> +His eyes should flash and his breast protrude,<br /> +And this should be his customary attitude!</p> +<h2><a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span>A +MAN WHO WOULD WOO A FAIR MAID</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">man</span> who would woo +a fair maid,<br /> +Should ’prentice himself to the trade;<br /> + And study all day,<br /> + In methodical way,<br /> +How to flatter, cajole, and persuade.<br /> +He should ’prentice himself at fourteen<br /> +And practise from morning to e’en;<br /> + And when he’s of age,<br /> + If he will, I’ll engage,<br +/> +He may capture the heart of a queen!<br /> + It is purely a +matter of skill,<br /> + Which all may +attain if they will:<br /> + + +But every Jack<br /> + + +He must study the knack<br /> + If he wants to +make sure of his Jill!</p> +<p class="poetry">If he’s made the best use of his time,<br +/> +His twig he’ll so carefully lime<br /> + That every bird<br /> + Will come down at his word.<br /> +Whatever its plumage and clime.<br /> +He must learn that the thrill of a touch<br /> +May mean little, or nothing, or much;<br /> + It’s an instrument rare,<br +/> + To be handled with care,<br /> +And ought to be treated as such.<br /> + It is purely a +matter of skill,<br /> + Which all may +attain if they will:<br /> + + +But every Jack,<br /> + + +He must study the knack<br /> + If he wants to +make sure of his Jill!</p> +<p class="poetry">Then a glance may be timid or free;<br /> +It will vary in mighty degree,<br /> + From an impudent stare<br /> + To a look of despair<br /> +That no maid without pity can see.<br /> +And a glance of despair is no guide—<br /> +It may have its ridiculous side;<br /> + It may draw you a tear<br /> + Or a box on the ear;<br /> +You can never be sure till you’ve tried.<br /> + It is purely a +matter of skill,<br /> + Which all may +attain if they will:<br /> + + +But every Jack<br /> + + +He must study the knack<br /> + If he wants to +make sure of his Jill!</p> +<h2><a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 211</span>THE +SORCERER’S SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! my name is <span +class="smcap">John Wellington Wells</span>—<br /> +I’m a dealer in magic and spells,<br /> + In blessings and curses,<br /> + And ever-filled purses,<br /> +In prophecies, witches, and knells!<br /> +If you want a proud foe to “make tracks”—<br /> +If you’d melt a rich uncle in wax—<br /> + You’ve but to look in<br /> + On our resident Djinn,<br /> +Number seventy, Simmery Axe.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ve a first-class assortment of +magic;<br /> + And for raising a posthumous shade<br /> +With effects that are comic or tragic,<br /> + There’s no cheaper house in the trade.<br /> +Love-philtre—we’ve quantities of it;<br /> + And for knowledge if any one burns,<br /> +We keep an extremely small prophet, a prophet<br /> + Who brings us unbounded returns:<br /> + For he can +prophesy<br /> + With a wink +<i>of</i> his eye,<br /> + Peep with +security<br /> + Into +futurity,<br /> + Sum up your +history,<br /> + Clear up a +mystery,<br /> + Humour +proclivity<br /> + For a +nativity.<br /> + With mirrors so +magical,<br /> + Tetrapods +tragical,<br /> + Bogies +spectacular,<br /> + Answers +oracular,<br /> + Facts +astronomical,<br /> + Solemn or +comical,<br /> + And, if you want +it, he<br /> +Makes a reduction on taking a quantity! <br /> + + +Oh!<br /> + If any one anything lacks,<br /> + He’ll find it all ready in stacks,<br /> + + +If he’ll only look in<br /> + + +On the resident Djinn,<br /> + Number seventy, Simmery Axe!</p> +<p class="poetry"> He can +raise you hosts,<br /> + + +Of ghosts,<br /> + And that without reflectors;<br /> + And creepy things<br /> + + +With wings,<br /> +And gaunt and grisly spectres!<br /> + He can fill you crowds<br /> + + +Of shrouds,<br /> +And horrify you vastly;<br /> + He can rack your brains<br /> + + +With chains,<br /> +And gibberings grim and ghastly.<br /> + Then, if you plan it, he<br /> + Changes organity<br /> + With an urbanity,<br /> + Full of Satanity,<br /> + Vexes humanity<br /> + With an inanity<br /> + Fatal to vanity—<br /> +Driving your foes to the verge of insanity.<br /> + Barring tautology,<br /> + In demonology,<br /> + ’Lectro biology,<br /> + Mystic nosology,<br /> + Spirit philology,<br /> + High class astrology,<br /> + Such is his knowledge, he<br /> +Isn’t the man to require an apology<br /> + + +Oh!<br /> +My name is <span class="smcap">John Wellington Wells</span>,<br +/> +I’m a dealer in magic and spells,<br /> + In blessings and curses,<br /> + And ever-filled purses—<br +/> +In prophecies, witches, and knells.<br /> +If any one anything lacks,<br /> +He’ll find it all ready in stacks,<br /> + If he’ll only look in<br /> + On the resident Djinn,<br /> +Number seventy, Simmery Axe!</p> +<h2><a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>THE +FICKLE BREEZE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sighing</span> softly to +the river<br /> + Comes the loving breeze,<br /> +Setting nature all a-quiver,<br /> + Rustling through the trees!<br /> +And the brook in rippling measure<br /> + Laughs for very love,<br /> +While the poplars, in their pleasure,<br /> + Wave their arms above!<br /> + River, river, +little river,<br /> + May thy loving +prosper ever.<br /> + Heaven speed +thee, poplar tree,<br /> + May thy wooing +happy be!</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet, the breeze is but a rover,<br /> + When he wings away,<br /> +Brook and poplar mourn a lover!<br /> + Sighing well-a-day!<br /> +Ah, the doing and undoing<br /> + That the rogue could tell!<br /> +When the breeze is out a-wooing,<br /> + Who can woo so well?<br /> + Pretty brook, +thy dream is over,<br /> + For thy love is +but a rover!<br /> + Sad the lot of +poplar trees,<br /> + Courted by the +fickle breeze!</p> +<h2><a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>THE +FIRST LORD’S SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> I was a lad I +served a term<br /> +As office boy to an Attorney’s firm;<br /> +I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor,<br /> +And I polished up the handle of the big front door.<br /> + I polished up that handle so +successfullee,<br /> + That now I am the Ruler of the +Queen’s Navee!</p> +<p class="poetry">As office boy I made such a mark<br /> +That they gave me the post of a junior clerk;<br /> +I served the writs with a smile so bland,<br /> +And I copied all the letters in a big round hand.<br /> + I copied all the letters in a hand +so free,<br /> + That now I am the Ruler of the +Queen’s Navee!</p> +<p class="poetry">In serving writs I made such a name<br /> +That an articled clerk I soon became;<br /> +I wore clean collars and a brand-new suit<br /> +For the Pass Examination at the Institute:<br /> + And that Pass Examination did so +well for me,<br /> + That now I am the Ruler of the +Queen’s Navee!</p> +<p class="poetry">Of legal knowledge I acquired such a grip<br /> +That they took me into the partnership,<br /> +And that junior partnership I ween,<br /> +Was the only ship that I ever had seen:<br /> + But that kind of ship so suited +me,<br /> + That now I am the Ruler of the +Queen’s Navee!</p> +<p class="poetry">I grew so rich that I was sent<br /> +By a pocket borough into Parliament;<br /> +I always voted at my Party’s call,<br /> +And I never thought of thinking for myself at all.<br /> + I thought so little, they rewarded +me,<br /> + By making me the Ruler of the +Queen’s Navee!</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, landsmen all, whoever you may be,<br /> +If you want to rise to the top of the tree—<br /> +If your soul isn’t fettered to an office stool,<br /> +Be careful to be guided by this golden rule—<br /> + Stick close to your desks and +<i>never go to sea</i>,<br /> + And you all may be Rulers of the +Queen’s Navee!</p> +<h2><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +240</span>WOULD YOU KNOW?</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Would</span> you know the +kind of maid<br /> + Sets my heart a flame-a?<br /> +Eyes must be downcast and staid,<br /> + Cheeks must flush for shame-a!<br /> + She may neither +dance nor sing,<br /> + But, demure in +everything,<br /> + Hang her head in +modest way<br /> + With pouting +lips that seem to say,<br /> + “Kiss me, +kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,<br /> + Though I die of +shame-a!”<br /> + Please you, that’s the kind of maid<br /> + Sets my heart a +flame-a!</p> +<p class="poetry">When a maid is bold and gay<br /> + With a tongue goes clang-a,<br /> +Flaunting it in brave array,<br /> + Maiden may go hang-a!<br /> + Sunflower gay +and hollyhock<br /> + Never shall my +garden stock;<br /> + Mine the +blushing rose of May,<br /> + With pouting +lips that seem to say<br /> + “Oh, kiss +me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,<br /> + Though I die for +shame-a!”<br /> + Please you, that’s the kind of maid<br /> + Sets my heart a +flame-a!</p> +<h2><a name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +254</span>SPECULATION</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Comes</span> a train of +little ladies<br /> + From scholastic trammels free,<br /> +Each a little bit afraid is,<br /> + Wondering what the world can be!</p> +<p class="poetry">Is it but a world of trouble—<br /> + Sadness set to song?<br /> +Is its beauty but a bubble<br /> + Bound to break ere long?</p> +<p class="poetry">Are its palaces and pleasures<br /> + Fantasies that fade?<br /> +And the glory of its treasures<br /> + Shadow of a shade?</p> +<p class="poetry">Schoolgirls we, eighteen and under,<br /> + From scholastic trammels free,<br /> +And we wonder—how we wonder!—<br /> + What on earth the world can be!</p> +<h2><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 255</span>AH +ME!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> maiden loves, +she sits and sighs,<br /> + + +She wanders to and fro;<br /> +Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes,<br /> +And to all questions she replies,<br /> + + +With a sad heigho!<br /> + ’Tis but a little +word—“heigho!”<br /> + So soft, ’tis scarcely +heard—“heigho!”<br /> + + +An idle breath—<br /> + + +Yet life and death<br /> + May hang upon a maid’s +“heigho!”</p> +<p class="poetry">When maiden loves, she mopes apart,<br /> + + +As owl mopes on a tree;<br /> +Although she keenly feels the smart,<br /> +She cannot tell what ails her heart,<br /> + + +With its sad “Ah me!”<br /> + ’Tis but a foolish +sigh—“Ah me!”<br /> + Born but to droop and +die—“Ah me!”<br /> + + +Yet all the sense<br /> + + +Of eloquence<br /> + Lies hidden in a maid’s +“Ah me!”</p> +<h2><a name="page262"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 262</span>THE +DUKE OF PLAZA-TORO</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> enterprise of +martial kind,<br /> + When there was any fighting,<br /> +He led his regiment from behind<br /> + (He found it less exciting).<br /> +But when away his regiment ran,<br /> + His place was at the fore, +O—<br /> + + +That celebrated,<br /> + + +Cultivated,<br /> + + +Underrated<br /> + + +Nobleman,<br /> + + +The Duke of Plaza-Toro!<br /> +In the first and foremost flight, ha, ha!<br /> +You always found that knight, ha, ha!<br /> + + +That celebrated,<br /> + + +Cultivated,<br /> + + +Underrated<br /> + + +Nobleman,<br /> + The Duke of Plaza-Toro!</p> +<p class="poetry">When, to evade Destruction’s hand,<br /> + To hide they all proceeded,<br /> +No soldier in that gallant band<br /> + Hid half as well as he did.<br /> +He lay concealed throughout the war,<br /> + And so preserved his gore, O!<br +/> + + +That unaffected,<br /> + + +Undetected,<br /> + + +Well connected<br /> + + +Warrior,<br /> + + +The Duke of Plaza-Toro!<br /> +In every doughty deed, ha, ha!<br /> +He always took the lead, ha, ha!<br /> + + +That unaffected,<br /> + + +Undetected,<br /> + + +Well connected<br /> + + +Warrior,<br /> + The Duke of Plaza-Toro!</p> +<p class="poetry">When told that they would all be shot<br /> + Unless they left the service,<br +/> +That hero hesitated not,<br /> + So marvellous his nerve is.<br /> +He sent his resignation in,<br /> + The first of all his corps, O!<br +/> + + +That very knowing,<br /> + + +Overflowing,<br /> + + +Easy-going<br /> + + +Paladin,<br /> + + +The Duke of Plaza-Toro!<br /> +To men of grosser clay, ha, ha!<br /> +He always showed the way, ha, ha!<br /> + + +That very knowing,<br /> + + +Overflowing,<br /> + + +Easy-going<br /> + + +Paladin,<br /> + The Duke of Plaza-Toro!</p> +<h2><a name="page271"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 271</span>THE +ÆSTHETE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> you’re +anxious for to shine in the high æsthetic line, as a man of +culture rare,<br /> +You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms, and +plant them everywhere.<br /> +You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of +your complicated state of mind<br /> +(The meaning doesn’t matter if it’s only idle chatter +of a transcendental kind).<br /> +And every one will say,<br /> + + +As you walk your mystic way,<br /> + + +“If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for +<i>me</i>,<br /> +Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man +must be!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days +which have long since passed away,<br /> +And convince ’em, if you can, that the reign of good <span +class="smcap">Queen Anne</span> was Culture’s palmiest +day.<br /> +Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever’s fresh and new, and +declare it’s crude and mean,<br /> +And that Art stopped short in the cultivated court of the <span +class="smcap">Empress Josephine</span>.<br /> + + +And every one will say,<br /> + + +As you walk your mystic way,<br /> +“If that’s not good enough for him which is good +enough for <i>me</i>,<br /> +Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind of youth must +be!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable +fashion must excite your languid spleen,<br /> +An attachment <i>à la</i> Plato for a bashful young +potato, or a not-too-French French bean.<br /> +Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in +the high æsthetic band,<br /> +If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your +mediæval hand.<br /> +And every one will say,<br /> + + +As you walk your flowery way,<br /> + + +“If he’s content with a vegetable love which would +certainly not suit <i>me</i>,<br /> +Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man +must be!”</p> +<h2><a name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 278</span>SAID +I TO MYSELF, SAID I</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> I went to the +Bar as a very young man<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +I’ll work on a new and original plan<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +I’ll never assume that a rogue or a thief<br /> +Is a gentleman worthy implicit belief,<br /> +Because his attorney, has sent me a brief<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I!)</p> +<p class="poetry">I’ll never throw dust in a +juryman’s eyes<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +Or hoodwink a judge who is not over-wise<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +Or assume that the witnesses summoned in force<br /> +In Exchequer, Queen’s Bench, Common Pleas, or Divorce,<br +/> +Have perjured themselves as a matter of course<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I!)</p> +<p class="poetry">Ere I go into court I will read my brief +through<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +And I’ll never take work I’m unable to do<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I).<br /> +My learned profession I’ll never disgrace<br /> +By taking a fee with a grin on my face,<br /> +When I haven’t been there to attend to the case<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I!)</p> +<p class="poetry">In other professions in which men engage<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +The Army, the Navy, the Church, and the Stage,<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I),<br /> +Professional licence, if carried too far,<br /> +Your chance of promotion will certainly mar—<br /> +And I fancy the rule might apply to the Bar<br /> + (Said I to myself—said +I!)</p> +<h2><a name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +286</span>SORRY HER LOT</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sorry</span> her lot who +loves too well,<br /> + Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly,<br /> +Sad are the sighs that own the spell<br /> + Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly;<br /> + Heavy the sorrow that bows the +head<br /> + When Love is alive and Hope is +dead!</p> +<p class="poetry">Sad is the hour when sets the Sun—<br /> + Dark is the night to Earth’s poor +daughters,<br /> +When to the ark the wearied one<br /> + Flies from the empty waste of waters!<br /> + Heavy the sorrow that bows the +head<br /> + When Love is alive and Hope is +dead!</p> +<h2><a name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 292</span>THE +CONTEMPLATIVE SENTRY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> all night long +a chap remains<br /> + On sentry-go, to chase monotony<br /> +He exercises of his brains,<br /> + That is, assuming that he’s got any.<br /> +Though never nurtured in the lap<br /> + Of luxury, yet I admonish you,<br /> +I am an intellectual chap,<br /> + And think of things that would astonish you.<br /> + I often think +it’s comical<br /> + + +How Nature always does contrive<br /> + That every boy +and every gal,<br /> + + +That’s born into the world alive,<br /> + Is either a +little Liberal,<br /> + + +Or else a little Conservative!<br /> + + +Fal lal la!</p> +<p class="poetry">When in that house M.P.’s divide,<br /> + If they’ve a brain and cerebellum, too,<br /> +They’ve got to leave that brain outside,<br /> + And vote just as their leaders tell ’em to.<br +/> +But then the prospect of a lot<br /> + Of statesmen, all in close proximity,<br /> +A-thinking for themselves, is what<br /> + No man can face with equanimity.<br /> + Then let’s +rejoice with loud Fal lal<br /> + + +That Nature wisely does contrive<br /> + That every boy +and every gal,<br /> + + +That’s born into the world alive,<br /> + Is either a +little Liberal,<br /> + + +Or else a little Conservative!<br /> + + +Fal lal la!</p> +<h2><a name="page299"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 299</span>THE +PHILOSOPHIC PILL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">I’ve</span> wisdom +from the East and from the West,<br /> + That’s subject to no academic rule;<br /> +You may find it in the jeering of a jest,<br /> + Or distil it from the folly of a fool.<br /> +I can teach you with a quip, if I’ve a mind;<br /> + I can trick you into learning with a laugh;<br /> +Oh, winnow all my folly, and you’ll find<br /> + A grain or two of truth among the chaff!</p> +<p class="poetry">I can set a braggart quailing with a quip,<br +/> + The upstart I can wither with a whim;<br /> +He may wear a merry laugh upon his lip,<br /> + But his laughter has an echo that is grim.<br /> +When they’ve offered to the world in merry guise,<br /> + Unpleasant truths are swallowed with a +will—<br /> +For he who’d make his fellow-creatures wise<br /> + Should always gild the philosophic pill!</p> +<h2><a name="page307"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 307</span>BLUE +BLOOD</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Spurn</span> not the nobly +born<br /> + With love affected,<br /> +Nor treat with virtuous scorn<br /> + The well connected.<br /> +High rank involves no shame—<br /> +We boast an equal claim<br /> +With him of humble name<br /> + To be respected!<br /> + + +Blue blood! Blue blood!<br /> + + +When virtuous love is sought,<br /> + + +Thy power is naught,<br /> + + +Though dating from the Flood,<br /> + + +Blue blood!</p> +<p class="poetry">Spare us the bitter pain<br /> + Of stern denials,<br /> +Nor with low-born disdain<br /> + Augment our trials.<br /> +Hearts just as pure and fair<br /> +May beat in Belgrave Square<br /> +As in the lowly air<br /> + Of Seven Dials!<br /> + + +Blue blood! Blue blood!<br /> + + +Of what avail art thou<br /> + + +To serve me now?<br /> + + +Though dating from the Flood,<br /> + + +Blue blood!</p> +<h2><a name="page315"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 315</span>THE +JUDGE’S SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> I, good +friends, was called to the Bar,<br /> + I’d an appetite fresh and hearty,<br /> +But I was, as many young barristers are,<br /> + An impecunious party.<br /> +I’d a swallow-tail coat of a beautiful blue—<br /> + A brief which was brought by a booby—<br /> +A couple of shirts and a collar or two,<br /> + And a ring that looked like a ruby!</p> +<p class="poetry">In Westminster Hall I danced a dance,<br /> + Like a semi-despondent fury;<br /> +For I thought I should never hit on a chance<br /> + Of addressing a British Jury—<br /> +But I soon got tired of third-class journeys,<br /> + And dinners of bread and water;<br /> +So I fell in love with a rich attorney’s<br /> + Elderly, ugly daughter.</p> +<p class="poetry">The rich attorney, he wiped his eyes,<br /> + And replied to my fond professions:<br /> +“You shall reap the reward of your enterprise,<br /> + At the Bailey and Middlesex Sessions.<br /> +You’ll soon get used to her looks,” said he,<br /> + “And a very nice girl you’ll find +her—<br /> +She may very well pass for forty-three<br /> + In the dusk, with a light behind her!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The rich attorney was as good as his word:<br +/> + The briefs came trooping gaily,<br /> +And every day my voice was heard<br /> + At the Sessions or Ancient Bailey.<br /> +All thieves who could my fees afford<br /> + Relied on my orations,<br /> +And many a burglar I’ve restored<br /> + To his friends and his relations.</p> +<p class="poetry">At length I became as rich as the <span +class="smcap">Gurneys</span>—<br /> + An incubus then I thought her,<br /> +So I threw over that rich attorney’s<br /> + Elderly, ugly daughter.<br /> +The rich attorney my character high<br /> + Tried vainly to disparage—<br /> +And now, if you please, I’m ready to try<br /> + This Breach of Promise of Marriage!</p> +<h2><a name="page322"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 322</span>WHEN +I FIRST PUT THIS UNIFORM ON</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> I first put +this uniform on,<br /> +I said, as I looked in the glass,<br /> + “It’s one to a +million<br /> + That any civilian<br /> +My figure and form will surpass.<br /> +Gold lace has a charm for the fair,<br /> +And I’ve plenty of that, and to spare,<br /> + While a lover’s +professions,<br /> + When uttered in Hessians,<br /> +Are eloquent everywhere!”<br /> + A fact that I +counted upon,<br /> + When I first put +this uniform on!</p> +<p class="poetry">I said, when I first put it on,<br /> +“It is plain to the veriest dunce<br /> + That every beauty<br /> + Will feel it her duty<br /> +To yield to its glamour at once.<br /> +They will see that I’m freely gold-laced<br /> +In a uniform handsome and chaste”—<br /> + But the peripatetics<br /> + Of long-haired æsthetics,<br +/> +Are very much more to their taste—<br /> + Which I never +counted upon<br /> + When I first put +this uniform on!</p> +<h2><a name="page329"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +329</span>SOLATIUM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Comes</span> the broken +flower—<br /> + Comes the cheated maid—<br /> +Though the tempest lower,<br /> + Rain and cloud will fade!<br /> +Take, O maid, these posies:<br /> + Though thy beauty rare<br /> +Shame the blushing roses,<br /> + They are passing fair!<br /> + Wear the flowers +till they fade;<br /> + Happy be thy +life, O maid!</p> +<p class="poetry">O’er the season vernal,<br /> + Time may cast a shade;<br /> +Sunshine, if eternal,<br /> + Makes the roses fade:<br /> +Time may do his duty;<br /> + Let the thief alone—<br /> +Winter hath a beauty<br /> + That is all his own.<br /> + Fairest days are +sun and shade:<br /> + Happy be thy +life, O maid!</p> +<h2><a name="page335"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 335</span>A +NIGHTMARE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> you’re +lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo’d +by anxiety,<br /> +I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in +without impropriety;<br /> +For your brain is on fire—the bedclothes conspire of usual +slumber to plunder you:<br /> +First your counterpane goes and uncovers your toes, and your +sheet slips demurely from under you;<br /> +Then the blanketing tickles—you feel like mixed pickles, so +terribly sharp is the pricking,<br /> +And you’re hot, and you’re cross, and you tumble and +toss till there’s nothing ’twixt you and the +ticking.<br /> +Then the bedclothes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you +pick ’em all up in a tangle;<br /> +Next your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its +usual angle!<br /> +Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot +eyeballs and head ever aching,<br /> +But your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that +you’d very much better be waking;<br /> +For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in +a steamer from Harwich,<br /> +Which is something between a large bathing-machine and a very +small second-class carriage;<br /> +And you’re giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a +party of friends and relations—<br /> +They’re a ravenous horde—and they all came on board +at Sloane Square and South Kensington Stations.<br /> +And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started +that morning from Devon);<br /> +He’s a bit undersized, and you don’t feel surprised +when he tells you he’s only eleven.<br /> +Well, you’re driving like mad with this singular lad (by +the bye the ship’s now a four-wheeler),<br /> +And you’re playing round games, and he calls you bad names +when you tell him that “ties pay the dealer”;<br /> +But this you can’t stand, so you throw up your hand, and +you find you’re as cold as an icicle,<br /> +In your shirt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks), +crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle:<br /> +And he and the crew are on bicycles too—which they’ve +somehow or other invested in—<br /> +And he’s telling the tars all the particu<i>lars</i> of a +company he’s interested in—<br /> +It’s a scheme of devices, to get at low prices, all goods +from cough mixtures to cables<br /> +(Which tickled the sailors) by treating retailers, as though they +were all vege<i>ta</i>bles—<br /> +You get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman (first take +off his boots with a boot-tree),<br /> +And his legs will take root, and his fingers will shoot, and +they’ll blossom and bud like a fruit-tree—<br /> +From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green pea, +cauliflower, pineapple, and cranberries,<br /> +While the pastry-cook plant cherry-brandy will grant—apple +puffs, and three-corners, and banberries—<br /> +The shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by <span +class="smcap">Rothschild</span> and <span +class="smcap">Baring</span>,<br /> +And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder +despairing—<br /> +You’re a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck, and no +wonder you snore, for your head’s on the floor, and +you’ve needles and pins from your soles to your shins, and +your flesh is a-creep, for your left leg’s asleep, and +you’ve cramp in your toes, and a fly on your nose, and some +fluff in your lung, and a feverish tongue, and a thirst +that’s intense, and a general sense that you haven’t +been sleeping in clover;<br /> +But the darkness has passed, and it’s daylight at last, and +the night has been long—ditto, ditto my song—and +thank goodness they’re both of them over!</p> +<h2><a name="page345"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +345</span>DON’T FORGET!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span>, Marco, dear,<br +/> +My wishes hear:<br /> + While you’re away<br /> +It’s understood<br /> +You will be good,<br /> + And not too gay.<br /> +To every trace<br /> +Of maiden grace<br /> + You will be blind,<br /> +And will not glance<br /> +By any chance<br /> + On womankind!<br /> +If you are wise,<br /> +You’ll shut your eyes<br /> + Till we arrive,<br /> +And not address<br /> +A lady less<br /> + Than forty-five;<br /> +You’ll please to frown<br /> +On every gown<br /> + That you may see;<br /> +And O, my pet,<br /> +You won’t forget<br /> + You’ve married me!</p> +<p class="poetry">O, my darling, O, my pet,<br /> +Whatever else you may forget,<br /> +In yonder isle beyond the sea,<br /> +O, don’t forget you’ve married me!</p> +<p class="poetry">You’ll lay your head<br /> +Upon your bed<br /> + At set of sun.<br /> +You will not sing<br /> +Of anything<br /> + To any one:<br /> +You’ll sit and mope<br /> +All day, I hope,<br /> + And shed a tear<br /> +Upon the life<br /> +Your little wife<br /> + Is passing here!<br /> +And if so be<br /> +You think of me,<br /> + Please tell the moon;<br /> +I’ll read it all<br /> +In rays that fall<br /> + On the lagoon:<br /> +You’ll be so kind<br /> +As tell the wind<br /> + How you may be,<br /> +And send me words<br /> +By little birds<br /> + To comfort me!</p> +<p class="poetry">And O, my darling, O, my pet,<br /> +Whatever else you may forget,<br /> +In yonder isle beyond the sea,<br /> +O, don’t forget you’ve married me!</p> +<h2><a name="page354"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 354</span>THE +SUICIDE’S GRAVE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">On</span> a tree by a river +a little tomtit<br /> + Sang +“Willow, titwillow, titwillow!”<br /> +And I said to him, “Dicky-bird, why do you sit<br /> + Singing +‘Willow, titwillow, titwillow’?<br /> +Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?” I cried,<br /> +“Or a rather tough worm in your little inside?”<br /> +With a shake of his poor little head he replied,<br /> + “Oh, +willow, titwillow, titwillow!”</p> +<p class="poetry">He slapped at his chest, as he sat on that +bough,<br /> + Singing +“Willow, titwillow, titwillow!”<br /> +And a cold perspiration bespangled his brow,<br /> + Oh, willow, +titwillow, titwillow!<br /> +He sobbed and he sighed, and a gurgle he gave,<br /> +Then he threw himself into the billowy wave,<br /> +And an echo arose from the suicide’s grave—<br /> + “Oh, +willow, titwillow, titwillow!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Now I feel just as sure as I’m sure that +my name<br /> + Isn’t +Willow, titwillow, titwillow,<br /> +That ’twas blighted affection that made him exclaim,<br /> + “Oh, +willow, titwillow, titwillow!”<br /> +And if you remain callous and obdurate, I<br /> +Shall perish as he did, and you will know why,<br /> +Though I probably shall not exclaim as I die,<br /> + “Oh, +willow, titwillow, titwillow!”</p> +<h2><a name="page361"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 361</span>HE +AND SHE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span>. I know a +youth who loves a little maid—<br /> + (Hey, but his +face is a sight for to see!)<br /> + Silent is he, for he’s +modest and afraid—<br /> + (Hey, but +he’s timid as a youth can be!)<br /> +<span class="smcap">She</span>. I know a maid who loves a +gallant youth—<br /> + (Hey, but she +sickens as the days go by!)<br /> + <i>She</i> cannot tell him all the +sad, sad truth—<br /> + (Hey, but I +think that little maid will die!)<br /> +<span class="smcap">Both</span>. Now tell me pray, and tell +me true,<br /> + + +What in the world should the poor soul do?</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span>. He cannot +eat and he cannot sleep—<br /> + (Hey, but his +face is a sight for to see!)<br /> + Daily he goes for to +wail—for to weep—<br /> + (Hey, but +he’s wretched as a youth can be!)<br /> +<span class="smcap">She</span>. She’s very thin and +she’s very pale—<br /> + (Hey, but she +sickens as the days go by!)<br /> + Daily she goes for to +weep—for to wail—<br /> + (Hey, but I +think that little maid will die!)<br /> +<span class="smcap">Both</span>. Now tell me pray, and tell +me true,<br /> + + +What in the world should the poor soul do?</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">She</span>. If I were +the youth I should offer her my name—<br /> + (Hey, but her +face is a sight for to see!)<br /> + <span +class="smcap">He</span>. If I were the maid I should fan +his honest flame—<br /> + (Hey, but +he’s bashful as a youth can be!)<br /> +<span class="smcap">She</span>. If I were the youth I +should speak to her to-day—<br /> + (Hey, but she +sickens as the days go by!)<br /> + <span +class="smcap">He</span>. If I were the maid I should meet +the lad half way—<br /> + (For I really do +believe that timid youth will die!)<br /> +<span class="smcap">Both</span>. I thank you much for your +counsel true;<br /> + + +I’ve learnt what that poor soul ought to do!</p> +<h2><a name="page367"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 367</span>THE +MIGHTY MUST</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span> mighty Must!<br +/> + Inevitable Shall!<br /> +In thee I trust.<br /> + Time weaves my coronal!<br /> +Go mocking Is!<br /> + Go disappointing Was!<br /> +That I am this<br /> + Ye are the cursed cause!<br /> +Yet humble Second shall be First,<br /> + + +I ween;<br /> +And dead and buried be the curst<br /> + + +Has Been!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh weak Might Be!<br /> + Oh May, Might, Could, Would, Should!<br /> +How powerless ye<br /> + For evil or for good!<br /> +In every sense<br /> + Your moods I cheerless call,<br /> +Whate’er your tense<br /> + Ye are Imperfect, all!<br /> +Ye have deceived the trust I’ve shown<br /> + + +In ye!<br /> +Away! The Mighty Must alone<br /> + + +Shall be!</p> +<h2><a name="page374"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 374</span>A +MIRAGE</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Were</span> I thy bride,<br /> +Then the whole world beside<br /> + Were not too wide<br /> + + +To hold my wealth of love—<br /> + Were I thy bride!<br /> + Upon thy breast<br /> +My loving head would rest,<br /> + As on her nest<br /> + + +The tender turtle-dove—<br /> + Were I thy bride!</p> +<p class="poetry"> This heart +of mine<br /> +Would be one heart with thine,<br /> + And in that shrine<br /> + + +Our happiness would dwell—<br /> + Were I thy bride!<br /> + And all day long<br /> +Our lives should be a song:<br /> + No grief, no wrong<br /> + + +Should make my heart rebel—<br /> + Were I thy bride!</p> +<p class="poetry"> The silvery +flute,<br /> +The melancholy lute,<br /> + Were night-owl’s hoot<br /> + + +To my low-whispered coo—<br /> + Were I thy bride!<br /> + The skylark’s trill<br /> +Were but discordance shrill<br /> + To the soft thrill<br /> + + +Of wooing as I’d woo—<br /> + Were I thy bride!</p> +<p class="poetry"> The +rose’s sigh<br /> +Were as a carrion’s cry<br /> + To lullaby<br /> + + +Such as I’d sing to thee—<br /> + Were I thy bride!<br /> + A feather’s press<br /> +Were leaden heaviness<br /> + To my caress.<br /> + + +But then, unhappily,<br /> + I’m not thy bride!</p> +<h2><a name="page381"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 381</span>THE +GHOSTS’ HIGH NOON</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> the night wind +howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight +flies,<br /> +And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight +skies—<br /> +When the footpads quail at the night-bird’s wail, and black +dogs bay the moon,<br /> +Then is the spectres’ holiday—then is the +ghosts’ high noon!</p> +<p class="poetry">As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, +and the mists lie low on the fen,<br /> +From grey tombstones are gathered the bones that once were women +and men,<br /> +And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends +too soon,<br /> +For cockcrow limits our holiday—the dead of the +night’s high noon!</p> +<p class="poetry">And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to +their churchyard beds take flight,<br /> +With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim +“good night”;<br /> +Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its +jolliest tune,<br /> +And ushers our next high holiday—the dead of the +night’s high noon!</p> +<h2><a name="page388"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 388</span>THE +HUMANE MIKADO</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">more</span> humane Mikado +never<br /> + Did in Japan exist;<br /> + To nobody second,<br /> + I’m certainly reckoned<br /> + A true philanthropist.<br /> +It is my very humane endeavour<br /> + To make, to some extent,<br /> + Each evil liver<br /> + A running river<br /> + Of harmless merriment.</p> +<p class="poetry"> My object all sublime<br /> + I shall achieve in time—<br /> +To let the punishment fit the crime—<br /> + The punishment fit the crime;<br +/> + And make each prisoner pent<br /> + Unwillingly represent<br /> +A source of innocent merriment—<br /> + Of innocent +merriment!</p> +<p class="poetry">All prosy dull society sinners,<br /> + Who chatter and bleat and bore,<br /> + Are sent to hear sermons<br /> + From mystical Germans<br /> + Who preach from ten to four:<br /> +The amateur tenor, whose vocal villainies<br /> + All desire to shirk,<br /> + Shall, during off-hours,<br /> + Exhibit his powers<br /> + To Madame Tussaud’s waxwork:<br /> +The lady who dyes a chemical yellow,<br /> + Or stains her grey hair puce,<br /> + Or pinches her figger,<br /> + Is blacked like a nigger<br /> + With permanent walnut juice:<br /> +The idiot who, in railway carriages,<br /> + Scribbles on window panes,<br /> + We only suffer<br /> + To ride on a buffer<br /> + In Parliamentary trains.</p> +<p class="poetry"> My object all sublime<br /> + I shall achieve in time—<br /> +To let the punishment fit the crime—<br /> + The punishment +fit the crime;<br /> + And make each prisoner pent<br /> + Unwillingly represent<br /> +A source of innocent merriment—<br /> + Of innocent merriment!</p> +<p class="poetry">The advertising quack who wearies<br /> + With tales of countless cures,<br /> + His teeth, I’ve enacted,<br +/> + Shall all be extracted<br /> + By terrified amateurs:<br /> +The music-hall singer attends a series<br /> + Of masses and fugues and “ops”<br /> + By Bach, interwoven<br /> + With Spohr and Beethoven,<br /> + At classical Monday Pops:<br /> +The billiard sharp whom any one catches<br /> + His doom’s extremely hard—<br /> + He’s made to dwell<br /> + In a dungeon cell<br /> + On a spot that’s always barred;<br /> +And there he plays extravagant matches<br /> + In fitless finger-stalls,<br /> + On a cloth untrue<br /> + With a twisted cue,<br /> + And elliptical billiard balls!</p> +<p class="poetry"> My object all sublime<br /> + I shall achieve in time—<br /> +To let the punishment fit the crime—<br /> + The punishment fit the crime;<br +/> + And make each prisoner pent<br /> + Unwillingly represent<br /> +A source of innocent merriment,<br /> + Of innocent merriment!</p> +<h2><a name="page397"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +397</span>WILLOW WALY!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span>. <span +class="smcap">Prithee</span>, pretty maiden—prithee, tell +me true<br /> + (Hey, but +I’m doleful, willow, willow waly!)<br /> + Have you e’er a lover +a-dangling after you?<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!<br /> + + +I would fain discover<br /> + + +If you have a lover?<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">She</span>. Gentle +sir, my heart is frolicsome and free—<br /> + (Hey, but +he’s doleful, willow, willow waly!)<br /> + Nobody I care for comes a-courting +me—<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!<br /> + + +Nobody I care for<br /> + + +Comes a-courting—therefore,<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span>. Prithee, +pretty maiden, will you marry me?<br /> + (Hey, but +I’m hopeful, willow, willow waly!)<br /> + I may say, at once, I’m a +man of propertee—<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!<br /> + + +Money, I despise it,<br /> + + +But many people prize it,<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">She</span>. Gentle +sir, although to marry I design—<br /> + (Hey, but +he’s hopeful, willow, willow waly!)<br /> + As yet I do not know you, and so I +must decline.<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!<br /> + + +To other maidens go you—<br /> + + +As yet I do not know you,<br /> + + +Hey, willow waly O!</p> +<h2><a name="page403"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 403</span>LIFE +IS LOVELY ALL THE YEAR</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> the buds are +blossoming,<br /> +Smiling welcome to the spring,<br /> +Lovers choose a wedding day—<br /> +Life is love in merry May!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Spring is green—Fal lal +la!<br /> + Summer’s rose—Fal lal +la!<br /> + It is sad when Summer goes,<br /> + + +Fal la!<br /> + Autumn’s gold—Fal lal la!<br /> + Winter’s grey—Fal lal +la!<br /> + Winter still is far away—<br /> + + +Fal la!<br /> +Leaves in Autumn fade and fall;<br /> +Winter is the end of all.<br /> +Spring and summer teem with glee:<br /> +Spring and summer, then, for me!<br /> + + +Fal la!</p> +<p class="poetry">In the Spring-time seed is sown:<br /> +In the Summer grass is mown:<br /> +In the Autumn you may reap:<br /> +Winter is the time for sleep.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Spring is hope—Fal lal +la!<br /> + Summer’s joy—Fal lal +la!<br /> + Spring and Summer never cloy,<br /> + + +Fal la!<br /> + Autumn, toil—Fal lal la!<br /> + Winter, rest—Fal lal la!<br +/> + Winter, after all, is best—<br /> + + +Fal la!<br /> +Spring and summer pleasure you,<br /> +Autumn, ay, and winter, too—<br /> +Every season has its cheer;<br /> +Life is lovely all the year!<br /> + + +Fal la!</p> +<h2><a name="page411"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 411</span>THE +USHER’S CHARGE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span>, Jurymen, hear +my advice—<br /> +All kinds of vulgar prejudice<br /> + I pray you set aside:<br /> +With stern judicial frame of mind—<br /> +From bias free of every kind,<br /> + This trial must be tried!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, listen to the plaintiff’s case:<br /> +Observe the features of her face—<br /> + The broken-hearted bride!<br /> +Condole with her distress of mind—<br /> +From bias free of every kind,<br /> + This trial must be tried!</p> +<p class="poetry">And when amid the plaintiff’s shrieks,<br +/> +The ruffianly defendant speaks—<br /> + Upon the other side;<br /> +What <i>he</i> may say you need not mind—<br /> +From bias free of every kind,<br /> + This trial must be tried!</p> +<h2><a name="page418"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 418</span>THE +GREAT OAK TREE</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">There</span> grew a little flower<br /> + + +’Neath a great oak tree:<br /> + When the tempest ’gan to lower<br /> + + +Little heeded she:<br /> + No need had she to cower,<br /> + For she dreaded not its power—<br /> + She was happy in the bower<br /> + + +Of her great oak tree!<br /> + + +Sing hey,<br /> + + +Lackaday!<br /> + + +Let the tears fall free<br /> +For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!</p> +<p class="poetry"> When she found that he was +fickle,<br /> + + +Was that great oak tree,<br /> + She was in a pretty pickle,<br /> + + +As she well might be—<br /> + But his gallantries were mickle,<br /> + For Death followed with his sickle,<br /> + And her tears began to trickle<br /> + + +For her great oak tree!<br /> + + +Sing hey,<br /> + + +Lackaday!<br /> + + +Let the tears fall free<br /> +For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Said she, “He loved me +never,<br /> + + +Did that great oak tree,<br /> + But I’m neither rich nor clever,<br /> + + +And so why should he?<br /> + But though fate our fortunes sever,<br /> + To be constant I’ll endeavour,<br /> + Ay, for ever and for ever,<br /> + + +To my great oak tree!”<br /> + + +Sing hey,<br /> + + +Lackaday!<br /> + + +Let the tears fall free<br /> +For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!</p> +<h2><a name="page424"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 424</span>KING +GOODHEART</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> lived a King, +as I’ve been told<br /> +In the wonder-working days of old,<br /> + When hearts were twice as good as +gold,<br /> +And twenty times as mellow.<br /> +Good temper triumphed in his face,<br /> + And in his heart he found a +place<br /> +For all the erring human race<br /> +And every wretched fellow.<br /> + When he had Rhenish wine to +drink<br /> +It made him very sad to think<br /> +That some, at junket or at jink,<br /> + Must be content with toddy:<br /> +He wished all men as rich as he<br /> +(And he was rich as rich could be),<br /> +So to the top of every tree<br /> + Promoted everybody.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ambassadors cropped up like hay,<br /> +Prime Ministers and such as they<br /> + Grew like asparagus in May,<br /> +And Dukes were three a penny:<br /> +Lord Chancellors were cheap as sprats,<br /> + And Bishops in their shovel +hats<br /> +Were plentiful as tabby cats—<br /> +If possible, too many.<br /> + On every side Field-Marshals +gleamed,<br /> +Small beer were Lords-Lieutenants deemed,<br /> +With Admirals the ocean teemed,<br /> + All round his wide dominions;<br +/> +And Party Leaders you might meet<br /> +In twos and threes in every street<br /> +Maintaining, with no little heat,<br /> + Their various opinions.</p> +<p class="poetry">That King, although no one denies,<br /> +His heart was of abnormal size,<br /> + Yet he’d have acted +otherwise<br /> +If he had been acuter.<br /> +The end is easily foretold,<br /> + When every blessed thing you +hold<br /> +Is made of silver, or of gold,<br /> +You long for simple pewter.<br /> + When you have nothing else to +wear<br /> +But cloth of gold and satins rare,<br /> +For cloth of gold you cease to care—<br /> + Up goes the price of shoddy:<br /> +In short, whoever you may be,<br /> +To this conclusion you’ll agree,<br /> +When every one is somebody,<br /> + Then no one’s anybody!</p> +<h2><a name="page431"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +431</span>SLEEP ON!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fear</span> no unlicensed +entry,<br /> + Heed no bombastic talk,<br /> +While guards the British Sentry<br /> + Pall Mall and Birdcage Walk.<br /> +Let European thunders<br /> + Occasion no alarms,<br /> +Though diplomatic blunders<br /> + May cause a cry “To arms!”<br /> + Sleep on, ye +pale civilians;<br /> + + +All thunder-clouds defy:<br /> + On +Europe’s countless millions<br /> + + +The Sentry keeps his eye!</p> +<p class="poetry">Should foreign-born rapscallions<br /> + In London dare to show<br /> +Their overgrown battalions,<br /> + Be sure I’ll let you know.<br /> +Should Russians or Norwegians<br /> + Pollute our favoured clime<br /> +With rough barbaric legions,<br /> + I’ll mention it in time.<br /> + So sleep in +peace, civilians,<br /> + + +The Continent defy;<br /> + While on its +countless millions<br /> + + +The Sentry keeps his eye!</p> +<h2><a name="page439"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 439</span>THE +LOVE-SICK BOY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> first my old, +old love I knew,<br /> + My bosom welled with joy;<br /> +My riches at her feet I threw;<br /> + I was a love-sick boy!<br /> +No terms seemed too extravagant<br /> + Upon her to employ—<br /> +I used to mope, and sigh, and pant,<br /> + Just like a love-sick boy!</p> +<p class="poetry">But joy incessant palls the sense;<br /> + And love unchanged will cloy,<br /> +And she became a bore intense<br /> + Unto her love-sick boy?<br /> +With fitful glimmer burnt my flame,<br /> + And I grew cold and coy,<br /> +At last, one morning, I became<br /> + Another’s love-sick boy!</p> +<h2><a name="page445"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +445</span>POETRY EVERYWHERE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> time the poet +hath hymned<br /> +The writhing maid, lithe-limbed,<br /> + Quivering on amaranthine asphodel,<br /> +How can he paint her woes,<br /> +Knowing, as well he knows,<br /> + That all can be set right with calomel?</p> +<p class="poetry">When from the poet’s plinth<br /> +The amorous colocynth<br /> + Yearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous +thrills,<br /> +How can he hymn their throes<br /> +Knowing, as well he knows,<br /> + That they are only uncompounded pills?</p> +<p class="poetry">Is it, and can it be,<br /> +Nature hath this decree,<br /> + Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell?<br /> +Or that in all her works<br /> +Something poetic lurks,<br /> + Even in colocynth and calomel?</p> +<h2><a name="page453"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 453</span>HE +LOVES!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> loves! If +in the bygone years<br /> + Thine eyes have ever shed<br /> +Tears—bitter, unavailing tears,<br /> + For one untimely dead—<br /> +If in the eventide of life<br /> + Sad thoughts of her arise,<br /> +Then let the memory of thy wife<br /> + Plead for my boy—he dies!</p> +<p class="poetry">He dies! If fondly laid aside<br /> + In some old cabinet,<br /> +Memorials of thy long-dead bride<br /> + Lie, dearly treasured yet,<br /> +Then let her hallowed bridal dress—<br /> + Her little dainty gloves—<br /> +Her withered flowers—her faded tress—<br /> + Plead for my boy—he loves!</p> +<h2><a name="page458"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 458</span>TRUE +DIFFIDENCE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> boy, you may take +it from me,<br /> + That of all the afflictions +accurst<br /> + + +With which a man’s saddled<br /> + + +And hampered and addled,<br /> + A diffident nature’s the +worst.<br /> +Though clever as clever can be—<br /> + A Crichton of early +romance—<br /> + + +You must stir it and stump it,<br /> + + +And blow your own trumpet,<br /> + Or, trust me, you haven’t a +chance.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now take, for example, <i>my</i> case:<br /> + I’ve a bright intellectual +brain—<br /> + + +In all London city<br /> + + +There’s no one so witty—<br /> + I’ve thought so again and +again.<br /> +I’ve a highly intelligent face—<br /> + My features cannot be +denied—<br /> + + +But, whatever I try, sir,<br /> + + +I fail in—and why, sir?<br /> + I’m modesty personified!</p> +<p class="poetry">As a poet, I’m tender and +quaint—<br /> + I’ve passion and fervour and +grace—<br /> + + +From Ovid and Horace<br /> + + +To Swinburne and Morris,<br /> + They all of them take a back +place.<br /> +Then I sing and I play and I paint;<br /> + Though none are accomplished as +I,<br /> + + +To say so were treason:<br /> + + +You ask me the reason?<br /> + I’m diffident, modest, and +shy!</p> +<h2><a name="page466"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 466</span>THE +TANGLED SKEIN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Try</span> we life-long, we +can never<br /> + Straighten out life’s tangled skein,<br /> +Why should we, in vain endeavour,<br /> + Guess and guess and guess again?<br /> + + +Life’s a pudding full of plums<br /> + + +Care’s a canker that benumbs.<br /> +Wherefore waste our elocution<br /> +On impossible solution?<br /> +Life’s a pleasant institution,<br /> + + +Let us take it as it comes!</p> +<p class="poetry">Set aside the dull enigma,<br /> + We shall guess it all too soon;<br /> +Failure brings no kind of stigma—<br /> + Dance we to another tune!<br /> + + +String the lyre and fill the cup,<br /> + + +Lest on sorrow we should sup;<br /> +Hop and skip to Fancy’s fiddle,<br /> +Hands across and down the middle—<br /> +Life’s perhaps the only riddle<br /> + + +That we shrink from giving up!</p> +<h2><a name="page471"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 471</span>MY +LADY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bedecked</span> in fashion +trim,<br /> + With every curl a-quiver;<br /> +Or leaping, light of limb,<br /> + O’er rivulet and river;<br +/> +Or skipping o’er the lea<br /> + On daffodil and daisy;<br /> +Or stretched beneath a tree,<br /> + All languishing and lazy;<br /> + + +Whatever be her mood—<br /> + + +Be she demurely prude<br /> + + +Or languishingly lazy—<br /> + + +My lady drives me crazy!<br /> + + +In vain her heart is wooed,<br /> + + +Whatever be her mood!</p> +<p class="poetry">What profit should I gain<br /> + Suppose she loved me dearly?<br /> +Her coldness turns my brain<br /> + To <i>verge</i> of madness +merely.<br /> +Her kiss—though, Heaven knows,<br /> + To dream of it were +treason—<br /> +Would tend, as I suppose,<br /> + To utter loss of reason!<br /> + + +My state is not amiss;<br /> + + +I would not have a kiss<br /> + + +Which, in or out of season,<br /> + + +Might tend to loss of reason:<br /> + + +What profit in such bliss?<br /> + + +A fig for such a kiss!</p> +<h2><a name="page473"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 473</span>ONE +AGAINST THE WORLD</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It’s</span> my +opinion—though I own<br /> +In thinking so I’m quite alone—<br /> + In some respects I’m but a +fright.<br /> +<i>You</i> like my features, I suppose?<br /> +<i>I’m</i> disappointed with my nose:<br /> + Some rave about it—perhaps +they’re right.<br /> +My figure just sets off a fit;<br /> +But when they say it’s exquisite<br /> + (And they <i>do</i> say so), +that’s too strong.<br /> +I hope I’m not what people call<br /> +Opinionated! After all,<br /> + I’m but a goose, and may be +wrong!</p> +<p class="poetry">When charms enthral<br /> + There’s some excuse<br /> + For measures strong;<br /> +And after all<br /> + I’m but a goose,<br /> + And may be wrong!</p> +<p class="poetry">My teeth are very neat, no doubt;<br /> +But after all they <i>may</i> fall out:<br /> + <i>I</i> think they +will—some think they won’t.<br /> +My hands are small, as you may see,<br /> +But not as small as they might be,<br /> + At least, <i>I</i> think +so—others don’t.<br /> +But there, a girl may preach and prate<br /> +From morning six to evening eight,<br /> + And never stop to dine,<br /> +When all the world, although misled,<br /> +Is quite agreed on any head—<br /> + And it is quite agreed on +mine!</p> +<p class="poetry">All said and done,<br /> + It’s little I<br /> + Against a throng.<br /> +I’m only one,<br /> + And possibly<br /> + I may be wrong!</p> +<h2><a name="page480"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 480</span>PUT +A PENNY IN THE SLOT</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> my action’s +stiff and crude,<br /> +Do not laugh, because it’s rude.<br /> +If my gestures promise larks,<br /> +Do not make unkind remarks.<br /> +Clockwork figures may be found<br /> +Everywhere and all around.<br /> +Ten to one, if I but knew,<br /> +You are clockwork figures too.<br /> +And the motto of the lot,<br /> +“Put a penny in the slot!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Usurer, for money lent,<br /> +Making out his cent per cent—<br /> +Widow plump or maiden rare,<br /> +Deaf and dumb to suitor’s prayer—<br /> +Tax collectors, whom in vain<br /> +You implore to “call again”—<br /> +Cautious voter, whom you find<br /> +Slow in making up his mind—<br /> +If you’d move them on the spot,<br /> +Put a penny in the slot!</p> +<p class="poetry">Bland reporters in the courts,<br /> +Who suppress police reports—<br /> +Sheriff’s yeoman, pen in fist,<br /> +Making out a jury list—<br /> +Stern policemen, tall and spare,<br /> +Acting all “upon the square”—<br /> +(Which in words that plainer fall,<br /> +Means that you can square them all)—<br /> +If you want to move the lot,<br /> +Put a penny in the slot!</p> +<h2><a name="page482"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 482</span>GOOD +LITTLE GIRLS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Although</span> of native +maids the cream,<br /> +We’re brought up on the English scheme—<br /> + The best of all<br /> + For great and small<br /> + + +Who modesty adore.<br /> +For English girls are good as gold,<br /> +Extremely modest (so we’re told),<br /> +Demurely coy—divinely cold—<br /> + + +And we are that—and more.<br /> +To please papa, who argues thus—<br /> +All girls should mould themselves on us,<br /> + Because we are,<br /> + By furlongs far,<br /> + + +The best of all the bunch;<br /> +We show ourselves to loud applause<br /> +From ten to four without a pause—<br /> +Which is an awkward time because<br /> + + +It cuts into our lunch.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, maids of high and low degree,<br /> +Whose social code is rather free,<br /> +Please look at us and you will see<br /> +What good young ladies ought to be!</p> +<p class="poetry">And as we stand, like clockwork toys,<br /> +A lecturer papa employs<br /> + To puff and praise<br /> + Our modest ways<br /> + + +And guileless character—<br /> +Our well-known blush—our downcast eyes—<br /> +Our famous look of mild surprise<br /> +(Which competition still defies)—<br /> + + +Our celebrated “Sir!!!”<br /> +Then all the crowd take down our looks<br /> +In pocket memorandum books.<br /> + To diagnose,<br /> + Our modest pose<br /> + + +The kodaks do their best:<br /> +If evidence you would possess<br /> +Of what is maiden bashfulness,<br /> +You only need a button press—<br /> + + +And <i>we</i> do all the rest.</p> +<h2><a name="page487"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +487</span>LIFE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">First</span> you’re +born—and I’ll be bound you<br /> +Find a dozen strangers round you.<br /> +“Hallo,” cries the new-born baby,<br /> +“Where’s my parents? which may they be?”<br /> + Awkward silence—no +reply—<br /> + Puzzled baby wonders why!<br /> +Father rises, bows politely—<br /> +Mother smiles (but not too brightly)—<br /> +Doctor mumbles like a dumb thing—<br /> +Nurse is busy mixing something.—<br /> + Every symptom tends to show<br /> + You’re decidedly <i>de +trop</i>—<br /> + + +Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! he! ho! ho!<br /> + + +Time’s teetotum,<br /> + + +If you spin it,<br /> + + +Give its quotum<br /> + + +Once a minute:<br /> + + +I’ll go bail<br /> + + +You hit the nail,<br /> + + +And if you fail<br /> + + +The deuce is in it!</p> +<p class="poetry">You grow up, and you discover<br /> +What it is to be a lover.<br /> +Some young lady is selected—<br /> +Poor, perhaps, but well-connected,<br /> + Whom you hail (for Love is +blind)<br /> + As the Queen of Fairy-kind.<br /> +Though she’s plain—perhaps unsightly,<br /> +Makes her face up—laces tightly,<br /> +In her form your fancy traces<br /> +All the gifts of all the graces.<br /> + Rivals none the maiden woo,<br /> + So you take her and she takes +you!<br /> + + +Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!<br /> + + +Joke beginning,<br /> + + +Never ceases,<br /> + + +Till your inning<br /> + + +Time releases;<br /> + + +On your way<br /> + + +You blindly stray,<br /> + + +And day by day<br /> + + +The joke increases!</p> +<p class="poetry">Ten years later—Time progresses—<br +/> +Sours your temper—thins your tresses;<br /> +Fancy, then, her chain relaxes;<br /> +Rates are facts and so are taxes.<br /> + Fairy Queen’s no longer +young—<br /> + Fairy Queen has such a tongue!<br +/> +Twins have probably intruded—<br /> +Quite unbidden—just as you did;<br /> +They’re a source of care and trouble—<br /> +Just as you were—only double.<br /> + Comes at last the final +stroke—<br /> + Time has had his little joke!<br +/> + + +Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!<br /> + + +Daily driven<br /> + + +(Wife as drover)<br /> + + +Ill you’ve thriven—<br /> + + +Ne’er in clover:<br /> + + +Lastly, when<br /> + + +Threescore and ten<br /> + + +(And not till then),<br /> + + +The joke is over!<br /> +Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!<br /> + Then—and then<br /> + + +The joke is over!</p> +<h2><a name="page490"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +490</span>LIMITED LIABILITY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Some</span> seven men form +an Association<br /> + (If possible, all Peers and +Baronets),<br /> +They start off with a public declaration<br /> + To what extent they mean to pay +their debts.<br /> +That’s called their Capital: if they are wary<br /> + They will not quote it at a sum +immense.<br /> +The figure’s immaterial—it may vary<br /> + From eighteen million down to +eighteenpence.<br /> + + +<i>I</i> should put it rather low;<br /> + + +The good sense of doing so<br /> + Will be evident at once to any +debtor.<br /> + + +When it’s left to you to say<br /> + + +What amount you mean to pay,<br /> + Why, the lower you can put it at, +the better.</p> +<p class="poetry">They then proceed to trade with all +who’ll trust ’em,<br /> + Quite irrespective of their +capital<br /> +(It’s shady, but it’s sanctified by custom);<br /> + Bank, Railway, Loan, or Panama +Canal.<br /> +You can’t embark on trading too tremendous—<br /> + It’s strictly fair, and +based on common sense—<br /> +If you succeed, your profits are stupendous—<br /> + And if you fail, pop goes your +eighteenpence.<br /> + + +Make the money-spinner spin!<br /> + + +For you only stand to win,<br /> + And you’ll never with +dishonesty be twitted.<br /> + + +For nobody can know,<br /> + + +To a million or so,<br /> + To what extent your +capital’s committed!</p> +<p class="poetry">If you come to grief, and creditors are +craving<br /> + (For nothing that is planned by +mortal head<br /> +Is certain in this Vale of Sorrow—saving<br /> + That one’s Liability is +Limited),—<br /> +Do you suppose that signifies perdition?<br /> + If so you’re but a monetary +dunce—<br /> +You merely file a Winding-Up Petition,<br /> + And start another Company at +once!<br /> + + +Though a Rothschild you may be<br /> + + +In your own capacity,<br /> + As a Company you’ve come to +utter sorrow—<br /> + + +But the Liquidators say,<br /> + + +“Never mind—you needn’t pay,”<br /> + So you start another Company +to-morrow!</p> +<h2><a name="page497"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +497</span>ANGLICISED UTOPIA</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Society</span> has quite +forsaken all her wicked courses,<br /> +Which empties our police courts, and abolishes divorces.<br /> + + +(Divorce is nearly obsolete in England.)<br /> +No tolerance we show to undeserving rank and splendour;<br /> +For the higher his position is, the greater the offender.<br /> + + +(That’s a maxim that is prevalent in England.)<br /> +No Peeress at our Drawing-Room before the Presence passes<br /> +Who wouldn’t be accepted by the lower-middle classes;<br /> +Each shady dame, whatever be her rank, is bowed out neatly.<br /> +In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely!<br +/> + It really is +surprising<br /> + What a thorough +Anglicising<br /> + We’ve brought +about—Utopia’s quite another land;<br /> + In her +enterprising movements,<br /> + She is +England—with improvements,<br /> + Which we dutifully offer to our +mother-land!</p> +<p class="poetry">Our city we have beautified—we’ve +done it willy-nilly—<br /> +And all that isn’t Belgrave Square is Strand and +Piccadilly.<br /> + + +(They haven’t any slummeries in England.)<br /> +We have solved the labour question with discrimination +polished,<br /> +So poverty is obsolete and hunger is abolished—<br /> + + +(They are going to abolish it in England.)<br /> +The Chamberlain our native stage has purged, beyond a +question,<br /> +Of “risky” situation and indelicate suggestion;<br /> +No piece is tolerated if it’s costumed +indiscreetly—<br /> +In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely!<br +/> + It really is +surprising<br /> + What a thorough +Anglicising<br /> + We’ve brought +about—Utopia’s quite another land;<br /> + In her +enterprising movements,<br /> + She is +England—with improvements,<br /> + Which we dutifully offer to our +mother-land!</p> +<p class="poetry">Our Peerage we’ve remodelled on an +intellectual basis,<br /> +Which certainly is rough on our hereditary races—<br /> + + +(They are going to remodel it in England.)<br /> +The Brewers and the Cotton Lords no longer seek admission,<br /> +And Literary Merit meets with proper recognition—<br /> + + +(As Literary Merit does in England!)<br /> +Who knows but we may count among our intellectual chickens<br /> +Like them an Earl of Thackeray and p’raps a Duke of +Dickens—<br /> +Lord Fildes and Viscount Millais (when they come) we’ll +welcome sweetly—<br /> +And then, this happy country will be Anglicised completely!<br /> + It really is +surprising<br /> + What a thorough +Anglicising<br /> + We’ve brought +about—Utopia’s quite another land;<br /> + In her +enterprising movements,<br /> + She is +England—with improvements,<br /> + Which we dutifully offer to our +mother-land!</p> +<h2><a name="page499"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 499</span>AN +ENGLISH GIRL</h2> +<p class="poetry"> A <span +class="smcap">wonderful</span> joy our eyes to bless,<br /> + In her magnificent comeliness,<br /> + Is an English girl of eleven stone two,<br /> + And five foot ten in her dancing shoe!<br /> + + +She follows the hounds, and on she pounds—<br /> + + +The “field” tails off and the muffs +diminish—<br /> + + +Over the hedges and brooks she bounds—<br /> + + +Straight as a crow, from find to finish.<br /> + + +At cricket, her kin will lose or win—<br /> + + +She and her maids, on grass and clover,<br /> + + +Eleven maids out—eleven maids in—<br /> + + +(And perhaps an occasional “maiden over”).<br /> +Go search the world and search the sea,<br /> +Then come you home and sing with me<br /> +There’s no such gold and no such pearl<br /> +As a bright and beautiful English girl!</p> +<p class="poetry"> With a ten-mile spin she +stretches her limbs,<br /> + She golfs, she punts, she rows, she swims—<br +/> + She plays, she sings, she dances, too,<br /> + From ten or eleven till all is blue!<br /> + + +At ball or drum, till small hours come<br /> + + +(Chaperon’s fan conceals her yawning),<br /> + + +She’ll waltz away like a teetotum,<br /> + + +And never go home till daylight’s dawning.<br /> + + +Lawn tennis may share her favours fair—<br /> + + +Her eyes a-dance and her cheeks a-glowing—<br /> + + +Down comes her hair, but what does she care?<br /> + + +It’s all her own and it’s worth the showing!<br /> +Go search the world and search the sea,<br /> +Then come you home and sing with me<br /> +There’s no such gold and no such pearl<br /> +As a bright and beautiful English girl!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Her soul is sweet as the +ocean air,<br /> + For prudery knows no haven there;<br /> + To find mock-modesty, please apply<br /> + To the conscious blush and the downcast eye.<br /> + + +Rich in the things contentment brings,<br /> + + +In every pure enjoyment wealthy,<br /> + + +Blithe as a beautiful bird she sings,<br /> + + +For body and mind are hale and healthy.<br /> + + +Her eyes they thrill with right goodwill—<br /> + + +Her heart is light as a floating feather—<br /> + + +As pure and bright as the mountain rill<br /> + + +That leaps and laughs in the Highland heather!<br /> +Go search the world and search the sea,<br /> +Then come you home and sing with me<br /> +There’s no such gold and no such pearl<br /> +As a bright and beautiful English girl!</p> +<h2><a name="page504"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 504</span>A +MANAGER’S PERPLEXITIES</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Were</span> I a king in very truth,<br /> + And had a son—a guileless +youth—<br /> + + +In probable succession;<br /> + To teach him patience, teach him +tact,<br /> + How promptly in a fix to act,<br +/> + He should adopt, in point of +fact,<br /> + + +A manager’s profession.<br /> + To that condition he should +stoop<br /> + + +(Despite a too fond mother),<br /> + With eight or ten +“stars” in his troupe,<br /> + + +All jealous of each other!<br /> +Oh, the man who can rule a theatrical crew,<br /> +Each member a genius (and some of them two),<br /> +And manage to humour them, little and great,<br /> +Can govern a tuppenny-ha’penny State!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Both A and +B rehearsal slight—<br /> + They say they’ll be +“all right at night”<br /> + + +(They’ve both to go to school yet);<br /> + C in each act <i>must</i> change +her dress,<br /> + D <i>will</i> attempt to +“square the press”;<br /> + E won’t play Romeo unless<br +/> + + +His grandmother plays Juliet;<br /> + F claims all hoydens as her +rights<br /> + + +(She’s played them thirty seasons);<br /> + And G must show herself in +tights<br /> + + +For two convincing reasons—<br /> + + +Two very well-shaped reasons!<br /> +Oh, the man who can drive a theatrical team,<br /> +With wheelers and leaders in order supreme,<br /> +Can govern and rule, with a wave of his fin,<br /> +All Europe and Asia—with Ireland thrown in!</p> +<h2><a name="page506"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 506</span>OUT +OF SORTS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> you find +you’re a broken-down critter,<br /> +Who is all of a trimmle and twitter,<br /> +With your palate unpleasantly bitter,<br /> + As if you’d just bitten a +pill—<br /> +When your legs are as thin as dividers,<br /> +And you’re plagued with unruly insiders,<br /> +And your spine is all creepy with spiders,<br /> + And you’re highly gamboge in +the gill—<br /> +When you’ve got a beehive in your head,<br /> + And a sewing machine in each +ear,<br /> +And you feel that you’ve eaten your bed,<br /> + And you’ve got a bad +headache <i>down here</i>—<br /> + + +When such facts are about,<br /> + + +And these symptoms you find<br /> + + +In your body or crown—<br /> + + +Well, it’s time to look out,<br /> + + +You may make up your mind<br /> + + +You had better lie down!</p> +<p class="poetry">When your lips are all smeary—like +tallow,<br /> +And your tongue is decidedly yallow,<br /> +With a pint of warm oil in your sw<i>a</i>llow,<br /> + And a pound of tin-tacks in your +chest—<br /> +When you’re down in the mouth with the vapours,<br /> +And all over your new Morris papers<br /> +Black-beetles are cutting their capers,<br /> + And crawly things never at +rest—<br /> +When you doubt if your head is your own,<br /> + And you jump when an open door +slams—<br /> +Then you’ve got to a state which is known<br /> + To the medical world as +“jim-jams.”<br /> + + +If such symptoms you find<br /> + + +In your body or head,<br /> + + +They’re not easy to quell—<br /> + + +You may make up your mind<br /> + + +You are better in bed,<br /> + + +For you’re not at all well!</p> +<h2><a name="page512"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 512</span>HOW +IT’S DONE</h2> +<p class="poetry"> Bold-faced +ranger<br /> + (Perfect stranger)<br /> +Meets two well-behaved young ladies<br /> + He’s attractive,<br /> + Young and active—<br /> +Each a little bit afraid is.<br /> + Youth advances,<br /> + At his glances<br /> +To their danger they awaken;<br /> + They repel him<br /> + As they tell him<br /> +He is very much mistaken.<br /> +Though they speak to him politely,<br /> +Please observe they’re sneering slightly,<br /> +Just to show he’s acting vainly.<br /> +This is Virtue saying plainly,<br /> + “Go away, young bachelor,<br +/> + We are not what you take us +for!”<br /> +(When addressed impertinently,<br /> +English ladies answer gently,<br /> + “Go away, young bachelor,<br +/> + We are not what you take us +for!”)</p> +<p class="poetry"> As he +gazes,<br /> + Hat he raises,<br /> +Enters into conversation.<br /> + Makes excuses—<br /> + This produces<br /> +Interesting agitation.<br /> + He, with daring,<br /> + Undespairing,<br /> +Gives his card—his rank discloses—<br /> + Little heeding<br /> + This proceeding,<br /> +They turn up their little noses.<br /> +Pray observe this lesson vital—<br /> +When a man of rank and title<br /> +His position first discloses,<br /> +Always cock your little noses.<br /> + When at home, let all the class<br +/> + Try this in the looking-glass.<br +/> +(English girls of well-bred notions<br /> +Shun all unrehearsed emotions,<br /> + English girls of highest class<br +/> + Practise them before the +glass.)</p> +<p class="poetry"> His +intentions<br /> + Then he mentions,<br /> +Something definite to go on—<br /> + Makes recitals<br /> + Of his titles,<br /> +Hints at settlements, and so on.<br /> + Smiling sweetly,<br /> + They, discreetly,<br /> +Ask for further evidences:<br /> + Thus invited,<br /> + He, delighted,<br /> +Gives the usual references.<br /> +This is business. Each is fluttered<br /> +When the offer’s fairly uttered.<br /> +“Which of them has his affection?”<br /> +He declines to make selection.<br /> + Do they quarrel for his dross?<br +/> + Not a bit of it—they +toss!<br /> +Please observe this cogent moral—<br /> +English ladies never quarrel.<br /> + When a doubt they come across,<br +/> + English ladies always toss.</p> +<h2><a name="page515"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 515</span>A +CLASSICAL REVIVAL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">At</span> the outset I may +mention it’s my sovereign intention<br /> + To revive the classic memories of Athens at its +best,<br /> +For my company possesses all the necessary dresses,<br /> + And a course of quiet cramming will supply us with +the rest.<br /> +We’ve a choir hyporchematic (that is, ballet-operatic)<br +/> + Who respond to the <i>choreutae</i> of that +cultivated age,<br /> +And our clever chorus-master, all but captious criticaster,<br /> + Would accept as the <i>choregus</i> of the early +Attic stage.<br /> +This return to classic ages is considered in their wages,<br /> + Which are always calculated by the day or by the +week—<br /> +And I’ll pay ’em (if they’ll back me) all in +<i>oboloi</i> and <i>drachmae</i>,<br /> + Which they’ll get (if they prefer it) at the +Kalends that are Greek!</p> +<p class="poetry"> (At this juncture I may +mention<br /> + That this erudition sham<br /> + Is but classical pretension,<br /> + The result of steady +“cram.”:<br /> + Periphrastic methods spurning,<br /> + To my readers all discerning<br /> + I admit this show of learning<br /> + Is the fruit of steady +“cram.”!)</p> +<p class="poetry">In the period Socratic every dining-room was +Attic<br /> + (Which suggests an architecture of a topsy-turvy +kind),<br /> +There they’d satisfy their twist on a +<i>recherché</i> cold +<i>ἄριστον</i>,<br /> + Which is what they called their lunch—and so +may you, if you’re inclined.<br /> +As they gradually got on, they’d +<i>πρέπεσθαι +πρὸς τὸν +πότον</i><br /> + (Which is Attic for a steady and a conscientious +drink).<br /> +But they mixed their wine with water—which I’m sure +they didn’t oughter—<br /> + And we Anglo-Saxons know a trick worth two of that, +I think!<br /> +Then came rather risky dances (under certain circumstances)<br /> + Which would shock that worthy gentleman, the +Licenser of Plays,<br /> +Corybantian mani<i>ac</i> kick—Dionysiac or +Bacchic—<br /> + And the Dithyrambic revels of those indecorous +days.</p> +<p class="poetry"> (And perhaps I’d better +mention<br /> + Lest alarming you I am,<br /> + That it isn’t our intention<br /> + To perform a Dithyramb—<br +/> + It displays a lot of stocking,<br /> + Which is always very shocking,<br /> + And of course I’m only mocking<br /> + At the prevalence of +“cram.”)</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, on reconsideration, there are customs of +that nation<br /> + Which are not in strict accordance with the habits +of our day,<br /> +And when I come to codify, their rules I mean to modify,<br /> + Or Mrs. Grundy, p’r’aps, may have a word +or two to say:<br /> +For they hadn’t macintoshes or umbrellas or +goloshes—<br /> + And a shower with their dresses must have played the +very deuce,<br /> +And it must have been unpleasing when they caught a fit of +sneezing,<br /> + For, it seems, of pocket-handkerchiefs they +didn’t know the use.<br /> +They wore little underclothing—scarcely anything—or +no-thing—<br /> + And their dress of Coan silk was quite transparent +in design—<br /> +Well, in fact, in summer weather, something like the +“altogether.”<br /> + And it’s <i>there</i>, I rather fancy, I shall +have to draw the line!</p> +<p class="poetry"> (And again I wish to +mention<br /> + That this erudition sham<br /> + Is but classical pretension,<br /> + The result of steady +“cram.”<br /> + Yet my classic love aggressive,<br /> + If you’ll pardon the possessive,<br /> + Is exceedingly impressive<br /> + When you’re passing an +exam.)</p> +<h2><a name="page523"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 523</span>THE +PRACTICAL JOKER</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span> what a fund of +joy jocund lies hid in harmless hoaxes!<br /> + What keen +enjoyment springs<br /> + From cheap and +simple things!<br /> +What deep delight from sources trite inventive humour coaxes,<br +/> + That pain and +trouble brew<br /> + For every one +but you!<br /> +Gunpowder placed inside its waist improves a mild Havanah,<br /> + Its unexpected +flash<br /> + Burns eyebrows +and moustache;<br /> +When people dine no kind of wine beats ipecacuanha,<br /> + But common sense +suggests<br /> + You keep it for +your guests—<br /> +Then naught annoys the organ boys like throwing red-hot +coppers,<br /> + And much +amusement bides<br /> + In common +butter-slides.<br /> +And stringy snares across the stairs cause unexpected +croppers.<br /> + Coal scuttles, +recollect,<br /> + Produce the same +effect.<br /> + + +A man possessed<br /> + + +Of common sense<br /> + + +Need not invest<br /> + + +At great expense—<br /> + + +It does not call<br /> + + +For pocket deep,<br /> + + +These jokes are all<br /> + + +Extremely cheap.<br /> +If you commence with eighteenpence (it’s all you’ll +have to pay),<br /> +You may command a pleasant and a most instructive day.</p> +<p class="poetry">A good spring gun breeds endless fun, and makes +men jump like rockets,<br /> + And turnip-heads +on posts<br /> + Make very decent +ghosts:<br /> +Then hornets sting like anything, when placed in waist-coat +pockets—<br /> + Burnt cork and +walnut juice<br /> + Are not without +their use.<br /> +No fun compares with easy chairs whose seats are stuffed with +needles—<br /> +Live shrimps their patience tax<br /> +When put down people’s backs—<br /> +Surprising, too, what one can do with fifty fat black +beedles—<br /> + And treacle on a +chair<br /> + Will make a +Quaker swear!<br /> + + +Then sharp tin tacks<br /> + + +And pocket squirts—<br /> + + +And cobblers’ wax<br /> + + +For ladies’ skirts—<br /> + + +And slimy slugs<br /> + + +On bedroom floors—<br /> + + +And water jugs<br /> + + +On open doors—<br /> +Prepared with these cheap properties, amusing tricks to play,<br +/> +Upon a friend a man may spend a most delightful day!</p> +<h2><a name="page526"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 526</span>THE +NATIONAL ANTHEM</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">monarch</span> is +pestered with cares,<br /> + Though, no doubt, he can often +trepan them;<br /> +But one comes in a shape he can never escape—<br /> + The implacable National Anthem!<br +/> + + +Though for quiet and rest he may yearn,<br /> + + +It pursues him at every turn—<br /> + + +No chance of forsaking<br /> + + +Its <i>rococo</i> numbers;<br /> + + +They haunt him when waking—<br /> + + +They poison his slumbers—<br /> +Like the Banbury Lady, whom every one knows,<br /> +He’s cursed with its music wherever he goes!<br /> + Though its words but imperfectly +rhyme,<br /> + + +And the devil himself couldn’t scan them;<br /> + With composure polite he endures +day and night<br /> + + +That illiterate National Anthem!</p> +<p class="poetry">It serves a good purpose, I own:<br /> + Its strains are devout and +impressive—<br /> +Its heart-stirring notes raise a lump in our throats<br /> + As we burn with devotion +excessive:<br /> + + +But the King, who’s been bored by that song<br /> + + +From his cradle—each day—all day long—<br /> + + +Who’s heard it loud-shouted<br /> + + +By throats operatic,<br /> + + +And loyally spouted<br /> + + +By courtiers emphatic—<br /> +By soldier—by sailor—by drum and by fife—<br /> +Small blame if he thinks it the plague of his life!<br /> + While his subjects sing loudly and +long,<br /> + + +Their King—who would willingly ban them—<br /> + Sits, worry disguising, +anathematising<br /> + + +That Bogie, the National Anthem!</p> +<h2><a name="page534"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 534</span>HER +TERMS</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">My</span> wedded life<br /> + + +Must every pleasure bring<br /> + + +On scale extensive!<br /> + If I’m your wife<br /> + + +I must have everything<br /> + + +That’s most expensive—<br /> + A lady’s-maid—<br /> + + +(My hair alone to do<br /> + + +I am not able)—<br /> + And I’m afraid<br /> + + +I’ve been accustomed to<br /> + + +A first-rate table.<br /> +These things one must consider when one marries—<br /> +And everything I wear must come from Paris!<br /> + + +Oh, think of that!<br /> + + +Oh, think of that!<br /> +I can’t wear anything that’s not from Paris!<br /> + From top to toes<br /> + + +Quite Frenchified I am,<br /> + + +If you examine.<br /> + And then—who +knows?—<br /> + + +Perhaps some day a fam—<br /> + + +Perhaps a famine!<br /> +My argument’s correct, if you examine,<br /> +What should we do, if there should come a f-famine!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Though in +green pea<br /> + + +Yourself you needn’t stint<br /> + + +In July sunny,<br /> + In Januaree<br /> + + +It really costs a mint—<br /> + + +A mint of money!<br /> + No lamb for us—<br /> + + +House lamb at Christmas sells<br /> + + +At prices handsome:<br /> + Asparagus,<br /> + + +In winter, parallels<br /> + + +A Monarch’s ransom:<br /> +When purse to bread and butter barely reaches,<br /> +What is your wife to do for hot-house peaches?<br /> + + +Ah! tell me that!<br /> + + +Ah! tell me that!<br /> +What <i>is</i> your wife to do for hot-house peaches?<br /> + Your heart and hand<br /> + + +Though at my feet you lay,<br /> + + +All others scorning!<br /> + As matters stand,<br /> + + +There’s nothing now to say<br /> + + +Except—good morning!<br /> +Though virtue be a husband’s best adorning,<br /> +That won’t pay rates and taxes—so, good morning!</p> +<h2><a name="page536"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 536</span>THE +INDEPENDENT BEE</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">hive</span> of bees, as +I’ve heard say,<br /> +Said to their Queen one sultry day,<br /> + “Please your Majesty’s +high position,<br /> + + +The hive is full and the weather is warm,<br /> + We rather think, with a due +submission,<br /> + + +The time has come when we ought to swarm.”<br /> + + +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> +Up spake their Queen and thus spake she—<br /> +“This is a matter that rests with me,<br /> +Who dares opinions thus to form?<br /> +<i>I’ll</i> tell you when it is time to swarm!”<br /> + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her Majesty wore an angry frown,<br /> +In fact, her Majesty’s foot was down—<br /> +Her Majesty sulked—declined to sup—<br /> +In short, her Majesty’s back was up.<br /> + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> +Her foot was down and her back was up!</p> +<p class="poetry">That hive contained one obstinate bee<br /> +(His name was Peter), and thus spake he—<br /> + “Though every bee has shown +white feather,<br /> + + +To bow to tyranny I’m not prone—<br /> + Why should a hive swarm all +together?<br /> + + +Surely a bee can swarm alone?”<br /> + + +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> + + +Upside down and inside out,<br /> + + +Backwards, forwards, round about,<br /> + + +Twirling here and twisting there,<br /> + + +Topsy turvily everywhere—<br /> + + +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> + + +Pitiful sight it was to see<br /> + + +Respectable elderly high-class bee,<br /> + + +Who kicked the beam at sixteen stone,<br /> + + +Trying his best to swarm alone!<br /> + + +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> + + +Trying his best to swarm alone!</p> +<p class="poetry">The hive were shocked to see their chum<br /> +(A strict teetotaller) teetotum—<br /> + The Queen exclaimed, “How +terrible, very!<br /> + + +It’s perfectly clear to all the throng<br /> + Peter’s been at the old +brown sherry.<br /> + + +Old brown sherry is much too strong—<br /> + + +Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> +Of all who thus themselves degrade,<br /> +A stern example must be made,<br /> +To Coventry go, you tipsy bee!”<br /> +So off to Coventry town went he.<br /> + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> +There, classed with all who misbehave,<br /> +Both plausible rogue and noisome knave,<br /> +In dismal dumps he lived to own<br /> +The folly of trying to swarm alone!<br /> + Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.<br /> +All came of trying to swarm alone.</p> +<h2><a name="page547"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 547</span>THE +DISCONCERTED TENOR</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">tenor</span>, all singers +above<br /> + (This doesn’t admit of a +question),<br /> + + +Should keep himself quiet,<br /> + + +Attend to his diet,<br /> + And carefully nurse his +digestion.<br /> +But when he is madly in love,<br /> + It’s certain to tell on his +singing—<br /> + + +You can’t do chromatics<br /> + + +With proper emphatics<br /> + When anguish your bosom is +wringing!<br /> +When distracted with worries in plenty,<br /> +And his pulse is a hundred and twenty,<br /> +And his fluttering bosom the slave of mistrust is,<br /> + A tenor can’t do himself +justice.<br /> + + +Now observe—(<i>sings a high note</i>)—<br /> + You see, I can’t do myself +justice!</p> +<p class="poetry">I could sing, if my fervour were mock,<br /> + It’s easy enough if +you’re acting,<br /> + + +But when one’s emotion<br /> + + +Is born of devotion,<br /> + You mustn’t be +over-exacting.<br /> +One ought to be firm as a rock<br /> + To venture a shake in +<i>vibrato</i>;<br /> + + +When fervour’s expected,<br /> + + +Keep cool and collected,<br /> + Or never attempt +<i>agitato</i>.<br /> +But, of course, when his tongue is of leather,<br /> +And his lips appear pasted together,<br /> +And his sensitive palate as dry as a crust is,<br /> + A tenor can’t do himself +justice.<br /> + + +Now observe—(<i>sings a cadence</i>)—<br /> + It’s no use—I +can’t do myself justice!</p> +<h2><a name="page553"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 553</span>THE +PLAYED-OUT HUMORIST</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Quixotic</span> is his +enterprise, and hopeless his adventure is,<br /> + Who seeks for jocularities that haven’t yet +been said.<br /> +The world has joked incessantly for over fifty centuries,<br /> + And every joke that’s possible has long ago +been made.<br /> +I started as a humorist with lots of mental fizziness,<br /> + But humour is a drug which it’s the fashion to +abuse;<br /> +For my stock-in-trade, my fixtures, and the goodwill of the +business<br /> + No reasonable offer I am likely to refuse.<br /> + + +And if anybody choose<br /> + + +He may circulate the news<br /> + That no reasonable offer I’m likely to +refuse.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh happy was that humorist—the first that +made a pun at all—<br /> + Who when a joke occurred to him, however poor and +mean,<br /> +Was absolutely certain that it never had been done at +all—<br /> + How popular at dinners must that humorist have +been!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh the days when some stepfather for the query +held a handle out,<br /> + The door-mat from the scraper, is it distant very +far?<br /> +And when no one knew where Moses was when Aaron blew the candle +out,<br /> + And no one had discovered that a door could be +a-jar!<br /> + + +But your modern hearers are<br /> + + +In their tastes particular,<br /> + And they sneer if you inform them that a door can be +a-jar!</p> +<p class="poetry">In search of quip and quiddity, I’ve sat +all day, alone, apart—<br /> + And all that I could hit on as a problem +was—to find<br /> +Analogy between a scrag of mutton and a Bony-part,<br /> + Which offers slight employment to the speculative +mind:<br /> +For you cannot call it very good, however great your +charity—<br /> + It’s not the sort of humour that is greeted +with a shout—<br /> +And I’ve come to the conclusion that my mine of +jocularity<br /> + In present Anno Domini, is worked completely out!<br +/> + + +Though the notion you may scout,<br /> + + +I can prove beyond a doubt<br /> + That my mine of jocularity is utterly worked +out.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF A SAVOYARD***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 934-h.htm or 934-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/9/3/934 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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