With speckled chin--unhealthy, wan--
Of self-importance full:
Existing in an atmosphere
That reeked of gin and pipes and beer--
Conceited, fractious, dull.
The warrior whose ennobled name
Is woven with his country's fame,
Triumphant over all,
I found weak, palsied, bloated, blear;
His province seemed to be, to leer
At bonnets in Pall Mall.
Would that ye always shone, who write,
Bathed in your own innate limelight,
And ye who battles wage,
Or that in darkness I had died
Before my soul had ever sighed
To see you off the stage!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE HOUSE OF PEERS
When Britain really ruled the waves--
(In good Queen Bess's time)
The House of Peers made no pretence
To intellectual eminence,
Or scholarship sublime;
Yet Britain won her proudest bays
In good Queen Bess's glorious days!
When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte,
As every child can tell,
The House of Peers, throughout the war,
Did nothing in particular,
And did it very well;
Yet Britain set the world ablaze
In good King George's glorious days!
And while the House of Peers withholds
Its legislative hand,
And noble statesmen do not itch
To interfere with matters which
They do not understand,
As bright will shine Great Britain's rays,
As in King George's glorious days!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
BABETTE'S LOVE
BABETTE she was a fisher gal,
With jupon striped and cap in crimps.
She passed her days inside the Halle,
Or catching little nimble shrimps.
Yet she was sweet as flowers in May,
With no professional bouquet.
JACOT was, of the Customs bold,
An officer, at gay Boulogne,
He loved BABETTE--his love he told,
And sighed, "Oh, soyez vous my own!"
But "Non!" said she, "JACOT, my pet,
Vous êtes trop scraggy pour BABETTE.
"Of one alone I nightly dream,
An able mariner is he,
And gaily serves the Gen'ral Steam-
Boat Navigation Companee.
I'll marry him, if he but will--
His name, I rather think, is BILL.
"I see him when he's not aware,
Upon our hospitable coast,
Reclining with an easy air
Upon the _Port_ against a post,
A-thinking of, I'll dare to say,
His native Chelsea far away!"
"Oh, mon!" exclaimed the Customs bold,
"Mes yeux!" he said (which means "my eye").
"Oh, chère!" he also cried, I'm told,
"Par Jove," he added, with a sigh.
"Oh, mon! oh, chère! mes yeux! par Jove!
Je n'aime pas cet enticing cove!"
The _Panther's_ captain stood hard by,
He was a man of morals strict,
If e'er a sailor winked his eye,
Straightway he had that sailor licked,
Mast-headed all (such was his code)
Who dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed.
He wept to think a tar of his
Should lean so gracefully on posts,
He sighed and sobbed to think of this,
On foreign, French, and friendly coasts.
"It's human natur', p'raps--if so,
Oh, isn't human natur' low!"
He called his BILL, who pulled his curl,
He said, "My BILL, I understand
You've captivated some young gurl
On this here French and foreign land.
Her tender heart your beauties jog--
They do, you know they do, you dog.
[Illustration]
"You have a graceful way, I learn,
Of leaning airily on posts,
By which you've been and caused to burn
A tender flame on these here coasts.
A fisher gurl, I much regret,--
Her age, sixteen--her name, BABETTE.
"You'll marry her, you gentle tar--
Your union I myself will bless,
And when you matrimonied are,
I will appoint her stewardess."
But WILLIAM hitched himself and sighed,
And cleared his throat, and thus replied:
"Not so: unless you're fond of strife,
You'd better mind your own affairs,
I have an able-bodied wife
Awaiting me at Wapping Stairs;
If all this here to her I tell,
She'll larrup you and me as well.
[Illustration]
"Skin-deep, and valued at a pin,
Is beauty such as VENUS owns--
_Her_ beauty is beneath her skin,
And lies in layers on her bones.
The other sailors of the crew
They always calls her 'Whopping Sue!'"
"Oho!" the Captain said, "I see!
And is she then so very strong?"
"She'd take your honour's scruff," said he,
"And pitch you over to Bolong!"
"I pardon you," the Captain said,
"The fair BABETTE you needn't wed."
Perhaps the Customs had his will,
And coaxed the scornful girl to wed,
Perhaps the Captain and his BILL,
And WILLIAM'S little wife are dead;
Or p'raps they're all alive and well:
I cannot, cannot, cannot tell.
[Illustration]
A MERRY MADRIGAL
Brightly dawns our wedding day;
Joyous hour, we give thee greeting!
Whither, whither art thou fleeting?
Fickle moment, prithee stay!
What though mortal joys be hollow?
Pleasures come, if sorrows follow.
Though the tocsin sound, ere long,
Ding dong! Ding dong!
Yet until the shadows fall
Over one and over all,
Sing a merry madrigal--
Fal la!
Let us dry the ready tear;
Though the hours are surely creeping,
Little need for woeful weeping
Till the sad sundown is near.
All must sip the cup of sorrow,
I to-day and thou to-morrow:
This the close of every song--
Ding dong! Ding dong!
What though solemn shadows fall,
Sooner, later, over all?
Sing a merry madrigal--
Fal la!
[Illustration]
TO MY BRIDE
(WHOEVER SHE MAY BE)
Oh! little maid!--(I do not know your name,
Or who you are, so, as a safe precaution
I'll add)--Oh, buxom widow! married dame!
(As one of these must be your present portion)
Listen, while I unveil prophetic lore for you,
And sing the fate that Fortune has in store for you.
You'll marry soon--within a year or twain--
A bachelor of _circa_ two-and-thirty,
Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain,
And, when you're intimate, you call him "BERTIE."
Neat--dresses well; his temper has been classified
As hasty; but he's very quickly pacified.
You'll find him working mildly at the Bar,
After a touch at two or three professions,
From easy affluence extremely far,
A brief or two on Circuit--"soup" at Sessions;
A pound or two from whist and backing horses,
And, say, three hundred from his own resources.
Quiet in harness; free from serious vice,
His faults are not particularly shady;
You'll never find him "_shy_"--for, once or twice
Already, he's been driven by a lady,
Who parts with him--perhaps a poor excuse for him--
Because she hasn't any further use for him.
Oh! bride of mine--tall, dumpy, dark, or fair!
Oh! widow--wife, maybe, or blushing maiden,
I've told _your_ fortune: solved the gravest care
With which _your_ mind has hitherto been laden.
I've prophesied correctly, never doubt it;
Now tell me mine--and please be quick about it!
You--only you--can tell me, an you will,
To whom I'm destined shortly to be mated,
Will she run up a heavy _modiste's_ bill?
If so, I want to hear her income stated.
(This is a point which interests me greatly),
To quote the bard, "Oh! have I seen her lately?"
Say, must I wait till husband number one
Is comfortably stowed away at Woking?
How is her hair most usually done?
And tell me, please, will she object to smoking?
The colour of her eyes, too, you may mention:
Come, Sibyl, prophesy--I'm all attention.
[Illustration]
THE DUKE AND THE DUCHESS
THE DUKE. Small titles and orders
For Mayors and Recorders
I get--and they're highly delighted.
M.P.s baronetted,
Sham Colonels gazetted,
And second-rate Aldermen knighted.
Foundation-stone laying
I find very paying,
It adds a large sum to my makings.
At charity dinners
The best of speech-spinners,
I get ten per cent on the takings!
THE DUCHESS. I present any lady
Whose conduct is shady
Or smacking of doubtful propriety;
When Virtue would quash her
I take and whitewash her
And launch her in first-rate society.
I recommend acres
Of clumsy dressmakers--
Their fit and their finishing touches;
A sum in addition
They pay for permission
To say that they make for the Duchess!
THE DUKE. Those pressing prevailers,
The ready-made tailors,
Quote me as their great double-barrel;
I allow them to do so,
Though ROBINSON CRUSOE
Would jib at their wearing apparel!
I sit, by selection,
Upon the direction
Of several Companies bubble;
As soon as they're floated
I'm freely bank-noted--
I'm pretty well paid for my trouble!
THE DUCHESS. At middle-class party
I play at _écarté_--
And I'm by no means a beginner;
To one of my station
The remuneration--
Five guineas a night and my dinner.
I write letters blatant
On medicines patent--
And use any other you mustn't;
And vow my complexion
Derives its perfection
From somebody's soap--which it doesn't.
THE DUKE. We're ready as witness
To any one's fitness
To fill any place or preferment;
We're often in waiting
At junket or _fêting_,
And sometimes attend an interment.
In short, if you'd kindle
The spark of a swindle,
Lure simpletons into your clutches,
Or hoodwink a debtor,
You cannot do better
Than trot out a Duke or a Duchess!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE FOLLY OF BROWN
BY A GENERAL AGENT
I knew a boor--a clownish card
(His only friends were pigs and cows and
The poultry of a small farmyard),
Who came into two hundred thousand.
Good fortune worked no change in BROWN,
Though she's a mighty social chymist;
He was a clown--and by a clown
I do not mean a pantomimist.
It left him quiet, calm, and cool,
Though hardly knowing what a crown was--
You can't imagine what a fool
Poor rich uneducated BROWN was!
He scouted all who wished to come
And give him monetary schooling;
And I propose to give you some
Idea of his insensate fooling.
I formed a company or two--
(Of course I don't know what the rest meant,
I formed them solely with a view
To help him to a sound investment).
Their objects were--their only cares--
To justify their Boards in showing
A handsome dividend on shares
And keep their good promoter going.
[Illustration]
But no--the lout sticks to his brass,
Though shares at par I freely proffer:
Yet--will it be believed?--the ass
Declines, with thanks, my well-meant offer!
He adds, with bumpkin's stolid grin
(A weakly intellect denoting),
He'd rather not invest it in
A company of my promoting!
"You have two hundred 'thou' or more,"
Said I. "You'll waste it, lose it, lend it;
Come, take my furnished second floor,
I'll gladly show you how to spend it."
But will it be believed that he,
With grin upon his face of poppy,
Declined my aid, while thanking me
For what he called my "philanthroppy"?
Some blind, suspicious fools rejoice
In doubting friends who wouldn't harm them;
They will not hear the charmer's voice,
However wisely he may charm them!
I showed him that his coat, all dust,
Top boots and cords provoked compassion,
And proved that men of station must
Conform to the decrees of fashion.
I showed him where to buy his hat,
To coat him, trouser him, and boot him;
But no--he wouldn't hear of that--
"He didn't think the style would suit him!"
I offered him a county seat,
And made no end of an oration;
I made it certainty complete,
And introduced the deputation.
But no--the clown my prospect blights--
(The worth of birth it surely teaches!)
"Why should I want to spend my nights
In Parliament, a-making speeches?
"I haven't never been to school--
I ain't had not no eddication--
And I should surely be a fool
To publish that to all the nation!"
I offered him a trotting horse--
No hack had ever trotted faster--
I also offered him, of course,
A rare and curious "old master."
I offered to procure him weeds--
Wines fit for one in his position--
But, though an ass in all his deeds,
He'd learnt the meaning of "commission."
He called me "thief" the other day,
And daily from his door he thrusts me;
Much more of this, and soon I may
Begin to think that BROWN mistrusts me.
So deaf to all sound Reason's rule
This poor uneducated clown is,
You can_not_ fancy what a fool
Poor rich uneducated BROWN is.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
EHEU FUGACES--!
The air is charged with amatory numbers--
Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers' lays.
Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers
The aching memory of the old, old days?
Time was when Love and I were well acquainted;
Time was when we walked ever hand in hand;
A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted,
None better loved than I in all the land!
Time was, when maidens of the noblest station,
Forsaking even military men,
Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration--
Ah me, I was a fair young curate then!
Had I a headache? sighed the maids assembled;
Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear;
Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled;
And when I coughed all thought the end was near!
I had no care--no jealous doubts hung o'er me--
For I was loved beyond all other men.
Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me--
Ah me, I was a pale young curate then!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SIR MACKLIN
Of all the youths I ever saw
None were so wicked, vain, or silly,
So lost to shame and Sabbath law
As worldly TOM, and BOB, and BILLY.
For every Sabbath day they walked
(Such was their gay and thoughtless natur')
In parks or gardens, where they talked
From three to six, or even later.
SIR MACKLIN was a priest severe
In conduct and in conversation,
It did a sinner good to hear
Him deal in ratiocination.
He could in every action show
Some sin, and nobody could doubt him.
He argued high, he argued low,
He also argued round about him.
He wept to think each thoughtless youth
Contained of wickedness a skinful,
And burnt to teach the awful truth,
That walking out on Sunday's sinful.
"Oh, youths," said he, "I grieve to find
The course of life you've been and hit on--
Sit down," said he, "and never mind
The pennies for the chairs you sit on.
[Illustration]
"My opening head is 'Kensington,'
How walking there the sinner hardens;
Which when I have enlarged upon,
I go to 'Secondly'--its Gardens.
"My 'Thirdly' comprehendeth 'Hyde,'
Of Secrecy the guilts and shameses;
My 'Fourthly'--'Park'--its verdure wide--
My 'Fifthly' comprehends 'St. James's.'
"That matter settled I shall reach
The 'Sixthly' in my solemn tether,
And show that what is true of each,
Is also true of all, together.
"Then I shall demonstrate to you,
According to the rules of Whately.
That what is true of all, is true
Of each, considered separately."
[Illustration]
In lavish stream his accents flow,
TOM, BOB, and BILLY dare not flout him;
He argued high, he argued low,
He also argued round about him.
"Ha, ha!" he said, "you loathe your ways,
Repentance on your souls is dawning,
In agony your hands you raise."
(And so they did, for they were yawning.)
To "Twenty-firstly" on they go,
The lads do not attempt to scout him;
He argued high, he argued low,
He also argued round about him.
"Ho, ho!" he cries, "you bow your crests--
My eloquence has set you weeping;
In shame you bend upon your breasts!"
(They bent their heads, for they were sleeping.)
[Illustration]
He proved them this--he proved them that--
This good but wearisome ascetic;
He jumped and thumped upon his hat,
He was so very energetic.
His bishop at this moment chanced
To pass, and found the road encumbered;
He noticed how the Churchman danced,
And how his congregation slumbered.
The hundred and eleventh head
The priest completed of his stricture;
"Oh, bosh!" the worthy bishop said,
And walked him off, as in the picture.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THEY'LL NONE OF 'EM BE MISSED
As some day it may happen that a victim must be found,
I've got a little list--I've got a little list
Of social offenders who might well be underground,
And who never would be missed--who never would be missed!
There's the pestilential nuisances who write for autographs--
All people who have flabby hands and irritating laughs--
All children who are up in dates, and floor you with 'em flat--
All persons who in shaking hands, shake hands with you like _that_--
And all third persons who on spoiling _tête-à-têtes_ insist--
They'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of 'em be missed!
There's the banjo serenader, and the others of his race,
And the piano organist--I've got him on the list!
And the people who eat peppermint and puff it in your face,
They never would be missed--they never would be missed!
Then the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone,
All centuries but this, and every country but his own;
And the lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy,
And who "doesn't think she waltzes, but would rather like to try";
And that _fin-de-siècle_ anomaly, the scorching motorist--
I don't think he'd be missed--I'm _sure_ he'd not be missed!
And that _Nisi Prius_ nuisance, who just now is rather rife,
The Judicial humorist--I've got _him_ on the list!
All funny fellows, comic men, and clowns of private life--
They'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of 'em be missed!
And apologetic statesmen of the compromising kind,
Such as--What-d'ye-call-him--Thing'em-Bob, and likewise--Never-mind,
And 'St--'st--'st--and What's-his-name, and also--You-know-who--
(The task of filling up the blanks I'd rather leave to _you_!)
But it really doesn't matter whom you put upon the list,
For they'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of 'em be missed!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL"
'Twas on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Ramsgate span,
That I found alone on a piece of stone
An elderly naval man.
His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he,
And I heard this wight on the shore recite,
In a singular minor key:
"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."
And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
Till I really felt afraid,
For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
And so I simply said:
"Oh, elderly man, it's little I know
Of the duties of men of the sea,
But I'll eat my hand if I understand
How you can possibly be
"At once a cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."
Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all seamen larn,
And having got rid of a thumping quid,
He spun this painful yarn:
"'Twas in the good ship _Nancy Bell_
That we sailed to the Indian sea,
And there on a reef we come to grief,
Which has often occurred to me.
"And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned
(There was seventy-seven o' soul),
And only ten of the _Nancy's_ men
Said 'Here!' to the muster-roll.
"There was me and the cook and the captain bold,
And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig,
And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig.
"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,
Till a-hungry we did feel,
So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot
The captain for our meal.
"The next lot fell to the _Nancy's_ mate,
And a delicate dish he made;
Then our appetite with the midshipmite
We seven survivors stayed.
"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled pig;
Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,
On the crew of the captain's gig.
"Then only the cook and me was left,
And the delicate question, 'Which
Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose
And we argued it out as sich.
"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,
And the cook he worshipped me;
But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed
In the other chap's hold, you see.
"'I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says TOM,
'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be,'--
'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I,
And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.
"Says he, 'DEAR JAMES, to murder me
Were a foolish thing to do,
For don't you see that you can't cook _me_,
While I can--and will--cook _you_!'
"So he boils the water, and takes the salt
And the pepper in portions true
(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot,
And some sage and parsley too.
[Illustration]
"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,
Which his smiling features tell,
''Twill soothing be if I let you see,
How extremely nice you'll smell.'
"And he stirred it round and round and round,
And he sniffed at the foaming froth;
When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals
In the scum of the boiling broth.
"And I eat that cook in a week or less,
And--as I eating be
The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,
For a wessel in sight I see!
* * * * *
"And I never grin, and I never smile,
And I never larf nor play,
But I sit and croak, and a single joke
I have--which is to say:
"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig,
_And_ a bo'sun tight, _and_ a midshipmite,
_And_ the crew of the captain's gig!"
[Illustration]
GIRL GRADUATES
They intend to send a wire
To the moon;
And they'll set the Thames on fire
Very soon;
Then they learn to make silk purses
With their rigs
From the ears of LADY CIRCE'S
Piggy-wigs.
And weasels at their slumbers
They'll trepan;
To get sunbeams from cu_cum_bers
They've a plan.
They've a firmly rooted notion
They can cross the Polar Ocean,
And they'll find Perpetual Motion
If they can!
These are the phenomena
That every pretty domina
Hopes that we shall see
At this Universitee!
As for fashion, they forswear it,
So they say,
And the circle--they will square it
Some fine day;
Then the little pigs they're teaching
For to fly;
And the niggers they'll be bleaching
By-and-by!
Each newly joined aspirant
To the clan
Must repudiate the tyrant
Known as Man;
They mock at him and flout him,
For they do not care about him,
And they're "going to do without him"
If they can!
These are the phenomena
That every pretty domina
Hopes that we shall see
At this Universitee!
[Illustration]
THE BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO
From east and south the holy clan
Of Bishops gathered, to a man;
To Synod, called Pan-Anglican,
In flocking crowds they came.
Among them was a Bishop, who
Had lately been appointed to
The balmy isle of Rum-ti-Foo,
And PETER was his name.
His people--twenty-three in sum--
They played the eloquent tum-tum,
And lived on scalps served up in rum--
The only sauce they knew.
When first good Bishop PETER came
(For PETER was that Bishop's name),
To humour them, he did the same
As they of Rum-ti-Foo.
His flock, I've often heard him tell,
(His name was PETER) loved him well,
And summoned by the sound of bell,
In crowds together came.
"Oh, massa, why you go away?
Oh, Massa PETER, please to stay."
(They called him PETER, people say,
Because it was his name.)
He told them all good boys to be,
And sailed away across the sea,
At London Bridge that Bishop he
Arrived one Tuesday night--
And as forthwith he homeward strode
To his Pan-Anglican abode,
He passed along the Borough Road
And saw a gruesome sight.
He saw a crowd assembled round
A person dancing on the ground,
Who straight began to leap and bound
With all his might and main.
To see that dancing man he stopped,
Who twirled and wriggled, skipped and hopped,
Then down incontinently dropped,
And then sprang up again.
The Bishop chuckled at the sight,
"This style of dancing would delight
A simple Rum-ti-Foozleite,
I'll learn it if I can,
To please the tribe when I get back."
He begged the man to teach his knack.
"Right Reverend Sir, in half a crack,"
Replied that dancing man.
The dancing man he worked away--
And taught the Bishop every day--
The dancer skipped like any fay--
Good PETER did the same.
The Bishop buckled to his task
With _battements_, cuts, and _pas de basque_
(I'll tell you, if you care to ask,
That PETER was his name).
[Illustration]
"Come, walk like this," the dancer said,
"Stick out your toes--stick in your head,
Stalk on with quick, galvanic tread--
Your fingers thus extend;
The attitude's considered quaint."
The weary Bishop, feeling faint,
Replied, "I do not say it ain't,
But Time, my Christian friend."
"We now proceed to something new--
Dance as the PAYNES and LAURIS do,
Like this--one, two--one, two--one, two."
The Bishop, never proud,
But in an overwhelming heat
(His name was PETER, I repeat)
Performed the PAYNE and LAURI feat,
And puffed his thanks aloud.
[Illustration]
Another game the dancer planned--
"Just take your ankle in your hand,
And try, my lord, if you can stand--
Your body stiff and stark.
If, when revisiting your see,
You learnt to hop on shore--like me--
The novelty would striking be,
And must attract remark."
"No," said the worthy Bishop, "No;
That is a length to which, I trow,
Colonial Bishops cannot go.
You may express surprise
At finding Bishops deal in pride--
But, if that trick I ever tried,
I should appear undignified
In Rum-ti-Foozle's eyes.
"The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo
Are well-conducted persons, who
Approve a joke as much as you,
And laugh at it as such;
But if they saw their Bishop land,
His leg supported in his hand,
The joke they wouldn't understand--
'Twould pain them very much!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
BRAID THE RAVEN HAIR