Shall see their haughty Despots fall,
What time thy hapless fate shall be
The scorn and pity of them all.
View, Britannia, &c.
Thy haughty Tyrants ne’er shall bend
The glorious cause of Freedom down;
Their rage shall fan the sacred flame,
And work their woes and her renown.
View, Britannia, &c.
Thee best becomes the contrite strain,
For cities drench’d with human gore,
For crimes which tinge the orient main,
And banish peace from Afric’s shore
View, Britannia, &c.
The Muses still with Freedom found,
Shall from thy venal court repair,
To sing on Gallia’s freer ground,
Or breathe Columbia’s purer air.
View, Britannia, &c.
From _The Wreath of Freedom, or Patriot’s Song Book_.
Newcastle 1820.
――――
A CORN LAW RHYME.
When Freedom’s foes mock’d labours’ groan,
And, drunk with power, contemn’d the throne,
God bade great William rule the waves;
And William scorn’d to govern slaves.
Rule, great William, rule the free!
William Britain’s shield will be!
On their hard hearts they ground their words,
And made them sharp as traitors’ swords,
But cower’d, like dogs, beneath his eye,
When millions shouted to the sky,
Rule, great William, rule the free!
William Freedom’s shield shall be!
He broke his bonds o’er Rapine’s head;
“Free men! Free bread!” great William said,
And like a second Alfred stood,
King of the happy and the good;
While the free, from sea to sea,
Sang, Great William rules the free!
EBENEZER ELLIOTT.
In this, Elliott’s wish was father to the thought, for William IV.,
did not live to see the repeal of the Corn Laws. Another long
imitation of _Rule Britannia_, entitled “The Triumph of Reform,” also
appears amongst the _Corn Law Rhymes_, which were collected and
published by Benjamin Steill, London, in 1844.
――――
RULE SLAVEOWNIA.
(The National Hymn of the Confederate States.)
When first the South, to fury fanned,
Arose and broke the Union’s chain,
This was the Charter, the Charter of the land,
And Mr. Davis sang the strain:
Rule Slaveownia, Slaveownia rules, and raves
“Christians ever, ever, ever have had slaves.”
The Northerns, not so blest as thee,
At Aby Lincoln’s foot may fall,
While thou shalt flourish, shalt flourish fierce and free,
The whip, that makes the Nigger bawl,
Rule Slaveownia, Slaveownia rules, and raves
“Christians ever, ever, ever should have slaves.”
Thou, dully savage, shalt despise
Each freeman’s argument, or joke:
Each law that Congress, that Congress thought so wise,
Serves but to light thy pipes for smoke.
Rule Slaveownia, Slaveownia rules, and raves
“Christians ever, ever, ever must have slaves.”
And Trade, that knows no God but gold,
Shall to thy pirate ports repair:
Blest land, where flesh――where human flesh is sold,
And manly arms may flog that _air_,
Rule Slaveownia, Slaveownia rules, and raves
“Christians ever, ever, ever shall have slaves.”
SHIRLEY BROOKS, 1861.
――――
HOME-RULE HIBERNIA!
When Faction at the De’il’s command
Arose within the Em’rald Isle,
This was the chorus through the land,
And traitors sang it in this style:
Home Rule, Hibernia! Britannia her rule waives!
Britons ne’er shall make us slaves.
The Scotchmen not so blest as thee,
Put up with Richmond at Whitehall,
Whilst thou, with flourish fierce and free,
Wilt have Home Rule, or none at all.
Home Rule, Hibernia! Britannia her rule waives!
Britons ne’er shall make us slaves.
Still more cantank’rous shalt thou rise
More dreadful from each Parnell stroke,
Till Commerce from the country flies,
And all thy native banks are broke.
Home Rule, Hibernia! Britannia her rule waives!
Britons ne’er shall make us slaves.
Thee haughty Viceroys ne’er shall tame,
All their attempts to rub thee down
Will but arouse the “pathriot’s” flame,
And work their woe, but thy renown.
Home Rule, Hibernia! Britannia her rule waives!
Britons ne’er shall make us slaves.
To thee belongs red Terror’s reign;
Thy cities shall with arson shine;
All thine be the shillelah’s bane,
And every head it circles thine.
Home Rule, Hibernia! Britannia her rule waives!
Britons ne’er shall make us slaves.
Thee Furies, oft in Erin found,
To thy unhappy coast repair;
Green Isle, with matchless folly crown’d.
And hearts that blackguard all that’s fair.
Home Rule, Hibernia! Britannia her rule waives!
Britons ne’er shall make us slaves.
_Moonshine._ January 2, 1886.
――――
IMPERIUM ET LIBERTAS.
Competition Parodies in _The World_.
_First Prize._
When Beaconsfield, at civic board,
Uprose ’mid fellow-guests’ acclaim,
This was the welcome London roared,
Filling a bumper to his name――
Hail, Imperial, Imperial Statesman, hail!
Thy majority shall never, never fail!
Let Gladstone boast of silver axe,
And prate of upas-trees cut down;
Thine be the care of income-tax,
And thine be Turnerelli’s crown.
So hail, &c.
‘Great Gladstone, less astute than we,
From place and power defeated fell;
I taught an Empire to be free,
And grow Conservative as well.
Then hail, Imperial freedom, hail!
My majority shall never fail.
Me dissolution ne’er shall shock,
Midlothian voters ne’er dismay;
The epigrams I have in stock
Will serve me in the coming fray.
Then hail, &c.
“_Libertas et Imperium_,”
My watchword and my battle-call,
Will silence, when the elections come,
The loudest varlet of them all.
Then hail, &c.
Still more secure shall be my lease
Of Downing-street and county votes,
Whilst licensed victuallers increase,
And borough members turn their coats.
So hail, &c.
Here, when November days come round,
Is happiness enough for me:
Blest halls, where every bowl is crowned
With calipash and calipee!
Then hail, &c.
So Truscott,[22] when the circling year
Has withered all thy civic bays,
Again I’ll sip my turtle here,
And sing again an Empire’s praise.
Then hail, &c.’
COMMON PLEAS.
_Second Prize._
When on us burst, at thy command,
A party legend once again,
This was the cry throughout the land――
At least the Liberals sang the strain――
Fools! how can ye, how can ye trust such shaves?
Jingoes ever will be knaves!
The motto duly blessed by thee,
Great Earl, and by thy Tory class,
Runs ‘Government and Liberty’
(_Imperium et Libertas_).
Fools, &c.
* * * * *
(_Six stanzas omitted_).
LINDENFIELD.
_The World._ December 3, 1879.
A so-called comic song, entitled “_Brickbats never will be Slates_,”
was brought out about two years ago, but it possesses no literary
interest as a parody.
――――
GOD SAVE THE KING.
The most remarkable feature about “God save the King,” (or Queen) is
the great uncertainty which exists as to its origin. There seems
little doubt that the melody is German, but it is not known when, or
by whom, it was imported, whilst the words have been handed down, with
slight verbal alterations, since the days when James the First was
congratulated on his escape from the Gunpowder Plot.
The words as they were then sung were written by Dr. John Bull, to
whom some also ascribe the melody; Germans assert that it was imported
into England by Handel, whilst others state that either Lulli, or
Purcell, was the composer.
George Saville Carey claimed both the words and the melody as the
productions of his father, Henry Carey (the author of “Sally in our
Alley,”) and one hypothesis is, that no other song writer could have
been guilty of such atrocious rhymes as are to be found in the anthem:
Victorious. Laws.
Glorious. Cause.
Over us. Voice.
There is no doubt that Henry Carey had some part in settling the
words, as they are now known, whilst as to the melody the most likely
supposition is that he adopted German music in honour of the House of
Brunswick, for the same air was at once the Royal Hymn for Prussia,
Saxony, Weimar, _Brunswick_ and _Hanover_; the German version known as
“_Heil Dir im Sieger Kranz_” is still the official anthem of the
German Empire. This theory is far more probable than are the various
other conjectures as to its origin, such as that it was either a
Scotch, French, or Jacobite Song. The grand simplicity of the air is
almost sufficient proof of its German origin, and it is far more
probable that it was introduced here with the Hanoverian dynasty than
that an English melody should have been adopted as the Royal Hymn by
nearly all the states of central Europe.
A good many years ago it was stated in Edinburgh that the manuscript
memoirs of the Duchess of Perth contained an account of the
establishment of St. Cyr, in which she stated that――“When the most
Christian king Louis XIV entered the chapel, all the choir of noble
damsels sung each time the following words, to a very fine air by the
Sieur de Sully:――
Grand Dieu, sauvez le Roy!
Grand Dieu, vengez le Roy
Vive le Roy!
Que toujours glorieux,
Louis victorieux!
Voye ses ennemis,
Toujours soumis!
Grand Dieu, sauvez le Roy!
Grand Dieu, vengez le Roy!
Vive le Roy!
The tradition is, that the composer Handel, obtained leave to copy the
air and words, which he submitted to George the First as his own
composition.”
The importation of the air of “God save the King,” appears undeniable,
but it certainly did not come from France, neither is there anything
to show that Handel passed it off as his own composition. Indeed in a
court mainly composed of Germans, and before a German King, to whom
the air must have been familiar from early childhood, such an attempt
would have been ridiculous.
Many interesting facts bearing on these disputed questions will be
found in an account of the National Anthem, entitled, “God save the
King,” by Richard Clarke; London, W. Wright, Fleet Street, 1822; also
in “Old National Airs,” by W. Chappell; “The Music of the Church,” by
Thomas Hirst; and “An Introduction to the study of National Music,” by
Carl Engel, London, 1866.
These authorities are not agreed as to the origin of the melody, but
they all assert that words, somewhat similar to those now in use, were
written to congratulate James the First on his escape from the
Gunpowder Plot, and were sung for the first time at an entertainment
given to that King in July 1607 in the Hall of the Merchant Tailors’
Company, in the City of London.
Indeed, the balance of evidence tends to prove that the song never was
intended for the House of Hanover, whose anthem it has become, but for
the Stuart family. Up to the time of Charles I. the national
anthem-sung in honour of the king was “Vive le Roy”――an English song
with a Norman burden. After the revolution that made Cromwell
Protector, the Cavaliers, without utterly discarding the old song,
made themselves a new one――“When the King shall enjoy his own again,”
which, with its by no means contemptible poetry, and its exceedingly
fine music, kept up the heart of the party in their adversity, and did
more for the royal cause than an army.
In the reigns of Charles II. and James II., when the King had come
into the full possession of his own, the loyal song was, “Here’s a
Health unto his Majesty.” Later on, when the Stuarts were in exile, it
would seem that Carey revived “God save the King,” but that it did not
become popular until 1745, about two years after his death.
George Saville Carey in _The Balnea_ (London, 1801) gives the
following account of the origin of _God save the King_:
“In spite of all literary cavil and conjectural assertion
there has not yet appeared one _identity_ to invalidate the
truth that my father was the author of that important song,
some have given the music to Handel, others to Purcell,
some have signified that it was produced in the time of
Charles I. others James I. and some, in their slumbers,
have dreamed that it made its appearance in the reign of
Henry VIII. it might as well have been carried still
further back, to the reign of song-singing Solomon, or
psalm singing David. I have heard the late Mr. Pearce
Galliard assert, time after time, that my father was the
author of “God save the King”; that it was produced in the
year 1745-6, and printed in the year 1750, for John
Johnson, opposite Bow Church, in Cheapside. But, for the
satisfaction of my readers, I will insert the song of ‘God
save the King,’ as it is printed in the original text,
where it is called a song for two voices:――
I.
God save Great George our King
Long Live our noble King,
God save the King,
Send him victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us,
God save the King.
II.
O Lord our God, arise,
Scatter our enemies,
And make them fall;
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks,
On him our hopes we fix,
God save us all.
III.
Thy choicest gifts in store,
On him be pleased to pour,
Long may he reign,
May he defend our laws,
And ever give us cause
To sing, with heart and voice
God save the King.
IV.
Lord grant that MARSHALL WADE,[23]
May, by thy Mighty aid,
Victory bring;
May he sedition hush,
And like a torrent rush,
Rebellious Scots to crush,
God save the King.
There can be little doubt that Henry Carey was the author of the first
three verses of this particular version of the song, but he could not
have written the fourth verse, as he committed suicide in 1743, two
years before the Scotch rebellion to which the verse refers.
The first time that the song or anthem of “God save the King” was made
known generally to the public was at the end of the month of
September, 1745 after the young Pretender’s forces had beaten Sir John
Cope, and Prince Charles himself had made his triumphant entry into
Holyrood Palace. “On Saturday night,” says the _Daily Advertiser_ of
September 30th, 1745, “the audience at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane
were agreeably surprised by the gentlemen belonging to that house
performing the anthem of ‘God save our noble King.’” Another paper,
the _General Advertiser_, of October 2nd, said――“At the Theatre in
Goodman’s Fields, by desire, ‘God save the King,’ as it was performed
at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, was sung with great applause.” That
the song was a novelty is proved not only by these records, but by a
letter from Benjamin Victor to David Garrick, bearing date October,
1745. The writer says――“The stage at both houses is the most pious as
well as the most loyal place in the three kingdoms. Twenty men appear
at the end of every play, and one stepping forward from the rest, with
uplifted hands and eyes, begins singing to an _old anthem tune_ the
following words:――
‘Oh, Lord our God, arise,
Confound the enemies
Of George our King;
Send him victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us
God save the King.
He adds, “These are the very words and music of an old anthem that was
sung at St James’s Chapel for King James II., when the Prince of
Orange landed to deliver us from Popery and Slavery, which God
Almighty, in his goodness, was pleased not to grant.”
From that time _God save the King_ became the recognised official and
loyal song, or anthem, but it is, of course, incorrect to style it the
_National Anthem_, in the sense that _Rule Britannia is National_, as
it is simply a prayer for the Royal Family. Richard Brinsley Sheridan
wrote an impromptu verse, which was sung at Drury Lane Theatre, in
1800, on the night when Hatfield fired from the pit of that theatre at
George III. It is scarcely necessary to observe that Sheridan’s verse,
_as poetry_, is immeasurably superior to the older portion of the
anthem:――
“From every latent foe,
From the assassin’s blow,
God save the King!
O’er him thine arm extend,
For Britain’s sake defend
Our father, prince and friend――
God save the King!”
――――
In 1795 _The Gentleman’s Magazine_ published the following Latin
version:――
“DOMINE, SALVUM FAC REGEM.
O vivas, omnibus,
Salvus ab hostibus,
GEORGI, O REX!
Tibi victoriam
Deus, et Gloriam
Det, et memoriam
Optime rex.
Hostes, O Domine
Ut cadant omine
Horrido, da;
Praebe, cœlicolens,
Deus omnipotens!
Atque omnisciens,
Auxilia.
Fiat clarissimus
Et beatissimus
GEORGIUS REX;
Cujus judicio,
Cujus auspicio,
Et beneficio
Floreat lex!”
――――
On the accession of William IV. a new version of the anthem was
prepared:――
God save our noble King,
William the Fourth we sing.
God save the King.
Send him victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us,
God save the King.
O Lord our God arise,
Guard him from enemies,
Or make them fall;
May peace with plenty crown’d
Throughout his realms abound,
So be his name renown’d,
God save us all.
Or should some foreign band
Dare to this favour’d land
Discord to bring,
May our brave William’s name,
Proud in the lists of fame,
Bring them to scorn and shame.
God save the King.
Thy choicest gifts in store
On William deign to pour,
Joy round him fling;
May he defend our laws,
And ever give us cause
To sing with heart and voice
God save the King.
――――
VICTORY! FREEDOM! AND FOX.
Britons, let’s all unite
In defence of our _right_
And _liberty_:
For us we’ll distance drive
_Scare-Crow Prerogative_
Nor ever, whilst alive,
Cease to be free.
_Time-servers_, wond’ring, shall
View us determin’d all
Spite of the _Court_;
Spite of their wily tricks,
And _Back-stair politics_,
_Fox_ is the man we fix
On to support.
We, like _Sir Judas Wray_,
Will not our friends betray,
But, orthodox
In aid of _liberty_,
Let the whole nation see
True and staunch we will be
Ever to _Fox_.
Void of all treachery,
To guard our liberty,
Foremost stands _Fox_:
Let, then, be this our cry
Conquer, or let us die.
Huzza! boys, VICTORY!
FREEDOM, and FOX.
From _The History of the Westminster Election_, 1784.
――――
In 1790 Charles James Fox brought forward a motion in the House of
Commons for the repeal of the test and corporation acts. Pitt and
Burke opposed any such concession to the dissenters, and the motion
was rejected by nearly three to one. A great agitation was got up, all
over the country, by the Tory party, against the dissenters, who were
ridiculed and abused in pamphlets, poems, and caricatures. Councillor
Morfit, of Birmingham, composed a parody of _God save the King_ which
became very popular, it was extensively printed with a large
caricatured representation of the chief dissenters brooding over
sedition. It was entitled:――
OUR MOTHER CHURCH.
God save great George our King!
Long live our noble King,
God save the King,
Send him victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us,
God save the King!
Old mother Church disdains
The vile dissenting strains,
That round her ring;
She keeps her dignity,
And, scorning faction’s cry,
Sings with sincerity,
God save the King!
Sedition is their creed;
_Feigned sheep_, but _wolves_ indeed,
How can we trust?
Gunpowder Priestley would
Deluge the throne with blood,
And lay the great and good
Low in the dust.
History, thy page unfold,
Did not their _sires_ of old
_Murder their King_!
And they would overthrow
King, lords and bishops too,
And, while they gave the blow,
Loyally sing,
“O Lord our God arise
Scatter our enemies,
And make them fall;
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks;
On thee our hopes we fix,
God save us all.”
――――
OLD PRICES.
A parody of _God Save the King_ circulated in Covent Garden Theatre,
on the night of October 18, 1809, during the celebrated O.P. riots.
God save great Johnny Bull,
Long live our noble Bull,
God save John Bull.
Send him victorious,
Loud and uproarious,
With lungs like Boreas,
God save John Bull.
O Johnny Bull be true,
Oppose the prices new,
And make them fall;
Curse Kemble’s politics,
Frustrate his knavish tricks,
On thee our hopes we fix.
Confound them all.
No private boxes let
Intriguing ladies get,
Thy right, John Bull.
From little pigeon-holes
Defend us jolly souls;
And we will sing, by goles,
God save John Bull.
_The Covent Garden Journal._ Vol. II. London, 1810.
These volumes contain full accounts of the O.P. Riots in the new
Covent Garden Theatre, which arose from some injudicious alterations
made in the prices, and structural arrangements by John Kemble. He
raised the prices partly in order to pay high salaries to Madame
Catalani and other foreigners. The war cries of the rioters were “Old
Prices! No Private Boxes! No Catalani! The English Drama!”, many songs
and parodies were written to annoy Kemble, who had, eventually, to
compromise matters, and Madame Catalani’s name was withdrawn from the
bills. This lady had a fine voice, but was so ignorant of the English
language that the following version of “God save the King” was
prepared to assist her pronunciation when she had to sing the solo:――
Oh, Lord avar God
Arais, schaeter
Is enemis and
Mece them fol
Confond tear
Politekse frosstre
Their nevise trix
On George avar hopes
We fix. God save the Kin.
――――
HAIL! MASONRY DIVINE.
Hail! Masonry divine
Glory of ages shine,
Long may’st thou hold;
Where’er thy lodges stand
May they have great command,
And always grace the land:
Thou Art divine.
Great fabrics still arise,
And touch the azure skies,
Great are thy schemes;
Thy noble orders are
Matchless beyond compare,
No art with thee can share,
Thou art divine.
Hiram, the architect,
Did all the craft direct
How they should build;
Solomon, great Israel’s King,
Did mighty blessings bring,
And left us room to sing,
Hail! Royal Art.
From _The Universal Songster_.
――――
GOD SAVE THE RIGHTS OF MAN.
God save the Rights of Man,
Give him a heart to scan
Blessings so dear:
Let them be spread around,
Where ever man is found,
And with the welcome sound
Ravish his ear.
See, from the universe,
Darkness and clouds disperse;
Mankind awake;
Reason and Truth appear,
Freedom advances near,
Monarchs with terror hear;
See how they quake!
O’er the Germanic Powers
Loud indignation showers,
Ready to fall.
Let the rude savage host,
In their long numbers boast,
Freedom’s Almighty trust,
Laughs at them all.
Let us with Spain agree,
And bid the world be free,
Leading the way:
Let tyrants all conspire,
Fearless of sword and fire,
Freedom shall ne’er retire,
Freedom shall sway.
Fame let thy trumpet sound,
Tell all the world around,
Tell each degree;
Tell ribbons, crowns, and stars,
Kings, traitors, troops, and wars,
Holy Leagues, plots, and jars,
Spaniards are free.
God save the Rights of Man,
Give him a heart to scan
Blessings so dear:
Let them be spread around,
Wherever man is found,
And with the welcome sound
Ravish his ear.
From _The Wreath of Freedom, or Patriot’s Song Book_.
(J. Marshall, Newcastle. 1820.)
――――
SAVE YOURSELVES.
In 1871, Mr. Gladstone addressed a large meeting of the electors of
Greenwich on Blackheath. In the course of his speech he referred to
the number of reforms that had been carried out during his political
career; but, he added, that whilst much remained to be done, we must
not flatter ourselves that all the evils of humanity could be cured by
legislation. He then quoted the first verse of the following parody,
stating that he had met with it in a “questionable book.” The
“questionable book” was _The Secularist’s Manual of Songs and
Ceremonies_. Edited by Austin Holyoake and Charles Watts, with a
Preface by Charles Bradlaugh. There was a loud outcry against Mr.
Gladstone for quoting from such a source.
People throughout the land,
Join in one social band,
And save yourselves;
If you would happy be,
Free from all slavery,
Banish all knavery,
And save yourselves.
Why will you always toil,
While others share the spoil?
Work for yourselves!
Let them who live so high
Work for themselves, or try,
Tell them ’tis time to try
To keep themselves.
Parsons and peers may preach,
And endless falsehoods teach,
Think for yourselves;
Then let your watchword be
“Justice and Liberty”――
And toil unwearedly
To save yourselves.
――――
THE NATIONAL ANTHEM.
(_For use in the Bradlaughable Republic._)
God = X. Title of _Freethinker’s Text Book_.
“X” save our graceless Chief,
Reward his unbelief,
“X” save our B.
O’er Church victorious,
And Throne, once glorious,
Now sole Lord over us――
Xtol our B!
SCIENCE, our “X”! arise!
Xplode B.’s enemies,
And squash them small!
Confound their politics!
Frustrate their knavish tricks,
Oh “X”! these heretics
Xtinguish all!
Thy Xcellent gifts in store.
Great “X”! be pleased to pour,
On sacred B.!
May he repeal the laws
Which make our conscience pause,
(Oaths merely move our jaws)
And win loud lip-applause.
“X”! (_pelled_) M.P.
From _Blasts from Bradlaugh’s own Trumpet_, London:
Houlston & Sons. About 1884.
――――
“A clergyman――decidedly of the Church militant――sends us the following
proposed ‘national anathema.’ His motto is from the ‘Magnificat’”:――
DEPOSUIT POTENTES DE SEDE.
Down with their lofty seats,
Down with their vain conceits,
Down with the Lords!
Confound their false pretence,
Confound their want of sense,
Confound their impudence,
Down with the Lords!
Down with their arrogant,
Reckless, extravagant,
Insolent words!
Shall they reject the bill?
Shall they dissolve at will?
Shall they obstruct us still?
Down with the Lords!
Commons of England, yet
Shall the proud Lords regret
Their futile aim.
Make then our hearts rejoice,
You are the People’s choice,
You are the People’s voice,
They but a name.
_The Pall Mall Gazette._ October 3, 1884.
――――
GOD SAVE GLADSTONE.
God save the People’s Friend!
May he our cause defend!
Trusted and brave.
Lengthen his span of years,
Deepen the tyrants fears,
Until the right appears,
Gladstone still save!
God save the noble band
Who long have led the van
Of Freedom’s host!
May faith and courage be
Watchwords of Liberty!
Until the goal we see,
Each to his post!
Gladstone, the People’s Friend!
Our aid we gladly lend
Thy work to do:
Yielding no inch of ground
He will his foes confound,
So shall our cause abound――
Liberty true.
From _Songs for Liberal Electors_, Manchester. A. Heywood
and Sons, 1885.
――――
A NATIONAL ANTHEM.
(_The Queen was to open Parliament on the 21st January._)
Soon will our gracious Queen
In town again be seen――
Our long-lost Queen;
Let us be glorious,
Yea, quite laborious
With mirth uproarious
To――oo――oo greet our Queen!
Thus will Victoria Reg.
Give us this privilege
Too seldom seen.
For she (oh, great event!)
Hath stated her intent
To o――o――open Parliament Parliament――
O――o――oh! gracious Queen!
Hail, then, with all your pow’r,
That joyous brief half-hour,
When she’ll be seen!
Thanks to our politics
(Which, through our M.P.’s tricks,
Often are in a fix)
We――e shall _see_ our Queen!
_Fun._ January 20, 1886.
――――
ADDITIONAL VERSE COMPOSED ON THE
QUEEN’S MARRIAGE.
O, grant our earnest prayer,
Smile on the Royal pair,
Bless Prince and Queen!
May Albert’s name be dear
To every Briton’s ear,
The peasant and the peer――
God save the Queen.
――――
A JUBILEE VERSION.
The Vicar of Ryde, at the conclusion of an entertainment recently held
at the Town Hall, Ryde, in aid of parochial charities, called upon the
audience to join in singing the National Anthem, and “gave out” an
additional verse which had been written “for the occasion” was as
follows:――
God bless her Majesty,
In this her Jubilee,
Long may she reign!
May she be near to us,
Ever more dear to us,
Oftener appear to us,
God save the Queen!
_Truth._ February 17, 1887.
――――
AN IMPROVED “NATIONAL ANTHEM.”
At the opening of the People’s Park, Manchester, by Prince Albert, a
greatly improved “National Anthem” was sung, it would make an
excellent substitute for the objectionable old version. As an improved
“National Anthem,” perhaps there is none more worthy than the
following, by Mr. W. E. Hickson, and its adoption would be an
excellent Jubilee memento:――
God bless our native land,
May heaven’s protecting hand
Still guard our shore;
May peace her power extend,
Foe be transformed to friend,
And Britain’s power depend
On war no more.
Thro’ every changing scene
O Lord preserve our Queen,
Well may she reign.
Her heart inspire and move
With wisdom from above,
And in the nation’s love
Her throne maintain.
May just and prudent laws
Uphold the public cause,
And bless our Isle;
Home of the brave and free,
The land of liberty,
We pray that still on thee
Kind heaven may smile.
And not this land alone,
But be Thy mercies known
From shore to shore.
Let all the nations see
That men should brothers be,
And form one family
The wide world o’er.
[Illustration]
THE SONGS OF
Mr. W. S. GILBERT.
Although Mr. W. S. Gilbert has long been before the public as a
dramatist and humorous author, his chief title to fame rests upon the
long series of successful comic operas produced either at the Opera
Comique, or the Savoy Theatre. In all of these the quaint fancies and
humorous dialogues of Mr. Gilbert, were supplemented by the brilliant
and tuneful music of Sir Arthur Sullivan. Their creations, placed upon
the stage with attention to every detail, and interpreted by a
powerful company, have, for the last ten years, been the chief
theatrical attraction, of a lighter sort, in the metropolis. The
following is a list of these operas, with parodies of some of the
favourite songs contained in them:――
_Thespis_; or, The Gods grown old.
_Trial by Jury._ A novel and original dramatic Cantata.
Opera Comique Theatre. 1876.
_The Sorcerer._ A modern Comic opera 1877. It was in this
opera that the inimitable actor, Mr. George Grossmith, made
his first appearance on the stage in the part of “_John
Wellington Wells, a dealer in magic and spells_.”
_H.M.S. Pinafore_; or, The Lass that loved a Sailor. An
entirely original Nautical Comic opera. Opera Comique
Theatre. May 25, 1878.
_The Pirates of Penzance_; or, The Slave of Duty. An
original Melo-Dramatic opera. Opera Comique Theatre. 1880.
_Patience_; or, Bunthorne’s Bride. An Æsthetic opera. Opera
Comique Theatre. April 23, 1881.
_Iolanthe_; or, The Peer and the Peri. An entirely original
Fairy opera. Savoy Theatre, November 25, 1882.
_Princess Ida_; or, Castle Adamant. Savoy Theatre January
5, 1884.
_The Mikado_; or, The Town of Titipu. An entirely original
Japanese opera. Savoy Theatre. March 14, 1885.
_Ruddygore_; or, The Witch’s Curse. An entirely original
Supernatural opera. (The leading word in the title was
afterwards altered to _Ruddigore_.) Savoy Theatre. January
22, 1887.
――――:o:――――
TRIAL BY JURY.
THE JUDGE’S SONG.
When I, good friends, was called to the Bar,
I’d an appetite fresh and hearty,
But I was, as many young barristers are,
An impecunious party.
I’d a swallow-tail coat of a beautiful blue――
A brief which I bought of a booby――
A couple of shirts and a collar or two,
And a ring that looked like a ruby!
_Chorus._――A couple of shirts, &c.
In Westminster Hall I danced a dance,
Like a semi-despondent fury;
For I thought I never should hit on a chance,
Of addressing a British jury――
But I soon got tired of third class journeys,
And dinners of bread and water;
So I fell in love with a rich attorney’s
Elderly, ugly daughter.
_Chorus._――So he fell in love, &c.
The rich attorney he jumped with joy,
And replied to my fond professions:
“You shall reap the reward of your pluck, my boy
“At the Bailey and Middlesex Sessions.
“You’ll soon get used to her looks,” said he,
“And a very nice girl you’ll find her!
“She may very well pass for forty-three
“In the dusk, with a light behind her!”
_Chorus._――She may very well, &c.
The rich attorney was good as his word;
The briefs came trooping gaily,
And every day my voice was heard
At the Sessions or Ancient Bailey.
All thieves who could my fees afford
Relied on my orations,
And many a burglar I’ve restored,
To his friends and his relations.
_Chorus._――And many a burglar, &c.
At length I became as rich as the Gurneys――
An incubus then I thought her,
So I threw over that rich attorney’s
Elderly, ugly daughter.
The rich attorney my character high,
Tried vainly to disparage――
And now, if you please, I’m ready to try
This Breach of Promise of Marriage!
_Chorus._――And now, if you please, &c.
W. S. GILBERT.
――――
BREACH OF PROMISE OF MARRIAGE.
Mr. Herschel’s motion for the abolition of actions for breach
of promise of marriage, excepting where actual pecuniary loss
had been incurred, was carried in the House of Commons by a
substantial majority. He thus addresses an aspiring youth of the
Temple:――
When you, my friend, are called to the Bar,
Your wit may be fresh and hearty;
You may be, as many young barristers are,
A somewhat jocular party.
But you won’t, in the course of your legal journeys,
Be required to cross the water
To plead, as advised by ’cute attorneys,
For somebody’s jilted daughter.
A cute attorney jumps with joy
When he hears a maid’s confession,
And chuckles to think how he’ll bully the boy,
In revenge for his retrogression.
“You’ll get big damages, sure,” he’ll say,
And cautiously remind her
That her mother should bring her to court on the day,
And her brother stand close behind her.
No, no. You won’t grow rich as the Gurneys
Through accustomed legal slaughter;
To the courts no more shall ’cute attorneys
Bring somebody’s jilted daughter.
That species of extortion I
Most heartily disparage,
And mean that henceforward no judge shall try
A Breach of Promise of Marriage.”
_Funny Folks._ May 17, 1879.
――――:o:――――
H.M.S. PINAFORE.
THE MAHDI OF MID-LOTHIAN.
(_The Mahdi and Chorus of Radicals._)
_The Mahdi_――I am the Mahdi of Mid-Lothian.
_Chorus_―― And a very queer Mahdi too.
_The Mahdi_――You are very, very rude;
And I’d have it understood
I command a motley crew.
Though a Tory I was born,
My creed I have forsworn,
And am a Rad of a deepish dye,
I never turn my coat
With a view to catch a vote,
And I never tell a big, big――――official statement.
_Chorus_―― What, never?
_The Mahdi_――No, never.
_Chorus_―― What, never?
_The Mahdi_――Well, hardly ever.
_Chorus_―― Then give three cheers for the Grand Old Man,
The Grand Old Mahdi of Mid-Lothian;
Then give three cheers for the Grand Old Man,
For the Mahdi of Mid-Lothian.
_The Mahdi_――I’ve trimmed my sails to satisfy you all.
_Chorus_―― And we never knew what you meant.
_The Mahdi_――Why, that’s my little game
But I tell you all the same
You are most impertinent.
An insincere excuse
I never, never use,
Whatever the emergency.
And I never, never ape,
In any form or shape,
The conduct of the late Lord B.
_Chorus_―― What, never?
_The Mahdi_――No, never.
_Chorus_―― What, never?
_The Mahdi_――Well, hardly ever.
_Chorus_―― Then give three cheers for the Grand Old Man,
The Grand Old Mahdi of Mid-Lothian:
Then give three cheers for the Grand Old Man,
For the Mahdi of Mid-Lothian.
_Manchester Courier._ 1885.
――――
H.M. HOME RULE CORPS.
_Captain Gladstone_――I am the captain of this Home Rule Corps!
_All_―― And a right good captain too!
_Captain_―― You’re a very mix’d lot,
Some are cold, some are hot,
But you’re safe “pretty far” to go.
_All_―― We’re a very mix’d lot,
Some are cold, some are hot,
But we’re safe “pretty far” to go.
_Captain_―― I care for no Whig mutineer,
For “three courses” I can steer,
Bold pilot in extremity,
I’ve never miss’d my mark,
With Tory, Turk, or Bismarck.
Nor lost the Lib’ral ship at sea!
_All_―― What, never?
_Captain_―― No, never!
_All_―― What, NEVER?
_Captain_―― HARDLY ever!
_All_―― Hardly ever lost ship at sea!
Then give three cheers and one cheer more,
For the hardy captain of this Home Rule Corps.
_Captain_―― I’ll do my best to satisfy you all――
_All_―― But will you satisfy Parnell?
_Captain_―― That is neither here nor there,
I play upon the square,
And will “box the compass” well!
_All_―― We’re neither here nor there,
He plays upon the square,
And he’ll “box the compass” well
_Captain_―― Veil’d words I never use,
Nor Lib’ral trust abuse,
Whatever the emergency;
Lose my temper I may,
But friend nor foe can say
I ever do it with a big, big D――――
_All_―― What, never?
_Captain_―― No, never!
_All_―― What, NEVER?
_Captain_―― HARDLY ever!
_All_―― Hardly ever does it with a big, big D――――
Then give three cheers and one cheer more
For the well-bred captain of the Home Rule Corps.
_All_―― For he _is_ the captain of this Home Rule Corps;
And a right good captain too!
_Captain_―― I’ve had many a sore fall,
Ere made captain of you all,
But you’re a promising crew!
_All_―― He’s had many a sore fall,
Ere made captain of us all,
And we’re a promising crew.
_Captain_―― I’ll hit upon a plan,
To please the Parnell clan,
Yet keep united Nations Three;
They’ll play Parli’ment for diversion,
Ne’er bother ’bout coercion
Nor brick-bat Constabul’ry!
_All_―― What, never?
_Captain_―― No, never!
_All_―― What, NEVER?
_Captain_―― HARDLY ever!
_All_―― Hardly ever brick-bat Constabul’ry!
Then give three cheers and one cheer more,
For the daring captain of this Home Rule Corps.
_The North British Daily Mail._ February 8, 1886.
――――
GIANT LANDLORD.
I’m the curse of my country, the terror of all,
Especially those who are feeble and small;
I’m a grabber of land, and the people know me
As a big-acred Landlord and J. of the P.
Yes, I am a J. of the big, big P.,
And a very funny J. I’m too;
For I never, never saw any practice in the law,
And I never know what to do.
But the clerk to whom I look, finds the law out in a book,
And he whispers what it ought to be;
And the pris’ners at the bar,
Who or what-so-e’er they are,
They never mercy get from me!
_Jack_―― What, never?
_Giant L._――No, never!
_Jack_―― What, never?
_Giant L_.――No, never!
No, never mercy get from me!
_Jack and the Villagers_――
Then give three groans, and three times three,
For the cruel J. of the big, big P.
Aye, give three groans, and three times three,
For the J, of the big, big P.
_Truth_. Christmas Number. 1884.
――――
LORD BEACONSFIELD’S SONG.
When I was a lad I served a term
As clerk to a decent attorney’s firm;
But the trammels of the office were so vile a bore,
That I longed to be stepping from the big front-door!
I slipped through that portal so read_ilee_,
That now I am a noble and, to boot, K.G.!
As novel-writer I made such a mark,
That a Seat was discovered for the lawyer’s clerk;
Then I sneered and flouted with a smile so bland,
Till at last I had the Tories in my own right hand!
I chaffed my opponents in a style so free,
That now I am a noble, and a big K.G.!
By “slanging” Liberals I made such a name,
That a full-blown Premier I soon became;
With a “brute majority” to dance to my flute,
I made an Indian Empress, and an Earl to boot!
And that smart, Imperial juggle did so well for me,
That now I am a noble and, you know, K.G.!
I grew so trusted that I was sent
To the Congress, Britain for to represent.
I cut up Turkey and insulted Greece;
But you know I collared Cyprus, and I “brought back peace.”
For a “peace with honour” they rewarded me
By making of a nobleman a brave K.G.!
Now, statesmen all, whoever you may be,
If you’re wishful to emulate this “big, big D.,”
If your souls are not fettered to the Lower House,
Be careful to be guided by the rule of nous:
Stick close to the Crown, and never chop down trees,
And you all may be noblemen, and all K.G.’s.
_Funny Folks._ September 7, 1878.
――――
PRESIDENT GARFIELD.
When he was a lad he served a term
On a big canal with a boatman’s firm:
With a heart so free, and a will so strong,
On the towpath drove two mules along;
And he drove those mules so carefullee
He’s a candidate now for the Presidencee.
As a driver boy he made such a mark
He came to the deck of the inland barque
And all of the perils to boat and crew
He stood at the helm and guided thro’.
He stood at the helm so manfullee
He’s a candidate now for the Presidencee.
He did so well with the helm and the mules,
They made him a teacher of district schools;
And when from college in a bran new suit,
A Greek professor at the Institute,
Where Greek and Latin he taught so free
He’s a candidate now for the Presidencee.
The song traces General Garfield’s history through ten stanzas,
and closes in this moral and improving strain:――
Now boys who cherish ambitious schemes,
Though now you may be but drivers of teams,
Look well to the work you may chance to do,
And do it with a hand that is kind and true.
Whatever you do, do it faithfullee,
And you may aspire to the Presidencee.
From a United States pamphlet, entitled _Republican
Campaign Songs_, 1880.
A political parody of the same original, but of purely local
interest, was published in _Melbourne Punch_, August 26, 1880,
describing the career of Mr. Berry, an Australian politician.
――――
_LITTLE PRIMROSE’S SONG._
(_After Little Buttercup_.)
_Lord B._―― A many years ago,
When I became a Tory,
My brain was all aglow
With dreams of fame and glory.
_Ministers_―― Now hear his artless story!
When he became a Tory
He dreamt of fame and glory
A many years ago.
_Lord B._―― One tender thought I “nussed”――
To gain a high position,
And mix with upper crust
Was ever my ambition.
_Ministers_―― Now, hear his frank admission!
To be a sham patrician
Was always his ambition
A many years ago.
_Lord B._―― Oh, bitter was my lot!
Oh, vast was my vexation!
They never once forgot
My former humble station.
_Ministers_―― Oh, what humiliation!
They seized on each occasion
To mock his humble station
A many years ago.
_Lord B._―― But soon I made a hit,
And nobody could doubt it:
They cheered my ready wit,
They couldn’t do without it!
_Ministers_―― Now this is all about it――
He’d wit and none could doubt it,
Nor could they do without it
A many years ago.
_Lord B._―― My Party wanted power,
And I so aptly taught it,
That in a lucky hour
To Office back I brought it.
_Ministers_―― So artfully he taught it,
That back to Place he brought it;
Now who’d have ever thought it
_A many years ago?_
_Funny Folks._ March 6, 1880.
――――
DUET.
(_By two Persons of Quality._)
_First Person of Quality._
Your Grace, we have important information――
Sing hey, the silly Liberal that you are!――
About a certain intimate relation
Between the artful Afghan and the CZAR.
Sing hey, the artful Afghan,
The crafty, treacherous Afghan,
The sneaking, dangerous Afghan, and the CZAR!
_Second Person of Quality._
My Lord, in your romantic vein you’re speaking――
Sing hey, the wily Hebrew that you are!――
We don’t believe there’s any kind of sneaking
Between the virtuous Afghan and the CZAR.
Sing hey, the virtuous Afghan,
The well-intentioned Afghan,
The harmless, truthful Afghan, and the CZAR!
_First Person of Quality._
Your Grace has not a spark of patriot feeling――
Sing hey, the factious Radical you are!――
Or you’d know we cannot letters be revealing,
That touch a friendly Potentate, the CZAR.
(_Con expressione._)
Sing hey, the friendly Monarch,
The much-respected Monarch,
Our best of foreign relatives, the CZAR.
_Second Person of Quality (Con furia)._
My Lord, we give you fair and timely warning――
Sing hey, the Tory criminal you are!――
We’ll talk to the Electors, one fine morning,
About the ill-used Afghan, and the CZAR.
(_Lagrimando._)
’Bout the poor ill-usèd Afghan,
The much malignèd Afghan,
The loyal faithful Afghan, and the CZAR!
_Punch._ March 13, 1880.
――――
The Tichborne Claimant wrote:――“It is a fine thing to be an
Englishman. Fool that I used to be to think so! I should feel
prouder now if I could say I was an American Indian. For if ever
a man felt ashamed to own a country as his native land, I do
this.”
“For he himself has said it,
That it’s much to his discredit
That he’s an Englishman.
He would rather be a Rooshan,
A Turk, or Greek, or Prooshan,
Or else Red In-di-an;
And his future aspirations
Will be turned to other nations,
_Not_ to be an Englishman.”
_Funny Folks._
――――
THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE.
SONG FOR A POLICEMAN.
Hem! I represent the law,
’Sent the law.
Of the Beak upon the Bench, well, I’m the claw,
I’m the claw.
I’m a terror and a snare
To all not upon the square;
And some envy me my uniform of blue,
Yes, they _due_,
_Many_ envy me my uniform of blue.
Duty calls me on some roads,
On some roads,
Where, I own, I meet with pleasant episodes,
Episodes;
Where the housemaids have good looks,
And obliging are the cooks,
With no beastly barracks near to make ’em rue,
Make ’em rue;
Yes, it’s valued then, this uniform of blue.
For the credit of the Force,
Of the Force,
A proper pride I cultivate, of course,
’Vate, of course;
But, though sad, it must be told,
All that glitters is not gold,
And the statement Mr. Gilbert made is true,
Made is true,――
No! it’s _not_ all joy to wear this dress of blue.
_Judy._ July 11, 1883.
――――
_Song._――BY THE PRINCE OF WALES.
When a Prince is not engaged in his employment――
His employment,
Such as laying by the score foundation stones――
’Dation stones,
His capacity for innocent enjoyment――
’Cent enjoyment,
For the cares of Princely etiquette atones――
’Quette atones――
When he’s finished holding Levée’s for his mother――
For his mother,
And has done official duties for the day――
For the day,
He contrives his Princely weariness to smother――
’Ness to smother,
By indulging in a visit to the play――
To the play!
So he’s often at one playhouse or another――
Or another,
When there is no public dinner to be done――
To be done;
And take one consideration with another――
With another,
A Prince’s lot might be a sadder one――
Sadder one!
When there’s no official business to be done,
A Prince’s life might be a sadder one!
_Truth Christmas Number._ 1884.
――――
AN ELECTION EFFUSION.
When the Free and Independent goes a voting――goes voting,
He is very apt to make his presence felt;
And election-news is nowadays denoting――a denoting,
That a nasty knock to Gladstone he has dealt――
Amid the Separation dust, and smother――dusty smother,
The Unionists their task have bravely done,
Taking one consideration with another――with another,
They all wisely took the tip of Mr. FUN――wondrous FUN!
When preserving of the Empire’s to be done――to be done,
It’s always safe to follow Mr. FUN.
* * * * *
_Fun._ July 21, 1886.
――――
THE WHEELISTS’ CHORUS.
When the city man has finished his employment,
――His employment;
When anxiety and all its cares are o’er,
――Cares are o’er;
He devotes his mind to wheeling as enjoyment,
――As enjoyment
And voteth all his business is a bore,
――Is a bore.
His feelings he’ll with difficulty smother;
――Culty smother;
When after all his daily toil is done,
Toil is done;
Taking one consideration with another,
With another;
The Wheelist’s lot it is a happy one,
Happy one.
When the enterprising Wheelist’s not a wheeling,
Not a wheeling,
When the Wheelist isn’t occupied on wheels,
――Pied on wheels,
He loves to saunter in the evening early,
Evening early,
And listen to the distant village peals,
Village peals.
When the tourist’s not engaged in his vocation,
His vocation.
He loves to go a touring in the sun,
In the sun;
Taking all things into due consideration,
――Sideration,
The Wheelist’s lot it is a happy one,
Happy one.
ALFRED GIBBONS.
_Wheeling Annual_ 1885.
Another very long song, on the same model, was printed in
_Wheeling_, January 14, 1885, signed G. F. Benson.
――――
SONG AND CHORUS.
(_Picked up near the Opera Comique._)
When Lord Beaky’s not engaged in lamentation――
Lamentation,
He’s tearing all his pretty curly hair――
Curly hair;
When Northcote can control his agitation――
Agitation,
He is asking “How the rabid nation dare?”
Nation dare?
When the enterprising Cross is not a-sobbing――
Not a-sobbing,
When Manners is not making dismal rhymes――
Dismal rhymes,
The former big big D’s his water-jobbing――
Water-jobbing,
The last inveighs ’gainst _Telegraph_ and _Times_――
_-graph_ and _Times_.
When Smith has finished dancing in ill-humour――
In ill-humour,
He grinds his little tootsicums like fun――
-cums like fun;
Oh! despite the Disappointed Party’s rumour――
Party’s rumour,
The Tories’ lot is not a happy one――
Happy one!
_Funny Folks._ April 24, 1880.
――――
THE SECRETARY’S SONG.
I.
When a fellow finds in Tennis his enjoyment,
Or maturing his pot-hunting little plans,
If the Secretarial duty’s his employment,
He had rather it were any other man’s.
He wishes he’d a cousin or a brother,
Who would do the little job and think it fun,
Oh, take one consideration with another,
His official lot is not a happy one;
Ah!
When a Secretary’s duty’s to be done,
His official lot is not a happy one.
II.
When the cunning young mug-lumb’rer’s not mug-lumb’ring,
When the shirker doesn’t fail to come to time,
Still the Secretary mustn’t be caught slumb’ring,
Nor waiting for the distant village chime.
When the players fall a-wrangling with each other,
Or the Referee’s dry sherry short has run,
Oh, take one consideration with another,
His official lot is not a happy one,
Ah!
When the Secretary’s duty’s to be done,
His official lot is not a happy one.
III.
When the grass is very hard, or wet and sloppy,
Or your spikes are ploughing furrows in the ground,
Every ball will be “found dead,” or much too hoppy,
And, of course, will “hardly ever” fairly bound,
Then you’ll surely find the cause of all the bother
In the Secretary’s duty badly done;
Oh, take one consideration with another,
His official lot is not a happy one.
Ah!
When the Secretary’s duty’s to be done,
His official lot is not a happy one.
IV.
When the weather is propitious, bright, and sunny,
Our tournament successfully we hold;
Then how gleefully we gather up the money,
And the Secretary gladly counts the gold.
But, when clouds and wind and rains the heavens smother,
Then the Secretary’s blamed for lack of sun;
Oh, take one consideration with another,
His official lot is not a happy one.
Ah!
When the Secretary’s duty’s to be done,
His official lot is not a happy one.
From _Tennis Cuts and Quips_. London, Field and Tuer.
――――
THE WHEELIST KING.
(_Parody on_ “The Pirate King.”――_Pirates of Penzance._)
Oh, better far to ride a bike
Through the air on a frosty night,
And catch the breezes as they blow
Till cheeks all ruddy and a glow,
You feel as though you’re a man of might,
And fly through the air as a thing of light,
Than stay at home and mope away
The length’ning night of a winter’s day.
For I am the wheeling king.
I am the wheeling king,
And it is, it is a glorious thing
To be the wheeling king.
Oh, better far the path to ride
Of cinders, merrily side by side,
And rank as a racing man of might,
Than dwindle away a summer’s night.
For honour is due to racer brave,
And scoff the reward of the moping slave;
So still I’ll ride, and the song I’ll sing
Will be that I’m the wheeling king.
For I am the wheeling king,
I am the wheeling king,
And it is, it is a glorious thing
To be the wheeling king.
A. GIBBONS.
_Wheeling Annual._ 1885.
――――:o:――――
PATIENCE;
OR, BUNTHORNE’S BRIDE!
This delightful opera was produced on Saturday, 23rd April, 1881,
at a time when the Æsthetic movement was the talk of London, and
Mr. Burnand’s vamped-up old play, with the new and meaningless
title, _The Colonel_, was drawing crowded houses. The plot of
_The Colonel_ was taken from Mr. Morris Barnett’s _The Serious
Family_, produced in 1849, whereas Mr. Gilbert’s plot was
entirely original, and although it was not performed until April,
1881, the libretto of _Patience_ was completed in November, 1880.
In both pieces the main idea was to ridicule Æstheticism and the
Æsthetes; in _The Colonel_ this was effected by representing the
movement as a sham, and its votaries as humbugs and swindlers; in
_Patience_ the style, manners, and conversation of the extreme
Æsthetes were so gently and gracefully exaggerated, that even the
most Utter and Intense amongst them could scarcely take offence
at its lively sarcasms.
The excitement about Æstheticism has now subsided, but the
beneficial results of this artistic movement are to be seen on
every side. In house building, furniture, and decoration; in
china, pottery, and glass, even in ladies costumes, far more
taste and skill are now displayed than prior to this much
ridiculed Renaissance of Art and Culture, which was inaugurated
by the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood, consisting of Dante Gabriel
Rossetti; W. M. Rossetti; William Morris; John Ruskin; Holman
Hunt; and Thomas Woolner.
Further details on this subject would be out of place in this
collection, but a full account will be found in _The Æsthetic
Movement in England_, published by Messrs. Reeves and Turner,
London, 1882.
THE COLONEL’S SONG. (_Patience._)
When I first put this uniform on,
I said, as I looked in the glass,
“It’s one to a million
That any civilian,
My figure and form will surpass.
Gold lace has a charm for the fair,
And I’ve plenty of that, and to spare,
While a lover’s professions,
When uttered in Hessians,
Are eloquent everywhere!”
A fact that I counted upon,
When I first put this uniform on!
_Chorus of Dragoons_――
By a simple coincidence, few
Could ever have reckoned upon,
The same thing occurred to me too,
When I first put this uniform on!
* * * * *
THE IMPECUNIOUS OFFICER.
But I’m bound to confess that it comes rather hard
Upon those who’ve not much but their pay,
To have all the Horse Guards commands to regard
As to how we’ve ourselves to array.
It is now――let me see――close on twenty-one years
Since I had my regimentals to don;
And, oh, how they’ve changed them,
And re-re-arranged them,
Since I first put this uniform on.
The Duke, our commander, an excellent man,
Has seemingly spent all his days
In trying original methods to plan
For putting on lace in new ways;
For cutting out tunics and altering caps,
To similar lengths he has gone;
Scores of times he has changed them,
And re-re-arranged them,
Since I first put this uniform on!
_Truth, Christmas Number._ 1882.
――――
SONG BY PRINCE HENRY OF BATTENBERG.
“When I first had the garments to don,
Which are worn by the Highlander bold,
The kilt I’d to wear
Left my kneecaps so bare,
That I shiver’d and shook with the cold!
But for dear mamma-in-law’s sake,
I continued to shiver and shake;
Yes, though the keen breeze
Seem’d my marrow to freeze,
Her favour I knew was at stake
And ’twas this that I reckoned upon,
When I still kept that uniform on.
“But though I continued to wear
Those very remarkable clothes,
I am sorry to say
There was scarcely a day
That I did not use strong (German) oaths
For the mists were so damp and so chill,
And the wind grew so cuttingly shrill,
That at length I was fain
To in sorrow complain
That the kilt would me certainly kill――
A fact p’rhaps not counted upon
When they put me that Highland dress on.
“Yet though I the tartan foreswore,
And the kilt and the philibeg too,
And was able to shirk
Both the sporran and dirk,
And the bonnet of Roderick Dhu,
Yet still I in public, ’twas clear,
In some uniform must appear;
So my mother-in-law
Colonel Atherley saw,
And I soon was a bold Volunteer!
The Colonel, by fiction polite,
Of the valorous Fifth Isle of Wight.
“But when I its uniform donned,
Of a dull and invisible green,
With green, too, for facings,
And few tags or lacings,
I own that I thought it looked mean,
Compared with the liveries splendid
Of those on the Queen who attended.
Aye, I felt it was hard
That the Yeoman on guard
Had a costume that mine far transcended;
Whilst the flunkeys, I had to confess,
Beat me too in the matter of dress.
* * * * *
“And so it at length was agreed,
When we many projects had weigh’d,
For me to petition
A Captain’s Commission
In Her Majesty’s Household Brigade;
And as it was felt the jack-boot
Would my legs most undoubtedly suit;
And that I to assume
The cuirass and the plume
Was fine enough, past all dispute,
’Twas further decided that I
The Life Guards to join should apply.
“Meanwhile, though, I’m sorry to say,
There has been some strange opposition;
And I haven’t as yet
Been enabled to get
This much-desired Captain’s commission;
And so I at present don’t dare,
The uniform, handsome, to wear,
But still must be seen,
In my Volunteer Green,
Whene’er in State functions I share;
A fact I think well to disclose,
To those who my purpose oppose.
“And I, amongst these, I am told,
Not only M.P.’s must include,
But the officers, too,
Who essay to taboo
What they call my attempt to obtrude.
But, surely, they will not maintain
Their attitude now I’ve made plain
Why it is that I fear
To in public appear
As a Volunteer Colonel again.
No; when they my plight think upon
They’ll let me their uniform don!
_Truth._ March 4, 1886.
――――
WHEN I FIRST PUT JOE’S UNIFORM ON.
(_Dissident Liberal_.)
When I first put Joe’s uniform on,
I said as I looked in the glass,
“A conscience that’s hearty
Should rise above Party,
And trust for support to the Mass.
Independence of spirit is rare,
But I’ll prove that of that I’ve to spare,
While a patriot’s pleadings,
Though backed by secedings.
Are eloquent everywhere!”
A fact that I counted upon,
When I first put Joe’s uniform on!
_Chorus of other Dissident Liberals_――
By a simple coincidence, few
Could ever have reckoned upon,
The same thing occurred to me, too!
When I first put Joe’s uniform on!
I said, when I first put it on,
“It is plain to the veriest dunce,
That every voter
With duty for motor,
Must plump for the Empire at once!
They will see that a statesman debased
By our Chamberlain squad has been placed
In an odd situation
To pass Separation.
Which will surely be quite to their taste.
Yes, that’s what I counted upon,
When I first put Joe’s uniform on!
_Chorus of other Dissident Liberals_――
By a simple coincidence, &c.
But alas! now it’s come to the pinch,
I discover, unfortunate man!
That the Lib’ral elector
Is not an objector
To Gladstone’s deplorable plan.
He ranks me with Tories――oh, dear!
Nor do arguments specious appear
To gammon the Caucus
That’s striving to baulk us,
And my chance in especial to “queer”!
Which I never counted upon
When I first put Joe’s uniform on!
_Chorus of other Dissident Liberals_――
By a simple coincidence, few
Could ever have reckoned upon,
I damaged my prospects――like you――
When I first put Joe’s uniform on!
_Funny Folks._ June 26, 1886.
Another parody of this song appeared in _The Wheel World_ for
June, 1882.
――――
THE COLONEL’S SONG.
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.
Take of these elements all that is fusible,
Melt them all down in a pipkin or crucible,
Set them to simmer and take off the scum,
And a heavy Dragoon is the residuum!
_Chorus_――Yes! yes! yes! yes!
A Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!
* * * * *
ADVISE TO A SHORTHAND JENIUS.
I.
If you want a resiet for a novel stenografy,
a paragon sistem, fonetik and true,
and which in a trise shal extinguish Phonography,
list, and I’l tel you just what you shud do.
Note what inventions old authorz hav hit upon,
boldly appropriate all that you kan;
take the quintessens ov all that you’v lit upon,
arranje it anew on a different plan;
shuffel the strokes til you’v got a new alfabet;
skatter the dots here and there for the vowelz:
the serkelz and kurvz you must mix up yourself a bit;
abbreviate words by ejekting their bowelz;
lengthen your outlinez to make an addition;
shorten them now to show an omission;
kompile a whole pajeful ov neat intersektionz;
ov rulez and exseptionz make bulky kollektionz;
ov frazez and grammalogz next ad a few;
turn on some digrafs and poligrafs too.
Take ov theze elements all that’s most horribel;
stir them together in fashion deplorribel;
set them to simmer, and take of the skum;
and a new shorthand sistem’z the re-sid-u-um.
Yes, yes, yes, yes!
A new shorthand sistem’z the re-sid-u-um!
II.
If you want a resiet for th’ advertisement part ov it,
don’t let dul modesty stand in the way.
Write a tall prefase, extolling the art ov it;
’gainst every rival most loudly inveigh:
announs that none other dezervz popularity;
state that ther’z everything exsellent in it,
that its writerz’ attain an astounding selerity――
nine hundred and ninety-nine wordz in a minit!
Next kritisize Pitman in languaje sensorious;
deklare that hiz sistem’z playd out and effete,
that your own method’z quickly bekuming viktorious,
and wil soon make Phonography take a back seat.
What tho your outlinez be shocking monstrositiz,
useles, exsept az sublime kuriositiz;
what tho your sistem abound with absurditiz
so that when a sign’z written you kan’t tel what word it iz:
pen pamflets, and posterz, and frendly reviewz;
hand-billz and serkularz widely diffuze.
If singly theze elements don’t seem respektabel,
mix them together in fashion delektabel,
set them to simmer, and take of the scum,
and a short span ov fame iz the resid-u-um.
Yes, yes, yes, yes!
A short span ov fame is the re-sid-u-um.
From _The Phonetic Journal_, 1886.
――――
BUNTHORNE’S SONG.
If you’re anxious for to shine in the high æsthetic line
As a man of culture rare,
You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms,
And plant them everywhere.
You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases
Of your complicated state of mind.
The meaning doesn’t matter if it’s only idle chatter
Of a transcendental kind.
And everyone will say,
As you walk your mystic way,
“If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for _me_,
Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man
must be!”
* * * * *
THE CULTURED ASSISTANT.
If you want to cut a shine in Professor Attfield’s line
Of high-class pharmacy,
You must get up all the germs and the new-notation terms
Of everything you see.
You must learn about the daisies, and cram botanic phrases
On every flower you find.
If you’ve only got a smattering, be everlasting chattering
To expose your “cultured mind.”
And every one shall say, as you walk your mystic way,
“If this young man converses in terms that are far too deep
for me,
Why, what a pharmaceutically-deep young man, then, this young
man must be.”
Be sure you never praise those very ancient days
When trade was sure to pay,
But make them plainly see that eighteen eighty-three
Is “culture’s” palmiest day.
Of course you will pooh pooh whate’er they used to do,
And pronounce it crude and mean,
And declare “that oil and smalts, or pennyworths of salts,
Are things you’ve never seen.”
And everyone will say, as you walk your mystic way,
“If that’s not good enough for him, that is good enough for me,
Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind of youth
must be.”
You must study sight and sound, for these, it has been found,
Are required in making pills;
And in keeping up your stock, the philosophy of Locke
A wond’rous power instills.
And mind you never drop a word about the “shop”
For it’s plain as plain can be,
You bid farewell to trade, when acquaintance has been made
With high-class pharmacy;
Though employers oft may say, as you walk your “cultured” way,
“If _he’s_ content with scientific lore, he’ll certainly _not_
suit me,
For a money-making, practical, and business man _my_ kind of
man must be.”
PHIL. BOSECIC.
_From a Chemical Journal._
――――:o:――――
DUET.
_Patience and Grosvenor._
_Grosvenor_――
Prithee, pretty maiden――prithee tell me true,
(Hey, but I’m doleful, willow willow waly!)
Have you e’er a lover a dangling after you?
Hey, willow waly O!
I would fain discover
If you have a lover?
Hey, willow waly O!
_Patience_――
Gentle Sir, my heart is frolicsome and free――
(Hey, but he’s doleful, willow willow waly!)
Nobody I care for comes a courting me――
Hey, willow waly O!
Nobody I care for
Comes a courting――therefore,
Hey, willow waly O!
* * * * *
When _The Times_ had some pretensions to the title of the leading
English newspaper, it was known as “The Thunderer of Printing
House Square,” but it has recently been re-christened _The
Blunderer; or, the Political Weathercock_, a name which recalls
the subsidiary titles Mr. Gilbert gives to all his operas. The
silly misprints, and other errors, which are to be found daily in
_The Times_ show the careless manner in which it is edited,
whilst several disgraceful hoaxes practised upon it by the
compositors on its staff, prove how unpopular the management must
have been, and that a chronic state of mutiny existed in Printing
House Square. One of these practical jokes was perpetrated
on _The Times_ by an audacious compositor, who altered an
advertisement which appeared on Tuesday, February 21, 1882, so
that it read:――_On the 20th instant, at ―― Park Lane, W., the
wife of_ ALBERT EDWARD, _of a son_.” Whilst a still worse
hoax appeared in _The Times_ of Monday, June 12, 1882, in
an advertisement of a book entitled _Every-Day Life in our
Public Schools_, which title was amplified in a manner never
contemplated by the editor.
But the grossest case of all was that contained in the report of
a speech delivered at Burton-on-Trent by Sir William Vernon
Harcourt, then Home Secretary. This speech was reported at length
in _The Times_ of Monday, January 23, 1882, and thousands of
copies were sold before the infallible authorities found out that
the pompous Sir W. V. Harcourt’s speech had been adorned, by
their compositors, with flowers of speech of a very unclassical
nature. Every effort was then made to call in the unsold copies,
but the mischief was done, and for weeks _The Times_ was the
laughing stock of London, and fabulous prices were given for
copies containing the objectionable paragraph.
DUET.
_Mr. Gladstone, and Sir W. Vernon Harcourt._
_Mr. Gladstone_――
Prithee, Vernon Harcourt, prithee tell me true
(Hey, but it’s shocking, willow, willow waly!)
Did you speak the words attributed to you?
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
I should like to know, sir,
How far did you go, sir?
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
_Sir W. Vernon Harcourt_――
Gentle chief, my words may frolicsome have been
(Hey, but it’s surprising, willow, willow, waly!)
Yet to such a length I did not go, I ween.
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
There was nought indecent,
In my speech so recent,
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
_Mr. Gladstone_――
Prithee, Vernon Harcourt, will you _sell_ to me
(Hey, but I’m anxious, willow, willow, waly!),
The paper, where reported, I your speech shall see?
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
Anything, I’ll pay you;
What’s your price? Come, say you;
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
_Sir W. Vernon Harcourt_――
Gentle chief, although to purchase you design
(Hey, but it’s tempting, willow, willow, waly!)
My paper’s not for sale, so I fear I must decline;
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
Money will not buy it,
It’s no good to try it;
Hey, willow, waly oh!
(_Together._)
_Sir W. V. Harcourt_――
Though to use such words would very wicked be.
_Mr. Gladstone_――
(Hey, but it’s shameful, willow, willow, waly!)
Printed in _The Times_, they’d most amusing be!
_Sir W. V. Harcourt_――
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
I shall get a chaffing,
All the world is laughing;
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
_The Sporting Times._ January 28, 1882.
――――
A DUET OF THE DAY.
(In consequence of the numerous applications which have been made
at the Home Office for an appointment to the place of public
executioner, the Secretary of State has published a statement that it
is neither his right, nor his duty, to make such appointment, as the
selection in reality rests with the Sheriffs.)
_Candidate_――
Prithee, Secretary, what’s the latest news?
(Hey, but I’m eager, willow, willow waly!)
Has another Marwood stepped into _his_ shoes?
Hey, willow waly, O!
Never mind the pang, man――
_Have_ they got a hangman?
Hey, willow waly, O!
_Secretary of State_――
Gentle sir, the post unoccupied you see――
(Hey, but he’s eager, willow, willow waly!)
But you’ll p’raps explain now why you’re teasing _me_――
Hey, willow waly, O!
Kindly, please, inform one
Why you come and storm one,
Hey, willow waly, O!
_Candidate_――
Prithee, Secretary, give the place to me――
(Hey, but I’m hopeful, willow willow waly!)
I may say, at once, I shall scrag ’em properlee――
Hey, willow waly, O!
Only deign to try me,
Come, you can’t deny me,
Hey, willow waly, O!
_Secretary of State_――
Gentle sir, although I honour your design――
(Hey, but he’s hopeful, willow, willow waly!)
I’ve not the appointment, and so I must decline,
Hey, willow waly, O!
To sheriffs straightway go you――
Observe the door I show you.
Hey, willow waly, O!
_Funny Folks._ September 22, 1883.
――――
A NEW DUET FROM “PATIENCE.”
_Salisbury_――
Prithee, gentle working-man, once my bugaboo,
(Hey, but he’s civil, isn’t he now, rale-y?)
Are there any Radicals dangling after you,
Hey, willow waly, O!
I would fain climb over your shoulder into clover,
Hey, willow waly, O!
_Working-Man_――
Noble lord, my vote is quite unpledged and free,
(Hey, but he’s civil, isn’t he now, rale-y?)
The Rads don’t seem to care for to take the stump for me,
Hey, willow waly, O!
And what you are there for――oh, well I know the wherefore,
Hey, willow waly, O!
_Salisbury_――
Prithee, gentle working-man, won’t you vote for me?
(Hey, but I’m hopeful, willow waly),
And leave the Grand Old Man at home to chop his tree,
Hey, willow waly, O?
_Truth._ November 15, 1883.
――――
TRIO IN “PATIENCE.”
(_Duke_, _Colonel_, and _Major_.)
It’s clear that Mediæval art alone retains its zest,
To charm and please its devotees we’ve done our little best.
We’re not quite sure if all we do has the Early English ring;
But, as far as we can judge, it’s something like this sort of
thing;
You hold yourself like this,
You hold yourself like that,
By hook and crook you try to look both angular and flat.
We venture to expect
That what we recollect,
Though but a part of true High Art will have its due effect.
If this is not exactly right, we hope you won’t upbraid;
You can’t get high Æsthetic tastes, like trousers, ready made.
True views on Mediævalism, Time alone will bring,
But, as far as we can judge, it’s something like this sort of
thing:
You hold yourself like this
&c., &c.
――――
THE TROUBLESOME TRIO.
_Appearing nightly during the Performance of “Impatience,”
at St. Stephen’s._
We’ve long opined the House should prove a sort of hornet’s nest;
At least to turn it into one we’ve done our little best;
And though our pranks upon ourselves no credit seem to bring,
Still, when the Grand Old Man’s our game――we’re up to anything!
We gibe at him like this, we snap at him like that;
We yawn or laugh: sometimes we chaff, or contradict him flat;
And, if he make a slip,
We roar and yell and skip,
And trust our brass may muster pass
Somehow for Statesmanship!
If you should think our posturings our Party but degrade,
Reflect, “Our Party’s” but ourselves, and we’re all ready made:
Tact, reason, judgment to their work, wise politicians bring,
But when the Grand Old Man’s the butt――why, fools can have their
fling.
So, we gibe at him like this, we snap at him like that;
We yawn and laugh; sometimes we chaff, or contradict him flat;
And, if he make a slip,
We have him by the hip!
By Jove, our brass, though not high-class,
Is all our Statesmanship.
It isn’t that we really mean to irritate the Chair,
Or worry old Sir Stafford till he’s fit to tear his hair,
Nor o’er our friends do we desire our party mud to fling,
But when the Grand Old Man gets up――we’re up to anything!
So, we gibe at him like this, we snap at him like that,
We yawn, we laugh; sometimes we chaff, or contradict him flat;
And, if he make a slip,
Like Cannibals we skip,
And show the House what depths of _nous_,
Has Jingo Statesmanship!
_Punch._ November 11, 1882.
The cartoon at the head of this parody, drawn by Sambourne,
represented Lord Randolph Churchill, with a note of interrogation; Mr.
Ashmead Bartlett, with a peacock’s feather; and Sir Drummond Wolff,
with a sunflower; clad in _Patience_ costumes, and adopting the
attitudes assumed by the Duke, the Colonel, and the Major, when
singing the original trio.
――――
SONG.――THE SOCIAL BELLE.
It’s clear, if I’m to hold my own, I must, with ardent zest,
To supplement my natural charms attempt my artful best.
What Nature’s done is very well, but Art can do yet more
To round, to smooth, to renovate, to polish, and restore.
So I lace myself like this (_does so_),
I pad myself like that (_does so_),
Make what is angular look round, and what bony is look fat.
I hair-pin on this hair (_does so_),
Frisettes I stick in there (_does so_),
And to be in the fashion quite this bird-cage thus I wear.
I take my blushes from a box, complexion from a jar,
My dimples are to order made (a guinea each they are),
My curls were purchased through the Stores (a very cheap job lot),
The alabaster of my neck is four-and-six per pot.
And I line my eyes like this (_does so_).
I mark my veins like that (_does so_),
Fill up this wrinkle so, lay this excrescence flat (_does so_)
I fix and I cement (_does so_),
I powder, puff, and scent (_does so_),
Until, at last, my form is fit in public to present!
_Truth._ Christmas Number, 1884.
――――:o:――――
“THE ST. JAMES’S GAZETTE” ON MR. JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN IN 1885.
When first I went to Parliament I gazed with mock humility,
On Gladstone and on Hartington, on Derby and on Bright;
I followed their directions with unquestioning docility,
And said that what they bid me do must certainly be right.
I flattered all and each of them,
And daily did beseech of them
Some counsel or advice, which I accepted with civility.
I hastened to defer to them;
When talking, I said “Sir” to them;
And all my early conduct was remarkably polite,
I bowed to them,
Kowtowed to them,
Each day from morn till night:
I laughed with them,
And chaffed with them,
And played the parasite.
But as the proverb predicates, complete familiarity
Affects a mam’s ideals with a kind of moral blight:
And G. and H. and D. and B. (observe the singularity!)
Revealed defects of character that shocked their proselyte.
I could no longer follow them, or go to them as reference;
Their methods, I discovered, differed totally from mine:
And therefore I reluctantly, and quite against my preference,
Informed them, “Either you or I, good people must resign.”
They simply would not hear of it:
They had the greatest fear of it:
They treated what I said to them with unaccustomed deference:
They never would demur to me:
They even whispered “Sir” to me;
And one and all they flattered me, and asked me home to dine.
They bowed to me,
Kowtowed to me:
And how could I decline?
I sneered at them
And jeered at them,
But went, and drank their wine.
Don’t talk to me of impudence, deception, or audacity.
I worried them, I flurried them, I worked upon their fears:
And now they duly recognise my value and capacity,
And meekly let me lead them by their noses and their ears.
――――:o:――――
“WHO ARE THEY?”
A very long-nosed young man,
An evil-disposed young man,
An oily-tongued, empty pate,
Down with the Church and State――
Brother to Dilke young man.
A very astute young man,
A remarkably ’cute young man,
A very good act is his
Gainst corrupt practices――
Try it at Taunton young man.
A “Rabbit and Hares” young man,
Confront-me-who-dares young man,
A modern Trebonius,
Mighty Pomponius――
Take-care-of-himself young man.
A slap-at-the-Crown young man,
A levelling down young man;
A robbery, jobbery,
Quakery, snobbery,
Chamberlain-Bright young man.
A dignified grand young man,
A lord of the land young man;
A stand-no-rebukery,
Heir to a dukery,
Devonshire House young man.
A genial and kind young man,
Who does all the good that he can;
But the job quite bewilders
Poor darling old Childers,
Our army reform young man.
A stolid and square young man,
A troubled-with-care young man;
A buckshotty, bullety,
Utter futility,
Message-of-peace young man.
A plausible, bland old man;
A shifty-as-sand old man;
To aid Revolution
Laws, Land, Constitution,
He’d fling to the winds, old man.
_The Morning Post._ January, 1882.
――――
THE FLIPPITY-FLOP YOUNG MAN.
I once was a matter of fact young man,
And thrived on port and sherry;
But now I’m a kind of a cracked young man,
The reverse of or-din-ary.
I flip and I flop (_echo_)
All over the shop (_echo_)
And take it for granted you can;
I’m a very Sunflowery, Aprily showery,
Eastcheapy, Towery man.
_Chorus_――
I’m a very æsthetic young man,
A non energetic young man,
Slippity sloppity over the shoppity,
Flippity flop young man.
I once was a hymny and tract young man,
And sternly opposed to stooping;
A kind of a stick up the back young man,
But now I incline to drooping,
Consummately if (_echo_)
On no account stiff (_echo_)
I scarcely know how I began;
I’m a bitter and mildy, naturey childy,
Oscary Wylde-y man.
_Chorus_――
I’m a Fuller’s earth colour young man,
A greeny and “yuller” young man:
Pretty externally “Patience” and “Colonelly,”
Utterly, utter young man.
I once was a cobby and hack young man.
And a little bit calico bally,
A picture card out of the pack young man,
And frequently Music Hally.
I’d sing and I’d shout (_echo_)
“Poor ’Liza” about (_echo_)
And after the ladies I ran,
Said Jenny to Amily, Oh, he’s a jammily,
“Morally, family man.”
_Chorus_――
But I’m now a good goody young man,
A head rather “Woody” young man:
Body quite rickety, pose plas-tickety,
Never go wrong young man.
I once was a three-and-six dinner young man,
And at table knew which was the best end;
But now you would not find a thinner young man
Tho’ you walk from the East to the West End.
Two steps and a stop (_echo_)
A skip and a hop (_echo_)
I require but a puff and a fan;
I’m a Regent Street cuttery, skip o’er the guttery,
New bread and buttery man.
_Chorus_――
I’m a worship the lily young man,
Crutch and tooth pick-a-dilly young man,
Cracked in the filberty, Burnand and Gilberty,
Strike you with paper young man.
HARRY ADAMS.
This song was set to music by E. Jonghmans, and published by
Francis, Bros. & Day, London. There were also some additional
verses, but they were inferior to the above.
――――
SIR WILFRID LAWSON.
A down-with-the-Tories M.P.,
A never-drink-spirits M.P.,
A won’t-touch-a-drop-ery
Ginger-y, pop-ery,
Friend-to-the-pump M.P.
_Judy._ October 5, 1881.
――――
F. C. BURNAND.
A threepenny _Punch_ Young Man,
A Happy-Thought Young Man;
A try-to-make _Punch_,
The best of the bunch,
But bad is the best Young Man.
HENRY IRVING AND MISS TERRY.
A very-much sought Young Pair,
An angular, well-matched Pair;
A worship-the-Bard,
Whilst he proves a safe card,
Then fall back on Wills Young Pair!
GENERAL AND MRS. BOOTH.
A very acute Old Pair,
A ranting and roaring Pair;
A bawling, fanatical.
Send-round-the-hat-i-cal,
Pick-up-the-pence Old Pair!
THE DAILY TELEGRAPH.
A caught in the act _D. T._,
A swiftly-condemned _D. T._;
A basely sensational,
False informational,
Properly hanged _D. T._!
MR. GLADSTONE.
A regular Grand Old Man,
An easily-drawn Old Man;
A _noli-me-tangere_,
Quickly-made-anger-y,
Not to be chaffed Old Man.
MARQUIS OF SALISBURY.
A reckless and fierce Old Man,
A not-mind-a-fib Old Man;
A Schouvaloff-Treatery,
Up-to-deceitery,
Berlin fiasco Old Man!
SIR STAFFORD H. NORTHCOTE.
A worthy but weak Old Dame,
A limp and defied Old Dame;
An often-defeated,
Ungratefully-treated,
Can’t-manage-her-brats Old Dame.
_Truth._ Christmas Number, 1882.
――――
AN AMERICAN IDEAL.
A common-place young girl;
A decidedly rare young girl;
Stay home at night,
Do what is right.
Help-her-old-mother young girl.
A hard-to-find young girl;
A reader-of-fact young girl;
An extra poetical,
Anti-æsthetical,
Care-nothing-for-novels young girl.
A minus her bangs young girl;
A show-on-her-brains young girl;
With an unpowdered face;
One that don’t lace,
A dress-for-her-health young girl.
An up-in-the-morning young girl;
A help-in-the-wash young girl;
One that can rub,
Not afraid of the tub,
A roll-up-her-sleeves young girl.
A quiet-and-modest young girl;
A sweet-and-pure young girl;
An upright, ambitious,
Lovely, delicious,
A pride-of-the-home young girl.
A remarkably scarce young girl;
A very much wanted young girl;
A truly-American,
Too-utter paragon,
The kind-that-I-like young girl.
_New York Independent._
――――:o:――――
IOLANTHE;
OR, THE PEER AND THE PERI.
――――:o:――――
PLAYERS AT PLAYING.
_Chorus of Fashionable Amateurs._
When upon the stage we play,
Tantantara!
Our acting that of pro’s surpasses,
Yaas!
So pro’s and public, please, make way,
And view us through your opera-glasses,
Tantantara! Make room!
Bow, bow, ye playhouse-loving masses,
We’re taught by “coaches” and in classes,
Such the power of brass is, that, although we’re asses
To act we all presume.
Though we boast high rank and station,
Acting is our recreation,
And we startle all the nation,
Tantantara! Make room!
_Solo._
Spurn not the wealthy swell
(Whose mind’s affected),
Nor with disdain repel
Pro’s self-elected.
Once we would sink with shame
If actors near us came,
Now by rich swell and dame
That art’s respected.
We swells! We swells!
Fair actresses would once select
And them “protect,”
But now we act ourselves――we swells!
_Chorus._
In tragedy and comedy to shine is our intention.
_Swells._
Yaas, yaas――for acting is in vogue;
And we hope the pwo’s appweciate our gwacious condescension.
_Pro’s._
To Colney Hatch you ought to be removed, _we_ say,
You noodles pay to act, and of engagements you defraud us,
And often through your little game adversity has gnawed us.
_Swells._
But look how it amuses us, and how our fwiends applaud us――
Besides, it is “the thing,” you know, at acting now to play.
When we seek the “coach” or the S.D.A.,
And wish some famous part to play,
The “coach” wesponds to us, “Just so;
At a matinée you must show.
“To a matinée you must go,
Sir (or ma’am) of highest quality,
You’ll appear at the Fwivolity,
At a matinée you shall show!”
Then each of us fwom gay Belgwaviah
Thinks himself the Stage’s saviah;
And all our fwiends their plaudits thunder,
Voting each of us a wonder.
_Pro’s and Public._
When Billy Shakespeare ruled the stage
In good Queen Bess’s reign,
The swells did not to act attempt;
But they wern’t then, as now, exempt
From anything like brain.
And yet Thalia won her bays
In quaint Queen Bess’s glorious days.
When David Garrick drew the town,
With Woffington la belle,
No Upper-Ten folks paid to play,
And yet the Drama, strange to say,
Succeeded very well,
It did without the swellish craze
In David Garrick’s glorious days.
And then again, in later times,
(Say, up at Sadler’s Wells),
The Drama, somehow, kept alive,
And still it managed to survive
Without the aid of swells.
And actors won renown and praise
In dear old Samuel Phelps’s days.
_Carados._
To escape there is a way:
Don’t go!
Whene’r these idiots play,
Don’t go!
They’ve L.S.D.,
These would-be pro’s
Each fancies he
Great genius shows.
But no:
Take warning from this lay:
Don’t go!
CARADOS.
_The Referee._ April, 1883.
――――:o:――――
THE LAY OF THE LORD CHIEF JUSTICE.[24]
A Lord Chief Justice, by common consent,
Is Law’s most lovely embodiment;
For the Chancellor, though a thing of dread,
Is a sort of a perfunctory figurehead.
And that is why the American Bar
Have selected _Me_ to travel afar.
A very agreeable jaunt, and one
That will lead, I trust, to some excellent fun,
And furnish a capital holiday
For a most mellifluous Lord Chief J.
_All_――And furnish, &c.
But though the compliment implied
Inflates me with legitimate pride,
It nevertheless can’t be denied
That it has a――ahem!――dangerous side.
For I’m not so old or melancholic
As to be quite proof ’gainst the love of frolic,
And there’d be the deu―――― well, a certain risk,
If the Lord Chief Justice began to _frisk_.
A possibility, I should say,
For a peripatetic Lord Chief J.
_All_――A possibility, &c.
I must keep on myself strict watch and ward,
Lest in more than one sense I should be abroad;
For the _Themis_ young of America
Is a very agreeable girl, they say;
She has affable manners――and customs free――
And――_she laughs at wigs!_ Oh! deary me.
I must be as careful as careful can be,
Lest _I_ should forget Law’s dignitee.
’Tis a sore temptation to throw in the way
Of _such_ a susceptible Lord Chief J.!
_All_――’Tis a sore temptation, &c.
_Punch._ September 1, 1883.
――――
A SUSCEPTIBLE CHANCELLOR.
“That is a specimen of the complaints which are poured into the
letter-box of a susceptible Chancellor of the Exchequer.”――_Mr.
Goschen at the Mansion House._
The cry is still “They come,” and I
Could almost wriggle with agony,
For while one man would a tax impose,
Another, remission would fain propose;
One worthy our tea would from duty free.
And another would tax up our mild Bohea;
While many would gladly change the law,
And put the screw upon whisky raw.
Which is exasperating, for
I’m such a susceptible Chancellor.
Then, in the interest of the rats,
I’m asked to discourage the spread of cats;
While a widow lady whose dog is blind
Protests the afflicted should not be fined;
The naughty, some say, a tax should pay
Whenever they go to see the play;
And broadly speaking, the wickeder you,
The worse the penance you ought to do.
Which is to me distressing, for
I’m such a susceptible Chancellor.
_The Liverpool Weekly Post._ April 2, 1887.
――――:o:――――
THE SONGS OF THE PROFESSIONS.
_The Church._
When I went to the Church, as a very young man,
(Said I to myself, said I)
I’ll work on the good old pluralist plan
(Said I to myself, said I).
I’ll marry the daughter of Bishop or Dean;
To the best paying side in church politics lean,
And whatever the work, remain idly serene
(Said I to myself, said I).
And I’ve managed, I fancy, to do what I say,
For you see what I am by my apron to-day;
And if you but look at the papers you’ll know
To what bigoted lengths I am willing to go.
It is true I’m too weak to my diocese work,
But no one can say my chief duty I shirk.
No, I quarterly draw my prelatical pay,
In the fine, old, full-flavoured Episcopal way!
_The Army._
When I took my commission as a silly young man
(Said I to myself, said I),
I will certainly work on a Barnumesque plan――[25]
(Said I to myself, said I).
I will flatter my General, get in a clique,
My own self-advancement at all times bespeak,
And to puff my own bravery always will seek
(Said I to myself, said I).
So I did it, and thus, as you see me to-day,
Have worked very high in the Army my way,
And now am quite busy in doing my best
The course of my rivals to forthwith arrest,
By striving that they, although equally wise,
May no army discover in which they can rise.
Yes, thanks to the fads in which I persist,
Our army, I take it, will not long exist.
_The Law._
When I went to the bar as a priggish young man
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll work on the regular, old legal plan,
(Said I to myself, said I).
I’ll take more briefs than I can read through,
Nor care though my clients my carelessness rue.
I will stick to my fees whatever I do
(Said I to myself, said I)
Well. I think I have managed to score a success,
And have ruined more clients than ever you’d guess;
And besides, when a chance was presented to me,
I my politics changed and became an M.P.;
And my coat having turned (’twas a very slight wrench),
I soon shall be called as a judge to the bench,
From there to pass sentence, for many an act
In no wise so bad as _my_ deeds were in fact.
_Medicine._
When I hospitals walked as a merry young man
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll proceed to success on a Specialist plan,
(Said I to myself, said I).
I’ll stick to one part of our wonderful frame,
And, spite of my fellow-practitioners’ blame,
I think it will bring me both lucre and fame
(Said I to myself, said I).
The result, I am glad to report, has been good,
For I’ve earned the large fortune I said that I would,
And as to my fame, it is easy to tell
From the way that I’m hated I’ve won that as well.
So jealous, in fact, are my rivals, I think
They hardly from my vivisection would shrink,
In order to find, by their treatment of me,
Where this Nerve most successful they grudge me can be!
_Truth Christmas Number._ 1883.
――――
SOME NEW YEAR’S EVE RESOLVES.
Said a Barrister, low to himself, said he,
“Next year I will keep no unearned fee,
I will hold no briefs that I cannot read,
Nor sully my ‘silk’ with dishonest greed.
Next year I will not be paid for work
Which I know full well that I mean to shirk.
Nay, more, I will make my clerk return
Those cheques which now in my pocket burn.
Aye, straight is the course that I mean to steer
Through the Legal Terms of the Glad New Year!”
* * * *
Said a British General, “I will try
To learn that the Alphabet’s not all ‘I.’
With the year now dawning I mean to seek
To become less bumptious and grow more meek;
And learn to remember in former days
There were Generals, too, who deserved some praise;
And that British soldiers could fight and storm,
Though nought had been heard of _my_ reform.
Yes, all that the Army esteem most dear
I will cease to vex in the Glad New Year!”
Said a West-end Tradesman, “I hereby vow
That reckless credit I’ll not allow,
Nor will I make up for it e’er again
By the shameful profits that I maintain;
Nor will I longer essay to trade
By adulteration’s scurvy aid;
No! I henceforth what is pure will sell,
And the demon of commerce forthwith expel,
Resolved to my vows to close adhere
Through the coming months of the Glad New Year!
Said a Jerry Builder, “Next year shall see
No Jerry dwellings put up by me!
I will purchase no fever-reeking site;
Nor, having bribed to the left and right,
Will I there run up those frail abodes
Which the life of each hapless tenant loads
With cramps and chills and with torture grim,
’Till Death itself seems a boon to him;
No, I as a fiend will not appear
In the happy days of the Glad New Year!”
Said a City Alderman, “I will try
My enemies’ sneers to falsify;
I’ll curb, as much as ever I’m able,
My gluttonous taste at the Civic table;
I’ll do my best, too, myself to force
To become less bigoted, dull, and coarse;
I will also strive to promote no job,
And to cease the poor any more to rob.
’Though, I’m bound to add, I already fear
I’ve promised too much for the Glad New Year!”
Said a Man of Fashion, “Hereby I swear
To think much less of the clothes I wear;
To gamble less when I cannot pay,
Less spirits to drink, less slang essay;
The spiteful talk of the Club to ban,
To take my sport as becomes a man,
To shoot no pigeons, to sell no race,
Nor a gentleman’s name to in aught disgrace:
All this I swear, so I think ’tis clear
I have much to change in the Glad New Year!”
_Truth._ January 3, 1884.
――――
SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I.
(_As sung by Mr. Henry Irving_).
When I took to the stage as a gifted young man,
Said I, &c.,
I’ll act on a new, if peculiar plan,
Said I, &c.
I’ll never consider the _rôle_ that I play,
My method need change to a different way,
From the path that I’ve chosen I never will stray,
Said I &c.
The public are ready for anything new
Said I, &c.,
The æsthetes are raving o’er all that I do,
Said I, &c.
My plan is successful, my manner attracts,
No matter the play, if ’tis Irving that acts,
And places are booked two months off. These are facts
Said I, &c.
I’ll swagger and stagger, I’ll roar and I’ll rant,
Said I, &c.,
I’ll suddenly cease, roll my eyes, gasp and pant,
Said I, &c.
In mounting most costly I’ll not be outdone,
Though in comedy vague my idea of fun,
Yet soon on the boards I shall be number one,
Said I, &c.
I always will keep my peculiar stride,
Said I, &c.,
In Hamlet, Charles, Richelieu, and Romeo beside,
Said I, &c.
With pre-Raffaelite Ellen my woes to assuage,
In London be burlesqued, in Scotland the rage,
We triumph on every American stage.
Said I, &c.
ONNY BRIDGE
_Truth._ November 15, 1883.
――――
THE MASHER CLERK.
(A city firm have just advertised in the _Daily News_ for a
clerk, adding that they want “no mashers.”)
When I went to the City a knowing young man
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll follow the fashion as much as I can
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll live upon credit when minus of cash,
In the eyes of the world I will cut such a dash,
That envious chappies shall cry, “Can’t he ‘mash’!”
(Said I to myself, said I).
I’ll never drink anything else but best “cham.”
(Said I to myself, said I),
Or “cotton” to fairies who’re not “real jam”
(Said I to myself, said I);
But of dear little pets I will have the first pick,
And dress in a style most decidedly “chick.”
I’ll get from my tailor unlimited tick
(Said I to myself, said I).
When the “shop” is shut up, and the evening begun
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll then sally forth for some frolic and fun
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll ogle the girls at the Gaiety bar,
Or, soothed by the smoke of a pipe or cigar,
I’ll list to the song of the music-hall star
(Said I to myself, said I).
If I must be a clerk to be perched on a stool
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll not give up “mashing,” I’m not such a fool
(Said I to myself, said I).
So now where’s that berth advertised in the _News_?
I’m sure with my figure they cannot refuse――――
Hallo! what is this――“No mashers!” the deuce!
(Said I to myself, said I).
_Funny Folks._ May, 1884.
A political imitation of this song appeared in _England_ for July
4, 1885, but it had little interest, and is now out of date.
THE FAIRY QUEEN’S SONG.
“OH, NATION GAY.”
(Mr. Shaw claimed ten thousand pounds as compensation for his
unjust imprisonment by the French.)
_England sings to France._
Oh, nation gay.
Think you, because
Your brave array
Poor China awes,
_I’d_ disobey
Stern Justice’ laws?
Because you’re sly,
And not above
A tendency
The weak to shove,
Resemble I
The timid dove?
Oh, timid dove!
Bird of Ovidius Naso!
This heart of mine
Is not as thine,
And no man dares to say so!
On ire that glows
With heat intense
Turn, France, the hose
Of pounds and pence,
And out it goes
At some expense!
I must maintain
Stern Justice’ law――
That fact is plain;
So kindly draw
A cheque, and gain
The heart of Shaw!
Oh, Mister Shaw!
Long by the Gaul kept under,
Would thy crusade
Without my aid
Attain its end, I wonder?
_Funny Folks._ September, 1883.
――――
SONG OF THE LAWN TENNIS CHAMPIONSHIP.
I.
Oh, foolish swain,
Think you, because
On grassy plain
I mind each clause
Of sovereign
Lawn-tennis laws,――
In brightest gleam
That fancy owns,
Think you, I dream
My cranial bones
With rules can teem
Like those of Jones?
Oh, Mr. Jones,
Type of Lawn-tennis Draco,
This head of mine
Is not as thine,
Although it sometimes ache, Oh!
II.
When heaven glows
With heat intense,
And grass ne’er grows
In any sense,
We ply the hose
At great expense!
When eager calls
And fervent prayers
For brand-new balls
Are heard from players,
The onus falls
On F. H. Ayres.
Oh, Mr. Ayres,
Vendor of balls sewn-under,
How are they made,
Or sold, or paid
For, at such price, I wonder?
III.
Fame’s made or marr’d
At Wimbledon,
And matches hard
Are deftly won,
And scored on card,
Ere set of sun:
But no young gent
Scores with such art
A tournament
In every part
As heaven-sent
Young Mr. Schacht.
Oh, Mr. Schacht,
Type of Lawn-tennis umpire,
Perched up on high,
In summer sky,
No grasshopper could jump higher!
IV.
The lists are set,
The ties are drawn,
And anxious yet,
Ere morning dawn,
We pray, no wet
May spoil our lawn.
The play begins,
Without a flaw,
The fastest spins
We ever saw;
The fav’rite wins,――
’Tis still Renshaw!
Oh, Will Renshaw,
Type of Lawn-tennis champions,
None e’er so quick
The world to lick
From Land’s End to the Grampians!
From _Tennis Cuts and Quips_. (London: Field & Tuer, 1884.)
――――:o:――――
PRINCESS IDA.
――――
THE DISAGREEABLE MAN.
_As Sung by Mr. Henry George, the “Land Nationalization”
Comique._
If you give me your attention, I will tell you what I am:
I’m a genuine philanthropist――all other sorts are sham.
Each stupid freak of Fortune and each soc-i-al defect
By my lectures and my volumes I endeavour to correct;
To all their little grievances I ope the people’s eyes,
And pretty plans to crucify the landlords I devise.
I love my fellow creatures――I do all the good I can――
Yet Property declares that I’m a disagreeable man!
And I can’t think why!
To Smith and to Ricardo I’ve a withering reply;
Malthusians I always do my best to mortify;
Political economy I skilfully dissect,
And crevices within its mail I’m ready to detect.
I know everybody’s income and what everybody earns,
And I prove that honest labour doesn’t win its due returns;
But to benefit humanity, however much I plan,
Yet Property will have it I’m a disagreeable man!
And I can’t think why!
I’m sure I am no Marat, I’m as gentle as can be;
The guillotine in Leicester Square I should regret to see.
I merely want the populace to grab all “real estate,”
Without regard to owners’ cry of “Please to compensate.”
To those same owners’ prejudice, I know a thing or two;
I can show them to be curses of the nation――and I do.
But though I try to make myself as pleasant as I can,
Yet Property asserts that I’m a disagreeable man――
And I can’t think why!
_Funny Folks._
――――
THOSE CLEVER CONSERVATIVES.
“Mr. J. W. Harris won Poole for the Conservatives by declaring to
the working classes that the Liberals had brought the bad trade,
and the Tories would revive the industry of the place, and make
everybody rich.”
If green Cheddar you desire
From the moon――from the moon――
They’ll supply what you require
Very soon――very soon.
Then they hope to fill lean purses,
Lacking pence――lacking pence――
With the coin Weg-born reverses
Steal from thence――steal from thence.
And as harvests shirk a nation
’Neath Sol’s ban――’neath Sol’s ban,
To aid farmers by taxation
They’ve a plan――they’ve a plan.
They’ve a firmly-rooted notion
They can bridge Depression’s ocean,
And they’ll set all trades in motion,
If they can――if they can!
These are the phenomena
That Poole expects to come in a
Crack or a jiffee
Now that Harris is M.P.
As for failure, they forswear it,
So they say――so they say,
And prosperity they’ll “square” it,
Some fine day――some fine day.
When the voter they would “sell” him――
Not too “fly”――not too “fly”――
“The Millennium’s,” they tell him
“By-and-bye――by-and-bye!”
So each newly-joined aspirant
To their clan――to their clan――
Must pooh-pooh Hard Times, a tyrant
Known to man――known to man.
They mock at him and flout him,
And they chaff the Rads about him,
For they’re “going to do without him”
If they can――if they can!
These are the phenomena, &c.
From _Funny Folks_. May 3, 1884.
Another parody, of the same original, appeared in _Pastime_,
February 13, 1884, relating to the London Athletic Club.
――――
A WASTED “INFANCY.”
(_The Lay of a Man of Forty._)
I was not so very old,
Twenty years ago!
Quite an “infant,” I am told,
Twenty years ago!
How I _might_ have gone the pace
At the cost of tradesmen base,
If I’d only had the face
Twenty years ago!
But I was a trifle shy,
Twenty years ago!
Let the golden time slip by,
Twenty years ago!
Didn’t buy on tick, alas,
“Necessary” things _en masse_――
All which branded me an ass,
Twenty years ago!
_Funny Folks._ April 5, 1884.
――――
THE SCUTTLE.
Of all the plans there are on earth
For Statesmen still to cherish O
Commend me to the Premier’s own
Whose glory ne’er will perish O!
O the Scuttle, the base, ignoble Scuttle.
Chosen fad of Lib and Rad,
Our dear old Gladstone’s Scuttle O!
Forth, forth, from Egypt let us slope
As fast as we can manage O!
And let the Mahdi work his will
The B.P.’ll pay the damage O!
O the Scuttle, the base, ignoble Scuttle,
Chosen fad of Lib and Rad,
Our dear old Gladstone’s Scuttle O!
Forth from Afghanistan as well
In spite of all our bunkum O!
The only way to beat the Russ
Is evermore to funk ’em O!
O the Scuttle, the base, ignoble Scuttle,
Chosen fad of Lib and Rad,
Our _dear_ old Gladstone’s Scuttle O!
So wheresoever threats a foe,
Or dangers England worry O!
We will surmount them all by flight
And out of trouble hurry O!
O the Scuttle, the base, ignoble Scuttle,
Chosen fad of Lib and Rad,
Our dear old Gladstone’s Scuttle O!
_Moonshine._ May, 1885.
――――
THE ARGOSY BRACES
Ye who are cumbersome and slow,
Awkward and ungainly,
We would have you know
The cause is BRACES! mainly
Those of the old fashioned type,
Impeding every movement.
Really the time was ripe
For marvellous improvement.
Then if you’re tired of the vice-like gripping
Grasping, clutching, and irritating slipping,
And your principal complaint
Is physical restraint,
You needn’t have a taint
Of it now.
But when you’re next engaged in shopping,
Into a hosier’s go you popping,
Give the “ARGOSY” a trial;
Then with a placid smile,
Cast off the old ones vile,
As we do.
――――
KNOX ET PRÆTEREA NIHIL!
(_After King Gama’s song in the “Princess Ida.”_)
SCENE.――_Dromore. Leaders of the Local Orange Lodges discovered
in Council._
_First Orange Leader._
Common sense we bar,
That is not our bent;
On the whole we are
_Not_ intelligent.
_Chorus of Leaders._
No, no!
_Not_ intelligent!
_Second Orange Leader._
But with spiteful heart,
Play we here anew
Our abusive part――
Insult is our cue!
_Chorus of Leaders._
Yes, yes!
Insult is our cue!
Bigots fierce and strong, ha! ha!
For the strife we burn;
Who is in the wrong, ha! ha!
We have no concern.
So we wreak our spite, ha! ha!
Little care we, then,
Who is in the right, ha! ha!
For we’re Orangemen!
_Chorus of their followers who have gathered round._――
They are men of might, ha! ha!
Bigots, moved by spite, ha! ha!
Ready for the fight, ha! ha!
Ready for the fight!
_Solo._――THE HON. COLONEL KNOX.
“If you give me your attention I will tell you what I am;
I’m a genuine Orange patriot! all other kinds are sham.
I adore my dear old country, and most viciously I try
To thwart the plan of statesmen who would peace to her supply;
I am full of true devotion to my Queen, and so I use
The most offensive epithets her Viceroy to abuse,
See how I love the Irish! Why, their massacre I plan,
Yet Liberal papers say I’m such an extremely dangerous man!
And I can’t think why!
“I’m so loyally patriotic that I strive with all my might
My Monarch’s chief advisers to humiliate and spite;
I so yearn to see my Ireland free, and Protestant, and great,
That I’d blast its hopes with bloodshed and its people decimate.
No greater stickler for the Law was ever known than I,
So long as it allows me its provisions to defy,
Or assists me in developing some ultra-Orange plan;
Yet moderate critics say I’m such a very odious man!
And I can’t think why!
“I am always for upholding Ulster’s right to freely meet,
To walk with yellow banners, and the noisy drum to beat;
Aye, sweet Freedom is the birthright of us Orangemen so true:
But it is not meant for rebels like Parnell and his black crew.
So with pistol and shillelagh I would quickly smite them down,
If they dare to hold a meeting or perambulate a town;
Thus you see I try to make myself considerate as I can,
Yet everybody says I’m such a disingenuous man!
And I can’t think why!
“I’m blind to every party sin, and personal defect,
But ready any Land League fault most sternly to correct;
’Gainst Orangemen’s besotted crimes I closely shut my eyes,
But mark the slips of Nationalists with most severe surprise.
And when their foul abuse of us I hear them trying at,
Why, I feel they ought to know _we_ claim monopoly of that!
But although I’ve acted in this way since manhood I began,
Yet people will insist I’m such an undesirable man!
And I can’t think why!
“So come, my worthy farmers and poor peasants, look at me,
And try if you as spiteful and intolerant can be;
Denounce the things in others _you_ do without demur,
And make repeated efforts their passions fierce to stir.
Be prejudiced as I am, my spite and malice share,
And as becomes true patriots, for civil war prepare.
In short, I’d have you act upon my patriotic plan,
Though everybody says I’m such a bad, contentious man,
And I can’t think why!”
_Final chorus of Orange Leaders._
Yes, with spiteful heart
Here we’ve played anew
Our abusive part――
Insult is our cue!
Yes! yes!
Insult is our cue!
_Truth._ January 10, 1884.
――――:o:――――
THE MIKADO.
――――
“JAMWILLOW.”
[According to the _Times_ correspondent at Suakin, the frequent
“jamming” of the Martini-Henry rifles was due to the defective
cartridge in use. The cartridge is regarded, as “a theoretical
one;” and a theoretical cartridge might as well be a blank one at
once.]
On a battlefield gory a soldier was seen,
Who sang “Willow, jamwillow, jamwillow;”
And I said to him “Warrior, what do you mean
By your ‘Willow, jamwillow, jam willow’?
Act at once, since the foe is approaching,” I cried,
“You had better take aim, or they’ll humble our pride.”
With a shake of his helmet, the fighter replied,
“Oh, willow, jamwillow, jamwillow!”
He pulled at the trigger again and again,
Singing, “Willow, jamwillow, jamwillow!”
But, alas! all his struggles were clearly in vain,
Oh, “willow, jamwillow, jamwillow!”
He threw down the arm, and a “Drat it!” he gave;
Then he turned and he ran, though undoubtedly brave,
And he shouted, while striving his bacon to save,
“Oh, willow, jamwillow, jamwillow!”
Now, I feel just as sure as I’m sure that my name
Isn’t Willow, jamwillow, jamwillow;
That a cartridge defective had made him exclaim,
“Oh, willow, jamwillow, jamwillow!”
And if something’s not done by the War Office――why,
We shall suffer defeat in the sweet by-and-bye,
And our soldiers will wail as they perish or fly,
“Oh, willow, jamwillow, jamwillow!”
_Funny Folks._ May 9, 1885.
――――
THE “WATERBURY” MAIDS.
Three little maids from school are we,
Proper and good, as we ought to be;
The reason why, you will shortly see,
Three little maids from school.
We were once “real wild,” we “took the bun”
For mischievous pranks and daring fun,
So they put a _watch_ on us, every one,
Three little maids from school.
Three little maids so quick and wary.
The best of all watches was necessary,
That’s why they picked out the “_Waterbury_,”
Three little maids at school.
But now we are all “real nice,” you know,
And always act as our watches go,
Not the least bit “fast,” but by no means “slow,”
Three little maids from school.
From three little maids take these away,
And three little maids would be all astray――
For we’d never be up to the time of day,
Three little maids from school.
Three little maids, delightful very,
Laughing always, so bright and merry,
Everyone with a “_Waterbury_,”
Three little maids from school.
――――
SEWING.
On a seat in the garden
A sweet pretty maid
Was sewing, so sewing, so sewing
And I said to her, “Dearest one!
Why thus so staid?
So sewing, so sewing, so sewing.
Is it stitching for somebody over the sea,
Or a slipper you’re making for impudent me?”
But without looking up she continued to be
Sewing, so sewing, so sewing.
And she sighed a deep sigh as
She sat on that seat
So sewing, so sewing, so sewing;
And her forehead was flushed with
A feverish heat,
So sewing, so sewing, so sewing,
But she still maintained silence
And answered me naught,
Though a smile or a whisper was all that I sought.
She was certainly angry at having been caught
So sewing, so sewing, so sewing.
But when Dick had come back from
His voyage at sea,
She was sewing, so sewing, so sewing;
And the slippers were finished,
As such work should be,
By sewing, so sewing, so sewing.
Now a wedding took place,
But alas! ’twas not mine;
And when Dick is away, if the weather be fine,
She will sit on that seat and her fingers incline
To sewing, so sewing, so sewing.
SAML. PEEL.
From _Gems_.
――――
WORDS FOR MUSIC.
The flowers that bloom in the pot, tra-la,
Have the bulge on the flowers of Spring,
For whether its cold or its hot, tra-la,
They’re placed in temperate spot, tra-la,
And in this have a very soft thing;
So they don’t care a jot
If it freezes or not,
For they feel pretty certain that they have the pot,
Tra-la-la la-la, tra-la-la-la-la.
Oh, theirs is a fortunate lot.
_Rare Bits._ February 5, 1887.
――――
THE SPRING CLEANING.
The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra-la,
You buy for the girl you adore,
For a beautiful smile they bring, tra-la,
And cause her your praises to sing, tra-la,
Till you wish that you’d only bought more,
And that’s what we mean when we say that a thing
Is as welcome as flowers that bloom in the Spring.
The blushes that bloom on her cheek, tra la,
Are painted the men to deceive;
If you doubt, just notice this week, tra la,
When her curls on your arm a rest seek, tra la,
How the blushes will soil your coat-sleeve.
And that’s what we mean when we angrily speak:
A brush for the blushes that bloom on her cheek.
The flour that blooms in the spring, tra la,
We find in confectioner’s cakes
The children unto ’em will cling, tra la,
Though they’re spongy and tough as a string, tra la,
And simply are leathery fakes!
And that’s why we’re sad when they pass us a thing,
Made out of the flour that blooms in the spring.
The houses we clean in the spring, tra la,
Give a blow to all social sunshine,
And we profanely say as we sing, tra la,
That we’d like to be hanged on a _string_, tra la,
But we find that it’s useless _to whine_.
And this is the refrain that we dolefully sing,
Oh, bother the houses we clean in the spring.
THE TUNEFUL LIAR.