+Transcriber's Notes+
1. Typographical errors have been silently corrected.
2. Variations of spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.
3. The text version is coded for italics and the like mark-ups i.e.,
a) italics are indicated thus _italic_;
b) small-caps are indicated thus CAPS;
c) bold text is indicated thus =strong=
d) Images in the book are indicated as [Illustration] at
the respective place, between paragraphs.
THE BAB BALLADS
THE BAB BALLADS
WITH WHICH ARE INCLUDED
SONGS OF A SAVOYARD
BY
W. S. GILBERT
[Illustration]
WITH 350 ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR
LONDON
MACMILLAN & CO LTD
NEW YORK. ST MARTIN'S PRESS
_This book is copyright in all countries which
are signatories to the Berne Convention_
_Transferred to Macmillan and Co. Ltd._, 1904
_Sixth Edition_ 1904
_Reprinted_ 1906, 1908, 1910, 1912, 1914, 1917, 1919
1920, 1922, 1924, 1926, 1932, 1953, 1960
MACMILLAN AND COMPANY LIMITED
_London Bombay Calcutta Madras Melbourne_
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA LIMITED
_Toronto_
ST MARTIN'S PRESS INC
_New York_
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
AUTHOR'S NOTE
About thirty years since, several of "The Bab Ballads" (most of which
had appeared, from time to time, in the pages of _Fun_) were collected
by me, and published by Messrs. George Routledge and Sons. This volume
passed through several editions, and, in due course, was followed by
a second series under the title of "More Bab Ballads," which achieved
a popularity equal to that of its predecessor. Subsequently, excerpts
were made from these two volumes, and, under the title of "Fifty Bab
Ballads," had a very considerable sale; but I soon discovered that in
making the selection for this volume I had discarded certain Ballads
that were greater favourites with my readers than with me. Nevertheless
this issue was followed by many editions, English and American, of "Bab
Ballads," "More Bab Ballads," and "Fifty Bab Ballads," to the no little
bewilderment of such of the public as had been good enough to concern
themselves with my verses. So it became desirable (for our own private
ends) that this confusion should be definitely cleared up; and thus
it came to pass that a reissue of the two earlier collections, in one
volume, was decided upon.
Some seven years since, I collected the most popular of the songs and
ballads which I had written for the series of light operas with which
my name is associated, and published them under the title of "Songs of
a Savoyard." It recently occurred to me that these songs had so much in
common with "The Bab Ballads" that it might be advisable to weld the
two books into one. This is, briefly, the history of the present volume.
I have always felt that many of the original illustrations to "The Bab
Ballads" erred gravely in the direction of unnecessary extravagance.
This defect I have endeavoured to correct through the medium of the two
hundred new drawings which I have designed for this volume. I am afraid
I cannot claim for them any other recommendation,
W. S. GILBERT.
GRIM'S DYKE, HARROW WEALD,
_4th December 1897_.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CAPTAIN REECE 1
THE DARNED MOUNSEER 6
THE RIVAL CURATES 8
THE ENGLISHMAN 13
ONLY A DANCING GIRL 14
THE DISAGREEABLE MAN 16
GENERAL JOHN 18
THE COMING BY-AND-BY 22
TO A LITTLE MAID 24
THE HIGHLY RESPECTABLE GONDOLIER 26
JOHN AND FREDDY 28
THE FAIRY QUEEN'S SONG 32
SIR GUY THE CRUSADER 34
IS LIFE A BOON? 38
HAUNTED 39
THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL 42
THE BISHOP AND THE 'BUSMAN 44
THE HEAVY DRAGOON 49
THE TROUBADOUR 51
PROPER PRIDE 56
FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA; OR, THE GENTLE PIEMAN 58
THE POLICEMAN'S LOT 63
LORENZO DE LARDY 64
THE BAFFLED GRUMBLER 69
DISILLUSIONED 71
THE HOUSE OF PEERS 74
BABETTE'S LOVE 76
A MERRY MADRIGAL 81
TO MY BRIDE 82
THE DUKE AND THE DUCHESS 84
THE FOLLY OF BROWN 87
EHEU FUGACES--! 92
SIR MACKLIN 94
THEY'LL NONE OF 'EM BE MISSED 99
THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL" 101
GIRL GRADUATES 106
THE BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO 108
BRAID THE RAVEN HAIR 113
THE PRECOCIOUS BABY 114
THE WORKING MONARCH 119
TO PHŒBE 122
THE APE AND THE LADY 123
BAINES CAREW, GENTLEMAN 125
ONLY ROSES 130
THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE 131
THE ROVER'S APOLOGY 136
A DISCONTENTED SUGAR BROKER 138
AN APPEAL 143
THE PANTOMIME "SUPER" TO HIS MASK 144
THE REWARD OF MERIT 146
THE GHOST, THE GALLANT, THE GAEL, AND THE GOBLIN 148
THE MAGNET AND THE CHURN 153
KING BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO 155
THE FAMILY FOOL 161
THE PERIWINKLE GIRL 164
SANS SOUCI 169
THOMSON GREEN AND HARRIET HALE 171
A RECIPE 175
BOB POLTER 176
THE MERRYMAN AND HIS MAID 182
ELLEN M'JONES ABERDEEN 185
THE SUSCEPTIBLE CHANCELLOR 191
PETER THE WAG 193
WHEN A MERRY MAIDEN MARRIES 198
THE THREE KINGS OF CHICKERABOO 200
THE BRITISH TAR 204
GENTLE ALICE BROWN 205
A MAN WHO WOULD WOO A FAIR MAID 209
THE SORCERER'S SONG 211
THE BUMBOAT WOMAN'S STORY 214
THE FICKLE BREEZE 219
THE TWO OGRES 221
THE FIRST LORD'S SONG 227
LITTLE OLIVER 229
MISTER WILLIAM 235
WOULD YOU KNOW? 240
PASHA BAILEY BEN 242
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL FLARE 248
SPECULATION 254
AH ME! 255
LOST MR. BLAKE 256
THE DUKE OF PLAZA-TORO 262
THE BABY'S VENGEANCE 265
THE ÆSTHETE 271
THE CAPTAIN AND THE MERMAIDS 273
SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I 278
ANNIE PROTHEROE 280
SORRY HER LOT 286
AN UNFORTUNATE LIKENESS 287
THE CONTEMPLATIVE SENTRY 292
GREGORY PARABLE, LL.D. 294
THE PHILOSOPHIC PILL 299
THE KING OF CANOODLE-DUM 301
BLUE BLOOD 307
FIRST LOVE 309
THE JUDGE'S SONG 315
BRAVE ALUM BEY 317
WHEN I FIRST PUT THIS UNIFORM ON 322
SIR BARNABY BAMPTON BOO 324
SOLATIUM 329
THE MODEST COUPLE 330
A NIGHTMARE 335
THE MARTINET 338
DON'T FORGET! 345
THE SAILOR BOY TO HIS LASS 348
THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE 354
THE REVEREND SIMON MAGUS 356
HE AND SHE 361
DAMON _V._ PYTHIAS 363
THE MIGHTY MUST 367
MY DREAM 368
A MIRAGE 374
THE BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO AGAIN 376
THE GHOSTS' HIGH NOON 381
A WORM WILL TURN 383
THE HUMANE MIKADO 388
THE HAUGHTY ACTOR 391
WILLOW WALY! 397
THE TWO MAJORS 399
LIFE IS LOVELY ALL THE YEAR 403
EMILY, JOHN, JAMES, AND I 405
THE USHER'S CHARGE 411
THE PERILS OF INVISIBILITY 413
THE GREAT OAK TREE 418
OLD PAUL AND OLD TIM 420
KING GOODHEART 424
THE MYSTIC SELVAGEE 426
SLEEP ON! 431
THE CUNNING WOMAN 433
THE LOVE-SICK BOY 439
PHRENOLOGY 440
POETRY EVERYWHERE 445
THE FAIRY CURATE 446
HE LOVES! 453
THE WAY OF WOOING 454
TRUE DIFFIDENCE 458
HONGREE AND MAHRY 460
THE TANGLED SKEIN 466
THE REVEREND MICAH SOWLS 467
MY LADY 471
ONE AGAINST THE WORLD 473
THE FORCE OF ARGUMENT 475
PUT A PENNY IN THE SLOT 480
GOOD LITTLE GIRLS 482
THE PHANTOM CURATE 484
LIFE 487
LIMITED LIABILITY 490
THE SENSATION CAPTAIN 492
ANGLICISED UTOPIA 497
AN ENGLISH GIRL 499
TEMPORA MUTANTUR 501
A MANAGER'S PERPLEXITIES 504
OUT OF SORTS 506
AT A PANTOMIME 508
HOW IT'S DONE 512
A CLASSICAL REVIVAL 515
THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB 518
THE PRACTICAL JOKER 523
THE NATIONAL ANTHEM 526
JOE GOLIGHTLY; OR, THE FIRST LORD'S DAUGHTER 528
HER TERMS 534
THE INDEPENDENT BEE 536
TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE 539
ETIQUETTE 541
THE DISCONCERTED TENOR 547
BEN ALLAH ACHMET; OR, THE FATAL TUM 549
THE PLAYED-OUT HUMORIST 553
INDEX TO FIRST LINES 555
ALPHABETICAL INDEX TO TITLES 561
THE BAB BALLADS
[Illustration]
CAPTAIN REECE
Of all the ships upon the blue
No ship contained a better crew
Than that of worthy CAPTAIN REECE,
Commanding of _The Mantelpiece_.
He was adored by all his men,
For worthy CAPTAIN REECE, R.N.,
Did all that lay within him to
Promote the comfort of his crew.
If ever they were dull or sad,
Their captain danced to them like mad,
Or told, to make the time pass by.
Droll legends of his infancy.
[Illustration]
A feather bed had every man,
Warm slippers and hot-water can,
Brown Windsor from the captain's store,
A valet, too, to every four.
Did they with thirst in summer burn?
Lo, seltzogenes at every turn,
And on all very sultry days
Cream ices handed round on trays.
Then currant wine and ginger pops
Stood handily on all the "tops";
And, also, with amusement rife,
A "Zoetrope, or Wheel of Life."
New volumes came across the sea
From MISTER MUDIE'S libraree;
_The Times_ and _Saturday Review_
Beguiled the leisure of the crew.
Kind-hearted CAPTAIN REECE, R.N.,
Was quite devoted to his men;
In point of fact, good CAPTAIN REECE
Beatified _The Mantelpiece_.
One summer eve, at half-past ten,
He said (addressing all his men):
"Come, tell me, please, what I can do
To please and gratify my crew?
"By any reasonable plan
I'll make you happy, if I can;
My own convenience count as _nil_;
It is my duty, and I will."
Then up and answered WILLIAM LEE
(The kindly captain's coxswain he,
A nervous, shy, low-spoken man),
He cleared his throat and thus began:
"You have a daughter, CAPTAIN REECE,
Ten female cousins and a niece,
A ma, if what I'm told is true,
Six sisters, and an aunt or two.
"Now, somehow, sir, it seems to me,
More friendly-like we all should be
If you united of 'em to
Unmarried members of the crew.
"If you'd ameliorate our life,
Let each select from them a wife;
And as for nervous me, old pal,
Give me your own enchanting gal!"
Good CAPTAIN REECE, that worthy man,
Debated on his coxswain's plan:
"I quite agree," he said, "O BILL;
It is my duty, and I will.
"My daughter, that enchanting gurl,
Has just been promised to an earl,
And all my other familee,
To peers of various degree.
"But what are dukes and viscounts to
The happiness of all my crew?
The word I gave you I'll fulfil;
It is my duty, and I will.
"As you desire it shall befall,
I'll settle thousands on you all,
And I shall be, despite my hoard,
The only bachelor on board."
The boatswain of _The Mantelpiece_,
He blushed and spoke to CAPTAIN REECE.
"I beg your honour's leave," he said,
"If you would wish to go and wed,
"I have a widowed mother who
Would be the very thing for you--
She long has loved you from afar,
She washes for you, CAPTAIN R."
The captain saw the dame that day--
Addressed her in his playful way--
"And did it want a wedding ring?
It was a tempting ickle sing!
"Well, well, the chaplain I will seek,
We'll all be married this day week--
At yonder church upon the hill;
It is my duty, and I will!"
The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece,
And widowed ma of CAPTAIN REECE,
Attended there as they were bid;
It was their duty, and they did.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE DARNED MOUNSEER
I shipped, d'ye see, in a Revenue sloop,
And, off Cape Finisteere,
A merchantman we see,
A Frenchman, going free,
So we made for the bold Mounseer,
D'ye see?
We made for the bold Mounseer!
But she proved to be a Frigate--and she up with her ports,
And fires with a thirty-two!
It come uncommon near,
But we answered with a cheer,
Which paralysed the Parley-voo,
D'ye see?
Which paralysed the Parley-voo!
Then our Captain he up and he says, says he,
"That chap we need not fear,--
We can take her, if we like,
She is sartin for to strike,
For she's only a darned Mounseer,
D'ye see?
She's only a darned Mounseer!
But to fight a French fal-lal--it's like hittin' of a gal--
It's a lubberly thing for to do;
For we, with all our faults,
Why, we're sturdy British salts,
While she's but a Parley-voo,
D'ye see?
A miserable Parley-voo!"
So we up with our helm, and we scuds before the breeze,
As we gives a compassionating cheer;
Froggee answers with a shout
As he sees us go about,
Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer,
D'ye see?
Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer!
And I'll wager in their joy they kissed each other's cheek
(Which is what them furriners do),
And they blessed their lucky stars
We were hardy British tars
Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo,
D'ye see?
Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo!
[Illustration]
THE RIVAL CURATES
List while the poet trolls
Of MR. CLAYTON HOOPER,
Who had a cure of souls
At Spiffton-extra-Sooper.
He lived on curds and whey,
And daily sang their praises,
And then he'd go and play
With buttercups and daisies.
Wild croquet HOOPER banned,
And all the sports of Mammon,
He warred with cribbage, and
He exorcised backgammon.
His helmet was a glance
That spoke of holy gladness;
A saintly smile his lance,
His shield a tear of sadness.
His Vicar smiled to see
This armour on him buckled;
With pardonable glee
He blessed himself and chuckled:
"In mildness to abound
My curate's sole design is,
In all the country round
There's none so mild as mine is!"
And HOOPER, disinclined
His trumpet to be blowing.
Yet didn't think you'd find
A milder curate going.
A friend arrived one day
At Spiffton-extra-Sooper,
And in this shameful way
He spoke to MR. HOOPER:
"You think your famous name
For mildness can't be shaken.
That none can blot your fame--
But, HOOPER, you're mistaken!
"Your mind is not as blank
As that of HOPLEY PORTER,
Who holds a curate's rank
At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.
"_He_ plays the airy flute,
And looks depressed and blighted,
Doves round about him 'toot,'
And lambkins dance delighted.
[Illustration]
"_He_ labours more than you
At worsted work, and frames it;
In old maids' albums, too,
Sticks seaweed--yes, and names it!"
The tempter said his say,
Which pierced him like a needle--
He summoned straight away
His sexton and his beadle.
These men were men who could
Hold liberal opinions:
On Sundays they were good--
On week-days they were minions.
"To HOPLEY PORTER go,
Your fare I will afford you--
Deal him a deadly blow,
And blessings shall reward you.
"But stay--I do not like
Undue assassination,
And so, before you strike,
Make this communication:
[Illustration]
"I'll give him this one chance--
If he'll more gaily bear him,
Play croquet, smoke, and dance,
I willingly will spare him."
They went, those minions true,
To Assesmilk-cum-Worter,
And told their errand to
The REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER.
"What?" said that reverend gent,
"Dance through my hours of leisure?
Smoke?--bathe myself with scent?--
Play croquet? Oh, with pleasure!
"Wear all my hair in curl?
Stand at my door, and wink--so--
At every passing girl?
My brothers, I should think so!
[Illustration]
"For years I've longed for some
Excuse for this revulsion:
Now that excuse has come--
I do it on compulsion!!!"
He smoked and winked away--
This REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER--
The deuce there was to pay
At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.
And HOOPER holds his ground,
In mildness daily growing--
They think him, all around,
The mildest curate going.
[Illustration]
THE ENGLISHMAN
He is an Englishman!
For he himself has said it,
And it's greatly to his credit,
That he is an Englishman!
For he might have been a Roosian,
A French, or Turk, or Proosian,
Or perhaps Itali-an!
But in spite of all temptations,
To belong to other nations,
He remains an Englishman!
Hurrah!
For the true-born Englishman!
[Illustration]
ONLY A DANCING GIRL
Only a dancing girl,
With an unromantic style,
With borrowed colour and curl,
With fixed mechanical smile,
With many a hackneyed wile,
With ungrammatical lips,
And corns that mar her trips!
Hung from the "flies" in air,
She acts a palpable lie;
She's as little a fairy there
As unpoetical I!
I hear you asking, Why--
Why in the world I sing
This tawdry, tinselled thing?
No airy fairy she,
As she hangs in arsenic green,
From a highly impossible tree,
In a highly impossible scene
(Herself not over clean).
For fays don't suffer, I'm told,
From bunions, coughs, or cold.
And stately dames that bring
Their daughters there to see,
Pronounce the "dancing thing"
No better than she should be.
With her skirt at her shameful knee,
And her painted, tainted phiz:
Ah, matron, which of us is?
(And, in sooth, it oft occurs
That while these matrons sigh,
Their dresses are lower than hers,
And sometimes half as high;
And their hair is hair they buy.
And they use their glasses, too,
In a way she'd blush to do.)
But change her gold and green
For a coarse merino gown,
And see her upon the scene
Of her home, when coaxing down
Her drunken father's frown,
In his squalid cheerless den:
She's a fairy truly, then!
[Illustration]
THE DISAGREEABLE MAN
If you give me your attention, I will tell you what I am:
I'm a genuine philanthropist--all other kinds are sham.
Each little fault of temper and each social defect
In my erring fellow-creatures, I endeavour to correct.
To all their little weaknesses I open people's eyes,
And little plans to snub the self-sufficient I devise;
I love my fellow-creatures--I do all the good I can--
Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!
And I can't think why!
To compliments inflated I've a withering reply,
And vanity I always do my best to mortify;
A charitable action I can skilfully dissect;
And interested motives I'm delighted to detect.
I know everybody's income and what everybody earns,
And I carefully compare it with the income-tax returns;
But to benefit humanity however much I plan,
Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!
And I can't think why!
I'm sure I'm no ascetic; I'm as pleasant as can be;
You'll always find me ready with a crushing repartee;
I've an irritating chuckle, I've a celebrated sneer,
I've an entertaining snigger, I've a fascinating leer;
To everybody's prejudice I know a thing or two;
I can tell a woman's age in half a minute--and I do--
But although I try to make myself as pleasant as I can.
Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!
And I can't think why!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
GENERAL JOHN
The bravest names for fire and flames
And all that mortal durst,
Were GENERAL JOHN and PRIVATE JAMES,
Of the Sixty-seventy-first.
GENERAL JOHN was a soldier tried,
A chief of warlike dons;
A haughty stride and a withering pride
Were MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN'S.
A sneer would play on his martial phiz,
Superior birth to show;
"Pish!" was a favourite word of his,
And he often said "Ho! ho!"
FULL-PRIVATE JAMES described might be
As a man of a mournful mind;
No characteristic trait had he
Of any distinctive kind.
From the ranks, one day, cried PRIVATE JAMES,
"Oh! MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN,
I've doubts of our respective names
My mournful mind upon.
[Illustration]
"A glimmering thought occurs to me
(Its source I can't unearth),
But I've a kind of a notion we
Were cruelly changed at birth.
"I've a strange idea that each other's names
We've each of us here got on.
Such things have been," said PRIVATE JAMES.
"They have!" sneered GENERAL JOHN.
"My GENERAL JOHN, I swear upon
My oath I think 'tis so----"
"Pish!" proudly sneered his GENERAL JOHN
And he also said "Ho! ho!"
"My GENERAL JOHN! my GENERAL JOHN!
My GENERAL JOHN!" quoth he,
"This aristocratical sneer upon
Your face I blush to see!
"No truly great or generous cove
Deserving of them names
Would sneer at a fixed idea that's drove
In the mind of a PRIVATE JAMES!"
[Illustration]
Said GENERAL JOHN, "Upon your claims
No need your breath to waste;
If this is a joke, FULL-PRIVATE JAMES,
It's a joke of doubtful taste.
"But, being a man of doubtless worth,
If you feel certain quite
That we were probably changed at birth,
I'll venture to say you're right."
So GENERAL JOHN as PRIVATE JAMES
Fell in, parade upon;
And PRIVATE JAMES, by change of names,
Was MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN.
[Illustration]
THE COMING BY-AND-BY
Sad is that woman's lot who, year by year,
Sees, one by one, her beauties disappear;
As Time, grown weary of her heart-drawn sighs,
Impatiently begins to "dim her eyes "!--
Herself compelled, in life's uncertain gloamings,
To wreathe her wrinkled brow with well-saved "combings"--
Reduced, with rouge, lipsalve, and pearly grey,
To "make up" for lost time, as best she may!
Silvered is the raven hair,
Spreading is the parting straight,
Mottled the complexion fair,
Halting is the youthful gait,
Hollow is the laughter free,
Spectacled the limpid eye,
Little will be left of me,
In the coming by-and-by!
Fading is the taper waist--
Shapeless grows the shapely limb,
And although securely laced,
Spreading is the figure trim!
Stouter than I used to be,
Still more corpulent grow I--
There will be too much of me
In the coming by-and-by!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
TO A LITTLE MAID
BY A POLICEMAN
Come with me, little maid!
Nay, shrink not, thus afraid--
I'll harm thee not!
Fly not, my love, from me--
I have a home for thee--
A fairy grot,
Where mortal eye
Can rarely pry,
There shall thy dwelling be!
List to me, while I tell
The pleasures of that cell,
Oh, little maid!
What though its couch be rude--
Homely the only food
Within its shade?
No thought of care
Can enter there,
No vulgar swain intrude!
Come with me, little maid,
Come to the rocky shade
I love to sing;
Live with us, maiden rare--
Come, for we "want" thee there,
Thou elfin thing,
To work thy spell,
In some cool cell
In stately Pentonville!
[Illustration]
THE HIGHLY RESPECTABLE GONDOLIER
I stole the Prince, and I brought him here,
And left him, gaily prattling
With a highly respectable Gondolier,
Who promised the Royal babe to rear,
And teach him the trade of a timoneer
With his own beloved bratling.
Both of the babes were strong and stout,
And, considering all things, clever.
Of that there is no manner of doubt--
No probable, possible shadow of doubt--
No possible doubt whatever.
Time sped, and when at the end of a year
I sought that infant cherished,
That highly respectable Gondolier
Was lying a corpse on his humble bier--
I dropped a Grand Inquisitor's tear--
That Gondolier had perished!
A taste for drink, combined with gout,
Had doubled him up for ever.
Of _that_ there is no manner of doubt--
No probable, possible shadow of doubt--
No possible doubt whatever.
But owing, I'm much disposed to fear,
To his terrible taste for tippling,
That highly respectable Gondolier
Could never declare with a mind sincere
Which of the two was his offspring dear,
And which the Royal stripling!
Which was which he could never make out,
Despite his best endeavour.
Of _that_ there is no manner of doubt--
No probable, possible shadow of doubt--
No possible doubt whatever.
The children followed his old career--
(This statement can't be parried)
Of a highly respectable Gondolier:
Well, one of the two (who will soon be here)--
But _which_ of the two is not quite clear--
Is the Royal Prince you married!
Search in and out and round about
And you'll discover never
A tale so free from every doubt--
All probable, possible shadow of doubt--
All possible doubt whatever!
[Illustration]
JOHN AND FREDDY
JOHN courted lovely MARY ANN,
So likewise did his brother, FREDDY.
FRED was a very soft young man,
While JOHN, though quick, was most unsteady
FRED was a graceful kind of youth,
But JOHN was very much the strongest.
"Oh, dance away," said she, "in truth,
I'll marry him who dances longest."
JOHN tries the maiden's taste to strike
With gay, grotesque, outrageous dresses,
And dances comically, like
CLODOCHE AND CO., at the Princess's.
But FREDDY tries another style,
He knows some graceful steps and does 'em--
A breathing Poem--Woman's smile--
A man all poesy and buzzem.
Now FREDDY'S operatic _pas_--
Now JOHNNY'S hornpipe seems entrapping:
Now FREDDY'S graceful _entrechats_--
Now JOHNNY'S skilful "cellar-flapping."
For many hours--for many days--
For many weeks performed each brother,
For each was active in his ways,
And neither would give in to t'other.
[Illustration]
After a month of this, they say
(The maid was getting bored and moody)
A wandering curate passed that way
And talked a lot of goody-goody.
"Oh my," said he, with solemn frown,
"I tremble for each dancing _frater_,
Like unregenerated clown
And harlequin at some the-ayter."
He showed that men, in dancing, do
Both impiously and absurdly,
And proved his proposition true,
With Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly.
For months both JOHN and FREDDY danced,
The curate's protests little heeding;
For months the curate's words enhanced
The sinfulness of their proceeding
[Illustration]
At length they bowed to Nature's rule--
Their steps grew feeble and unsteady,
Till FREDDY fainted on a stool,
And JOHNNY on the top of FREDDY.
"Decide!" quoth they, "let him be named,
Who henceforth as his wife may rank you."
"I've changed my views," the maiden said,
"I only marry curates, thank you!"
Says FREDDY, "Here is goings on!
To bust myself with rage I'm ready."
"I'll be a curate!" whispers JOHN--
"And I," exclaimed poetic FREDDY.
But while they read for it, these chaps,
The curate booked the maiden bonny--
And when she's buried him, perhaps,
She'll marry FREDERICK or JOHNNY.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE FAIRY QUEEN'S SONG
Oh, foolish fay,
Think you because
Man's brave array
My bosom thaws
I'd disobey
Our fairy laws?
Because I fly
In realms above,
In tendency
To fall in love
Resemble I
The amorous dove?
Oh, amorous dove!
Type of Ovidius Naso!
This heart of mine
Is soft as thine,
Although I dare not say so!
On fire that glows
With heat intense
I turn the hose
Of Common Sense,
And out it goes
At small expense!
We must maintain
Our fairy law;
That is the main
On which to draw--
In that we gain
A Captain Shaw.
Oh, Captain Shaw!
Type of true love kept under!
Could thy Brigade
With cold cascade
Quench my great love, I wonder!
[Illustration]
SIR GUY THE CRUSADER
SIR GUY was a doughty crusader,
A muscular knight,
Ever ready to fight,
A very determined invader,
And DICKEY DE LION'S delight.
LENORE was a Saracen maiden,
Brunette, statuesque,
The reverse of grotesque,
Her pa was a bagman from Aden,
Her mother she played in burlesque.
A _coryphée_, pretty and loyal,
In amber and red
The ballet she led;
Her mother performed at the Royal,
LENORE at the Saracen's Head.
Of face and of figure majestic,
She dazzled the cits--
Ecstaticised pits;--
Her troubles were only domestic,
But drove her half out of her wits.
[Illustration]
Her father incessantly lashed her,
On water and bread
She was grudgingly fed;
Whenever her father he thrashed her
Her mother sat down on her head.
GUY saw her, and loved her, with reason,
For beauty so bright
Sent him mad with delight;
He purchased a stall for the season,
And sat in it every night.
His views were exceedingly proper,
He wanted to wed,
So he called at her shed
And saw her progenitor whop her--
Her mother sit down on her head.
[Illustration]
"So pretty," said he, "and so trusting!
You brute of a dad,
You unprincipled cad,
Your conduct is really disgusting,
Come, come, now admit it's too bad!
"You're a turbaned old Turk, and malignant--
Your daughter LENORE
I intensely adore,
And I cannot help feeling indignant.
A fact that I hinted before;
"To see a fond father employing
A deuce of a knout
For to bang her about,
To a sensitive lover's annoying."
Said the bagman, "Crusader, get out."
Says GUY, "Shall a warrior laden
With a big spiky knob,
Sit in peace on his cob
While a beautiful Saracen maiden
Is whipped by a Saracen snob?
"To London I'll go from my charmer."
Which he did, with his loot
(Seven hats and a flute),
And was nabbed for his Sydenham armour
At MR. BEN-SAMUEL'S suit.
SIR GUY he was lodged in the Compter,
Her pa, in a rage,
Died (don't know his age),
His daughter, she married the prompter,
Grew bulky and quitted the stage.
IS LIFE A BOON
Is life a boon?
If so, it must befall
That Death, whene'er he call,
Must call too soon.
Though fourscore years he give,
Yet one would pray to live
Another moon!
What kind of plaint have I,
Who perish in July?
I might have had to die
Perchance in June!
Is life a thorn?
Then count it not a whit!
Man is well done with it:
Soon as he's born
He should all means essay
To put the plague away;
And I, war-worn,
Poor captured fugitive,
My life most gladly give--
I might have had to live
Another morn!
[Illustration]
HAUNTED
Haunted? Ay, in a social way,
By a body of ghosts in a dread array:
But no conventional spectres they--
Appalling, grim, and tricky;
I quail at mine as I'd never quail
At a fine traditional spectre pale,
With a turnip head and a ghostly wail,
And a splash of blood on the dicky!
Mine are horrible social ghosts,
Speeches and women and guests and hosts,
Weddings and morning calls and toasts,
In every bad variety:
Ghosts that hover about the grave
Of all that's manly, free, and brave:
You'll find their names on the architrave
Of that charnel-house, Society.
Black Monday--black as its schoolroom ink--
With its dismal boys that snivel and think
Of nauseous messes to eat and drink,
And a frozen tank to wash in.
That was the first that brought me grief
And made me weep, till I sought relief
In an emblematical handkerchief,
To choke such baby bosh in.
First and worst in the grim array--
Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way,
Which I wouldn't revive for a single day
For all the wealth of PLUTUS--
Are the horrible ghosts that schooldays scared
If the classical ghost that BRUTUS dared
Was the ghost of his "Cæsar" unprepared,
I'm sure I pity BRUTUS.
I pass to critical seventeen:
The ghost of that terrible wedding scene,
When an elderly colonel stole my queen,
And woke my dream of heaven:
No school-girl decked in her nursery curls
Was my gushing innocent queen of pearls;
If she wasn't a girl of a thousand girls.
She was one of forty-seven!
I see the ghost of my first cigar--
Of the thence-arising family jar--
Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar),
When I called the judge "Your wushup"!
Of reckless days and reckless nights,
With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights,
Unholy songs, and tipsy fights,
Which I strove in vain to hush up.
Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks,
Ghosts of copy, "declined with thanks,"
Of novels returned in endless ranks,
And thousands more, I suffer.
The only line to fitly grace
My humble tomb, when I've run my race,
Is "Reader, this is the resting-place
Of an unsuccessful duffer."
I've fought them all, these ghosts of mine,
But the weapons I've used are sighs and brine,
And now that I'm nearly forty-nine,
Old age is my only bogy;
For my hair is thinning away at the crown,
And the silver fights with the worn-out brown;
And a general verdict sets me down
As an irreclaimable fogy.
[Illustration]
THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL
I am the very pattern of a modern Major-Gineral,
I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral;
I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical,
From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical;
I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical,
I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical;
About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news,
With interesting facts about the square of the hypotenuse.
I'm very good at integral and differential calculus,
I know the scientific names of beings animalculous.
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.
I know our mythic history--KING ARTHUR'S and SIR CARADOC'S,
I answer hard acrostics, I've a pretty taste for paradox;
I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of HELIOGABALUS,
In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous.
I tell undoubted RAPHAELS from GERARD DOWS and ZOFFANIES,
I know the croaking chorus from the "Frogs" of ARISTOPHANES;
Then I can hum a fugue, of which I've heard the music's din afore,
And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense "Pinafore."
Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform,
And tell you every detail of CARACTACUS'S uniform.
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.
In fact, when I know what is meant by "mamelon" and "ravelin,"
When I can tell at sight a Chassepot rifle from a javelin,
When such affairs as _sorties_ and surprises I'm more wary at,
And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat,
When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery,
When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery,
In short, when I've a smattering of elementary strategy,
You'll say a better Major-Gener_al_ has never _sat_ a gee--
For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury,
Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century.
But still in learning vegetable, animal, and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral!
[Illustration]
THE BISHOP AND THE 'BUSMAN
It was a Bishop bold,
And London was his see,
He was short and stout and round about
And zealous as could be.
It also was a Jew,
Who drove a Putney 'bus--
For flesh of swine however fine
He did not care a cuss.
His name was HASH BAZ BEN,
And JEDEDIAH too,
And SOLOMON and ZABULON---
This 'bus-directing Jew.
The Bishop said, said he,
"I'll see what I can do
To Christianise and make you wise,
You poor benighted Jew."
So every blessed day
That 'bus he rode outside,
From Fulham town, both up and down,
And loudly thus he cried:
"His name is HASH BAZ BEN,
And JEDEDIAH too,
And SOLOMON and ZABULON--
This 'bus-directing Jew."
[Illustration]
At first the 'busman smiled,
And rather liked the fun--
He merely smiled, that Hebrew child,
And said, "Eccentric one!"
And gay young dogs would wait
To see the 'bus go by
(These gay young dogs, in striking togs),
To hear the Bishop cry:
"Observe his grisly beard,
His race it clearly shows,
He sticks no fork in ham or pork--
Observe, my friends, his nose.
"His name is HASH BAZ BEN,
And JEDEDIAH too,
And SOLOMON and ZABULON--
This 'bus-directing Jew."
But though at first amused,
Yet after seven years,
This Hebrew child got rather riled,
And melted into tears.
He really almost feared
To leave his poor abode,
His nose, and name, and beard became
A byword on that road.
At length he swore an oath,
The reason he would know--
"I'll call and see why ever he
Does persecute me so!"
The good old Bishop sat
On his ancestral chair,
The 'busman came, sent up his name,
And laid his grievance bare.
[Illustration]
"Benighted Jew," he said
(The good old Bishop did),
"Be Christian, you, instead of Jew--
Become a Christian kid!
"I'll ne'er annoy you more."
"Indeed?" replied the Jew;
"Shall I be freed?" "You will, indeed!"
Then "Done!" said he, "with you!"
The organ which, in man,
Between the eyebrows grows,
Fell from his face, and in its place
He found a Christian nose.
His tangled Hebrew beard,
Which to his waist came down.
Was now a pair of whiskers fair--
His name ADOLPHUS BROWN!
He wedded in a year
That prelate's daughter JANE,
He's grown quite fair--has auburn hair--
His wife is far from plain.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE HEAVY DRAGOON
If you want a receipt for that popular mystery,
Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon,
Take all the remarkable people in history,
Rattle them off to a popular tune!
The pluck of LORD NELSON on board of the _Victory_--
Genius of BISMARCK devising a plan;
The humour of FIELDING (which sounds contradictory)--
Coolness of PAGET about to trepan--
The grace of MOZART, that unparalleled musico--
Wit of MACAULAY, who wrote of QUEEN ANNE--
The pathos of PADDY, as rendered by BOUCICAULT--
Style of the BISHOP OF SODOR AND MAN--
The dash of a D'ORSAY, divested of quackery--
Narrative powers of DICKENS and THACKERAY--
VICTOR EMMANUEL--peak-haunting PEVERIL--
THOMAS AQUINAS, and DOCTOR SACHEVERELL--
TUPPER and TENNYSON--DANIEL DEFOE--
ANTHONY TROLLOPE and MISTER GUIZOT!
Take of these elements all that is fusible,
Melt 'em all down in a pipkin or crucible,
Set 'em to simmer and take off the scum,
And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!
If you want a receipt for this soldierlike paragon,
Get at the wealth of the CZAR (if you can)--
The family pride of a Spaniard from Arragon--
Force of MEPHISTO pronouncing a ban--
A smack of LORD WATERFORD, reckless and rollicky--
Swagger of RODERICK, heading his clan--
The keen penetration of PADDINGTON POLLAKY--
Grace of an Odalisque on a divan--
The genius strategic of CÆSAR or HANNIBAL--
Skill of LORD WOLSELEY in thrashing a cannibal--
Flavour of HAMLET--the STRANGER, a touch of him--
Little of MANFRED (but not very much of him)--
Beadle of Burlington--RICHARDSON'S show--
MR. MICAWBER and MADAME TUSSAUD!
Take of these elements all that is fusible--
Melt 'em all down in a pipkin or crucible--
Set 'em to simmer and take off the scum,
And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!
[Illustration]
THE TROUBADOUR
A Troubadour he played
Without a castle wall,
Within, a hapless maid
Responded to his call.
"Oh, willow, woe is me!
Alack and well-a-day!
If I were only free
I'd hie me far away!"
Unknown her face and name,
But this he knew right well,
The maiden's wailing came
From out a dungeon cell.
A hapless woman lay
Within that prison grim--
That fact, I've heard him say,
Was quite enough for him.
"I will not sit or lie,
Or eat or drink, I vow,
Till thou art free as I,
Or I as pent as thou!"
Her tears then ceased to flow,
Her wails no longer rang,
And tuneful in her woe
The prisoned maiden sang:
"Oh, stranger, as you play
I recognise your touch;
And all that I can say,
Is thank you very much!"
He seized his clarion straight,
And blew thereat, until
A warder oped the gate,
"Oh, what might be your will?"
"I've come, sir knave, to see
The master of these halls:
A maid unwillingly
Lies prisoned in their walls."
With barely stifled sigh
That porter drooped his head,
With teardrops in his eye,
"A many, sir," he said.
He stayed to hear no more,
But pushed that porter by,
And shortly stood before
SIR HUGH DE PECKHAM RYE.
SIR HUGH he darkly frowned,
"What would you, sir, with me?"
The troubadour he downed
Upon his bended knee.
[Illustration]
"I've come, DE PECKHAM RYE,
To do a Christian task,
You ask me what would I?
It is not much I ask.
"Release these maidens, sir,
Whom you dominion o'er--
Particularly her
Upon the second floor!
"And if you don't, my lord"--
He here stood bolt upright.
And tapped a tailor's sword--
"Come out at once and fight!"
SIR HUGH he called--and ran
The warden from the gate,
"Go, show this gentleman
The maid in forty-eight."
By many a cell they passed
And stopped at length before
A portal, bolted fast:
The man unlocked the door.
[Illustration]
He called inside the gate
With coarse and brutal shout,
"Come, step it, forty-eight!"
And forty-eight stepped out.
"They gets it pretty hot,
The maidens wot we cotch--
Two years this lady's got
For collaring a wotch."
"Oh, ah!--indeed--I see,"
The troubadour exclaimed--
"If I may make so free,
How is this castle named?"
The warden's eyelids fill,
And, sighing, he replied,
"Of gloomy Pentonville
This is the Female Side!"
The minstrel did not wait
The warden stout to thank,
But recollected straight
He'd business at the Bank.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
PROPER PRIDE
The Sun, whose rays
Are all ablaze
With ever-living glory,
Will not deny
His majesty--
He scorns to tell a story:
He won't exclaim,
"I blush for shame,
So kindly be indulgent,"
But, fierce and bold,
In fiery gold,
He glories all effulgent!
I mean to rule the earth,
As he the sky--
We really know our worth,
The Sun and I!
Observe his flame,
That placid dame,
The Moon's Celestial Highness;
There's not a trace
Upon her face
Of diffidence or shyness:
She borrows light
That, through the night,
Mankind may all acclaim her!
And, truth to tell,
She lights up well,
So I, for one, don't blame her!
Ah, pray make no mistake,
We are not shy;
We're very wide awake,
The Moon and I!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA
OR, THE GENTLE PIEMAN
PART I
At a pleasant evening party I had taken down to supper
One whom I will call ELVIRA, and we talked of love and TUPPER,
MR. TUPPER and the poets, very lightly with them dealing,
For I've always been distinguished for a strong poetic feeling.
Then we let off paper crackers, each of which contained a motto,
And she listened while I read them, till her mother told her not to.
Then she whispered, "To the ball-room we had better, dear, be
walking;
If we stop down here much longer, really people will be talking."
There were noblemen in coronets, and military cousins,
There were captains by the hundred, there were baronets by dozens.
Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed them with a blessing;
Then she let down all her back hair which had taken long in
dressing.
Then she had convulsive sobbings in her agitated throttle,
Then she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her pretty smelling-bottle.
So I whispered, "Dear ELVIRA, say--what can the matter be with you?
Does anything you've eaten, darling POPSY, disagree with you?"
But spite of all I said, her sobs grew more and more distressing,
And she tore her pretty back hair, which had taken long in dressing.
Then she gazed upon the carpet, at the ceiling then above me,
And she whispered, "FERDINANDO, do you really, _really_ love me?"
"Love you?" said I, then I sighed, and then I gazed upon her
sweetly--
For I think I do this sort of thing particularly neatly--
"Send me to the Arctic regions, or illimitable azure,
On a scientific goose-chase, with my COXWELL or my GLAISHER.
"Tell me whither I may hie me, tell me, dear one, that I _may_
know--
Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?"
But she said, "It isn't polar bears, or hot volcanic grottoes,
Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker mottoes!"
PART II
"Tell me, HENRY WADSWORTH, ALFRED, POET CLOSE, or MISTER TUPPER,
Do you write the bonbon mottoes my Elvira pulls at supper?"
But HENRY WADSWORTH smiled, and said he had not had that honour;
And ALFRED, too, disclaimed the words that told so much upon her.
"MISTER MARTIN TUPPER, POET CLOSE, I beg of you inform us";
But my question seemed to throw them both into a rage enormous.
MISTER CLOSE expressed a wish that he could only get anigh to me.
And MISTER MARTIN TUPPER sent the following reply to me:--
"A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men dread a bandit."
Which I think must have been clever, for I didn't understand it.
Seven weary years I wandered--Patagonia, China, Norway,
Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway.
There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle,
So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle.
He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy,
And his little wife was pretty, and particularly cosy.
And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with
laughter hearty--
He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party.
[Illustration]
And I said, "Oh, gentle pieman, why so very, very merry?
Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?"
But he answered, "I'm so happy--no profession could be dearer--
If I am not humming 'Tra! la! la!' I'm singing, 'Tirer, lirer!'
"First I go and make the patties, and the puddings and the jellies,
Then I make a sugar birdcage, which upon a table swell is;
"Then I polish all the silver, which a supper-table lacquers;
Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the
crackers"--
"Found at last!" I madly shouted. "Gentle pieman, you astound me!"
Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me.
And I shouted and I danced until he'd quite a crowd around him--
And I rushed away, exclaiming, "I have found him! I have found him!"
And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling,
"'Tira! lira!' stop him, stop him! 'Tra! la! la!' the soup's a
shilling!"
But until I reached ELVIRA'S home, I never, never waited,
And ELVIRA to her FERDINAND'S irrevocably mated!
[Illustration]
THE POLICEMAN'S LOT
When a felon's not engaged in his employment,
Or maturing his felonious little plans,
His capacity for innocent enjoyment
Is just as great as any honest man's.
Our feelings we with difficulty smother
When constabulary duty's to be done:
Ah, take one consideration with another,
A policeman's lot is not a happy one!
When the enterprising burglar isn't burgling,
When the cut-throat isn't occupied in crime,
He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling,
And listen to the merry village chime.
When the coster's finished jumping on his mother,
He loves to lie a-basking in the sun:
Ah, take one consideration with another,
The policeman's lot is not a happy one!
[Illustration]
LORENZO DE LARDY
DALILAH DE DARDY adored
The very correctest of cards,
LORENZO DE LARDY, a lord--
He was one of Her Majesty's Guards.
DALILAH DE DARDY was fat,
DALILAH DE DARDY was old--
(No doubt in the world about that)
But DALILAH DE DARDY had gold.
LORENZO DE LARDY was tall,
The flower of maidenly pets,
Young ladies would love at his call,
But LORENZO DE LARDY had debts.
His money-position was queer,
And one of his favourite freaks
Was to hide himself three times a year,
In Paris, for several weeks.
Many days didn't pass him before
He fanned himself into a flame,
For a beautiful "DAM DU COMPTWORE,"
And this was her singular name:
ALICE EULALIE CORALINE
EUPHROSINE COLOMBINA THÉRÈSE
JULIETTE STEPHANIE CELESTINE
CHARLOTTE RUSSE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE.
[Illustration]
She booked all the orders and tin,
Accoutred in showy fal-lal,
At a two-fifty Restaurant, in
The glittering Palais Royal.
He'd gaze in her orbit of blue,
Her hand he would tenderly squeeze,
But the words of her tongue that he knew
Were limited strictly to these:
"CORALINE CELESTINE EULALIE,
Houp là! Je vous aime, oui, mossoo,
Combien donnez moi aujourd'hui
Bonjour, Mademoiselle, parlez voo."
MADEMOISELLE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE
Was a witty and beautiful miss,
Extremely correct in her ways,
But her English consisted of this:
"Oh my! pretty man, if you please,
Blom boodin, biftek, currie lamb,
Bouldogue, two franc half, quite ze cheese,
Rosbif, me spik Angleesh, godam."
A waiter, for seasons before,
Had basked in her beautiful gaze,
And burnt to dismember MILOR,
_He loved_ DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE.
He said to her, "Méchante THÉRÈSE,
Avec désespoir tu m'accables.
Penses-tu, DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE,
Ses intentions sont honorables?
"Flirte toujours, ma belle, si tu oses--
Je me vengerai ainsi, ma chère,
_Je lui dirai de quoi l'on compose
Vol au vent à la Financière_!"
LORD LARDY knew nothing of this--
The waiter's devotion ignored,
But he gazed on the beautiful miss,
And never seemed weary or bored.
The waiter would screw up his nerve,
His fingers he'd snap and he'd dance--
And LORD LARDY would smile and observe,
"How strange are the customs of France!"
[Illustration]
Well, after delaying a space,
His tradesmen no longer would wait:
Returning to England apace,
He yielded himself to his fate.
LORD LARDY espoused, with a groan,
MISS DARDY'S developing charms,
And agreed to tag on to his own
Her name and her newly-found arms.
The waiter he knelt at the toes
Of an ugly and thin coryphée,
Who danced in the hindermost rows
At the Théâtre des Variétés.
MADEMOISELLE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE
Didn't yield to a gnawing despair
But married a soldier, and plays
As a pretty and pert Vivandière.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE BAFFLED GRUMBLER
Whene'er I poke
Sarcastic joke
Replete with malice spiteful,
The people vile
Politely smile
And vote me quite delightful!
Now, when a wight
Sits up all night
Ill-natured jokes devising,
And all his wiles
Are met with smiles,
It's hard, there's no disguising!
Oh, don't the days seem lank and long
When all goes right and nothing goes wrong,
And isn't your life extremely flat
With nothing whatever to grumble at!
When German bands
From music stands
Play Wagner imper_fect_ly--
I bid them go--
They don't say no,
But off they trot directly!
The organ boys
They stop their noise
With readiness surprising,
And grinning herds
Of hurdy-gurds
Retire apologising!
Oh, don't the days seem lank and long
When all goes right and nothing goes wrong,
And isn't your life extremely flat
With nothing whatever to grumble at!
I've offered gold,
In sums untold,
To all who'd contradict me--
I've said I'd pay
A pound a day
To any one who kicked me--
I've bribed with toys
Great vulgar boys
To utter something spiteful,
But, bless you, no!
They _will_ be so
Confoundedly politeful!
In short, these aggravating lads,
They tickle my tastes, they feed my fads,
They give me this and they give me that,
And I've nothing whatever to grumble at!
[Illustration]
DISILLUSIONED
BY AN EX-ENTHUSIAST
Oh, that my soul its gods could see
As years ago they seemed to me
When first I painted them;
Invested with the circumstance
Of old conventional romance:
Exploded theorem!
The bard who could, all men above,
Inflame my soul with songs of love,
And, with his verse, inspire
The craven soul who feared to die
With all the glow of chivalry
And old heroic fire;
I found him in a beerhouse tap
Awaking from a gin-born nap,
With pipe and sloven dress;
Amusing chums, who fooled his bent,
With muddy, maudlin sentiment,
And tipsy foolishness!
The novelist, whose painting pen
To legions of fictitious men
A real existence lends,
Brain-people whom we rarely fail,
Whene'er we hear their names, to hail
As old and welcome friends;
I found in clumsy snuffy suit,
In seedy glove, and blucher boot,
Uncomfortably big.
Particularly commonplace,
With vulgar, coarse, stockbroking face,
And spectacles and wig.
My favourite actor who, at will,
With mimic woe my eyes could fill
With unaccustomed brine:
A being who appeared to me
(Before I knew him well) to be
A song incarnadine;