Aloud the Turk in frenzy yelled it,
And drove right through the Doctor's chest
The sabre and the hand that held it.
The blow was a decisive one,
And Doctor Brown grew deadly pasty--
"Now see the mischief that you've done,--
You Turks are so extremely hasty.
"There are two Doctor Browns in Hooe,
_He's_ short and stout--_I'm_ tall and wizen;
You've been and run the wrong one through,
That's how the error has arisen."
The accident was thus explained,
Apologies were only heard now:
"At my mistake I'm really pained,
I am, indeed, upon my word now."
"With me, sir, you shall be interred,
A Mausoleum grand awaits me"--
"Oh, pray don't say another word,
I'm sure that more than compensates me.
"But, p'r'aps, kind Turk, you're full inside?"
"There's room," said he, "for any number."
And so they laid them down and died.
In proud Stamboul they sleep their slumber.
SONGS OF A SAVOYARD
[Illustration]
THE ENGLISHMAN.
He is an Englishman!
For he himself has said it,
And it's greatly to his credit,
That he is an Englishman!
For he might have been a Roosian,
A French, or Turk, or Proosian,
Or perhaps Itali-an!
But in spite of all temptations,
To belong to other nations,
He remains an Englishman!
Hurrah!
For the true born Englishman!
THE DISAGREEABLE MAN.
If you give me your attention, I will tell you what I am:
I'm a genuine philanthropist--all other kinds are sham.
Each little fault of temper and each social defect
In my erring fellow creatures, I endeavor to correct.
To all their little weaknesses I open people's eyes
And little plans to snub the self-sufficient I devise;
I love my fellow creatures--I do all the good I can--
Yet everybody say I'm such a disagreeable man!
And I can't think why!
To compliments inflated I've a withering reply;
And vanity I always do my best to mortify;
A charitable action I can skilfully dissect:
And interested motives I'm delighted to detect.
I know everybody's income and what everybody earns,
And I carefully compare it with the income tax returns;
But to benefit humanity, however much I plan,
Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!
And I can't think why!
I'm sure I'm no ascetic: I'm as pleasant as can be;
You'll always find me ready with a crushing repartee;
I've an irritating chuckle; I've a celebrated sneer;
I've an entertaining snigger; I've a fascinating leer;
To everybody's prejudice I know a thing or two;
I can tell a woman's age in half a minute--and I do--
But although I try to make myself as pleasant as I can,
Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!
And I can't think why!
THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL.
I am the very pattern of a modern Major-Gineral.
I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral;
I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical,
From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical;
I'm very well acquainted too with matters mathematical,
I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical,
About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news,
With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.
I'm very good at integral and differential calculus,
I know the scientific names of beings animalculous,
In short in matters vegetable, animal and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.
I know our mythic history--King Arthur's and Sir Caradoc's,
I answer hard acrostics, I've a pretty taste for paradox,
I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of Heliogabalus,
In conies I can floor peculiarities parabolous.
I can tell undoubted Raphaels from Gerard Dows and Zoffanies,
I know the croaking chorus from the "Frogs" of Aristophanes,
Then I can hum a fugue of which I've heard the music's din afore,
And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense "Pinafore."
Then I can write a washing bill in Babylonic cuneiform,
And tell you every detail of Caractacus's uniform.
In short in matters vegetable, animal and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.
In fact when I know what is meant by "mamelon" and "ravelin,"
When I can tell at sight a Chassepot rifle from a javelin,
When such affairs as _sorties_ and surprises I'm more wary at,
And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat,
When I have learn what progress has been made in modern gunnery,
When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery,
In short when I've a smattering of elementary strategy,
You'll say a better Major-Gener_al_ has never _sat_ a gee--
For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury,
Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century,
But still in learning vegetable, animal and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.
THE HEAVY DRAGOON.
If you want a receipt for that popular mystery
Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon,
Take all the remarkable people in history,
Rattle them off to a popular tune!
The pluck of Lord Nelson on board of the _Victory_--
Genius of Bismarck devising a plan;
The humor of Fielding (which sounds contradictory)--
Coolness of Paget about to trepan--
The grace of Mozart, that unparalleled musico--
Wit of Macaulay, who wrote of Queen Anne--
The pathos of Paddy, as rendered by Boucicault--
Style of the Bishop of Sodor and Man--
The dash of a D'Orsay, divested of quackery--
Narrative powers of Dickens and Thackeray
Victor Emmanuel--peak-haunting Peveril--
Thomas Aquinas, and Doctor Sacheverell--
Tupper and Tennyson--Daniel Defoe--
Anthony Trollope and Mister Guizot!
Take of these elements all that are 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!
If you want a receipt for this soldierlike paragon,
Get at the wealth of the Czar (if you can)--
The family pride of a Spaniard from Arragon--
Force of Mephisto pronouncing a ban--
A smack of Lord Waterford, reckless and rollicky--
Swagger of Roderick, heading his clan--
The keen penetration of Paddington Pollaky--
Grace of an Odalisque on a divan--
The genius strategic of Caesar or Hannibal--
Skill of Lord Wolseley in thrashing a cannibal
Flavor of Hamlet--the Stranger, a touch of him--
Little of Manfred, (but not very much of him)--
Beadle of Burlington--Richardson's show;
Mr. Micawber and Madame Tussaud!
Take of these elements all that are 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!
ONLY ROSES!
To a garden full of posies
Cometh one to gather flowers,
And he wanders through its bowers
Toying with the wanton roses,
Who, uprising from their beds,
Hold on high their shameless heads
With their pretty lips a-pouting,
Never doubting--never doubting
That for Cytherean posies
He would gather aught but roses!
In a nest of weeds and nettles,
Lay a violet, half hidden,
Hoping that his glance unbidden
Yet might fall upon her petals,
Though she lived alone, apart,
Hope lay nestling at her heart,
But, alas! the cruel awaking
Set her little heart a-breaking,
For he gathered for his posies
Only roses--only roses!
THEY'LL NONE OF 'EM BE MISSED.
As some day it may happen that a victim must be found,
I've got a little list--I've got a little list
Of social offenders who might well be underground,
And who never would be missed--who never would be missed!
There's the pestilential nuisances who write for autographs--
All people who have flabby hands and irritating laughs--
All children who are up in dates, and floor you with 'em flat--
All persons who in shaking hands, shake hands with you like _that_--
And all third persons who on spoiling _tete-a-tetes_ insist--
They'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of 'em be missed!
There's the nigger serenader, and the others of his race,
And the piano organist--I've got him on the list!
And the people who eat peppermint and puff it in your face,
They never would be missed--they never would be missed!
Then the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone,
All centuries but this, and every country but his own;
And the lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy,
And who doesn't think she waltzes, but would rather like to try;
And that singular anomaly, the lady novelist--
I don't think she'd be missed--I'm _sure_ she'd not be missed!
And that _Nisi Prius_ nuisance, who just now is rather rife,
The Judicial humorist--I've got _him_ on the list!
All funny fellows, comic men, and clowns of private life--
They'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of them be missed.
And apologetic statesmen of the compromising kind,
Such as--What-d'ye-call-him--Thing'em-Bob, and likewise--Never-mind,
And 'St--'st--'st--and What's-his-name, and also--You-know-who--
(The task of filling up the blanks I'd rather leave to _you_!)
But it really doesn't matter whom you put upon the list,
For they'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of 'em be missed!
[Illustration]
THE POLICEMAN'S LOT.
When a felon's not engaged in his employment
Or maturing his felonious little plans.
His capacity for innocent enjoyment,
Is just as great as any honest man's
Our feelings we with difficulty smother
When constabulary duty's to be done:
Ah, take one consideration with another,
A policeman's lot is not a happy one!
When the enterprising burglar isn't burgling,
When the cut-throat isn't occupied in crime,
He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling,
And listen to the merry village chime.
When the coster's finished jumping on his mother,
He loves to lie a-basking in the sun:
Ah, take one consideration with another,
The policeman's lot is not a happy one!
[Illustration]
AN APPEAL.
Oh, is there not one maiden breast
Which does not feel the moral beauty
Of making worldly interest
Subordinate to sense of duly?
Who would not give up willingly
All matrimonial ambition,
To rescue such a one as I
From his unfortunate position?
Oh, is there not one maiden here,
Whose homely face and bad complexion
Have caused all hopes to disappear
Of ever winning man's affection?
To such a one, if such there be,
I swear by Heaven's arch above you,
If you will cast your eyes on me,--
However plain you be--I'll love you!
EHEU FUGACES--!
The air is charged with amatory numbers--
Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers' lays.
Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers
The aching memory of the old, old days?
Time was when Love and I were well acquainted.
Time was when we walked ever hand in hand;
A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted,
None better-loved than I in all the land!
Time was, when maidens of the noblest station,
Forsaking even military men,
Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration--
Ah, me, I was a fair young curate then!
Had I a headache? sighed the maids assembled;
Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear;
Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled;
And when I coughed all thought the end was near!
I, had no care--no jealous doubts hung o'er me--
For I was loved beyond all other men.
Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me!
Ah, me! I was a pale young curate then!
A RECIPE.
Take a pair of sparkling eyes,
Hidden, ever and anon,
In a merciful eclipse--
Do not heed their mild surprise--
Having passed the Rubicon.
Take a pair of rosy lips;
Take a figure trimly planned--
Such as admiration whets
(Be particular in this);
Take a tender little hand,
Fringed with dainty fingerettes,
Press it--in parenthesis;--
Take all these, you lucky man--
Take and keep them, if you can.
Take a pretty little cot--
Quite a miniature affair--
Hung about with trellised vine,
Furnish it upon the spot
With the treasures rich and rare
I've endeavored to define.
Live to love and love to live
You will ripen at your ease,
Growing on the sunny side--
Fate has nothing more to give.
You're a dainty man to please
If you are not satisfied.
Take my counsel, happy man:
Act upon it, if you can!
THE FIRST LORD'S SONG.
When I was a lad I served a term
As office boy to an Attorney's firm.
I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor,
And I polished up the handle of the big front door.
I polished up that handle so successfullee
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
As office boy I made such a mark
That they gave me the post of a junior clerk.
I served the writs with a smile so bland,
And I copied all the letters in a big round hand.
I copied all the letters in a hand so free,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
In serving writs I made such a name
That an articled clerk I soon became;
I wore clean collars and a brand-new suit
For the Pass Examination at the Institute.
And that Pass Examination did so well for me,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
Of legal knowledge I acquired such a grip
That they took me into the partnership.
And that junior partnership, I ween,
Was the only ship that I ever had seen,
But that kind of ship so suited me,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
I grew so rich that I was sent
By a pocket borough into Parliament.
I always voted at my party's call,
And I never thought of thinking for myself at all.
I thought so little, they rewarded me,
By making me the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
Now, landsmen all, whoever you may be,
If you want to rise to the top of the tree,
If your soul isn't fettered to an office stool,
Be careful to be guided by this golden rule--
Stick close to your desks and _never go to sea_,
And you all may be Rulers of the Queen's Navee!
WHEN A MERRY MAIDEN MARRIES.
When a merry maiden marries,
Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;
Every sound becomes a song,
All is right and nothing's wrong!
From to-day and ever after
Let your tears be tears of laughter--
Every sigh that finds a vent
Be a sigh of sweet content!
When you marry merry maiden,
Then the air with love is laden;
Every flower is a rose,
Every goose becomes a swan,
Every kind of trouble goes
Where the last year's snows have gone!
Sunlight takes the place of shade
When you marry merry maid!
When a merry maiden marries
Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;
Every sound becomes a song,
All is right, and nothing's wrong.
Gnawing Care and aching Sorrow,
Get ye gone until to-morrow;
Jealousies in grim array,
Ye are things of yesterday!
When you marry merry maiden,
Then the air with joy is laden;
All the corners of the earth
Ring with music sweetly played,
Worry is melodious mirth.
Grief is joy in masquerade;
Sullen night is laughing day--
All the year is merry May!
THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE.
On a tree by the river a little tomtit
Sang "Willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
And I said to him, "Dicky-bird, why do you sit
Singing 'Willow, titwillow, titwillow?'
Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?" I cried,
"Or a rather tough worm in your little inside?"
With a shake of his poor little head he replied,
"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
He slapped at his chest, as he sat on that bough,
Singing "Willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
And a cold perspiration bespangled his brow,
Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!
He sobbed and he sighed, and a gurgle he gave,
Then he threw himself into the billowy wave,
And an echo arose from the suicide's grave--
"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
Now I feel just as sure as I'm sure that my name
Isn't Willow, titwillow, titwillow,
That 'twas blighted affection that made him exclaim,
"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
And if you remain callous and obdurate, I
Shall perish as he did, and you will know why,
Though I probably shall not exclaim as I die,
"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
HE AND SHE.
HE.
I know a youth who loves a little maid--
(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!)
Silent is he, for he's modest and afraid--
(Hey, but he's timid as a youth can be!)
SHE.
I know a maid who loves a gallant youth,
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
She cannot tell him all the sad, sad truth--
(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
BOTH.
Now tell me pray, and tell me true,
What in the world should the poor soul do?
HE.
He cannot eat and he cannot sleep--
(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!)
Daily he goes for to wail--for to weep--
(Hey, but he's wretched as a youth can be!)
SHE.
She's very thin and she's very pale--
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
Daily she goes for to weep--for to wail--
(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
BOTH.
Now tell me pray, and tell me true,
What in the world should the poor soul do?
SHE.
If I were the youth I should offer her my name--
(Hey, but her face is a sight for to see!)
HE.
If I were the maid I should feed his honest flame--
(Hey, but he's bashful as a youth can be!)
SHE.
If I were the youth I should speak to her to-day--
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
HE.
If I were the maid I should meet the lad half way--
(For I really do believe that timid youth will die'!)
BOTH.
I thank you much for your counsel true;
I've learnt what that poor soul ought to do!
[Illustration]
THE LORD CHANCELLOR'S SONG.
The law is the true embodiment
Of everything that's excellent.
It has no kind of fault or flaw,
And I, my lords, embody the Law.
The constitutional guardian I
Of pretty young Wards in Chancery,
All very agreeable girls--and none
Are over the age of twenty-one.
A pleasant occupation for
A rather susceptible Chancellor!
But though the compliment implied
Inflates me with legitimate pride,
It nevertheless can't be denied
That it has its inconvenient side.
For I'm not so old, and not so plain,
And I'm quite prepared to marry again,
But there'd be the deuce to pay in the Lords
If I fell in love with one of my Wards:
Which rather tries my temper, for
I'm _such_ a susceptible Chancellor!
And everyone who'd marry a Ward
Must come to me for my accord:
So in my court I sit all day,
Giving agreeable girls away,
With one for him--and one for he--
And one for you--and one for ye--
And one for thou--and one for thee--
But never, oh never a one for me!
Which is exasperating, for
A highly susceptible Chancellor!
WILLOW WALY!
HE.
Prithee, pretty maiden--prithee, tell me true
(Hey, but I'm doleful, willow, willow waly!)
Have you e'er a lover a-dangling after you?
Hey, willow waly O!
I fain would discover
If you have a lover?
Hey, willow waly O!
SHE.
Gentle sir, my heart is frolicsome and free--
(Hey but he's doleful, willow, willow waly!)
Nobody I care for comes a-courting me--
Hey, willow waly O!
Nobody I care for
Comes a-courting--therefore,
Hey, willow waly O!
HE.
Prithee, pretty maiden, will you marry me?
(Hey, but I'm hopeful, willow, willow waly!)
I may say, at once, I'm a man of propertee
Hey, willow waly O!
Money, I despise it,
But many people prize it,
Hey, willow waly O!
SHE.
Gentle sir, although to marry I design--
(Hey, but I'm hopeful, willow, willow waly!)
As yet I do not know you, and so I must decline.
Hey, willow waly O!
To other maidens go you--
As yet I do not know you,
Hey, willow waly O!
THE USHER'S CHARGE.
Now, Jurymen, hear my advice--
All kinds of vulgar prejudice
I pray you set aside:
With stern judicial frame of mind,
From bias free of every kind,
This trial must be tried!
Oh, listen to the plaintiff's case:
Observe the features of her face--
The broken-hearted bride!
Condole with her distress of mind:
From bias free of every kind,
This trial must be tried!
And when amid the plaintiff's shrieks,
The ruffianly defendant speaks--
Upon the other side;
What _he_ may say you needn't mind--
From bias free of every kind,
This trial must be tried!
KING GOODHEART.
There lived a King, as I've been told,
In the wonder-working days of old,
When hearts were twice as good as gold,
And twenty times as mellow.
Good temper triumphed in his face,
And in his heart he found a place
For all the erring human race
And every wretched fellow.
When he had Rhenish wine to drink
It made him very sad to think
That some, at junket or at jink,
Must be content with toddy.
He wished all men as rich as he
(And he was rich as rich could be),
So to the top of every tree
Promoted everybody.
Ambassadors cropped up like hay,
Prime Ministers and such as they
Grew like asparagus in May,
And Dukes were three a penny.
Lord Chancellors were cheap as sprats.
And Bishops in their shovel hats
Were plentiful as tabby cats--
If possible, too many.
On every side Field-Marshals gleamed,
Small beer were Lords Lieutenant deemed
With Admirals the ocean teemed
All round his wide dominions;
And Party Leaders you might meet
In twos and threes in every street
Maintaining, with no little heat,
Their various opinions.
That King, although no one denies
His heart was of abnormal size,
Yet he'd have acted otherwise
If he had been acuter.
The end is easily foretold,
When every blessed thing you hold
Is made of silver, or of gold,
You long for simple pewter.
When you have nothing else to wear
But cloth of gold and satins rare,
For cloth of gold you cease to care--
Up goes the price of shoddy.
In short, whoever you may be,
To this conclusion you'll agree,
When every one is somebodee,
Then no one's anybody!
THE TANGLED SKEIN.
Try we life long, we can never
Straighten out life's tangled skein,
Why should we, in vain endeavor,
Guess and guess and guess again?
Life's a pudding full of plums;
Care's a canker that benumbs.
Wherefore waste our elocution
On impossible solution?
Life's a pleasant institution,
Let us take it as it comes!
Set aside the dull enigma,
We shall guess it all too soon;
Failure brings no kind of stigma--
Dance we to another tune!
String the lyre and fill the cup,
Lest on sorrow we should sup.
Hop and skip to Fancy's fiddle,
Hands across and down the middle--
Life's perhaps the only riddle
That we shrink from giving up!
GIRL GRADUATES.
They intend to send a wire
To the moon;
And they'll set the Thames on fire
Very soon;
Then they learn to make silk purses
With their rigs
From the ears of Lady Circe's
Piggy-wigs.
And weazels at their slumbers
They'll trepan;
To get sunbeams from cu_cum_bers
They've a plan.
They've a firmly rooted notion
They can cross the Polar Ocean,
And they'll find Perpetual Motion
If they can!
These are the phenomena
That every pretty domina
Hopes that we shall see
At this Universitee!
As for fashion, they forswear it,
So they say,
And the circle--they will square it
Some fine day;
Then the little pigs they're teaching
For to fly;
And the niggers they'll be bleaching
Bye and bye!
Each newly joined aspirant
To the clan
Must repudiate the tyrant
Known as Man;
They mock at him and flout him,
For they do not care about him,
And they're "going to do without him"
If they can!
These are the phenomena
That every pretty domina
Hopes that we shall see
At this Universitee!
THE APE AND THE LADY.
A lady fair, of lineage high,
Was loved by an Ape, in the days gone by--
The Maid was radiant as the sun,
The Ape was a most unsightly one--
So it would not do--
His scheme fell through;
For the Maid, when his love took formal shape,
Expressed such terror
At his monstrous error,
That he stammered an apology and made his 'scape,
The picture of a disconcerted Ape.
With a view to rise in the social scale,
He shaved his bristles, and he docked his tail,
He grew moustachios, and he took his tub,
And he paid a guinea to a toilet club.
But it would not do,
The scheme fell through--
For the Maid was Beauty's fairest Queen
With golden tresses,
Like a real princess's,
While the Ape, despite his razor keen,
Was the apiest Ape that ever was seen!
He bought white ties, and he bought dress suits,
He crammed his feet into bright tight boots,
And to start his life on a brand-new plan,
He christened himself Darwinian Man!
But it would not do.
The scheme fell through--
For the Maiden fair, whom the monkey craved,
Was a radiant Being,
With a brain far-seeing--
While a Man, however well-behaved,
At best is only a monkey shaved!
SANS SOUCI
I cannot tell what this love may be
That cometh to all but not to me.
It cannot be kind as they'd imply,
Or why do these gentle ladies sigh?
It cannot be joy and rapture deep,
Or why do these gentle ladies weep?
It cannot be blissful, as 'tis said,
Or why are their eyes so wondrous red?
If love is a thorn, they show no wit
Who foolishly hug and foster it.
If love is a weed, how simple they
Who gather and gather it, day by day!
If love is a nettle that makes you smart,
Why do you wear it next your heart?
And if it be neither of these, say I,
Why do you sit and sob and sigh?
THE BRITISH TAR.
A British tar is a soaring soul,
As free as a mountain bird,
His energetic fist should be ready to resist
A dictatorial word
His nose should pant and his lips should curl,
His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave and his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow.