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diff --git a/757-0.txt b/757-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8d8c30c --- /dev/null +++ b/757-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5973 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Fifty Bab Ballads, by W. S. Gilbert + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Fifty Bab Ballads + + +Author: W. S. Gilbert + + + +Release Date: August 19, 2019 [eBook #757] +[This file was first posted on December 26, 1996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIFTY BAB BALLADS*** + + +Transcribed from the 1884 George Routledge and Sons editions by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + + + + + FIFTY “BAB” BALLADS + Much Sound and Little Sense + + + BY + W. S. GILBERT + + [Picture: Baby at piano] + + _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR_ {1} + + * * * * * + + LONDON + GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS + BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL + NEW YORK: 9 LAFAYETTE PLACE + 1884 + + * * * * * + + [Picture: Dalziel Brothers: Engravers and Printers] + + * * * * * + + + + +PREFACE. + + +THE “BAB BALLADS” appeared originally in the columns of “FUN,” when that +periodical was under the editorship of the late TOM HOOD. They were +subsequently republished in two volumes, one called “THE BAB BALLADS,” +the other “MORE BAB BALLADS.” The period during which they were written +extended over some three or four years; many, however, were composed +hastily, and under the discomforting necessity of having to turn out a +quantity of lively verse by a certain day in every week. As it seemed to +me (and to others) that the volumes were disfigured by the presence of +these hastily written impostors, I thought it better to withdraw from +both volumes such Ballads as seemed to show evidence of carelessness or +undue haste, and to publish the remainder in the compact form under which +they are now presented to the reader. + +It may interest some to know that the first of the series, “The Yarn of +the _Nancy Bell_,” was originally offered to “PUNCH,”—to which I was, at +that time, an occasional contributor. It was, however, declined by the +then Editor, on the ground that it was “too cannibalistic for his +readers’ tastes.” + + W. S. GILBERT. + +24 _The Boltons_, _South Kensington_, + _August_, 1876. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + PAGE +_Captain Reece_ 13 +_The Rival Curates_ 18 +_Only a Dancing Girl_ 24 +_To a Little Maid_ 27 +_The Troubadour_ 28 +_Ferdinando and Elvira_; _or_, _the Gentle Pieman_ 33 +_To my Bride_ 37 +_Sir Macklin_ 39 +_The Yarn of the_ “_Nancy Bell_” 44 +_The Bishop of Rum-Ti-Foo_ 48 +_The Precocious Baby_ 54 +_To Phœbe_ 59 +_Baines Carew_, _Gentleman_ 60 +_Thomas Winterbottom Hance_ 66 +_A Discontented Sugar Broker_ 72 +_The Pantomime_ “_Super_” _to his Mask_ 78 +_The Ghost_, _the Gallant_, _the Gael_, _and the Goblin_ 80 +_The Phantom Curate_ 85 +_King Borria Bungalee Boo_ 88 +_Bob Polter_ 93 +_The Story of Prince Agib_ 99 +_Ellen McJones Aberdeen_ 104 +_Peter the Wag_ 109 +_To the Terrestrial Globe_ 114 +_Gentle Alice Brown_ 115 +_Mister William_ 120 +_The Bumboat Woman’s Story_ 125 +_Lost Mr. Blake_ 131 +_The Baby’s Vengeance_ 137 +_The Captain and the Mermaids_ 143 +_Annie Protheroe_. _A Legend of Stratford-le-Bow_ 149 +_An Unfortunate Likeness_ 155 +_The King of Canoodle-dum_ 161 +_The Martinet_ 167 +_The Sailor Boy to his Lass_ 173 +_The Reverend Simon Magus_ 179 +_My Dream_ 184 +_The Bishop of Rum-Ti-Foo again_ 189 +_The Haughty Actor_ 194 +_The Two Majors_ 200 +_Emily_, _John_, _James_, _and I_. _A Derby Legend_ 205 +_The Perils of Invisibility_ 210 +_The Mystic Selvagee_ 215 +_Phrenology_ 221 +_The Fairy Curate_ 226 +_The Way of Wooing_ 233 +_Hongree and Mahry_. _A Recollection of a Surrey 237 +Melodrama_ +_Etiquette_ 243 +_At a Pantomime_ 249 +_Haunted_ 253 + + + + +CAPTAIN REECE. + + + OF all the ships upon the blue, + No ship contained a better crew + Than that of worthy CAPTAIN REECE, + Commanding of _The Mantelpiece_. + + He was adored by all his men, + For worthy CAPTAIN REECE, R.N., + Did all that lay within him to + Promote the comfort of his crew. + + If ever they were dull or sad, + Their captain danced to them like mad, + Or told, to make the time pass by, + Droll legends of his infancy. + + A feather bed had every man, + Warm slippers and hot-water can, + Brown windsor from the captain’s store, + A valet, too, to every four. + + Did they with thirst in summer burn, + Lo, seltzogenes at every turn, + And on all very sultry days + Cream ices handed round on trays. + + Then currant wine and ginger pops + Stood handily on all the “tops;” + And also, with amusement rife, + A “Zoetrope, or Wheel of Life.” + + New volumes came across the sea + From MISTER MUDIE’S libraree; + _The Times_ and _Saturday Review_ + Beguiled the leisure of the crew. + + Kind-hearted CAPTAIN REECE, R.N., + Was quite devoted to his men; + In point of fact, good CAPTAIN REECE + Beatified _The Mantelpiece_. + + One summer eve, at half-past ten, + He said (addressing all his men): + “Come, tell me, please, what I can do + To please and gratify my crew. + + “By any reasonable plan + I’ll make you happy if I can; + My own convenience count as _nil_: + It is my duty, and I will.” + + Then up and answered WILLIAM LEE + (The kindly captain’s coxswain he, + A nervous, shy, low-spoken man), + He cleared his throat and thus began: + + “You have a daughter, CAPTAIN REECE, + Ten female cousins and a niece, + A Ma, if what I’m told is true, + Six sisters, and an aunt or two. + + “Now, somehow, sir, it seems to me, + More friendly-like we all should be, + If you united of ’em to + Unmarried members of the crew. + + “If you’d ameliorate our life, + Let each select from them a wife; + And as for nervous me, old pal, + Give me your own enchanting gal!” + + Good CAPTAIN REECE, that worthy man, + Debated on his coxswain’s plan: + “I quite agree,” he said, “O BILL; + It is my duty, and I will. + + “My daughter, that enchanting gurl, + Has just been promised to an Earl, + And all my other familee + To peers of various degree. + + “But what are dukes and viscounts to + The happiness of all my crew? + The word I gave you I’ll fulfil; + It is my duty, and I will. + + “As you desire it shall befall, + I’ll settle thousands on you all, + And I shall be, despite my hoard, + The only bachelor on board.” + + The boatswain of _The Mantelpiece_, + He blushed and spoke to CAPTAIN REECE: + “I beg your honour’s leave,” he said; + “If you would wish to go and wed, + + “I have a widowed mother who + Would be the very thing for you— + She long has loved you from afar: + She washes for you, CAPTAIN R.” + + The Captain saw the dame that day— + Addressed her in his playful way— + “And did it want a wedding ring? + It was a tempting ickle sing! + + “Well, well, the chaplain I will seek, + We’ll all be married this day week + At yonder church upon the hill; + It is my duty, and I will!” + + The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece, + And widowed Ma of CAPTAIN REECE, + Attended there as they were bid; + It was their duty, and they did. + + + + +THE RIVAL CURATES. + + + LIST while the poet trolls + Of MR. CLAYTON HOOPER, + Who had a cure of souls + At Spiffton-extra-Sooper. + + He lived on curds and whey, + And daily sang their praises, + And then he’d go and play + With buttercups and daisies. + + Wild croquêt HOOPER banned, + And all the sports of Mammon, + He warred with cribbage, and + He exorcised backgammon. + + His helmet was a glance + That spoke of holy gladness; + A saintly smile his lance; + His shield a tear of sadness. + + His Vicar smiled to see + This armour on him buckled: + With pardonable glee + He blessed himself and chuckled. + + “In mildness to abound + My curate’s sole design is; + In all the country round + There’s none so mild as mine is!” + + And HOOPER, disinclined + His trumpet to be blowing, + Yet didn’t think you’d find + A milder curate going. + + A friend arrived one day + At Spiffton-extra-Sooper, + And in this shameful way + He spoke to Mr. HOOPER: + + “You think your famous name + For mildness can’t be shaken, + That none can blot your fame— + But, HOOPER, you’re mistaken! + + “Your mind is not as blank + As that of HOPLEY PORTER, + Who holds a curate’s rank + At Assesmilk-cum-Worter. + + “_He_ plays the airy flute, + And looks depressed and blighted, + Doves round about him ‘toot,’ + And lambkins dance delighted. + + “_He_ labours more than you + At worsted work, and frames it; + In old maids’ albums, too, + Sticks seaweed—yes, and names it!” + + The tempter said his say, + Which pierced him like a needle— + He summoned straight away + His sexton and his beadle. + + (These men were men who could + Hold liberal opinions: + On Sundays they were good— + On week-days they were minions.) + + “To HOPLEY PORTER go, + Your fare I will afford you— + Deal him a deadly blow, + And blessings shall reward you. + + “But stay—I do not like + Undue assassination, + And so before you strike, + Make this communication: + + “I’ll give him this one chance— + If he’ll more gaily bear him, + Play croquêt, smoke, and dance, + I willingly will spare him.” + + They went, those minions true, + To Assesmilk-cum-Worter, + And told their errand to + The REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER. + + “What?” said that reverend gent, + “Dance through my hours of leisure? + Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?— + Play croquêt? Oh, with pleasure! + + “Wear all my hair in curl? + Stand at my door and wink—so— + At every passing girl? + My brothers, I should think so! + + “For years I’ve longed for some + Excuse for this revulsion: + Now that excuse has come— + I do it on compulsion!!!” + + He smoked and winked away— + This REVEREND HOPLEY PORTER— + The deuce there was to pay + At Assesmilk-cum-Worter. + + And HOOPER holds his ground, + In mildness daily growing— + They think him, all around, + The mildest curate going. + + + + +ONLY A DANCING GIRL. + + + ONLY a dancing girl, + With an unromantic style, + With borrowed colour and curl, + With fixed mechanical smile, + With many a hackneyed wile, + With ungrammatical lips, + And corns that mar her trips. + + Hung from the “flies” in air, + She acts a palpable lie, + She’s as little a fairy there + As unpoetical I! + I hear you asking, Why— + Why in the world I sing + This tawdry, tinselled thing? + + No airy fairy she, + As she hangs in arsenic green + From a highly impossible tree + In a highly impossible scene + (Herself not over-clean). + For fays don’t suffer, I’m told, + From bunions, coughs, or cold. + + And stately dames that bring + Their daughters there to see, + Pronounce the “dancing thing” + No better than she should be, + With her skirt at her shameful knee, + And her painted, tainted phiz: + Ah, matron, which of us is? + + (And, in sooth, it oft occurs + That while these matrons sigh, + Their dresses are lower than hers, + And sometimes half as high; + And their hair is hair they buy, + And they use their glasses, too, + In a way she’d blush to do.) + + But change her gold and green + For a coarse merino gown, + And see her upon the scene + Of her home, when coaxing down + Her drunken father’s frown, + In his squalid cheerless den: + She’s a fairy truly, then! + + + + +TO A LITTLE MAID +BY A POLICEMAN. + + + COME with me, little maid, + Nay, shrink not, thus afraid— + I’ll harm thee not! + Fly not, my love, from me— + I have a home for thee— + A fairy grot, + Where mortal eye + Can rarely pry, + There shall thy dwelling be! + + List to me, while I tell + The pleasures of that cell, + Oh, little maid! + What though its couch be rude, + Homely the only food + Within its shade? + No thought of care + Can enter there, + No vulgar swain intrude! + + Come with me, little maid, + Come to the rocky shade + I love to sing; + Live with us, maiden rare— + Come, for we “want” thee there, + Thou elfin thing, + To work thy spell, + In some cool cell + In stately Pentonville! + + + + +THE TROUBADOUR. + + + A TROUBADOUR he played + Without a castle wall, + Within, a hapless maid + Responded to his call. + + “Oh, willow, woe is me! + Alack and well-a-day! + If I were only free + I’d hie me far away!” + + Unknown her face and name, + But this he knew right well, + The maiden’s wailing came + From out a dungeon cell. + + A hapless woman lay + Within that dungeon grim— + That fact, I’ve heard him say, + Was quite enough for him. + + “I will not sit or lie, + Or eat or drink, I vow, + Till thou art free as I, + Or I as pent as thou.” + + Her tears then ceased to flow, + Her wails no longer rang, + And tuneful in her woe + The prisoned maiden sang: + + “Oh, stranger, as you play, + I recognize your touch; + And all that I can say + Is, thank you very much.” + + He seized his clarion straight, + And blew thereat, until + A warden oped the gate. + “Oh, what might be your will?” + + “I’ve come, Sir Knave, to see + The master of these halls: + A maid unwillingly + Lies prisoned in their walls.”’ + + With barely stifled sigh + That porter drooped his head, + With teardrops in his eye, + “A many, sir,” he said. + + He stayed to hear no more, + But pushed that porter by, + And shortly stood before + SIR HUGH DE PECKHAM RYE. + + SIR HUGH he darkly frowned, + “What would you, sir, with me?” + The troubadour he downed + Upon his bended knee. + + “I’ve come, DE PECKHAM RYE, + To do a Christian task; + You ask me what would I? + It is not much I ask. + + “Release these maidens, sir, + Whom you dominion o’er— + Particularly her + Upon the second floor. + + “And if you don’t, my lord”— + He here stood bolt upright, + And tapped a tailor’s sword— + “Come out, you cad, and fight!” + + SIR HUGH he called—and ran + The warden from the gate: + “Go, show this gentleman + The maid in Forty-eight.” + + By many a cell they past, + And stopped at length before + A portal, bolted fast: + The man unlocked the door. + + He called inside the gate + With coarse and brutal shout, + “Come, step it, Forty-eight!” + And Forty-eight stepped out. + + “They gets it pretty hot, + The maidens what we cotch— + Two years this lady’s got + For collaring a wotch.” + + “Oh, ah!—indeed—I see,” + The troubadour exclaimed— + “If I may make so free, + How is this castle named?” + + The warden’s eyelids fill, + And sighing, he replied, + “Of gloomy Pentonville + This is the female side!” + + The minstrel did not wait + The Warden stout to thank, + But recollected straight + He’d business at the Bank. + + + + +FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA; +OR, THE GENTLE PIEMAN. + + +PART I. + + + AT a pleasant evening party I had taken down to supper + One whom I will call ELVIRA, and we talked of love and TUPPER, + + MR. TUPPER and the Poets, very lightly with them dealing, + For I’ve always been distinguished for a strong poetic feeling. + + Then we let off paper crackers, each of which contained a motto, + And she listened while I read them, till her mother told her not to. + + Then she whispered, “To the ball-room we had better, dear, be walking; + If we stop down here much longer, really people will be talking.” + + There were noblemen in coronets, and military cousins, + There were captains by the hundred, there were baronets by dozens. + + Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed them with a blessing, + Then she let down all her back hair, which had taken long in dressing. + + Then she had convulsive sobbings in her agitated throttle, + Then she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her pretty smelling-bottle. + + So I whispered, “Dear ELVIRA, say,—what can the matter be with you? + Does anything you’ve eaten, darling POPSY, disagree with you?” + + But spite of all I said, her sobs grew more and more distressing, + And she tore her pretty back hair, which had taken long in dressing. + + Then she gazed upon the carpet, at the ceiling, then above me, + And she whispered, “FERDINANDO, do you really, _really_ love me?” + + “Love you?” said I, then I sighed, and then I gazed upon her sweetly— + For I think I do this sort of thing particularly neatly. + + “Send me to the Arctic regions, or illimitable azure, + On a scientific goose-chase, with my COXWELL or my GLAISHER! + + “Tell me whither I may hie me—tell me, dear one, that I may know— + Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?” + + But she said, “It isn’t polar bears, or hot volcanic grottoes: + Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker mottoes!” + + + + +PART II. + + + “Tell me, HENRY WADSWORTH, ALFRED POET CLOSE, or MISTER TUPPER, + Do you write the bon bon mottoes my ELVIRA pulls at supper?” + + But HENRY WADSWORTH smiled, and said he had not had that honour; + And ALFRED, too, disclaimed the words that told so much upon her. + + “MISTER MARTIN TUPPER, POET CLOSE, I beg of you inform us;” + But my question seemed to throw them both into a rage enormous. + + MISTER CLOSE expressed a wish that he could only get anigh to me; + And MISTER MARTIN TUPPER sent the following reply to me: + + “A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men dread a bandit,”— + Which I know was very clever; but I didn’t understand it. + + Seven weary years I wandered—Patagonia, China, Norway, + Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway. + + There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle, + So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle. + + He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy, + And his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy. + + And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with laughter + hearty— + He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party. + + And I said, “O gentle pieman, why so very, very merry? + Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?” + + But he answered, “I’m so happy—no profession could be dearer— + If I am not humming ‘Tra! la! la!’ I’m singing ‘Tirer, lirer!’ + + “First I go and make the patties, and the puddings, and the jellies, + Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell is; + + “Then I polish all the silver, which a supper-table lacquers; + Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the crackers.”— + + “Found at last!” I madly shouted. “Gentle pieman, you astound me!” + Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me. + + And I shouted and I danced until he’d quite a crowd around him— + And I rushed away exclaiming, “I have found him! I have found him!” + + And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling, + “‘Tira, lira!’ stop him, stop him! ‘Tra! la! la!’ the soup’s a + shilling!” + + But until I reached ELVIRA’S home, I never, never waited, + And ELVIRA to her FERDINAND’S irrevocably mated! + + + + +TO MY BRIDE +(WHOEVER SHE MAY BE.) + + + OH! little maid!—(I do not know your name + Or who you are, so, as a safe precaution + I’ll add)—Oh, buxom widow! married dame! + (As one of these must be your present portion) + Listen, while I unveil prophetic lore for you, + And sing the fate that Fortune has in store for you. + + You’ll marry soon—within a year or twain— + A bachelor of _circa_ two and thirty: + Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain, + And when you’re intimate, you’ll call him “BERTIE.” + Neat—dresses well; his temper has been classified + As hasty; but he’s very quickly pacified. + + You’ll find him working mildly at the Bar, + After a touch at two or three professions, + From easy affluence extremely far, + A brief or two on Circuit—“soup” at Sessions; + A pound or two from whist and backing horses, + And, say three hundred from his own resources. + + Quiet in harness; free from serious vice, + His faults are not particularly shady, + You’ll never find him “_shy_”—for, once or twice + Already, he’s been driven by a lady, + Who parts with him—perhaps a poor excuse for him— + Because she hasn’t any further use for him. + + Oh! bride of mine—tall, dumpy, dark, or fair! + Oh! widow—wife, maybe, or blushing maiden, + I’ve told _your_ fortune; solved the gravest care + With which your mind has hitherto been laden. + I’ve prophesied correctly, never doubt it; + Now tell me mine—and please be quick about it! + + You—only you—can tell me, an’ you will, + To whom I’m destined shortly to be mated, + Will she run up a heavy _modiste’s_ bill? + If so, I want to hear her income stated + (This is a point which interests me greatly). + To quote the bard, “Oh! have I seen her lately?” + + Say, must I wait till husband number one + Is comfortably stowed away at Woking? + How is her hair most usually done? + And tell me, please, will she object to smoking? + The colour of her eyes, too, you may mention: + Come, Sibyl, prophesy—I’m all attention. + + + + +SIR MACKLIN. + + + OF all the youths I ever saw + None were so wicked, vain, or silly, + So lost to shame and Sabbath law, + As worldly TOM, and BOB, and BILLY. + + For every Sabbath day they walked + (Such was their gay and thoughtless natur) + In parks or gardens, where they talked + From three to six, or even later. + + SIR MACKLIN was a priest severe + In conduct and in conversation, + It did a sinner good to hear + Him deal in ratiocination. + + He could in every action show + Some sin, and nobody could doubt him. + He argued high, he argued low, + He also argued round about him. + + He wept to think each thoughtless youth + Contained of wickedness a skinful, + And burnt to teach the awful truth, + That walking out on Sunday’s sinful. + + “Oh, youths,” said he, “I grieve to find + The course of life you’ve been and hit on— + Sit down,” said he, “and never mind + The pennies for the chairs you sit on. + + “My opening head is ‘Kensington,’ + How walking there the sinner hardens, + Which when I have enlarged upon, + I go to ‘Secondly’—its ‘Gardens.’ + + “My ‘Thirdly’ comprehendeth ‘Hyde,’ + Of Secresy the guilts and shameses; + My ‘Fourthly’—‘Park’—its verdure wide— + My ‘Fifthly’ comprehends ‘St. James’s.’ + + “That matter settled, I shall reach + The ‘Sixthly’ in my solemn tether, + And show that what is true of each, + Is also true of all, together. + + “Then I shall demonstrate to you, + According to the rules of WHATELY, + That what is true of all, is true + Of each, considered separately.” + + In lavish stream his accents flow, + TOM, BOB, and BILLY dare not flout him; + He argued high, he argued low, + He also argued round about him. + + “Ha, ha!” he said, “you loathe your ways, + You writhe at these my words of warning, + In agony your hands you raise.” + (And so they did, for they were yawning.) + + To “Twenty-firstly” on they go, + The lads do not attempt to scout him; + He argued high, he argued low, + He also argued round about him. + + “Ho, ho!” he cries, “you bow your crests— + My eloquence has set you weeping; + In shame you bend upon your breasts!” + (And so they did, for they were sleeping.) + + He proved them this—he proved them that— + This good but wearisome ascetic; + He jumped and thumped upon his hat, + He was so very energetic. + + His Bishop at this moment chanced + To pass, and found the road encumbered; + He noticed how the Churchman danced, + And how his congregation slumbered. + + The hundred and eleventh head + The priest completed of his stricture; + “Oh, bosh!” the worthy Bishop said, + And walked him off as in the picture. + + + + +THE YARN OF THE “NANCY BELL.” {44} + + + ’TWAS on the shores that round our coast + From Deal to Ramsgate span, + That I found alone on a piece of stone + An elderly naval man. + + His hair was weedy, his beard was long, + And weedy and long was he, + And I heard this wight on the shore recite, + In a singular minor key: + + “Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, + And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, + And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite, + And the crew of the captain’s gig.” + + And he shook his fists and he tore his hair, + Till I really felt afraid, + For I couldn’t help thinking the man had been drinking, + And so I simply said: + + “Oh, elderly man, it’s little I know + Of the duties of men of the sea, + And I’ll eat my hand if I understand + However you can be + + “At once a cook, and a captain bold, + And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, + And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite, + And the crew of the captain’s gig.” + + Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which + Is a trick all seamen larn, + And having got rid of a thumping quid, + He spun this painful yarn: + + “’Twas in the good ship _Nancy Bell_ + That we sailed to the Indian Sea, + And there on a reef we come to grief, + Which has often occurred to me. + + “And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned + (There was seventy-seven o’ soul), + And only ten of the _Nancy’s_ men + Said ‘Here!’ to the muster-roll. + + “There was me and the cook and the captain bold, + And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, + And the bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite, + And the crew of the captain’s gig. + + “For a month we’d neither wittles nor drink, + Till a-hungry we did feel, + So we drawed a lot, and, accordin’ shot + The captain for our meal. + + “The next lot fell to the _Nancy’s_ mate, + And a delicate dish he made; + Then our appetite with the midshipmite + We seven survivors stayed. + + “And then we murdered the bo’sun tight, + And he much resembled pig; + Then we wittled free, did the cook and me, + On the crew of the captain’s gig. + + “Then only the cook and me was left, + And the delicate question, ‘Which + Of us two goes to the kettle?’ arose, + And we argued it out as sich. + + “For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, + And the cook he worshipped me; + But we’d both be blowed if we’d either be stowed + In the other chap’s hold, you see. + + “‘I’ll be eat if you dines off me,’ says TOM; + ‘Yes, that,’ says I, ‘you’ll be,— + ‘I’m boiled if I die, my friend,’ quoth I; + And ‘Exactly so,’ quoth he. + + “Says he, ‘Dear JAMES, to murder me + Were a foolish thing to do, + For don’t you see that you can’t cook _me_, + While I can—and will—cook _you_!’ + + “So he boils the water, and takes the salt + And the pepper in portions true + (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot. + And some sage and parsley too. + + “‘Come here,’ says he, with a proper pride, + Which his smiling features tell, + ‘’T will soothing be if I let you see + How extremely nice you’ll smell.’ + + “And he stirred it round and round and round, + And he sniffed at the foaming froth; + When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals + In the scum of the boiling broth. + + “And I eat that cook in a week or less, + And—as I eating be + The last of his chops, why, I almost drops, + For a wessel in sight I see! + + * * * * + + “And I never larf, and I never smile, + And I never lark nor play, + But sit and croak, and a single joke + I have—which is to say: + + “Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, + And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, + And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite, + And the crew of the captain’s gig!’” + + + + +THE BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO. + + + FROM east and south the holy clan + Of Bishops gathered to a man; + To Synod, called Pan-Anglican, + In flocking crowds they came. + Among them was a Bishop, who + Had lately been appointed to + The balmy isle of Rum-ti-Foo, + And PETER was his name. + + His people—twenty-three in sum— + They played the eloquent tum-tum, + And lived on scalps served up, in rum— + The only sauce they knew. + When first good BISHOP PETER came + (For PETER was that Bishop’s name), + To humour them, he did the same + As they of Rum-ti-Foo. + + His flock, I’ve often heard him tell, + (His name was PETER) loved him well, + And, summoned by the sound of bell, + In crowds together came. + “Oh, massa, why you go away? + Oh, MASSA PETER, please to stay.” + (They called him PETER, people say, + Because it was his name.) + + He told them all good boys to be, + And sailed away across the sea, + At London Bridge that Bishop he + Arrived one Tuesday night; + And as that night he homeward strode + To his Pan-Anglican abode, + He passed along the Borough Road, + And saw a gruesome sight. + + He saw a crowd assembled round + A person dancing on the ground, + Who straight began to leap and bound + With all his might and main. + To see that dancing man he stopped, + Who twirled and wriggled, skipped and hopped, + Then down incontinently dropped, + And then sprang up again. + + The Bishop chuckled at the sight. + “This style of dancing would delight + A simple Rum-ti-Foozleite. + I’ll learn it if I can, + To please the tribe when I get back.” + He begged the man to teach his knack. + “Right Reverend Sir, in half a crack!” + Replied that dancing man. + + The dancing man he worked away, + And taught the Bishop every day— + The dancer skipped like any fay— + Good PETER did the same. + The Bishop buckled to his task, + With _battements_, and _pas de basque_. + (I’ll tell you, if you care to ask, + That PETER was his name.) + + “Come, walk like this,” the dancer said, + “Stick out your toes—stick in your head, + Stalk on with quick, galvanic tread— + Your fingers thus extend; + The attitude’s considered quaint.” + The weary Bishop, feeling faint, + Replied, “I do not say it ain’t, + But ‘Time!’ my Christian friend!” + + “We now proceed to something new— + Dance as the PAYNES and LAURIS do, + Like this—one, two—one, two—one, two.” + The Bishop, never proud, + But in an overwhelming heat + (His name was PETER, I repeat) + Performed the PAYNE and LAURI feat, + And puffed his thanks aloud. + + Another game the dancer planned— + “Just take your ankle in your hand, + And try, my lord, if you can stand— + Your body stiff and stark. + If, when revisiting your see, + You learnt to hop on shore—like me— + The novelty would striking be, + And must attract remark.” + + “No,” said the worthy Bishop, “no; + That is a length to which, I trow, + Colonial Bishops cannot go. + You may express surprise + At finding Bishops deal in pride— + But if that trick I ever tried, + I should appear undignified + In Rum-ti-Foozle’s eyes. + + “The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo + Are well-conducted persons, who + Approve a joke as much as you, + And laugh at it as such; + But if they saw their Bishop land, + His leg supported in his hand, + The joke they wouldn’t understand— + ’T would pain them very much!” + + + + +THE PRECOCIOUS BABY. +A VERY TRUE TALE. + + + (_To be sung to the Air of the_ “_Whistling Oyster_.”) + + AN elderly person—a prophet by trade— + With his quips and tips + On withered old lips, + He married a young and a beautiful maid; + The cunning old blade! + Though rather decayed, + He married a beautiful, beautiful maid. + + She was only eighteen, and as fair as could be, + With her tempting smiles + And maidenly wiles, + And he was a trifle past seventy-three: + Now what she could see + Is a puzzle to me, + In a prophet of seventy—seventy-three! + + Of all their acquaintances bidden (or bad) + With their loud high jinks + And underbred winks, + None thought they’d a family have—but they had; + A dear little lad + Who drove ’em half mad, + For he turned out a horribly fast little cad. + + For when he was born he astonished all by, + With their “Law, dear me!” + “Did ever you see?” + He’d a pipe in his mouth and a glass in his eye, + A hat all awry— + An octagon tie— + And a miniature—miniature glass in his eye. + + He grumbled at wearing a frock and a cap, + With his “Oh, dear, oh!” + And his “Hang it! ’oo know!” + And he turned up his nose at his excellent pap— + “My friends, it’s a tap + Dat is not worf a rap.” + (Now this was remarkably excellent pap.) + + He’d chuck his nurse under the chin, and he’d say, + With his “Fal, lal, lal”— + “’Oo doosed fine gal!” + This shocking precocity drove ’em away: + “A month from to-day + Is as long as I’ll stay— + Then I’d wish, if you please, for to toddle away.” + + His father, a simple old gentleman, he + With nursery rhyme + And “Once on a time,” + Would tell him the story of “Little Bo-P,” + “So pretty was she, + So pretty and wee, + As pretty, as pretty, as pretty could be.” + + But the babe, with a dig that would startle an ox, + With his “C’ck! Oh, my!— + Go along wiz ’oo, fie!” + Would exclaim, “I’m afraid ’oo a socking ole fox.” + Now a father it shocks, + And it whitens his locks, + When his little babe calls him a shocking old fox. + + The name of his father he’d couple and pair + (With his ill-bred laugh, + And insolent chaff) + With those of the nursery heroines rare— + Virginia the Fair, + Or Good Goldenhair, + Till the nuisance was more than a prophet could bear. + + “There’s Jill and White Cat” (said the bold little brat, + With his loud, “Ha, ha!”) + “’Oo sly ickle Pa! + Wiz ’oo Beauty, Bo-Peep, and ’oo Mrs. Jack Sprat! + I’ve noticed ’oo pat + _My_ pretty White Cat— + I sink dear mamma ought to know about dat!” + + He early determined to marry and wive, + For better or worse + With his elderly nurse— + Which the poor little boy didn’t live to contrive: + His hearth didn’t thrive— + No longer alive, + He died an enfeebled old dotard at five! + + MORAL. + + Now, elderly men of the bachelor crew, + With wrinkled hose + And spectacled nose, + Don’t marry at all—you may take it as true + If ever you do + The step you will rue, + For your babes will be elderly—elderly too. + + + + +TO PHŒBE. {59} + + + “GENTLE, modest little flower, + Sweet epitome of May, + Love me but for half an hour, + Love me, love me, little fay.” + Sentences so fiercely flaming + In your tiny shell-like ear, + I should always be exclaiming + If I loved you, PHŒBE dear. + + “Smiles that thrill from any distance + Shed upon me while I sing! + Please ecstaticize existence, + Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!” + Words like these, outpouring sadly + You’d perpetually hear, + If I loved you fondly, madly;— + But I do not, PHŒBE dear. + + + + +BAINES CAREW, GENTLEMAN. + + + OF all the good attorneys who + Have placed their names upon the roll, + But few could equal BAINES CAREW + For tender-heartedness and soul. + + Whene’er he heard a tale of woe + From client A or client B, + His grief would overcome him so + He’d scarce have strength to take his fee. + + It laid him up for many days, + When duty led him to distrain, + And serving writs, although it pays, + Gave him excruciating pain. + + He made out costs, distrained for rent, + Foreclosed and sued, with moistened eye— + No bill of costs could represent + The value of such sympathy. + + No charges can approximate + The worth of sympathy with woe;— + Although I think I ought to state + He did his best to make them so. + + Of all the many clients who + Had mustered round his legal flag, + No single client of the crew + Was half so dear as CAPTAIN BAGG. + + Now, CAPTAIN BAGG had bowed him to + A heavy matrimonial yoke— + His wifey had of faults a few— + She never could resist a joke. + + Her chaff at first he meekly bore, + Till unendurable it grew. + “To stop this persecution sore + I will consult my friend CAREW. + + “And when CAREW’S advice I’ve got, + Divorce _a mensâ_ I shall try.” + (A legal separation—not + _A vinculo conjugii_.) + + “Oh, BAINES CAREW, my woe I’ve kept + A secret hitherto, you know;”— + (And BAINES CAREW, ESQUIRE, he wept + To hear that BAGG _had_ any woe.) + + “My case, indeed, is passing sad. + My wife—whom I considered true— + With brutal conduct drives me mad.” + “I am appalled,” said BAINES CAREW. + + “What! sound the matrimonial knell + Of worthy people such as these! + Why was I an attorney? Well— + Go on to the _sævitia_, please.” + + “Domestic bliss has proved my bane,— + A harder case you never heard, + My wife (in other matters sane) + Pretends that I’m a Dicky bird! + + “She makes me sing, ‘Too-whit, too-wee!’ + And stand upon a rounded stick, + And always introduces me + To every one as ‘Pretty Dick’!” + + “Oh, dear,” said weeping BAINES CAREW, + “This is the direst case I know.” + “I’m grieved,” said BAGG, “at paining you— + To COBB and POLTHERTHWAITE I’ll go— + + “To COBB’S cold, calculating ear, + My gruesome sorrows I’ll impart”— + “No; stop,” said BAINES, “I’ll dry my tear, + And steel my sympathetic heart.” + + “She makes me perch upon a tree, + Rewarding me with ‘Sweety—nice!’ + And threatens to exhibit me + With four or five performing mice.” + + “Restrain my tears I wish I could” + (Said BAINES), “I don’t know what to do.” + Said CAPTAIN BAGG, “You’re very good.” + “Oh, not at all,” said BAINES CAREW. + + “She makes me fire a gun,” said BAGG; + “And, at a preconcerted word, + Climb up a ladder with a flag, + Like any street performing bird. + + “She places sugar in my way— + In public places calls me ‘Sweet!’ + She gives me groundsel every day, + And hard canary-seed to eat.” + + “Oh, woe! oh, sad! oh, dire to tell!” + (Said BAINES). “Be good enough to stop.” + And senseless on the floor he fell, + With unpremeditated flop! + + Said CAPTAIN BAGG, “Well, really I + Am grieved to think it pains you so. + I thank you for your sympathy; + But, hang it!—come—I say, you know!” + + But BAINES lay flat upon the floor, + Convulsed with sympathetic sob;— + The Captain toddled off next door, + And gave the case to MR. COBB. + + + + +THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE. + + + IN all the towns and cities fair + On Merry England’s broad expanse, + No swordsman ever could compare + With THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE. + + The dauntless lad could fairly hew + A silken handkerchief in twain, + Divide a leg of mutton too— + And this without unwholesome strain. + + On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick, + His sabre sometimes he’d employ— + No bar of lead, however thick, + Had terrors for the stalwart boy. + + At Dover daily he’d prepare + To hew and slash, behind, before— + Which aggravated MONSIEUR PIERRE, + Who watched him from the Calais shore. + + It caused good PIERRE to swear and dance, + The sight annoyed and vexed him so; + He was the bravest man in France— + He said so, and he ought to know. + + “Regardez donc, ce cochon gros— + Ce polisson! Oh, sacré bleu! + Son sabre, son plomb, et ses gigots + Comme cela m’ennuye, enfin, mon Dieu! + + “Il sait que les foulards de soie + Give no retaliating whack— + Les gigots morts n’ont pas de quoi— + Le plomb don’t ever hit you back.” + + But every day the headstrong lad + Cut lead and mutton more and more; + And every day poor PIERRE, half mad, + Shrieked loud defiance from his shore. + + HANCE had a mother, poor and old, + A simple, harmless village dame, + Who crowed and clapped as people told + Of WINTERBOTTOM’S rising fame. + + She said, “I’ll be upon the spot + To see my TOMMY’S sabre-play;” + And so she left her leafy cot, + And walked to Dover in a day. + + PIERRE had a doating mother, who + Had heard of his defiant rage; + _His_ Ma was nearly ninety-two, + And rather dressy for her age. + + At HANCE’S doings every morn, + With sheer delight _his_ mother cried; + And MONSIEUR PIERRE’S contemptuous scorn + Filled _his_ mamma with proper pride. + + But HANCE’S powers began to fail— + His constitution was not strong— + And PIERRE, who once was stout and hale, + Grew thin from shouting all day long. + + Their mothers saw them pale and wan, + Maternal anguish tore each breast, + And so they met to find a plan + To set their offsprings’ minds at rest. + + Said MRS. HANCE, “Of course I shrinks + From bloodshed, ma’am, as you’re aware, + But still they’d better meet, I thinks.” + “Assurément!” said MADAME PIERRE. + + A sunny spot in sunny France + Was hit upon for this affair; + The ground was picked by MRS. HANCE, + The stakes were pitched by MADAME PIERRE. + + Said MRS. H., “Your work you see— + Go in, my noble boy, and win.” + “En garde, mon fils!” said MADAME P. + “Allons!” “Go on!” “En garde!” “Begin!” + + (The mothers were of decent size, + Though not particularly tall; + But in the sketch that meets your eyes + I’ve been obliged to draw them small.) + + Loud sneered the doughty man of France, + “Ho! ho! Ho! ho! Ha! ha! Ha! ha! + The French for ‘Pish’” said THOMAS HANCE. + Said PIERRE, “L’Anglais, Monsieur, pour ‘Bah.’” + + Said MRS. H., “Come, one! two! three!— + We’re sittin’ here to see all fair.” + “C’est magnifique!” said MADAME P., + “Mais, parbleu! ce n’est pas la guerre!” + + “Je scorn un foe si lache que vous,” + Said PIERRE, the doughty son of France. + “I fight not coward foe like you!” + Said our undaunted TOMMY HANCE. + + “The French for ‘Pooh!’” our TOMMY cried. + “L’Anglais pour ‘Va!’” the Frenchman crowed. + And so, with undiminished pride, + Each went on his respective road. + + + + +A DISCONTENTED SUGAR BROKER. + + + A GENTLEMAN of City fame + Now claims your kind attention; + East India broking was his game, + His name I shall not mention: + No one of finely-pointed sense + Would violate a confidence, + And shall _I_ go + And do it? No! + His name I shall not mention. + + He had a trusty wife and true, + And very cosy quarters, + A manager, a boy or two, + Six clerks, and seven porters. + A broker must be doing well + (As any lunatic can tell) + Who can employ + An active boy, + Six clerks, and seven porters. + + His knocker advertised no dun, + No losses made him sulky, + He had one sorrow—only one— + He was extremely bulky. + A man must be, I beg to state, + Exceptionally fortunate + Who owns his chief + And only grief + Is—being very bulky. + + “This load,” he’d say, “I cannot bear; + I’m nineteen stone or twenty! + Henceforward I’ll go in for air + And exercise in plenty.” + Most people think that, should it come, + They can reduce a bulging tum + To measures fair + By taking air + And exercise in plenty. + + In every weather, every day, + Dry, muddy, wet, or gritty, + He took to dancing all the way + From Brompton to the City. + You do not often get the chance + Of seeing sugar brokers dance + From their abode + In Fulham Road + Through Brompton to the City. + + He braved the gay and guileless laugh + Of children with their nusses, + The loud uneducated chaff + Of clerks on omnibuses. + Against all minor things that rack + A nicely-balanced mind, I’ll back + The noisy chaff + And ill-bred laugh + Of clerks on omnibuses. + + His friends, who heard his money chink, + And saw the house he rented, + And knew his wife, could never think + What made him discontented. + It never entered their pure minds + That fads are of eccentric kinds, + Nor would they own + That fat alone + Could make one discontented. + + “Your riches know no kind of pause, + Your trade is fast advancing; + You dance—but not for joy, because + You weep as you are dancing. + To dance implies that man is glad, + To weep implies that man is sad; + But here are you + Who do the two— + You weep as you are dancing!” + + His mania soon got noised about + And into all the papers; + His size increased beyond a doubt + For all his reckless capers: + It may seem singular to you, + But all his friends admit it true— + The more he found + His figure round, + The more he cut his capers. + + His bulk increased—no matter that— + He tried the more to toss it— + He never spoke of it as “fat,” + But “adipose deposit.” + Upon my word, it seems to me + Unpardonable vanity + (And worse than that) + To call your fat + An “adipose deposit.” + + At length his brawny knees gave way, + And on the carpet sinking, + Upon his shapeless back he lay + And kicked away like winking. + Instead of seeing in his state + The finger of unswerving Fate, + He laboured still + To work his will, + And kicked away like winking. + + His friends, disgusted with him now, + Away in silence wended— + I hardly like to tell you how + This dreadful story ended. + The shocking sequel to impart, + I must employ the limner’s art— + If you would know, + This sketch will show + How his exertions ended. + + MORAL. + + I hate to preach—I hate to prate— + —I’m no fanatic croaker, + But learn contentment from the fate + Of this East India broker. + He’d everything a man of taste + Could ever want, except a waist; + And discontent + His size anent, + And bootless perseverance blind, + Completely wrecked the peace of mind + Of this East India broker. + + + + +THE PANTOMIME “SUPER” TO HIS MASK. + + + VAST empty shell! + Impertinent, preposterous abortion! + With vacant stare, + And ragged hair, + And every feature out of all proportion! + Embodiment of echoing inanity! + Excellent type of simpering insanity! + Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity! + I ring thy knell! + + To-night thou diest, + Beast that destroy’st my heaven-born identity! + Nine weeks of nights, + Before the lights, + Swamped in thine own preposterous nonentity, + I’ve been ill-treated, cursed, and thrashed diurnally, + Credited for the smile you wear externally— + I feel disposed to smash thy face, infernally, + As there thou liest! + + I’ve been thy brain: + _I’ve_ been the brain that lit thy dull concavity! + The human race + Invest _my_ face + With thine expression of unchecked depravity, + Invested with a ghastly reciprocity, + _I’ve_ been responsible for thy monstrosity, + I, for thy wanton, blundering ferocity— + But not again! + + ’T is time to toll + Thy knell, and that of follies pantomimical: + A nine weeks’ run, + And thou hast done + All thou canst do to make thyself inimical. + Adieu, embodiment of all inanity! + Excellent type of simpering insanity! + Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity! + Freed is thy soul! + + (_The Mask respondeth_.) + + Oh! master mine, + Look thou within thee, ere again ill-using me. + Art thou aware + Of nothing there + Which might abuse thee, as thou art abusing me? + A brain that mourns _thine_ unredeemed rascality? + A soul that weeps at _thy_ threadbare morality? + Both grieving that _their_ individuality + Is merged in thine? + + + + +THE GHOST, THE GALLANT, THE GAEL, AND THE GOBLIN. + + + O’er unreclaimed suburban clays + Some years ago were hobblin’ + An elderly ghost of easy ways, + And an influential goblin. + The ghost was a sombre spectral shape, + A fine old five-act fogy, + The goblin imp, a lithe young ape, + A fine low-comedy bogy. + + And as they exercised their joints, + Promoting quick digestion, + They talked on several curious points, + And raised this delicate question: + “Which of us two is Number One— + The ghostie, or the goblin?” + And o’er the point they raised in fun + They fairly fell a-squabblin’. + + They’d barely speak, and each, in fine, + Grew more and more reflective: + Each thought his own particular line + By chalks the more effective. + At length they settled some one should + By each of them be haunted, + And so arrange that either could + Exert his prowess vaunted. + + “The Quaint against the Statuesque”— + By competition lawful— + The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque, + The ghost the Grandly Awful. + “Now,” said the goblin, “here’s my plan— + In attitude commanding, + I see a stalwart Englishman + By yonder tailor’s standing. + + “The very fittest man on earth + My influence to try on— + Of gentle, p’r’aps of noble birth, + And dauntless as a lion! + Now wrap yourself within your shroud— + Remain in easy hearing— + Observe—you’ll hear him scream aloud + When I begin appearing!” + + The imp with yell unearthly—wild— + Threw off his dark enclosure: + His dauntless victim looked and smiled + With singular composure. + For hours he tried to daunt the youth, + For days, indeed, but vainly— + The stripling smiled!—to tell the truth, + The stripling smiled inanely. + + For weeks the goblin weird and wild, + That noble stripling haunted; + For weeks the stripling stood and smiled, + Unmoved and all undaunted. + The sombre ghost exclaimed, “Your plan + Has failed you, goblin, plainly: + Now watch yon hardy Hieland man, + So stalwart and ungainly. + + “These are the men who chase the roe, + Whose footsteps never falter, + Who bring with them, where’er they go, + A smack of old SIR WALTER. + Of such as he, the men sublime + Who lead their troops victorious, + Whose deeds go down to after-time, + Enshrined in annals glorious! + + “Of such as he the bard has said + ‘Hech thrawfu’ raltie rorkie! + Wi’ thecht ta’ croonie clapperhead + And fash’ wi’ unco pawkie!’ + He’ll faint away when I appear, + Upon his native heather; + Or p’r’aps he’ll only scream with fear, + Or p’r’aps the two together.” + + The spectre showed himself, alone, + To do his ghostly battling, + With curdling groan and dismal moan, + And lots of chains a-rattling! + But no—the chiel’s stout Gaelic stuff + Withstood all ghostly harrying; + His fingers closed upon the snuff + Which upwards he was carrying. + + For days that ghost declined to stir, + A foggy shapeless giant— + For weeks that splendid officer + Stared back again defiant. + Just as the Englishman returned + The goblin’s vulgar staring, + Just so the Scotchman boldly spurned + The ghost’s unmannered scaring. + + For several years the ghostly twain + These Britons bold have haunted, + But all their efforts are in vain— + Their victims stand undaunted. + This very day the imp, and ghost, + Whose powers the imp derided, + Stand each at his allotted post— + The bet is undecided. + + + + +THE PHANTOM CURATE. +A FABLE. + + + A BISHOP once—I will not name his see— + Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional; + From pulpit shackles never set them free, + And found a sin where sin was unintentional. + All pleasures ended in abuse auricular— + The Bishop was so terribly particular. + + Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man, + He sought to make of human pleasures clearances; + And form his priests on that much-lauded plan + Which pays undue attention to appearances. + He couldn’t do good deeds without a psalm in ’em, + Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in ’em. + + Enraged to find a deacon at a dance, + Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity, + He sought by open censure to enhance + Their dread of joining harmless social jollity. + Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety) + The ordinary pleasures of society. + + One evening, sitting at a pantomime + (Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of him), + Roaring at jokes, _sans_ metre, sense, or rhyme, + He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him, + His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it, + A curate, also heartily enjoying it. + + Again, ’t was Christmas Eve, and to enhance + His children’s pleasure in their harmless rollicking, + He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance; + When something checked the current of his frolicking: + That curate, with a maid he treated lover-ly, + Stood up and figured with him in the “Coverley!” + + Once, yielding to an universal choice + (The company’s demand was an emphatic one, + For the old Bishop had a glorious voice), + In a quartet he joined—an operatic one. + Harmless enough, though ne’er a word of grace in it, + When, lo! that curate came and took the bass in it! + + One day, when passing through a quiet street, + He stopped awhile and joined a Punch’s gathering; + And chuckled more than solemn folk think meet, + To see that gentleman his Judy lathering; + And heard, as Punch was being treated penalty, + That phantom curate laughing all hyænally. + + Now at a picnic, ’mid fair golden curls, + Bright eyes, straw hats, _bottines_ that fit amazingly, + A croquêt-bout is planned by all the girls; + And he, consenting, speaks of croquêt praisingly; + But suddenly declines to play at all in it— + The curate fiend has come to take a ball in it! + + Next, when at quiet sea-side village, freed + From cares episcopal and ties monarchical, + He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed, + In manner anything but hierarchical— + He sees—and fixes an unearthly stare on it— + That curate’s face, with half a yard of hair on it! + + At length he gave a charge, and spake this word: + “Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye may; + To check their harmless pleasuring’s absurd; + What laymen do without reproach, my clergy may.” + He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of him, + The curate vanished—no one since has heard of him. + + + + +KING BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO. + + + KING BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO + Was a man-eating African swell; + His sigh was a hullaballoo, + His whisper a horrible yell— + A horrible, horrible yell! + + Four subjects, and all of them male, + To BORRIA doubled the knee, + They were once on a far larger scale, + But he’d eaten the balance, you see + (“Scale” and “balance” is punning, you see). + + There was haughty PISH-TUSH-POOH-BAH, + There was lumbering DOODLE-DUM-DEY, + Despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH, + And good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH— + Exemplary TOOTLE-TUM-TEH. + + One day there was grief in the crew, + For they hadn’t a morsel of meat, + And BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO + Was dying for something to eat— + “Come, provide me with something to eat! + + “ALACK-A-DEY, famished I feel; + Oh, good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH, + Where on earth shall I look for a meal? + For I haven’t no dinner to-day!— + Not a morsel of dinner to-day! + + “Dear TOOTLE-TUM, what shall we do? + Come, get us a meal, or, in truth, + If you don’t, we shall have to eat you, + Oh, adorable friend of our youth! + Thou beloved little friend of our youth!” + + And he answered, “Oh, BUNGALEE BOO, + For a moment I hope you will wait,— + TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO + Is the Queen of a neighbouring state— + A remarkably neighbouring state. + + “TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO, + She would pickle deliciously cold— + And her four pretty Amazons, too, + Are enticing, and not very old— + Twenty-seven is not very old. + + “There is neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH, + There is rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH, + There is jocular WAGGETY-WEH, + There is musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH— + There’s the nightingale DOH-REH-MI-FAH!” + + So the forces of BUNGALEE BOO + Marched forth in a terrible row, + And the ladies who fought for QUEEN LOO + Prepared to encounter the foe— + This dreadful, insatiate foe! + + But they sharpened no weapons at all, + And they poisoned no arrows—not they! + They made ready to conquer or fall + In a totally different way— + An entirely different way. + + With a crimson and pearly-white dye + They endeavoured to make themselves fair, + With black they encircled each eye, + And with yellow they painted their hair + (It was wool, but they thought it was hair). + + And the forces they met in the field:— + And the men of KING BORRIA said, + “Amazonians, immediately yield!” + And their arrows they drew to the head— + Yes, drew them right up to the head. + + But jocular WAGGETY-WEH + Ogled DOODLE-DUM-DEY (which was wrong), + And neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH + Said, “TOOTLE-TUM, you go along! + You naughty old dear, go along!” + + And rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH + Tapped ALACK-A-DEY-AH with her fan; + And musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH + Said, “PISH, go away, you bad man! + Go away, you delightful young man!” + + And the Amazons simpered and sighed, + And they ogled, and giggled, and flushed, + And they opened their pretty eyes wide, + And they chuckled, and flirted, and blushed + (At least, if they could, they’d have blushed). + + But haughty PISH-TUSH-POOH-BAH + Said, “ALACK-A-DEY, what does this mean?” + And despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH + Said, “They think us uncommonly green! + Ha! ha! most uncommonly green!” + + Even blundering DOODLE-DUM-DEY + Was insensible quite to their leers, + And said good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH, + “It’s your blood we desire, pretty dears— + We have come for our dinners, my dears!” + + And the Queen of the Amazons fell + To BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO,— + In a mouthful he gulped, with a yell, + TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO— + The pretty QUEEN TOL-THE-ROL-LOO. + + And neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH + Was eaten by PISH-POOH-BAH, + And light-hearted WAGGETY-WEH + By dismal ALACK-A-DEY-AH— + Despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH. + + And rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH + Was eaten by DOODLE-DUM-DEY, + And musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH + By good little TOOTLE-DUM-TEH— + Exemplary TOOTLE-TUM-TEH! + + + + +BOB POLTER. + + + BOB POLTER was a navvy, and + His hands were coarse, and dirty too, + His homely face was rough and tanned, + His time of life was thirty-two. + + He lived among a working clan + (A wife he hadn’t got at all), + A decent, steady, sober man— + No saint, however—not at all. + + He smoked, but in a modest way, + Because he thought he needed it; + He drank a pot of beer a day, + And sometimes he exceeded it. + + At times he’d pass with other men + A loud convivial night or two, + With, very likely, now and then, + On Saturdays, a fight or two. + + But still he was a sober soul, + A labour-never-shirking man, + Who paid his way—upon the whole + A decent English working man. + + One day, when at the Nelson’s Head + (For which he may be blamed of you), + A holy man appeared, and said, + “Oh, ROBERT, I’m ashamed of you.” + + He laid his hand on ROBERT’S beer + Before he could drink up any, + And on the floor, with sigh and tear, + He poured the pot of “thruppenny.” + + “Oh, ROBERT, at this very bar + A truth you’ll be discovering, + A good and evil genius are + Around your noddle hovering. + + “They both are here to bid you shun + The other one’s society, + For Total Abstinence is one, + The other, Inebriety.” + + He waved his hand—a vapour came— + A wizard POLTER reckoned him; + A bogy rose and called his name, + And with his finger beckoned him. + + The monster’s salient points to sum,— + His heavy breath was portery: + His glowing nose suggested rum: + His eyes were gin-and-_wor_tery. + + His dress was torn—for dregs of ale + And slops of gin had rusted it; + His pimpled face was wan and pale, + Where filth had not encrusted it. + + “Come, POLTER,” said the fiend, “begin, + And keep the bowl a-flowing on— + A working man needs pints of gin + To keep his clockwork going on.” + + BOB shuddered: “Ah, you’ve made a miss + If you take me for one of you: + You filthy beast, get out of this— + BOB POLTER don’t wan’t none of you.” + + The demon gave a drunken shriek, + And crept away in stealthiness, + And lo! instead, a person sleek, + Who seemed to burst with healthiness. + + “In me, as your adviser hints, + Of Abstinence you’ve got a type— + Of MR. TWEEDIE’S pretty prints + I am the happy prototype. + + “If you abjure the social toast, + And pipes, and such frivolities, + You possibly some day may boast + My prepossessing qualities!” + + BOB rubbed his eyes, and made ’em blink: + “You almost make me tremble, you! + If I abjure fermented drink, + Shall I, indeed, resemble you? + + “And will my whiskers curl so tight? + My cheeks grow smug and muttony? + My face become so red and white? + My coat so blue and buttony? + + “Will trousers, such as yours, array + Extremities inferior? + Will chubbiness assert its sway + All over my exterior? + + “In this, my unenlightened state, + To work in heavy boots I comes; + Will pumps henceforward decorate + My tiddle toddle tootsicums? + + “And shall I get so plump and fresh, + And look no longer seedily? + My skin will henceforth fit my flesh + So tightly and so TWEEDIE-ly?” + + The phantom said, “You’ll have all this, + You’ll know no kind of huffiness, + Your life will be one chubby bliss, + One long unruffled puffiness!” + + “Be off!” said irritated BOB. + “Why come you here to bother one? + You pharisaical old snob, + You’re wuss almost than t’other one! + + “I takes my pipe—I takes my pot, + And drunk I’m never seen to be: + I’m no teetotaller or sot, + And as I am I mean to be!” + + + + +THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB. + + + STRIKE the concertina’s melancholy string! + Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything! + Let the piano’s martial blast + Rouse the Echoes of the Past, + For of AGIB, PRINCE OF TARTARY, I sing! + + Of AGIB, who, amid Tartaric scenes, + Wrote a lot of ballet music in his teens: + His gentle spirit rolls + In the melody of souls— + Which is pretty, but I don’t know what it means. + + Of AGIB, who could readily, at sight, + Strum a march upon the loud Theodolite. + He would diligently play + On the Zoetrope all day, + And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night. + + One winter—I am shaky in my dates— + Came two starving Tartar minstrels to his gates; + Oh, ALLAH be obeyed, + How infernally they played! + I remember that they called themselves the “Oüaits.” + + Oh! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage, + I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, + Photographically lined + On the tablet of my mind, + When a yesterday has faded from its page! + + Alas! PRINCE AGIB went and asked them in; + Gave them beer, and eggs, and sweets, and scent, and tin. + And when (as snobs would say) + They had “put it all away,” + He requested them to tune up and begin. + + Though its icy horror chill you to the core, + I will tell you what I never told before,— + The consequences true + Of that awful interview, + _For I listened at the keyhole in the door_! + + They played him a sonata—let me see! + “_Medulla oblongata_”—key of G. + Then they began to sing + That extremely lovely thing, + “_Scherzando_! _ma non troppo_, _ppp._” + + He gave them money, more than they could count, + Scent from a most ingenious little fount, + More beer, in little kegs, + Many dozen hard-boiled eggs, + And goodies to a fabulous amount. + + Now follows the dim horror of my tale, + And I feel I’m growing gradually pale, + For, even at this day, + Though its sting has passed away, + When I venture to remember it, I quail! + + The elder of the brothers gave a squeal, + All-overish it made me for to feel; + “Oh, PRINCE,” he says, says he, + “_If a Prince indeed you be_, + I’ve a mystery I’m going to reveal! + + “Oh, listen, if you’d shun a horrid death, + To what the gent who’s speaking to you saith: + No ‘Oüaits’ in truth are we, + As you fancy that we be, + For (ter-remble!) I am ALECK—this is BETH!” + + Said AGIB, “Oh! accursed of your kind, + I have heard that ye are men of evil mind!” + BETH gave a dreadful shriek— + But before he’d time to speak + I was mercilessly collared from behind. + + In number ten or twelve, or even more, + They fastened me full length upon the floor. + On my face extended flat, + I was walloped with a cat + For listening at the keyhole of a door. + + Oh! the horror of that agonizing thrill! + (I can feel the place in frosty weather still). + For a week from ten to four + I was fastened to the floor, + While a mercenary wopped me with a will + + They branded me and broke me on a wheel, + And they left me in an hospital to heal; + And, upon my solemn word, + I have never never heard + What those Tartars had determined to reveal. + + But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage, + I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, + Photographically lined + On the tablet of my mind, + When a yesterday has faded from its page + + + + +ELLEN MCJONES ABERDEEN. + + + MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS MCCLAN + Was the son of an elderly labouring man; + You’ve guessed him a Scotchman, shrewd reader, at sight, + And p’r’aps altogether, shrewd reader, you’re right. + + From the bonnie blue Forth to the lovely Deeside, + Round by Dingwall and Wrath to the mouth of the Clyde, + There wasn’t a child or a woman or man + Who could pipe with CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS MCCLAN. + + No other could wake such detestable groans, + With reed and with chaunter—with bag and with drones: + All day and ill night he delighted the chiels + With sniggering pibrochs and jiggety reels. + + He’d clamber a mountain and squat on the ground, + And the neighbouring maidens would gather around + To list to the pipes and to gaze in his een, + Especially ELLEN MCJONES ABERDEEN. + + All loved their MCCLAN, save a Sassenach brute, + Who came to the Highlands to fish and to shoot; + He dressed himself up in a Highlander way, + Tho’ his name it was PATTISON CORBY TORBAY. + + TORBAY had incurred a good deal of expense + To make him a Scotchman in every sense; + But this is a matter, you’ll readily own, + That isn’t a question of tailors alone. + + A Sassenach chief may be bonily built, + He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, and kilt; + Stick a skeän in his hose—wear an acre of stripes— + But he cannot assume an affection for pipes. + + CLONGLOCKETY’S pipings all night and all day + Quite frenzied poor PATTISON CORBY TORBAY; + The girls were amused at his singular spleen, + Especially ELLEN MCJONES ABERDEEN, + + “MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS, my lad, + With pibrochs and reels you are driving me mad. + If you really must play on that cursed affair, + My goodness! play something resembling an air.” + + Boiled over the blood of MACPHAIRSON MCCLAN— + The Clan of Clonglocketty rose as one man; + For all were enraged at the insult, I ween— + Especially ELLEN MCJONES ABERDEEN. + + “Let’s show,” said MCCLAN, “to this Sassenach loon + That the bagpipes _can_ play him a regular tune. + Let’s see,” said MCCLAN, as he thoughtfully sat, + “‘_In my Cottage_’ is easy—I’ll practise at that.” + + He blew at his “Cottage,” and blew with a will, + For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until + (You’ll hardly believe it) MCCLAN, I declare, + Elicited something resembling an air. + + It was wild—it was fitful—as wild as the breeze— + It wandered about into several keys; + It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I’m aware; + But still it distinctly suggested an air. + + The Sassenach screamed, and the Sassenach danced; + He shrieked in his agony—bellowed and pranced; + And the maidens who gathered rejoiced at the scene— + Especially ELLEN MCJONES ABERDEEN. + + “Hech gather, hech gather, hech gather around; + And fill a’ ye lugs wi’ the exquisite sound. + An air fra’ the bagpipes—beat that if ye can! + Hurrah for CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS MCCLAN!” + + The fame of his piping spread over the land: + Respectable widows proposed for his hand, + And maidens came flocking to sit on the green— + Especially ELLEN MCJONES ABERDEEN. + + One morning the fidgety Sassenach swore + He’d stand it no longer—he drew his claymore, + And (this was, I think, in extremely bad taste) + Divided CLONGLOCKETTY close to the waist. + + Oh! loud were the wailings for ANGUS MCCLAN, + Oh! deep was the grief for that excellent man; + The maids stood aghast at the horrible scene— + Especially ELLEN MCJONES ABERDEEN. + + It sorrowed poor PATTISON CORBY TORBAY + To find them “take on” in this serious way; + He pitied the poor little fluttering birds, + And solaced their souls with the following words: + + “Oh, maidens,” said PATTISON, touching his hat, + “Don’t blubber, my dears, for a fellow like that; + Observe, I’m a very superior man, + A much better fellow than ANGUS MCCLAN.” + + They smiled when he winked and addressed them as “dears,” + And they all of them vowed, as they dried up their tears, + A pleasanter gentleman never was seen— + Especially ELLEN MCJONES ABERDEEN. + + + + +PETER THE WAG. + + + POLICEMAN PETER FORTH I drag + From his obscure retreat: + He was a merry genial wag, + Who loved a mad conceit. + If he were asked the time of day, + By country bumpkins green, + He not unfrequently would say, + “A quarter past thirteen.” + + If ever you by word of mouth + Inquired of MISTER FORTH + The way to somewhere in the South, + He always sent you North. + With little boys his beat along + He loved to stop and play; + He loved to send old ladies wrong, + And teach their feet to stray. + + He would in frolic moments, when + Such mischief bent upon, + Take Bishops up as betting men— + Bid Ministers move on. + Then all the worthy boys he knew + He regularly licked, + And always collared people who + Had had their pockets picked. + + He was not naturally bad, + Or viciously inclined, + But from his early youth he had + A waggish turn of mind. + The Men of London grimly scowled + With indignation wild; + The Men of London gruffly growled, + But PETER calmly smiled. + + Against this minion of the Crown + The swelling murmurs grew— + From Camberwell to Kentish Town— + From Rotherhithe to Kew. + Still humoured he his wagsome turn, + And fed in various ways + The coward rage that dared to burn, + But did not dare to blaze. + + Still, Retribution has her day, + Although her flight is slow: + _One day that Crusher lost his way_ + _Near Poland Street_, _Soho_. + The haughty boy, too proud to ask, + To find his way resolved, + And in the tangle of his task + Got more and more involved. + + The Men of London, overjoyed, + Came there to jeer their foe, + And flocking crowds completely cloyed + The mazes of Soho. + The news on telegraphic wires + Sped swiftly o’er the lea, + Excursion trains from distant shires + Brought myriads to see. + + For weeks he trod his self-made beats + Through Newport- Gerrard- Bear- + Greek- Rupert- Frith- Dean- Poland- Streets, + And into Golden Square. + But all, alas! in vain, for when + He tried to learn the way + Of little boys or grown-up men, + They none of them would say. + + Their eyes would flash—their teeth would grind— + Their lips would tightly curl— + They’d say, “Thy way thyself must find, + Thou misdirecting churl!” + And, similarly, also, when + He tried a foreign friend; + Italians answered, “_Il balen_”— + The French, “No comprehend.” + + The Russ would say with gleaming eye + “Sevastopol!” and groan. + The Greek said, “Τυπτω, τυπτομαι, + Τυπτω, τυπτειν, τυπτων.” + To wander thus for many a year + That Crusher never ceased— + The Men of London dropped a tear, + Their anger was appeased. + + At length exploring gangs were sent + To find poor FORTH’S remains— + A handsome grant by Parliament + Was voted for their pains. + To seek the poor policeman out + Bold spirits volunteered, + And when they swore they’d solve the doubt, + The Men of London cheered. + + And in a yard, dark, dank, and drear, + They found him, on the floor— + It leads from Richmond Buildings—near + The Royalty stage-door. + With brandy cold and brandy hot + They plied him, starved and wet, + And made him sergeant on the spot— + The Men of London’s pet! + + + + +TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE. +BY A MISERABLE WRETCH. + + + ROLL on, thou ball, roll on! + Through pathless realms of Space + Roll on! + What though I’m in a sorry case? + What though I cannot meet my bills? + What though I suffer toothache’s ills? + What though I swallow countless pills? + Never _you_ mind! + Roll on! + + Roll on, thou ball, roll on! + Through seas of inky air + Roll on! + It’s true I’ve got no shirts to wear; + It’s true my butcher’s bill is due; + It’s true my prospects all look blue— + But don’t let that unsettle you! + Never _you_ mind! + Roll on! + + [_It rolls on_. + + + + +GENTLE ALICE BROWN. + + + IT was a robber’s daughter, and her name was ALICE BROWN, + Her father was the terror of a small Italian town; + Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing; + But it isn’t of her parents that I’m going for to sing. + + As ALICE was a-sitting at her window-sill one day, + A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way; + She cast her eyes upon him, and he looked so good and true, + That she thought, “I could be happy with a gentleman like you!” + + And every morning passed her house that cream of gentlemen, + She knew she might expect him at a quarter unto ten; + A sorter in the Custom-house, it was his daily road + (The Custom-house was fifteen minutes’ walk from her abode). + + But ALICE was a pious girl, who knew it wasn’t wise + To look at strange young sorters with expressive purple eyes; + So she sought the village priest to whom her family confessed, + The priest by whom their little sins were carefully assessed. + + “Oh, holy father,” ALICE said, “’t would grieve you, would it not, + To discover that I was a most disreputable lot? + Of all unhappy sinners I’m the most unhappy one!” + The padre said, “Whatever have you been and gone and done?” + + “I have helped mamma to steal a little kiddy from its dad, + I’ve assisted dear papa in cutting up a little lad, + I’ve planned a little burglary and forged a little cheque, + And slain a little baby for the coral on its neck!” + + The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a silent tear, + And said, “You mustn’t judge yourself too heavily, my dear: + It’s wrong to murder babies, little corals for to fleece; + But sins like these one expiates at half-a-crown apiece. + + “Girls will be girls—you’re very young, and flighty in your mind; + Old heads upon young shoulders we must not expect to find: + We mustn’t be too hard upon these little girlish tricks— + Let’s see—five crimes at half-a-crown—exactly twelve-and-six.” + + “Oh, father,” little Alice cried, “your kindness makes me weep, + You do these little things for me so singularly cheap— + Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget; + But, oh! there is another crime I haven’t mentioned yet! + + “A pleasant-looking gentleman, with pretty purple eyes, + I’ve noticed at my window, as I’ve sat a-catching flies; + He passes by it every day as certain as can be— + I blush to say I’ve winked at him, and he has winked at me!” + + “For shame!” said FATHER PAUL, “my erring daughter! On my word + This is the most distressing news that I have ever heard. + Why, naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged your hand + To a promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band! + + “This dreadful piece of news will pain your worthy parents so! + They are the most remunerative customers I know; + For many many years they’ve kept starvation from my doors: + I never knew so criminal a family as yours! + + “The common country folk in this insipid neighbourhood + Have nothing to confess, they’re so ridiculously good; + And if you marry any one respectable at all, + Why, you’ll reform, and what will then become of FATHER PAUL?” + + The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon his crown, + And started off in haste to tell the news to ROBBER BROWN— + To tell him how his daughter, who was now for marriage fit, + Had winked upon a sorter, who reciprocated it. + + Good ROBBER BROWN he muffled up his anger pretty well: + He said, “I have a notion, and that notion I will tell; + I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits, + And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits. + + “I’ve studied human nature, and I know a thing or two: + Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do— + A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall + When she looks upon his body chopped particularly small.” + + He traced that gallant sorter to a still suburban square; + He watched his opportunity, and seized him unaware; + He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head, + And MRS. BROWN dissected him before she went to bed. + + And pretty little ALICE grew more settled in her mind, + She never more was guilty of a weakness of the kind, + Until at length good ROBBER BROWN bestowed her pretty hand + On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band. + + + + +MISTER WILLIAM. + + + OH, listen to the tale of MISTER WILLIAM, if you please, + Whom naughty, naughty judges sent away beyond the seas. + He forged a party’s will, which caused anxiety and strife, + Resulting in his getting penal servitude for life. + + He was a kindly goodly man, and naturally prone, + Instead of taking others’ gold, to give away his own. + But he had heard of Vice, and longed for only once to strike— + To plan _one_ little wickedness—to see what it was like. + + He argued with himself, and said, “A spotless man am I; + I can’t be more respectable, however hard I try! + For six and thirty years I’ve always been as good as gold, + And now for half an hour I’ll plan infamy untold! + + “A baby who is wicked at the early age of one, + And then reforms—and dies at thirty-six a spotless son, + Is never, never saddled with his babyhood’s defect, + But earns from worthy men consideration and respect. + + “So one who never revelled in discreditable tricks + Until he reached the comfortable age of thirty-six, + May then for half an hour perpetrate a deed of shame, + Without incurring permanent disgrace, or even blame. + + “That babies don’t commit such crimes as forgery is true, + But little sins develop, if you leave ’em to accrue; + And he who shuns all vices as successive seasons roll, + Should reap at length the benefit of so much self-control. + + “The common sin of babyhood—objecting to be drest— + If you leave it to accumulate at compound interest, + For anything you know, may represent, if you’re alive, + A burglary or murder at the age of thirty-five. + + “Still, I wouldn’t take advantage of this fact, but be content + With some pardonable folly—it’s a mere experiment. + The greater the temptation to go wrong, the less the sin; + So with something that’s particularly tempting I’ll begin. + + “I would not steal a penny, for my income’s very fair— + I do not want a penny—I have pennies and to spare— + And if I stole a penny from a money-bag or till, + The sin would be enormous—the temptation being _nil_. + + “But if I broke asunder all such pettifogging bounds, + And forged a party’s Will for (say) Five Hundred Thousand Pounds, + With such an irresistible temptation to a haul, + Of course the sin must be infinitesimally small. + + “There’s WILSON who is dying—he has wealth from Stock and rent— + If I divert his riches from their natural descent, + I’m placed in a position to indulge each little whim.” + So he diverted them—and they, in turn, diverted him. + + Unfortunately, though, by some unpardonable flaw, + Temptation isn’t recognized by Britain’s Common Law; + Men found him out by some peculiarity of touch, + And WILLIAM got a “lifer,” which annoyed him very much. + + For, ah! he never reconciled himself to life in gaol, + He fretted and he pined, and grew dispirited and pale; + He was numbered like a cabman, too, which told upon him so + That his spirits, once so buoyant, grew uncomfortably low. + + And sympathetic gaolers would remark, “It’s very true, + He ain’t been brought up common, like the likes of me and you.” + So they took him into hospital, and gave him mutton chops, + And chocolate, and arrowroot, and buns, and malt and hops. + + Kind Clergymen, besides, grew interested in his fate, + Affected by the details of his pitiable state. + They waited on the Secretary, somewhere in Whitehall, + Who said he would receive them any day they liked to call. + + “Consider, sir, the hardship of this interesting case: + A prison life brings with it something very like disgrace; + It’s telling on young WILLIAM, who’s reduced to skin and bone— + Remember he’s a gentleman, with money of his own. + + “He had an ample income, and of course he stands in need + Of sherry with his dinner, and his customary weed; + No delicacies now can pass his gentlemanly lips— + He misses his sea-bathing and his continental trips. + + “He says the other prisoners are commonplace and rude; + He says he cannot relish uncongenial prison food. + When quite a boy they taught him to distinguish Good from Bad, + And other educational advantages he’s had. + + “A burglar or garotter, or, indeed, a common thief + Is very glad to batten on potatoes and on beef, + Or anything, in short, that prison kitchens can afford,— + A cut above the diet in a common workhouse ward. + + “But beef and mutton-broth don’t seem to suit our WILLIAM’S whim, + A boon to other prisoners—a punishment to him. + It never was intended that the discipline of gaol + Should dash a convict’s spirits, sir, or make him thin or pale.” + + “Good Gracious Me!” that sympathetic Secretary cried, + “Suppose in prison fetters MISTER WILLIAM should have died! + Dear me, of course! Imprisonment for _Life_ his sentence saith: + I’m very glad you mentioned it—it might have been For Death! + + “Release him with a ticket—he’ll be better then, no doubt, + And tell him I apologize.” So MISTER WILLIAM’S out. + I hope he will be careful in his manuscripts, I’m sure, + And not begin experimentalizing any more. + + + + +THE BUMBOAT WOMAN’S STORY. + + + I’M old, my dears, and shrivelled with age, and work, and grief, + My eyes are gone, and my teeth have been drawn by Time, the Thief! + For terrible sights I’ve seen, and dangers great I’ve run— + I’m nearly seventy now, and my work is almost done! + + Ah! I’ve been young in my time, and I’ve played the deuce with men! + I’m speaking of ten years past—I was barely sixty then: + My cheeks were mellow and soft, and my eyes were large and sweet, + POLL PINEAPPLE’S eyes were the standing toast of the Royal Fleet! + + A bumboat woman was I, and I faithfully served the ships + With apples and cakes, and fowls, and beer, and halfpenny dips, + And beef for the generous mess, where the officers dine at nights, + And fine fresh peppermint drops for the rollicking midshipmites. + + Of all the kind commanders who anchored in Portsmouth Bay, + By far the sweetest of all was kind LIEUTENANT BELAYE.’ + LIEUTENANT BELAYE commanded the gunboat _Hot Cross Bun_, + She was seven and thirty feet in length, and she carried a gun. + + With a laudable view of enhancing his country’s naval pride, + When people inquired her size, LIEUTENANT BELAYE replied, + “Oh, my ship, my ship is the first of the Hundred and Seventy-ones!” + Which meant her tonnage, but people imagined it meant her guns. + + Whenever I went on board he would beckon me down below, + “Come down, Little Buttercup, come” (for he loved to call me so), + And he’d tell of the fights at sea in which he’d taken a part, + And so LIEUTENANT BELAYE won poor POLL PINEAPPLE’S heart! + + But at length his orders came, and he said one day, said he, + “I’m ordered to sail with the _Hot Cross Bun_ to the German Sea.” + And the Portsmouth maidens wept when they learnt the evil day, + For every Portsmouth maid loved good LIEUTENANT BELAYE. + + And I went to a back back street, with plenty of cheap cheap shops, + And I bought an oilskin hat and a second-hand suit of slops, + And I went to LIEUTENANT BELAYE (and he never suspected _me_!) + And I entered myself as a chap as wanted to go to sea. + + We sailed that afternoon at the mystic hour of one,— + Remarkably nice young men were the crew of the _Hot Cross Bun_, + I’m sorry to say that I’ve heard that sailors sometimes swear, + But I never yet heard a _Bun_ say anything wrong, I declare. + + When Jack Tars meet, they meet with a “Messmate, ho! What cheer?” + But here, on the _Hot Cross Bun_, it was “How do you do, my dear?” + When Jack Tars growl, I believe they growl with a big big D— + But the strongest oath of the _Hot Cross Buns_ was a mild “Dear me!” + + Yet, though they were all well-bred, you could scarcely call them + slick: + Whenever a sea was on, they were all extremely sick; + And whenever the weather was calm, and the wind was light and fair, + They spent more time than a sailor should on his back back hair. + + They certainly shivered and shook when ordered aloft to run, + And they screamed when LIEUTENANT BELAYE discharged his only gun. + And as he was proud of his gun—such pride is hardly wrong— + The Lieutenant was blazing away at intervals all day long. + + They all agreed very well, though at times you heard it said + That BILL had a way of his own of making his lips look red— + That JOE looked quite his age—or somebody might declare + That BARNACLE’S long pig-tail was never his own own hair. + + BELAYE would admit that his men were of no great use to him, + “But, then,” he would say, “there is little to do on a gunboat trim + I can hand, and reef, and steer, and fire my big gun too— + And it _is_ such a treat to sail with a gentle well-bred crew.” + + I saw him every day. How the happy moments sped! + Reef topsails! Make all taut! There’s dirty weather ahead! + (I do not mean that tempests threatened the _Hot Cross Bun_: + In _that_ case, I don’t know whatever we _should_ have done!) + + After a fortnight’s cruise, we put into port one day, + And off on leave for a week went kind LIEUTENANT BELAYE, + And after a long long week had passed (and it seemed like a life), + LIEUTENANT BELAYE returned to his ship with a fair young wife! + + He up, and he says, says he, “O crew of the _Hot Cross Bun_, + Here is the wife of my heart, for the Church has made us one!” + And as he uttered the word, the crew went out of their wits, + And all fell down in so many separate fainting-fits. + + And then their hair came down, or off, as the case might be, + And lo! the rest of the crew were simple girls, like me, + Who all had fled from their homes in a sailor’s blue array, + To follow the shifting fate of kind LIEUTENANT BELAYE. + + * * * * * * * * + + It’s strange to think that _I_ should ever have loved young men, + But I’m speaking of ten years past—I was barely sixty then, + And now my cheeks are furrowed with grief and age, I trow! + And poor POLL PINEAPPLE’S eyes have lost their lustre now! + + + + +LOST MR. BLAKE. + + + MR. BLAKE was a regular out-and-out hardened sinner, + Who was quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to speak, + He was in the habit of smoking a long pipe and drinking a glass of + grog on a Sunday after dinner, + And seldom thought of going to church more than twice or—if Good + Friday or Christmas Day happened to come in it—three times a week. + + He was quite indifferent as to the particular kinds of dresses + That the clergyman wore at church where he used to go to pray, + And whatever he did in the way of relieving a chap’s distresses, + He always did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, hole-and-corner + sort of way. + + I have known him indulge in profane, ungentlemanly emphatics, + When the Protestant Church has been divided on the subject of the + proper width of a chasuble’s hem; + I have even known him to sneer at albs—and as for dalmatics, + Words can’t convey an idea of the contempt he expressed for _them_. + + He didn’t believe in persons who, not being well off themselves, are + obliged to confine their charitable exertions to collecting money from + wealthier people, + And looked upon individuals of the former class as ecclesiastical + hawks; + He used to say that he would no more think of interfering with his + priest’s robes than with his church or his steeple, + And that he did not consider his soul imperilled because somebody + over whom he had no influence whatever, chose to dress himself up like + an exaggerated GUY FAWKES. + + This shocking old vagabond was so unutterably shameless + That he actually went a-courting a very respectable and pious + middle-aged sister, by the name of BIGGS. + She was a rather attractive widow, whose life as such had always been + particularly blameless; + Her first husband had left her a secure but moderate competence, + owing to some fortunate speculations in the matter of figs. + + She was an excellent person in every way—and won the respect even of + MRS. GRUNDY, + She was a good housewife, too, and wouldn’t have wasted a penny if + she had owned the Koh-i-noor. + She was just as strict as he was lax in her observance of Sunday, + And being a good economist, and charitable besides, she took all + the bones and cold potatoes and broken pie-crusts and candle-ends + (when she had quite done with them), and made them into an excellent + soup for the deserving poor. + + I am sorry to say that she rather took to BLAKE—that outcast of + society, + And when respectable brothers who were fond of her began to look + dubious and to cough, + She would say, “Oh, my friends, it’s because I hope to bring this poor + benighted soul back to virtue and propriety,” + And besides, the poor benighted soul, with all his faults, was + uncommonly well off. + + And when MR. BLAKE’S dissipated friends called his attention to the + frown or the pout of her, + Whenever he did anything which appeared to her to savour of an + unmentionable place, + He would say that “she would be a very decent old girl when all that + nonsense was knocked out of her,” + And his method of knocking it out of her is one that covered him + with disgrace. + + She was fond of going to church services four times every Sunday, and, + four or five times in the week, and never seemed to pall of them, + So he hunted out all the churches within a convenient distance that + had services at different hours, so to speak; + And when he had married her he positively insisted upon their going to + all of them, + So they contrived to do about twelve churches every Sunday, and, if + they had luck, from twenty-two to twenty-three in the course of the + week. + + She was fond of dropping his sovereigns ostentatiously into the plate, + and she liked to see them stand out rather conspicuously against the + commonplace half-crowns and shillings, + So he took her to all the charity sermons, and if by any + extraordinary chance there wasn’t a charity sermon anywhere, he would + drop a couple of sovereigns (one for him and one for her) into the + poor-box at the door; + And as he always deducted the sums thus given in charity from the + housekeeping money, and the money he allowed her for her bonnets and + frillings, + She soon began to find that even charity, if you allow it to + interfere with your personal luxuries, becomes an intolerable bore. + + On Sundays she was always melancholy and anything but good society, + For that day in her household was a day of sighings and sobbings + and wringing of hands and shaking of heads: + She wouldn’t hear of a button being sewn on a glove, because it was a + work neither of necessity nor of piety, + And strictly prohibited her servants from amusing themselves, or + indeed doing anything at all except dusting the drawing-rooms, + cleaning the boots and shoes, cooking the parlour dinner, waiting + generally on the family, and making the beds. + + But BLAKE even went further than that, and said that people should do + their own works of necessity, and not delegate them to persons in a + menial situation, + So he wouldn’t allow his servants to do so much as even answer a + bell. + Here he is making his wife carry up the water for her bath to the + second floor, much against her inclination,— + And why in the world the gentleman who illustrates these ballads + has put him in a cocked hat is more than I can tell. + + After about three months of this sort of thing, taking the smooth with + the rough of it, + (Blacking her own boots and peeling her own potatoes was not her + notion of connubial bliss), + MRS. BLAKE began to find that she had pretty nearly had enough of it, + And came, in course of time, to think that BLAKE’S own original + line of conduct wasn’t so much amiss. + + And now that wicked person—that detestable sinner (“BELIAL BLAKE” his + friends and well-wishers call him for his atrocities), + And his poor deluded victim, whom all her Christian brothers + dislike and pity so, + Go to the parish church only on Sunday morning and afternoon and + occasionally on a week-day, and spend their evenings in connubial + fondlings and affectionate reciprocities, + And I should like to know where in the world (or rather, out of it) + they expect to go! + + + + +THE BABY’S VENGEANCE. + + + WEARY at heart and extremely ill + Was PALEY VOLLAIRE of Bromptonville, + In a dirty lodging, with fever down, + Close to the Polygon, Somers Town. + + PALEY VOLLAIRE was an only son + (For why? His mother had had but one), + And PALEY inherited gold and grounds + Worth several hundred thousand pounds. + + But he, like many a rich young man, + Through this magnificent fortune ran, + And nothing was left for his daily needs + But duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds. + + Shabby and sorry and sorely sick, + He slept, and dreamt that the clock’s “tick, tick,” + Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife, + Snicking off bits of his shortened life. + + He woke and counted the pips on the walls, + The outdoor passengers’ loud footfalls, + And reckoned all over, and reckoned again, + The little white tufts on his counterpane. + + A medical man to his bedside came. + (I can’t remember that doctor’s name), + And said, “You’ll die in a very short while + If you don’t set sail for Madeira’s isle.” + + “Go to Madeira? goodness me! + I haven’t the money to pay your fee!” + “Then, PALEY VOLLAIRE,” said the leech, “good bye; + I’ll come no more, for your’re sure to die.” + + He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast; + “Oh, send,” said he, “for FREDERICK WEST, + Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim: + I’ve a terrible tale to whisper him!” + + Poor was FREDERICK’S lot in life,— + A dustman he with a fair young wife, + A worthy man with a hard-earned store, + A hundred and seventy pounds—or more. + + FREDERICK came, and he said, “Maybe + You’ll say what you happened to want with me?” + “Wronged boy,” said PALEY VOLLAIRE, “I will, + But don’t you fidget yourself—sit still.” + + THE TERRIBLE TALE. + + “’Tis now some thirty-seven years ago + Since first began the plot that I’m revealing, + A fine young woman, whom you ought to know, + Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing. + Herself by means of mangling reimbursing, + And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing. + + “Two little babes dwelt in their humble cot: + One was her own—the other only lent to her: + _Her own she slighted_. Tempted by a lot + Of gold and silver regularly sent to her, + She ministered unto the little other + In the capacity of foster-mother. + + “_I was her own_. Oh! how I lay and sobbed + In my poor cradle—deeply, deeply cursing + The rich man’s pampered bantling, who had robbed + My only birthright—an attentive nursing! + Sometimes in hatred of my foster-brother, + I gnashed my gums—which terrified my mother. + + “One day—it was quite early in the week— + I _in_ MY _cradle having placed the bantling_— + Crept into his! He had not learnt to speak, + But I could see his face with anger mantling. + It was imprudent—well, disgraceful maybe, + For, oh! I was a bad, blackhearted baby! + + “So great a luxury was food, I think + No wickedness but I was game to try for it. + _Now_ if I wanted anything to drink + At any time, I only had to cry for it! + _Once_, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking, + My blubbering involved a serious smacking! + + “We grew up in the usual way—my friend, + My foster-brother, daily growing thinner, + While gradually I began to mend, + And thrived amazingly on double dinner. + And every one, besides my foster-mother, + Believed that either of us was the other. + + “I came into _his_ wealth—I bore _his_ name, + I bear it still—_his_ property I squandered— + I mortgaged everything—and now (oh, shame!) + Into a Somers Town shake-down I’ve wandered! + I am no PALEY—no, VOLLAIRE—it’s true, my boy! + The only rightful PALEY V. is _you_, my boy! + + “And all I have is yours—and yours is mine. + I still may place you in your true position: + Give me the pounds you’ve saved, and I’ll resign + My noble name, my rank, and my condition. + So far my wickedness in falsely owning + Your vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!” + + * * * * * * * + + FREDERICK he was a simple soul, + He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll, + And gave to PALEY his hard-earned store, + A hundred and seventy pounds or more. + + PALEY VOLLAIRE, with many a groan, + Gave FREDERICK all that he called his own,— + Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean, + A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane. + + And FRED (entitled to all things there) + He took the fever from MR. VOLLAIRE, + Which killed poor FREDERICK WEST. Meanwhile + VOLLAIRE sailed off to Madeira’s isle. + + + + +THE CAPTAIN AND THE MERMAIDS. + + + I SING a legend of the sea, + So hard-a-port upon your lee! + A ship on starboard tack! + She’s bound upon a private cruise— + (This is the kind of spice I use + To give a salt-sea smack). + + Behold, on every afternoon + (Save in a gale or strong Monsoon) + Great CAPTAIN CAPEL CLEGGS + (Great morally, though rather short) + Sat at an open weather-port + And aired his shapely legs. + + And Mermaids hung around in flocks, + On cable chains and distant rocks, + To gaze upon those limbs; + For legs like those, of flesh and bone, + Are things “not generally known” + To any Merman TIMBS. + + But Mermen didn’t seem to care + Much time (as far as I’m aware) + With CLEGGS’S legs to spend; + Though Mermaids swam around all day + And gazed, exclaiming, “_That’s_ the way + A gentleman should end! + + “A pair of legs with well-cut knees, + And calves and ankles such as these + Which we in rapture hail, + Are far more eloquent, it’s clear + (When clothed in silk and kerseymere), + Than any nasty tail.” + + And CLEGGS—a worthy kind old boy— + Rejoiced to add to others’ joy, + And, when the day was dry, + Because it pleased the lookers-on, + He sat from morn till night—though con- + Stitutionally shy. + + At first the Mermen laughed, “Pooh! pooh!” + But finally they jealous grew, + And sounded loud recalls; + But vainly. So these fishy males + Declared they too would clothe their tails + In silken hose and smalls. + + They set to work, these water-men, + And made their nether robes—but when + They drew with dainty touch + The kerseymere upon their tails, + They found it scraped against their scales, + And hurt them very much. + + The silk, besides, with which they chose + To deck their tails by way of hose + (They never thought of shoon), + For such a use was much too thin,— + It tore against the caudal fin, + And “went in ladders” soon. + + So they designed another plan: + They sent their most seductive man + This note to him to show— + “Our Monarch sends to CAPTAIN CLEGGS + His humble compliments, and begs + He’ll join him down below; + + “We’ve pleasant homes below the sea— + Besides, if CAPTAIN CLEGGS should be + (As our advices say) + A judge of Mermaids, he will find + Our lady-fish of every kind + Inspection will repay.” + + Good CAPEL sent a kind reply, + For CAPEL thought he could descry + An admirable plan + To study all their ways and laws— + (But not their lady-fish, because + He was a married man). + + The Merman sank—the Captain too + Jumped overboard, and dropped from view + Like stone from catapult; + And when he reached the Merman’s lair, + He certainly was welcomed there, + But, ah! with what result? + + They didn’t let him learn their law, + Or make a note of what he saw, + Or interesting mem.: + The lady-fish he couldn’t find, + But that, of course, he didn’t mind— + He didn’t come for them. + + For though, when CAPTAIN CAPEL sank, + The Mermen drawn in double rank + Gave him a hearty hail, + Yet when secure of CAPTAIN CLEGGS, + They cut off both his lovely legs, + And gave him _such_ a tail! + + When CAPTAIN CLEGGS returned aboard, + His blithesome crew convulsive roar’d, + To see him altered so. + The Admiralty did insist + That he upon the Half-pay List + Immediately should go. + + In vain declared the poor old salt, + “It’s my misfortune—not my fault,” + With tear and trembling lip— + In vain poor CAPEL begged and begged. + “A man must be completely legged + Who rules a British ship.” + + So spake the stern First Lord aloud— + He was a wag, though very proud, + And much rejoiced to say, + “You’re only half a captain now— + And so, my worthy friend, I vow + You’ll only get half-pay!” + + + + +ANNIE PROTHEROE. +A LEGEND OF STRATFORD-LE-BOW. + + + OH! listen to the tale of little ANNIE PROTHEROE. + She kept a small post-office in the neighbourhood of Bow; + She loved a skilled mechanic, who was famous in his day— + A gentle executioner whose name was GILBERT CLAY. + + I think I hear you say, “A dreadful subject for your rhymes!” + O reader, do not shrink—he didn’t live in modern times! + He lived so long ago (the sketch will show it at a glance) + That all his actions glitter with the lime-light of Romance. + + In busy times he laboured at his gentle craft all day— + “No doubt you mean his Cal-craft,” you amusingly will say— + But, no—he didn’t operate with common bits of string, + He was a Public Headsman, which is quite another thing. + + And when his work was over, they would ramble o’er the lea, + And sit beneath the frondage of an elderberry tree, + And ANNIE’S simple prattle entertained him on his walk, + For public executions formed the subject of her talk. + + And sometimes he’d explain to her, which charmed her very much, + How famous operators vary very much in touch, + And then, perhaps, he’d show how he himself performed the trick, + And illustrate his meaning with a poppy and a stick. + + Or, if it rained, the little maid would stop at home, and look + At his favourable notices, all pasted in a book, + And then her cheek would flush—her swimming eyes would dance with joy + In a glow of admiration at the prowess of her boy. + + One summer eve, at supper-time, the gentle GILBERT said + (As he helped his pretty ANNIE to a slice of collared head), + “This reminds me I must settle on the next ensuing day + The hash of that unmitigated villain PETER GRAY.” + + He saw his ANNIE tremble and he saw his ANNIE start, + Her changing colour trumpeted the flutter at her heart; + Young GILBERT’S manly bosom rose and sank with jealous fear, + And he said, “O gentle ANNIE, what’s the meaning of this here?” + + And ANNIE answered, blushing in an interesting way, + “You think, no doubt, I’m sighing for that felon PETER GRAY: + That I was his young woman is unquestionably true, + But not since I began a-keeping company with you.” + + Then GILBERT, who was irritable, rose and loudly swore + He’d know the reason why if she refused to tell him more; + And she answered (all the woman in her flashing from her eyes) + “You mustn’t ask no questions, and you won’t be told no lies! + + “Few lovers have the privilege enjoyed, my dear, by you, + Of chopping off a rival’s head and quartering him too! + Of vengeance, dear, to-morrow you will surely take your fill!” + And GILBERT ground his molars as he answered her, “I will!” + + Young GILBERT rose from table with a stern determined look, + And, frowning, took an inexpensive hatchet from its hook; + And ANNIE watched his movements with an interested air— + For the morrow—for the morrow he was going to prepare! + + He chipped it with a hammer and he chopped it with a bill, + He poured sulphuric acid on the edge of it, until + This terrible Avenger of the Majesty of Law + Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw. + + And ANNIE said, “O GILBERT, dear, I do not understand + Why ever you are injuring that hatchet in your hand?” + He said, “It is intended for to lacerate and flay + The neck of that unmitigated villain PETER GRAY!” + + “Now, GILBERT,” ANNIE answered, “wicked headsman, just beware— + I won’t have PETER tortured with that horrible affair; + If you appear with that, you may depend you’ll rue the day.” + But GILBERT said, “Oh, shall I?” which was just his nasty way. + + He saw a look of anger from her eyes distinctly dart, + For ANNIE was a woman, and had pity in her heart! + She wished him a good evening—he answered with a glare; + She only said, “Remember, for your ANNIE will be there!” + + * * * * * * * * + + The morrow GILBERT boldly on the scaffold took his stand, + With a vizor on his face and with a hatchet in his hand, + And all the people noticed that the Engine of the Law + Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw. + + The felon very coolly loosed his collar and his stock, + And placed his wicked head upon the handy little block. + The hatchet was uplifted for to settle PETER GRAY, + When GILBERT plainly heard a woman’s voice exclaiming, “Stay!” + + ’Twas ANNIE, gentle ANNIE, as you’ll easily believe. + “O GILBERT, you must spare him, for I bring him a reprieve, + It came from our Home Secretary many weeks ago, + And passed through that post-office which I used to keep at Bow. + + “I loved you, loved you madly, and you know it, GILBERT CLAY, + And as I’d quite surrendered all idea of PETER GRAY, + I quietly suppressed it, as you’ll clearly understand, + For I thought it might be awkward if he came and claimed my hand. + + “In anger at my secret (which I could not tell before), + To lacerate poor PETER GRAY vindictively you swore; + I told you if you used that blunted axe you’d rue the day, + And so you will, young GILBERT, for I’ll marry PETER GRAY!” + + [_And so she did_. + + + + +AN UNFORTUNATE LIKENESS. + + + I’VE painted SHAKESPEARE all my life— + “An infant” (even then at “play”!) + “A boy,” with stage-ambition rife, + Then “Married to ANN HATHAWAY.” + + “The bard’s first ticket night” (or “ben.”), + His “First appearance on the stage,” + His “Call before the curtain”—then + “Rejoicings when he came of age.” + + The bard play-writing in his room, + The bard a humble lawyer’s clerk. + The bard a lawyer {156a}—parson {156b}—groom {156c}— + The bard deer-stealing, after dark. + + The bard a tradesman {156d}—and a Jew {156e}— + The bard a botanist {156f}—a beak {156g}— + The bard a skilled musician {156h} too— + A sheriff {156i} and a surgeon {156j} eke! + + Yet critics say (a friendly stock) + That, though it’s evident I try, + Yet even _I_ can barely mock + The glimmer of his wondrous eye! + + One morning as a work I framed, + There passed a person, walking hard: + “My gracious goodness,” I exclaimed, + “How very like my dear old bard! + + “Oh, what a model he would make!” + I rushed outside—impulsive me!— + “Forgive the liberty I take, + But you’re so very”—“Stop!” said he. + + “You needn’t waste your breath or time,— + I know what you are going to say,— + That you’re an artist, and that I’m + Remarkably like SHAKESPEARE. Eh? + + “You wish that I would sit to you?” + I clasped him madly round the waist, + And breathlessly replied, “I do!” + “All right,” said he, “but please make haste.” + + I led him by his hallowed sleeve, + And worked away at him apace, + I painted him till dewy eve,— + There never was a nobler face! + + “Oh, sir,” I said, “a fortune grand + Is yours, by dint of merest chance,— + To sport _his_ brow at second-hand, + To wear _his_ cast-off countenance! + + “To rub _his_ eyes whene’er they ache— + To wear _his_ baldness ere you’re old— + To clean _his_ teeth when you awake— + To blow _his_ nose when you’ve a cold!” + + His eyeballs glistened in his eyes— + I sat and watched and smoked my pipe; + “Bravo!” I said, “I recognize + The phrensy of your prototype!” + + His scanty hair he wildly tore: + “That’s right,” said I, “it shows your breed.” + He danced—he stamped—he wildly swore— + “Bless me, that’s very fine indeed!” + + “Sir,” said the grand Shakesperian boy + (Continuing to blaze away), + “You think my face a source of joy; + That shows you know not what you say. + + “Forgive these yells and cellar-flaps: + I’m always thrown in some such state + When on his face well-meaning chaps + This wretched man congratulate. + + “For, oh! this face—this pointed chin— + This nose—this brow—these eyeballs too, + Have always been the origin + Of all the woes I ever knew! + + “If to the play my way I find, + To see a grand Shakesperian piece, + I have no rest, no ease of mind + Until the author’s puppets cease. + + “Men nudge each other—thus—and say, + ‘This certainly is SHAKESPEARE’S son,’ + And merry wags (of course in play) + Cry ‘Author!’ when the piece is done. + + “In church the people stare at me, + Their soul the sermon never binds; + I catch them looking round to see, + And thoughts of SHAKESPEARE fill their minds. + + “And sculptors, fraught with cunning wile, + Who find it difficult to crown + A bust with BROWN’S insipid smile, + Or TOMKINS’S unmannered frown, + + “Yet boldly make my face their own, + When (oh, presumption!) they require + To animate a paving-stone + With SHAKESPEARE’S intellectual fire. + + “At parties where young ladies gaze, + And I attempt to speak my joy, + ‘Hush, pray,’ some lovely creature says, + ‘The fond illusion don’t destroy!’ + + “Whene’er I speak, my soul is wrung + With these or some such whisperings: + ‘’Tis pity that a SHAKESPEARE’S tongue + Should say such un-Shakesperian things!’ + + “I should not thus be criticised + Had I a face of common wont: + Don’t envy me—now, be advised!” + And, now I think of it, I don’t! + + + + +THE KING OF CANOODLE-DUM. + + + THE story of FREDERICK GOWLER, + A mariner of the sea, + Who quitted his ship, the _Howler_, + A-sailing in Caribbee. + For many a day he wandered, + Till he met in a state of rum + CALAMITY POP VON PEPPERMINT DROP, + The King of Canoodle-Dum. + + That monarch addressed him gaily, + “Hum! Golly de do to-day? + Hum! Lily-white Buckra Sailee”— + (You notice his playful way?)— + “What dickens you doin’ here, sar? + Why debbil you want to come? + Hum! Picaninnee, dere isn’t no sea + In City Canoodle-Dum!” + + And GOWLER he answered sadly, + “Oh, mine is a doleful tale! + They’ve treated me werry badly + In Lunnon, from where I hail. + I’m one of the Family Royal— + No common Jack Tar you see; + I’m WILLIAM THE FOURTH, far up in the North, + A King in my own countree!” + + Bang-bang! How the tom-toms thundered! + Bang-bang! How they thumped this gongs! + Bang-bang! How the people wondered! + Bang-bang! At it hammer and tongs! + Alliance with Kings of Europe + Is an honour Canoodlers seek, + Her monarchs don’t stop with PEPPERMINT DROP + Every day in the week! + + FRED told them that he was undone, + For his people all went insane, + And fired the Tower of London, + And Grinnidge’s Naval Fane. + And some of them racked St. James’s, + And vented their rage upon + The Church of St. Paul, the Fishmongers’ Hall, + And the Angel at Islington. + + CALAMITY POP implored him + In his capital to remain + Till those people of his restored him + To power and rank again. + CALAMITY POP he made him + A Prince of Canoodle-Dum, + With a couple of caves, some beautiful slaves, + And the run of the royal rum. + + Pop gave him his only daughter, + HUM PICKETY WIMPLE TIP: + FRED vowed that if over the water + He went, in an English ship, + He’d make her his Queen,—though truly + It is an unusual thing + For a Caribbee brat who’s as black as your hat + To be wife of an English King. + + And all the Canoodle-Dummers + They copied his rolling walk, + His method of draining rummers, + His emblematical talk. + For his dress and his graceful breeding, + His delicate taste in rum, + And his nautical way, were the talk of the day + In the Court of Canoodle-Dum. + + CALAMITY POP most wisely + Determined in everything + To model his Court precisely + On that of the English King; + And ordered that every lady + And every lady’s lord + Should masticate jacky (a kind of tobaccy), + And scatter its juice abroad. + + They signified wonder roundly + At any astounding yarn, + By darning their dear eyes roundly + (’T was all they had to darn). + They “hoisted their slacks,” adjusting + Garments of plantain-leaves + With nautical twitches (as if they wore breeches, + Instead of a dress like EVE’S!) + + They shivered their timbers proudly, + At a phantom forelock dragged, + And called for a hornpipe loudly + Whenever amusement flagged. + “Hum! Golly! him POP resemble, + Him Britisher sov’reign, hum! + CALAMITY POP VON PEPPERMINT DROP, + De King of Canoodle-Dum!” + + The mariner’s lively “Hollo!” + Enlivened Canoodle’s plain + (For blessings unnumbered follow + In Civilization’s train). + But Fortune, who loves a bathos, + A terrible ending planned, + For ADMIRAL D. CHICKABIDDY, C.B., + Placed foot on Canoodle land! + + That rebel, he seized KING GOWLER, + He threatened his royal brains, + And put him aboard the _Howler_, + And fastened him down with chains. + The _Howler_ she weighed her anchor, + With FREDERICK nicely nailed, + And off to the North with WILLIAM THE FOURTH + These horrible pirates sailed. + + CALAMITY said (with folly), + “Hum! nebber want him again— + Him civilize all of us, golly! + CALAMITY suck him brain!” + The people, however, were pained when + They saw him aboard his ship, + But none of them wept for their FREDDY, except + HUM PICKETY WIMPLE TIP. + + + + +THE MARTINET. + + + SOME time ago, in simple verse + I sang the story true + Of CAPTAIN REECE, the _Mantelpiece_, + And all her happy crew. + + I showed how any captain may + Attach his men to him, + If he but heeds their smallest needs, + And studies every whim. + + Now mark how, by Draconic rule + And _hauteur_ ill-advised, + The noblest crew upon the Blue + May be demoralized. + + When his ungrateful country placed + Kind REECE upon half-pay, + Without much claim SIR BERKELY came, + And took command one day. + + SIR BERKELY was a martinet— + A stern unyielding soul— + Who ruled his ship by dint of whip + And horrible black-hole. + + A sailor who was overcome + From having freely dined, + And chanced to reel when at the wheel, + He instantly confined! + + And tars who, when an action raged, + Appeared alarmed or scared, + And those below who wished to go, + He very seldom spared. + + E’en he who smote his officer + For punishment was booked, + And mutinies upon the seas + He rarely overlooked. + + In short, the happy _Mantelpiece_, + Where all had gone so well, + Beneath that fool SIR BERKELY’S rule + Became a floating hell. + + When first SIR BERKELY came aboard + He read a speech to all, + And told them how he’d made a vow + To act on duty’s call. + + Then WILLIAM LEE, he up and said + (The Captain’s coxswain he), + “We’ve heard the speech your honour’s made, + And werry pleased we be. + + “We won’t pretend, my lad, as how + We’re glad to lose our REECE; + Urbane, polite, he suited quite + The saucy _Mantelpiece_. + + “But if your honour gives your mind + To study all our ways, + With dance and song we’ll jog along + As in those happy days. + + “I like your honour’s looks, and feel + You’re worthy of your sword. + Your hand, my lad—I’m doosid glad + To welcome you aboard!” + + SIR BERKELY looked amazed, as though + He didn’t understand. + “Don’t shake your head,” good WILLIAM said, + “It is an honest hand. + + “It’s grasped a better hand than yourn— + Come, gov’nor, I insist!” + The Captain stared—the coxswain glared— + The hand became a fist! + + “Down, upstart!” said the hardy salt; + But BERKELY dodged his aim, + And made him go in chains below: + The seamen murmured “Shame!” + + He stopped all songs at 12 p.m., + Stopped hornpipes when at sea, + And swore his cot (or bunk) should not + Be used by aught than he. + + He never joined their daily mess, + Nor asked them to his own, + But chaffed in gay and social way + The officers alone. + + His First Lieutenant, PETER, was + As useless as could be, + A helpless stick, and always sick + When there was any sea. + + This First Lieutenant proved to be + His foster-sister MAY, + Who went to sea for love of he + In masculine array. + + And when he learnt the curious fact, + Did he emotion show, + Or dry her tears or end her fears + By marrying her? No! + + Or did he even try to soothe + This maiden in her teens? + Oh, no!—instead he made her wed + The Sergeant of Marines! + + Of course such Spartan discipline + Would make an angel fret; + They drew a lot, and WILLIAM shot + This fearful martinet. + + The Admiralty saw how ill + They’d treated CAPTAIN REECE; + He was restored once more aboard + The saucy _Mantelpiece_. + + + + +THE SAILOR BOY TO HIS LASS. + + + I GO away this blessed day, + To sail across the sea, MATILDA! + My vessel starts for various parts + At twenty after three, MATILDA. + I hardly know where we may go, + Or if it’s near or far, MATILDA, + For CAPTAIN HYDE does not confide + In any ’fore-mast tar, MATILDA! + + Beneath my ban that mystic man + Shall suffer, _coûte qui coûte_, MATILDA! + What right has he to keep from me + The Admiralty route, MATILDA? + Because, forsooth! I am a youth + Of common sailors’ lot, MATILDA! + Am I a man on human plan + Designed, or am I not, MATILDA? + + But there, my lass, we’ll let that pass! + With anxious love I burn, MATILDA. + I want to know if we shall go + To church when I return, MATILDA? + Your eyes are red, you bow your head; + It’s pretty clear you thirst, MATILDA, + To name the day—What’s that you say? + —“You’ll see me further first,” MATILDA? + + I can’t mistake the signs you make, + Although you barely speak, MATILDA; + Though pure and young, you thrust your tongue + Right in your pretty cheek, MATILDA! + My dear, I fear I hear you sneer— + I do—I’m sure I do, MATILDA! + With simple grace you make a face, + Ejaculating, “Ugh!” MATILDA. + + Oh, pause to think before you drink + The dregs of Lethe’s cup, MATILDA! + Remember, do, what I’ve gone through, + Before you give me up, MATILDA! + Recall again the mental pain + Of what I’ve had to do, MATILDA! + And be assured that I’ve endured + It, all along of you, MATILDA! + + Do you forget, my blithesome pet, + How once with jealous rage, MATILDA, + I watched you walk and gaily talk + With some one thrice your age, MATILDA? + You squatted free upon his knee, + A sight that made me sad, MATILDA! + You pinched his cheek with friendly tweak, + Which almost drove me mad, MATILDA! + + I knew him not, but hoped to spot + Some man you thought to wed, MATILDA! + I took a gun, my darling one, + And shot him through the head, MATILDA! + I’m made of stuff that’s rough and gruff + Enough, I own; but, ah, MATILDA! + It _did_ annoy your sailor boy + To find it was your pa, MATILDA! + + I’ve passed a life of toil and strife, + And disappointments deep, MATILDA; + I’ve lain awake with dental ache + Until I fell asleep, MATILDA! + At times again I’ve missed a train, + Or p’rhaps run short of tin, MATILDA, + And worn a boot on corns that shoot, + Or, shaving, cut my chin, MATILDA. + + But, oh! no trains—no dental pains— + Believe me when I say, MATILDA, + No corns that shoot—no pinching boot + Upon a summer day, MATILDA— + It’s my belief, could cause such grief + As that I’ve suffered for, MATILDA, + My having shot in vital spot + Your old progenitor, MATILDA. + + Bethink you how I’ve kept the vow + I made one winter day, MATILDA— + That, come what could, I never would + Remain too long away, MATILDA. + And, oh! the crimes with which, at times, + I’ve charged my gentle mind, MATILDA, + To keep the vow I made—and now + You treat me so unkind, MATILDA! + + For when at sea, off Caribbee, + I felt my passion burn, MATILDA, + By passion egged, I went and begged + The captain to return, MATILDA. + And when, my pet, I couldn’t get + That captain to agree, MATILDA, + Right through a sort of open port + I pitched him in the sea, MATILDA! + + Remember, too, how all the crew + With indignation blind, MATILDA, + Distinctly swore they ne’er before + Had thought me so unkind, MATILDA. + And how they’d shun me one by one— + An unforgiving group, MATILDA— + I stopped their howls and sulky scowls + By pizening their soup, MATILDA! + + So pause to think, before you drink + The dregs of Lethe’s cup, MATILDA; + Remember, do, what I’ve gone through, + Before you give me up, MATILDA. + Recall again the mental pain + Of what I’ve had to do, MATILDA, + And be assured that I’ve endured + It, all along of you, MATILDA! + + + + +THE REVEREND SIMON MAGUS. + + + A RICH advowson, highly prized, + For private sale was advertised; + And many a parson made a bid; + The REVEREND SIMON MAGUS did. + + He sought the agent’s: “Agent, I + Have come prepared at once to buy + (If your demand is not too big) + The Cure of Otium-cum-Digge.” + + “Ah!” said the agent, “_there’s_ a berth— + The snuggest vicarage on earth; + No sort of duty (so I hear), + And fifteen hundred pounds a year! + + “If on the price we should agree, + The living soon will vacant be; + The good incumbent’s ninety five, + And cannot very long survive. + + “See—here’s his photograph—you see, + He’s in his dotage.” “Ah, dear me! + Poor soul!” said SIMON. “His decease + Would be a merciful release!” + + The agent laughed—the agent blinked— + The agent blew his nose and winked— + And poked the parson’s ribs in play— + It was that agent’s vulgar way. + + The REVEREND SIMON frowned: “I grieve + This light demeanour to perceive; + It’s scarcely _comme il faut_, I think: + Now—pray oblige me—do not wink. + + “Don’t dig my waistcoat into holes— + Your mission is to sell the souls + Of human sheep and human kids + To that divine who highest bids. + + “Do well in this, and on your head + Unnumbered honours will be shed.” + The agent said, “Well, truth to tell, + I _have_ been doing very well.” + + “You should,” said SIMON, “at your age; + But now about the parsonage. + How many rooms does it contain? + Show me the photograph again. + + “A poor apostle’s humble house + Must not be too luxurious; + No stately halls with oaken floor— + It should be decent and no more. + + “No billiard-rooms—no stately trees— + No croquêt-grounds or pineries.” + “Ah!” sighed the agent, “very true: + This property won’t do for you.” + + “All these about the house you’ll find.”— + “Well,” said the parson, “never mind; + I’ll manage to submit to these + Luxurious superfluities. + + “A clergyman who does not shirk + The various calls of Christian work, + Will have no leisure to employ + These ‘common forms’ of worldly joy. + + “To preach three times on Sabbath days— + To wean the lost from wicked ways— + The sick to soothe—the sane to wed— + The poor to feed with meat and bread; + + “These are the various wholesome ways + In which I’ll spend my nights and days: + My zeal will have no time to cool + At croquêt, archery, or pool.” + + The agent said, “From what I hear, + This living will not suit, I fear— + There are no poor, no sick at all; + For services there is no call.” + + The reverend gent looked grave, “Dear me! + Then there is _no_ ‘society’?— + I mean, of course, no sinners there + Whose souls will be my special care?” + + The cunning agent shook his head, + “No, none—except”—(the agent said)— + “The DUKE OF A., the EARL OF B., + The MARQUIS C., and VISCOUNT D. + + “But you will not be quite alone, + For though they’ve chaplains of their own, + Of course this noble well-bred clan + Receive the parish clergyman.” + + “Oh, silence, sir!” said SIMON M., + “Dukes—Earls! What should I care for them? + These worldly ranks I scorn and flout!” + “Of course,” the agent said, “no doubt!” + + “Yet I might show these men of birth + The hollowness of rank on earth.” + The agent answered, “Very true— + But I should not, if I were you.” + + “Who sells this rich advowson, pray?” + The agent winked—it was his way— + “His name is HART; ’twixt me and you, + He is, I’m grieved to say, a Jew!” + + “A Jew?” said SIMON, “happy find! + I purchase this advowson, mind. + My life shall be devoted to + Converting that unhappy Jew!” + + + + +MY DREAM. + + + THE other night, from cares exempt, + I slept—and what d’you think I dreamt? + I dreamt that somehow I had come + To dwell in Topsy-Turveydom— + + Where vice is virtue—virtue, vice: + Where nice is nasty—nasty, nice: + Where right is wrong and wrong is right— + Where white is black and black is white. + + Where babies, much to their surprise, + Are born astonishingly wise; + With every Science on their lips, + And Art at all their finger-tips. + + For, as their nurses dandle them + They crow binomial theorem, + With views (it seems absurd to us) + On differential calculus. + + But though a babe, as I have said, + Is born with learning in his head, + He must forget it, if he can, + Before he calls himself a man. + + For that which we call folly here, + Is wisdom in that favoured sphere; + The wisdom we so highly prize + Is blatant folly in their eyes. + + A boy, if he would push his way, + Must learn some nonsense every day; + And cut, to carry out this view, + His wisdom teeth and wisdom too. + + Historians burn their midnight oils, + Intent on giant-killers’ toils; + And sages close their aged eyes + To other sages’ lullabies. + + Our magistrates, in duty bound, + Commit all robbers who are found; + But there the Beaks (so people said) + Commit all robberies instead. + + Our Judges, pure and wise in tone, + Know crime from theory alone, + And glean the motives of a thief + From books and popular belief. + + But there, a Judge who wants to prime + His mind with true ideas of crime, + Derives them from the common sense + Of practical experience. + + Policemen march all folks away + Who practise virtue every day— + Of course, I mean to say, you know, + What we call virtue here below. + + For only scoundrels dare to do + What we consider just and true, + And only good men do, in fact, + What we should think a dirty act. + + But strangest of these social twirls, + The girls are boys—the boys are girls! + The men are women, too—but then, + _Per contra_, women all are men. + + To one who to tradition clings + This seems an awkward state of things, + But if to think it out you try, + It doesn’t really signify. + + With them, as surely as can be, + A sailor should be sick at sea, + And not a passenger may sail + Who cannot smoke right through a gale. + + A soldier (save by rarest luck) + Is always shot for showing pluck + (That is, if others can be found + With pluck enough to fire a round). + + “How strange!” I said to one I saw; + “You quite upset our every law. + However can you get along + So systematically wrong?” + + “Dear me!” my mad informant said, + “Have you no eyes within your head? + You sneer when you your hat should doff: + Why, we begin where you leave off! + + “Your wisest men are very far + Less learned than our babies are!” + I mused awhile—and then, oh me! + I framed this brilliant repartee: + + “Although your babes are wiser far + Than our most valued sages are, + Your sages, with their toys and cots, + Are duller than our idiots!” + + But this remark, I grieve to state, + Came just a little bit too late + For as I framed it in my head, + I woke and found myself in bed. + + Still I could wish that, ’stead of here, + My lot were in that favoured sphere!— + Where greatest fools bear off the bell + I ought to do extremely well. + + + + +THE BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO AGAIN. + + + I OFTEN wonder whether you + Think sometimes of that Bishop, who + From black but balmy Rum-ti-Foo + Last summer twelvemonth came. + Unto your mind I p’r’aps may bring + Remembrance of the man I sing + To-day, by simply mentioning + That PETER was his name. + + Remember how that holy man + Came with the great Colonial clan + To Synod, called Pan-Anglican; + And kindly recollect + How, having crossed the ocean wide, + To please his flock all means he tried + Consistent with a proper pride + And manly self-respect. + + He only, of the reverend pack + Who minister to Christians black, + Brought any useful knowledge back + To his Colonial fold. + In consequence a place I claim + For “PETER” on the scroll of Fame + (For PETER was that Bishop’s name, + As I’ve already told). + + He carried Art, he often said, + To places where that timid maid + (Save by Colonial Bishops’ aid) + Could never hope to roam. + The Payne-cum-Lauri feat he taught + As he had learnt it; for he thought + The choicest fruits of Progress ought + To bless the Negro’s home. + + And he had other work to do, + For, while he tossed upon the Blue, + The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo + Forgot their kindly friend. + Their decent clothes they learnt to tear— + They learnt to say, “I do not care,” + Though they, of course, were well aware + How folks, who say so, end. + + Some sailors, whom he did not know, + Had landed there not long ago, + And taught them “Bother!” also, “Blow!” + (Of wickedness the germs). + No need to use a casuist’s pen + To prove that they were merchantmen; + No sailor of the Royal N. + Would use such awful terms. + + And so, when BISHOP PETER came + (That was the kindly Bishop’s name), + He heard these dreadful oaths with shame, + And chid their want of dress. + (Except a shell—a bangle rare— + A feather here—a feather there + The South Pacific Negroes wear + Their native nothingness.) + + He taught them that a Bishop loathes + To listen to disgraceful oaths, + He gave them all his left-off clothes— + They bent them to his will. + The Bishop’s gift spreads quickly round; + In PETER’S left-off clothes they bound + (His three-and-twenty suits they found + In fair condition still). + + The Bishop’s eyes with water fill, + Quite overjoyed to find them still + Obedient to his sovereign will, + And said, “Good Rum-ti-Foo! + Half-way I’ll meet you, I declare: + I’ll dress myself in cowries rare, + And fasten feathers in my hair, + And dance the ‘Cutch-chi-boo!’” {192} + + And to conciliate his See + He married PICCADILLILLEE, + The youngest of his twenty-three, + Tall—neither fat nor thin. + (And though the dress he made her don + Looks awkwardly a girl upon, + It was a great improvement on + The one he found her in.) + + The Bishop in his gay canoe + (His wife, of course, went with him too) + To some adjacent island flew, + To spend his honeymoon. + Some day in sunny Rum-ti-Foo + A little PETER’ll be on view; + And that (if people tell me true) + Is like to happen soon. + + + + +THE HAUGHTY ACTOR. + + + AN actor—GIBBS, of Drury Lane— + Of very decent station, + Once happened in a part to gain + Excessive approbation: + It sometimes turns a fellow’s brain + And makes him singularly vain + When he believes that he receives + Tremendous approbation. + + His great success half drove him mad, + But no one seemed to mind him; + Well, in another piece he had + Another part assigned him. + This part was smaller, by a bit, + Than that in which he made a hit. + So, much ill-used, he straight refused + To play the part assigned him. + + * * * * * * * * + + _That night that actor slept_, _and I’ll attempt_ + _To tell you of the vivid dream he dreamt_. + + THE DREAM. + + In fighting with a robber band + (A thing he loved sincerely) + A sword struck GIBBS upon the hand, + And wounded it severely. + At first he didn’t heed it much, + He thought it was a simple touch, + But soon he found the weapon’s bound + Had wounded him severely. + + To Surgeon COBB he made a trip, + Who’d just effected featly + An amputation at the hip + Particularly neatly. + A rising man was Surgeon COBB + But this extremely ticklish job + He had achieved (as he believed) + Particularly neatly. + + The actor rang the surgeon’s bell. + “Observe my wounded finger, + Be good enough to strap it well, + And prithee do not linger. + That I, dear sir, may fill again + The Theatre Royal Drury Lane: + This very night I have to fight— + So prithee do not linger.” + + “I don’t strap fingers up for doles,” + Replied the haughty surgeon; + “To use your cant, I don’t play _rôles_ + Utility that verge on. + First amputation—nothing less— + That is my line of business: + We surgeon nobs despise all jobs + Utility that verge on + + “When in your hip there lurks disease” + (So dreamt this lively dreamer), + “Or devastating _caries_ + In _humerus_ or _femur_, + If you can pay a handsome fee, + Oh, then you may remember me— + With joy elate I’ll amputate + Your _humerus_ or _femur_.” + + The disconcerted actor ceased + The haughty leech to pester, + But when the wound in size increased, + And then began to fester, + He sought a learned Counsel’s lair, + And told that Counsel, then and there, + How COBB’S neglect of his defect + Had made his finger fester. + + “Oh, bring my action, if you please, + The case I pray you urge on, + And win me thumping damages + From COBB, that haughty surgeon. + He culpably neglected me + Although I proffered him his fee, + So pray come down, in wig and gown, + On COBB, that haughty surgeon!” + + That Counsel learned in the laws, + With passion almost trembled. + He just had gained a mighty cause + Before the Peers assembled! + Said he, “How dare you have the face + To come with Common Jury case + To one who wings rhetoric flings + Before the Peers assembled?” + + Dispirited became our friend— + Depressed his moral pecker— + “But stay! a thought!—I’ll gain my end, + And save my poor exchequer. + I won’t be placed upon the shelf, + I’ll take it into Court myself, + And legal lore display before + The Court of the Exchequer.” + + He found a Baron—one of those + Who with our laws supply us— + In wig and silken gown and hose, + As if at _Nisi Prius_. + But he’d just given, off the reel, + A famous judgment on Appeal: + It scarce became his heightened fame + To sit at _Nisi Prius_. + + Our friend began, with easy wit, + That half concealed his terror: + “Pooh!” said the Judge, “I only sit + In _Banco_ or in Error. + Can you suppose, my man, that I’d + O’er _Nisi Prius_ Courts preside, + Or condescend my time to spend + On anything but Error?” + + “Too bad,” said GIBBS, “my case to shirk! + You must be bad innately, + To save your skill for mighty work + Because it’s valued greatly!” + But here he woke, with sudden start. + + * * * * * * * * + + He wrote to say he’d play the part. + I’ve but to tell he played it well— + The author’s words—his native wit + Combined, achieved a perfect “hit”— + The papers praised him greatly. + + + + +THE TWO MAJORS. + + + AN excellent soldier who’s worthy the name + Loves officers dashing and strict: + When good, he’s content with escaping all blame, + When naughty, he likes to be licked. + + He likes for a fault to be bullied and stormed, + Or imprisoned for several days, + And hates, for a duty correctly performed, + To be slavered with sickening praise. + + No officer sickened with praises his _corps_ + So little as MAJOR LA GUERRE— + No officer swore at his warriors more + Than MAJOR MAKREDI PREPERE. + + Their soldiers adored them, and every grade + Delighted to hear their abuse; + Though whenever these officers came on parade + They shivered and shook in their shoes. + + For, oh! if LA GUERRE could all praises withhold, + Why, so could MAKREDI PREPERE, + And, oh! if MAKREDI could bluster and scold, + Why, so could the mighty LA GUERRE. + + “No doubt we deserve it—no mercy we crave— + Go on—you’re conferring a boon; + We would rather be slanged by a warrior brave, + Than praised by a wretched poltroon!” + + MAKREDI would say that in battle’s fierce rage + True happiness only was met: + Poor MAJOR MAKREDI, though fifty his age, + Had never known happiness yet! + + LA GUERRE would declare, “With the blood of a foe + No tipple is worthy to clink.” + Poor fellow! he hadn’t, though sixty or so, + Yet tasted his favourite drink! + + They agreed at their mess—they agreed in the glass— + They agreed in the choice of their “set,” + And they also agreed in adoring, alas! + The Vivandière, pretty FILLETTE. + + Agreement, you see, may be carried too far, + And after agreeing all round + For years—in this soldierly “maid of the bar,” + A bone of contention they found! + + It may seem improper to call such a pet— + By a metaphor, even—a bone; + But though they agreed in adoring her, yet + Each wanted to make her his own. + + “On the day that you marry her,” muttered PREPERE + (With a pistol he quietly played), + “I’ll scatter the brains in your noddle, I swear, + All over the stony parade!” + + “I cannot do _that_ to you,” answered LA GUERRE, + “Whatever events may befall; + But this _I can_ do—_if you_ wed her, _mon cher_! + I’ll eat you, moustachios and all!” + + The rivals, although they would never engage, + Yet quarrelled whenever they met; + They met in a fury and left in a rage, + But neither took pretty FILLETTE. + + “I am not afraid,” thought MAKREDI PREPERE: + “For country I’m ready to fall; + But nobody wants, for a mere Vivandière, + To be eaten, moustachios and all! + + “Besides, though LA GUERRE has his faults, I’ll allow + He’s one of the bravest of men: + My goodness! if I disagree with him now, + I might disagree with him then.” + + “No coward am I,” said LA GUERRE, “as you guess— + I sneer at an enemy’s blade; + But I don’t want PREPERE to get into a mess + For splashing the stony parade!” + + One day on parade to PREPERE and LA GUERRE + Came CORPORAL JACOT DEBETTE, + And trembling all over, he prayed of them there + To give him the pretty FILLETTE. + + “You see, I am willing to marry my bride + Until you’ve arranged this affair; + I will blow out my brains when your honours decide + Which marries the sweet Vivandière!” + + “Well, take her,” said both of them in a duet + (A favourite form of reply), + “But when I am ready to marry FILLETTE. + Remember you’ve promised to die!” + + He married her then: from the flowery plains + Of existence the roses they cull: + He lived and he died with his wife; and his brains + Are reposing in peace in his skull. + + + + +EMILY, JOHN, JAMES, AND I. +A DERBY LEGEND. + + + EMILY JANE was a nursery maid, + JAMES was a bold Life Guard, + JOHN was a constable, poorly paid + (And I am a doggerel bard). + + A very good girl was EMILY JANE, + JIMMY was good and true, + JOHN was a very good man in the main + (And I am a good man too). + + Rivals for EMMIE were JOHNNY and JAMES, + Though EMILY liked them both; + She couldn’t tell which had the strongest claims + (And _I_ couldn’t take my oath). + + But sooner or later you’re certain to find + Your sentiments can’t lie hid— + JANE thought it was time that she made up her mind + (And I think it was time she did). + + Said JANE, with a smirk, and a blush on her face, + “I’ll promise to wed the boy + Who takes me to-morrow to Epsom Race!” + (Which I would have done, with joy). + + From JOHNNY escaped an expression of pain, + But Jimmy said, “Done with you! + I’ll take you with pleasure, my EMILY JANE!” + (And I would have said so too). + + JOHN lay on the ground, and he roared like mad + (For JOHNNY was sore perplexed), + And he kicked very hard at a very small lad + (Which _I_ often do, when vexed). + + For JOHN was on duty next day with the Force, + To punish all Epsom crimes; + Young people _will_ cross when they’re clearing the course + (I do it myself, sometimes). + + * * * * * * * * + + The Derby Day sun glittered gaily on cads, + On maidens with gamboge hair, + On sharpers and pickpockets, swindlers and pads, + (For I, with my harp, was there). + + And JIMMY went down with his JANE that day, + And JOHN by the collar or nape + Seized everybody who came in his way + (And _I_ had a narrow escape). + + He noticed his EMILY JANE with JIM, + And envied the well-made elf; + And people remarked that he muttered “Oh, dim!” + (I often say “dim!” myself). + + JOHN dogged them all day, without asking their leaves; + For his sergeant he told, aside, + That JIMMY and JANE were notorious thieves + (And I think he was justified). + + But JAMES wouldn’t dream of abstracting a fork, + And JENNY would blush with shame + At stealing so much as a bottle or cork + (A bottle I think fair game). + + But, ah! there’s another more serious crime! + They wickedly strayed upon + The course, at a critical moment of time + (I pointed them out to JOHN). + + The constable fell on the pair in a crack— + And then, with a demon smile, + Let JENNY cross over, but sent JIMMY back + (I played on my harp the while). + + Stern JOHNNY their agony loud derides + With a very triumphant sneer— + They weep and they wail from the opposite sides + (And _I_ shed a silent tear). + + And JENNY is crying away like mad, + And JIMMY is swearing hard; + And JOHNNY is looking uncommonly glad + (And I am a doggerel bard). + + But JIMMY he ventured on crossing again + The scenes of our Isthmian Games— + JOHN caught him, and collared him, giving him pain + (I felt very much for JAMES). + + JOHN led him away with a victor’s hand, + And JIMMY was shortly seen + In the station-house under the grand Grand Stand + (As many a time _I’ve_ been). + + And JIMMY, bad boy, was imprisoned for life, + Though EMILY pleaded hard; + And JOHNNY had EMILY JANE to wife + (And I am a doggerel bard). + + + + +THE PERILS OF INVISIBILITY. + + + OLD PETER led a wretched life— + Old PETER had a furious wife; + Old PETER too was truly stout, + He measured several yards about. + + The little fairy PICKLEKIN + One summer afternoon looked in, + And said, “Old PETER, how de do? + Can I do anything for you? + + “I have three gifts—the first will give + Unbounded riches while you live; + The second health where’er you be; + The third, invisibility.” + + “O little fairy PICKLEKIN,” + Old PETER answered with a grin, + “To hesitate would be absurd,— + Undoubtedly I choose the third.” + + “’Tis yours,” the fairy said; “be quite + Invisible to mortal sight + Whene’er you please. Remember me + Most kindly, pray, to MRS. P.” + + Old MRS. PETER overheard + Wee PICKLEKIN’S concluding word, + And, jealous of her girlhood’s choice, + Said, “That was some young woman’s voice!” + + Old PETER let her scold and swear— + Old PETER, bless him, didn’t care. + “My dear, your rage is wasted quite— + Observe, I disappear from sight!” + + A well-bred fairy (so I’ve heard) + Is always faithful to her word: + Old PETER vanished like a shot, + Put then—_his suit of clothes did not_! + + For when conferred the fairy slim + Invisibility on _him_, + She popped away on fairy wings, + Without referring to his “things.” + + So there remained a coat of blue, + A vest and double eyeglass too, + His tail, his shoes, his socks as well, + His pair of—no, I must not tell. + + Old MRS. PETER soon began + To see the failure of his plan, + And then resolved (I quote the Bard) + To “hoist him with his own petard.” + + Old PETER woke next day and dressed, + Put on his coat, and shoes, and vest, + His shirt and stock; _but could not find_ + _His only pair of_—never mind! + + Old PETER was a decent man, + And though he twigged his lady’s plan, + Yet, hearing her approaching, he + Resumed invisibility. + + “Dear MRS. P., my only joy,” + Exclaimed the horrified old boy, + “Now, give them up, I beg of you— + You know what I’m referring to!” + + But no; the cross old lady swore + She’d keep his—what I said before— + To make him publicly absurd; + And MRS. PETER kept her word. + + The poor old fellow had no rest; + His coat, his stick, his shoes, his vest, + Were all that now met mortal eye— + The rest, invisibility! + + “Now, madam, give them up, I beg— + I’ve had rheumatics in my leg; + Besides, until you do, it’s plain + I cannot come to sight again! + + “For though some mirth it might afford + To see my clothes without their lord, + Yet there would rise indignant oaths + If he were seen without his clothes!” + + But no; resolved to have her quiz, + The lady held her own—and his— + And PETER left his humble cot + To find a pair of—you know what. + + But—here’s the worst of the affair— + Whene’er he came across a pair + Already placed for him to don, + He was too stout to get them on! + + So he resolved at once to train, + And walked and walked with all his main; + For years he paced this mortal earth, + To bring himself to decent girth. + + At night, when all around is still, + You’ll find him pounding up a hill; + And shrieking peasants whom he meets, + Fall down in terror on the peats! + + Old PETER walks through wind and rain, + Resolved to train, and train, and train, + Until he weighs twelve stone’ or so— + And when he does, I’ll let you know. + + + + +THE MYSTIC SELVAGEE. + + + Perhaps already you may know + SIR BLENNERHASSET PORTICO? + A Captain in the Navy, he— + A Baronet and K.C.B. + You do? I thought so! + It was that Captain’s favourite whim + (A notion not confined to him) + That RODNEY was the greatest tar + Who ever wielded capstan-bar. + He had been taught so. + + “BENBOW! CORNWALLIS! HOOD!—Belay! + Compared with RODNEY”—he would say— + “No other tar is worth a rap! + The great LORD RODNEY was the chap + The French to polish! + Though, mind you, I respect LORD HOOD; + CORNWALLIS, too, was rather good; + BENBOW could enemies repel, + LORD NELSON, too, was pretty well— + That is, tol-lol-ish!” + + SIR BLENNERHASSET spent his days + In learning RODNEY’S little ways, + And closely imitated, too, + His mode of talking to his crew— + His port and paces. + An ancient tar he tried to catch + Who’d served in RODNEY’S famous batch; + But since his time long years have fled, + And RODNEY’S tars are mostly dead: + _Eheu fugaces_! + + But after searching near and far, + At last he found an ancient tar + Who served with RODNEY and his crew + Against the French in ’Eighty-two, + (That gained the peerage). + He gave him fifty pounds a year, + His rum, his baccy, and his beer; + And had a comfortable den + Rigged up in what, by merchantmen, + Is called the steerage. + + “Now, JASPER”—’t was that sailor’s name— + “Don’t fear that you’ll incur my blame + By saying, when it seems to you, + That there is anything I do + That RODNEY wouldn’t.” + The ancient sailor turned his quid, + Prepared to do as he was bid: + “Ay, ay, yer honour; to begin, + You’ve done away with ‘swifting in’— + Well, sir, you shouldn’t! + + “Upon your spars I see you’ve clapped + Peak halliard blocks, all iron-capped. + I would not christen that a crime, + But ’twas not done in RODNEY’S time. + It looks half-witted! + Upon your maintop-stay, I see, + You always clap a selvagee! + Your stays, I see, are equalized— + No vessel, such as RODNEY prized, + Would thus be fitted! + + “And RODNEY, honoured sir, would grin + To see you turning deadeyes in, + Not _up_, as in the ancient way, + But downwards, like a cutter’s stay— + You didn’t oughter; + Besides, in seizing shrouds on board, + Breast backstays you have quite ignored; + Great RODNEY kept unto the last + Breast backstays on topgallant mast— + They make it tauter.” + + SIR BLENNERHASSET “swifted in,” + Turned deadeyes up, and lent a fin + To strip (as told by JASPER KNOX) + The iron capping from his blocks, + Where there was any. + SIR BLENNERHASSET does away, + With selvagees from maintop-stay; + And though it makes his sailors stare, + He rigs breast backstays everywhere— + In fact, too many. + + One morning, when the saucy craft + Lay calmed, old JASPER toddled aft. + “My mind misgives me, sir, that we + Were wrong about that selvagee— + I should restore it.” + “Good,” said the Captain, and that day + Restored it to the maintop-stay. + Well-practised sailors often make + A much more serious mistake, + And then ignore it. + + Next day old JASPER came once more: + “I think, sir, I was right before.” + Well, up the mast the sailors skipped, + The selvagee was soon unshipped, + And all were merry. + Again a day, and JASPER came: + “I p’r’aps deserve your honour’s blame, + I can’t make up my mind,” said he, + “About that cursed selvagee— + It’s foolish—very. + + “On Monday night I could have sworn + That maintop-stay it should adorn, + On Tuesday morning I could swear + That selvagee should not be there. + The knot’s a rasper!” + “Oh, you be hanged,” said CAPTAIN P., + “Here, go ashore at Caribbee. + Get out—good bye—shove off—all right!” + Old JASPER soon was out of sight— + Farewell, old JASPER! + + + + +PHRENOLOGY. + + + “COME, collar this bad man— + Around the throat he knotted me + Till I to choke began— + In point of fact, garotted me!” + + So spake SIR HERBERT WHITE + To JAMES, Policeman Thirty-two— + All ruffled with his fight + SIR HERBERT was, and dirty too. + + Policeman nothing said + (Though he had much to say on it), + But from the bad man’s head + He took the cap that lay on it. + + “No, great SIR HERBERT WHITE— + Impossible to take him up. + This man is honest quite— + Wherever did you rake him up? + + “For Burglars, Thieves, and Co., + Indeed, I’m no apologist, + But I, some years ago, + Assisted a Phrenologist. + + “Observe his various bumps, + His head as I uncover it: + His morals lie in lumps + All round about and over it.” + + “Now take him,” said SIR WHITE, + “Or you will soon be rueing it; + Bless me! I must be right,— + I caught the fellow doing it!” + + Policeman calmly smiled, + “Indeed you are mistaken, sir, + You’re agitated—riled— + And very badly shaken, sir. + + “Sit down, and I’ll explain + My system of Phrenology, + A second, please, remain”— + (A second is horology). + + Policeman left his beat— + (The Bart., no longer furious, + Sat down upon a seat, + Observing, “This is curious!”) + + “Oh, surely, here are signs + Should soften your rigidity: + This gentleman combines + Politeness with timidity. + + “Of Shyness here’s a lump— + A hole for Animosity— + And like my fist his bump + Of Impecuniosity. + + “Just here the bump appears + Of Innocent Hilarity, + And just behind his ears + Are Faith, and Hope, and Charity. + + “He of true Christian ways + As bright example sent us is— + This maxim he obeys, + ‘_Sorte tuâ contentus sis_.’ + + “There, let him go his ways, + He needs no stern admonishing.” + The Bart., in blank amaze, + Exclaimed, “This is astonishing! + + “I _must_ have made a mull, + This matter I’ve been blind in it: + Examine, please, _my_ skull, + And tell me what you find in it.” + + That Crusher looked, and said, + With unimpaired urbanity, + “SIR HERBERT, you’ve a head + That teems with inhumanity. + + “Here’s Murder, Envy, Strife + (Propensity to kill any), + And Lies as large as life, + And heaps of Social Villany. + + “Here’s Love of Bran-New Clothes, + Embezzling—Arson—Deism— + A taste for Slang and Oaths, + And Fraudulent Trusteeism. + + “Here’s Love of Groundless Charge— + Here’s Malice, too, and Trickery, + Unusually large + Your bump of Pocket-Pickery—” + + “Stop!” said the Bart., “my cup + Is full—I’m worse than him in all; + Policeman, take me up— + No doubt I am some criminal!” + + That Pleeceman’s scorn grew large + (Phrenology had nettled it), + He took that Bart. in charge— + I don’t know how they settled it. + + + + +THE FAIRY CURATE. + + + ONCE a fairy + Light and airy + Married with a mortal; + Men, however, + Never, never + Pass the fairy portal. + Slyly stealing, + She to Ealing + Made a daily journey; + There she found him, + Clients round him + (He was an attorney). + + Long they tarried, + Then they married. + When the ceremony + Once was ended, + Off they wended + On their moon of honey. + Twelvemonth, maybe, + Saw a baby + (Friends performed an orgie). + Much they prized him, + And baptized him + By the name of GEORGIE, + + GEORGIE grew up; + Then he flew up + To his fairy mother. + Happy meeting— + Pleasant greeting— + Kissing one another. + “Choose a calling + Most enthralling, + I sincerely urge ye.” + “Mother,” said he + (Rev’rence made he), + “I would join the clergy. + + “Give permission + In addition— + Pa will let me do it: + There’s a living + In his giving— + He’ll appoint me to it. + Dreams of coff’ring, + Easter off’ring, + Tithe and rent and pew-rate, + So inflame me + (Do not blame me), + That I’ll be a curate.” + + She, with pleasure, + Said, “My treasure, + ’T is my wish precisely. + Do your duty, + There’s a beauty; + You have chosen wisely. + Tell your father + I would rather + As a churchman rank you. + You, in clover, + I’ll watch over.” + GEORGIE said, “Oh, thank you!” + + GEORGIE scudded, + Went and studied, + Made all preparations, + And with credit + (Though he said it) + Passed examinations. + (Do not quarrel + With him, moral, + Scrupulous digestions— + ’Twas his mother, + And no other, + Answered all the questions.) + + Time proceeded; + Little needed + GEORGIE admonition: + He, elated, + Vindicated + Clergyman’s position. + People round him + Always found him + Plain and unpretending; + Kindly teaching, + Plainly preaching, + All his money lending. + + So the fairy, + Wise and wary, + Felt no sorrow rising— + No occasion + For persuasion, + Warning, or advising. + He, resuming + Fairy pluming + (That’s not English, is it?) + Oft would fly up, + To the sky up, + Pay mamma a visit. + + * * * * * * * * + + Time progressing, + GEORGIE’S blessing + Grew more Ritualistic— + Popish scandals, + Tonsures—sandals— + Genuflections mystic; + Gushing meetings— + Bosom-beatings— + Heavenly ecstatics— + Broidered spencers— + Copes and censers— + Rochets and dalmatics. + + This quandary + Vexed the fairy— + Flew she down to Ealing. + “GEORGIE, stop it! + Pray you, drop it; + Hark to my appealing: + To this foolish + Papal rule-ish + Twaddle put an ending; + This a swerve is + From our Service + Plain and unpretending.” + + He, replying, + Answered, sighing, + Hawing, hemming, humming, + “It’s a pity— + They’re so pritty; + Yet in mode becoming, + Mother tender, + I’ll surrender— + I’ll be unaffected—” + But his Bishop + Into _his_ shop + Entered unexpected! + + “Who is this, sir,— + Ballet miss, sir?” + Said the Bishop coldly. + “’T is my mother, + And no other,” + GEORGIE answered boldly. + “Go along, sir! + You are wrong, sir; + You have years in plenty, + While this hussy + (Gracious mussy!) + Isn’t two and twenty!” + + (Fairies clever + Never, never + Grow in visage older; + And the fairy, + All unwary, + Leant upon his shoulder!) + Bishop grieved him, + Disbelieved him; + GEORGE the point grew warm on; + Changed religion, + Like a pigeon, {233} + And became a Mormon! + + + + +THE WAY OF WOOING. + + + A MAIDEN sat at her window wide, + Pretty enough for a Prince’s bride, + Yet nobody came to claim her. + She sat like a beautiful picture there, + With pretty bluebells and roses fair, + And jasmine-leaves to frame her. + And why she sat there nobody knows; + But this she sang as she plucked a rose, + The leaves around her strewing: + “I’ve time to lose and power to choose; + ’T is not so much the gallant who woos, + But the gallant’s _way_ of wooing!” + + A lover came riding by awhile, + A wealthy lover was he, whose smile + Some maids would value greatly— + A formal lover, who bowed and bent, + With many a high-flown compliment, + And cold demeanour stately, + “You’ve still,” said she to her suitor stern, + “The ’prentice-work of your craft to learn, + If thus you come a-cooing. + I’ve time to lose and power to choose; + ’T is not so much the gallant who woos, + As the gallant’s _way_ of wooing!” + + A second lover came ambling by— + A timid lad with a frightened eye + And a colour mantling highly. + He muttered the errand on which he’d come, + Then only chuckled and bit his thumb, + And simpered, simpered shyly. + “No,” said the maiden, “go your way; + You dare but think what a man would say, + Yet dare to come a-suing! + I’ve time to lose and power to choose; + ’T is not so much the gallant who woos, + As the gallant’s _way_ of wooing!” + + A third rode up at a startling pace— + A suitor poor, with a homely face— + No doubts appeared to bind him. + He kissed her lips and he pressed her waist, + And off he rode with the maiden, placed + On a pillion safe behind him. + And she heard the suitor bold confide + This golden hint to the priest who tied + The knot there’s no undoing; + “With pretty young maidens who can choose, + ’T is not so much the gallant who woos, + As the gallant’s _way_ of wooing!” + + + + +HONGREE AND MAHRY. +A RECOLLECTION OF A SURREY MELODRAMA. + + + THE sun was setting in its wonted west, + When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores, + Met MAHRY DAUBIGNY, the Village Rose, + Under the Wizard’s Oak—old trysting-place + Of those who loved in rosy Aquitaine. + + They thought themselves unwatched, but they were not; + For HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores, + Found in LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC + A rival, envious and unscrupulous, + Who thought it not foul scorn to dodge his steps, + And listen, unperceived, to all that passed + Between the simple little Village Rose + And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores. + + A clumsy barrack-bully was DUBOSC, + Quite unfamiliar with the well-bred tact + That animates a proper gentleman + In dealing with a girl of humble rank. + You’ll understand his coarseness when I say + He would have married MAHRY DAUBIGNY, + And dragged the unsophisticated girl + Into the whirl of fashionable life, + For which her singularly rustic ways, + Her breeding (moral, but extremely rude), + Her language (chaste, but ungrammatical), + Would absolutely have unfitted her. + How different to this unreflecting boor + Was HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores. + + Contemporary with the incident + Related in our opening paragraph, + Was that sad war ’twixt Gallia and ourselves + That followed on the treaty signed at Troyes; + And so LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC + (Brave soldier, he, with all his faults of style) + And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores, + Were sent by CHARLES of France against the lines + Of our Sixth HENRY (Fourteen twenty-nine), + To drive his legions out of Aquitaine. + + When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores, + Returned, suspecting nothing, to his camp, + After his meeting with the Village Rose, + He found inside his barrack letter-box + A note from the commanding officer, + Requiring his attendance at head-quarters. + He went, and found LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES. + + “Young HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores, + This night we shall attack the English camp: + Be the ‘forlorn hope’ yours—you’ll lead it, sir, + And lead it too with credit, I’ve no doubt. + As every man must certainly be killed + (For you are twenty ’gainst two thousand men), + It is not likely that you will return. + But what of that? you’ll have the benefit + Of knowing that you die a soldier’s death.” + + Obedience was young HONGREE’S strongest point, + But he imagined that he only owed + Allegiance to his MAHRY and his King. + “If MAHRY bade me lead these fated men, + I’d lead them—but I do not think she would. + If CHARLES, my King, said, ‘Go, my son, and die,’ + I’d go, of course—my duty would be clear. + But MAHRY is in bed asleep, I hope, + And CHARLES, my King, a hundred leagues from this. + As for LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC, + How know I that our monarch would approve + The order he has given me to-night? + My King I’ve sworn in all things to obey— + I’ll only take my orders from my King!” + Thus HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores, + Interpreted the terms of his commission. + + And HONGREE, who was wise as he was good, + Disguised himself that night in ample cloak, + Round flapping hat, and vizor mask of black, + And made, unnoticed, for the English camp. + He passed the unsuspecting sentinels + (Who little thought a man in this disguise + Could be a proper object of suspicion), + And ere the curfew bell had boomed “lights out,” + He found in audience Bedford’s haughty Duke. + + “Your Grace,” he said, “start not—be not alarmed, + Although a Frenchman stands before your eyes. + I’m HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores. + My Colonel will attack your camp to-night, + And orders me to lead the hope forlorn. + Now I am sure our excellent KING CHARLES + Would not approve of this; but he’s away + A hundred leagues, and rather more than that. + So, utterly devoted to my King, + Blinded by my attachment to the throne, + And having but its interest at heart, + I feel it is my duty to disclose + All schemes that emanate from COLONEL JOOLES, + If I believe that they are not the kind + Of schemes that our good monarch would approve.” + + “But how,” said Bedford’s Duke, “do you propose + That we should overthrow your Colonel’s scheme?” + And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores, + Replied at once with never-failing tact: + “Oh, sir, I know this cursed country well. + Entrust yourself and all your host to me; + I’ll lead you safely by a secret path + Into the heart of COLONEL JOOLES’ array, + And you can then attack them unprepared, + And slay my fellow-countrymen unarmed.” + + The thing was done. The DUKE OF BEDFORD gave + The order, and two thousand fighting men + Crept silently into the Gallic camp, + And slew the Frenchmen as they lay asleep; + And Bedford’s haughty Duke slew COLONEL JOOLES, + And gave fair MAHRY, pride of Aquitaine, + To HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores. + + + + +ETIQUETTE. {243} + + + THE _Ballyshannon_ foundered off the coast of Cariboo, + And down in fathoms many went the captain and the crew; + Down went the owners—greedy men whom hope of gain allured: + Oh, dry the starting tear, for they were heavily insured. + + Besides the captain and the mate, the owners and the crew, + The passengers were also drowned excepting only two: + Young PETER GRAY, who tasted teas for BAKER, CROOP, AND CO., + And SOMERS, who from Eastern shores imported indigo. + + These passengers, by reason of their clinging to a mast, + Upon a desert island were eventually cast. + They hunted for their meals, as ALEXANDER SELKIRK used, + But they couldn’t chat together—they had not been introduced. + + For PETER GRAY, and SOMERS too, though certainly in trade, + Were properly particular about the friends they made; + And somehow thus they settled it without a word of mouth— + That GRAY should take the northern half, while SOMERS took the south. + + On PETER’S portion oysters grew—a delicacy rare, + But oysters were a delicacy PETER couldn’t bear. + On SOMERS’ side was turtle, on the shingle lying thick, + Which SOMERS couldn’t eat, because it always made him sick. + + GRAY gnashed his teeth with envy as he saw a mighty store + Of turtle unmolested on his fellow-creature’s shore. + The oysters at his feet aside impatiently he shoved, + For turtle and his mother were the only things he loved. + + And SOMERS sighed in sorrow as he settled in the south, + For the thought of PETER’S oysters brought the water to his mouth. + He longed to lay him down upon the shelly bed, and stuff: + He had often eaten oysters, but had never had enough. + + How they wished an introduction to each other they had had + When on board the _Ballyshannon_! And it drove them nearly mad + To think how very friendly with each other they might get, + If it wasn’t for the arbitrary rule of etiquette! + + One day, when out a-hunting for the _mus ridiculus_, + GRAY overheard his fellow-man soliloquizing thus: + “I wonder how the playmates of my youth are getting on, + M’CONNELL, S. B. WALTERS, PADDY BYLES, and ROBINSON?” + + These simple words made PETER as delighted as could be, + Old chummies at the Charterhouse were ROBINSON and he! + He walked straight up to SOMERS, then he turned extremely red, + Hesitated, hummed and hawed a bit, then cleared his throat, and said: + + “I beg your pardon—pray forgive me if I seem too bold, + But you have breathed a name I knew familiarly of old. + You spoke aloud of ROBINSON—I happened to be by. + You know him?” “Yes, extremely well.” “Allow me, so do I.” + + It was enough: they felt they could more pleasantly get on, + For (ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knew ROBINSON! + And Mr. SOMERS’ turtle was at PETER’S service quite, + And Mr. SOMERS punished PETER’S oyster-beds all night. + + They soon became like brothers from community of wrongs: + They wrote each other little odes and sang each other songs; + They told each other anecdotes disparaging their wives; + On several occasions, too, they saved each other’s lives. + + They felt quite melancholy when they parted for the night, + And got up in the morning soon as ever it was light; + Each other’s pleasant company they reckoned so upon, + And all because it happened that they both knew ROBINSON! + + They lived for many years on that inhospitable shore, + And day by day they learned to love each other more and more. + At last, to their astonishment, on getting up one day, + They saw a frigate anchored in the offing of the bay. + + To PETER an idea occurred. “Suppose we cross the main? + So good an opportunity may not be found again.” + And SOMERS thought a minute, then ejaculated, “Done! + I wonder how my business in the City’s getting on?” + + “But stay,” said Mr. PETER: “when in England, as you know, + I earned a living tasting teas for BAKER, CROOP, AND CO., + I may be superseded—my employers think me dead!” + “Then come with me,” said SOMERS, “and taste indigo instead.” + + But all their plans were scattered in a moment when they found + The vessel was a convict ship from Portland, outward bound; + When a boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very kind, + To go on board they firmly but respectfully declined. + + As both the happy settlers roared with laughter at the joke, + They recognized a gentlemanly fellow pulling stroke: + ’Twas ROBINSON—a convict, in an unbecoming frock! + Condemned to seven years for misappropriating stock!!! + + They laughed no more, for SOMERS thought he had been rather rash + In knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash; + And PETER thought a foolish tack he must have gone upon + In making the acquaintance of a friend of ROBINSON. + + At first they didn’t quarrel very openly, I’ve heard; + They nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word: + The word grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head, + And when they meet each other now, they cut each other dead. + + To allocate the island they agreed by word of mouth, + And PETER takes the north again, and SOMERS takes the south; + And PETER has the oysters, which he hates, in layers thick, + And SOMERS has the turtle—turtle always makes him sick. + + + + +AT A PANTOMIME. +BY A BILIOUS ONE. + + + AN Actor sits in doubtful gloom, + His stock-in-trade unfurled, + In a damp funereal dressing-room + In the Theatre Royal, World. + + He comes to town at Christmas-time, + And braves its icy breath, + To play in that favourite pantomime, + _Harlequin Life and Death_. + + A hoary flowing wig his weird + Unearthly cranium caps, + He hangs a long benevolent beard + On a pair of empty chaps. + + To smooth his ghastly features down + The actor’s art he cribs,— + A long and a flowing padded gown. + Bedecks his rattling ribs. + + He cries, “Go on—begin, begin! + Turn on the light of lime— + I’m dressed for jolly Old Christmas, in + A favourite pantomime!” + + The curtain’s up—the stage all black— + Time and the year nigh sped— + Time as an advertising quack— + The Old Year nearly dead. + + The wand of Time is waved, and lo! + Revealed Old Christmas stands, + And little children chuckle and crow, + And laugh and clap their hands. + + The cruel old scoundrel brightens up + At the death of the Olden Year, + And he waves a gorgeous golden cup, + And bids the world good cheer. + + The little ones hail the festive King,— + No thought can make them sad. + Their laughter comes with a sounding ring, + They clap and crow like mad! + + They only see in the humbug old + A holiday every year, + And handsome gifts, and joys untold, + And unaccustomed cheer. + + The old ones, palsied, blear, and hoar, + Their breasts in anguish beat— + They’ve seen him seventy times before, + How well they know the cheat! + + They’ve seen that ghastly pantomime, + They’ve felt its blighting breath, + They know that rollicking Christmas-time + Meant Cold and Want and Death,— + + Starvation—Poor Law Union fare— + And deadly cramps and chills, + And illness—illness everywhere, + And crime, and Christmas bills. + + They know Old Christmas well, I ween, + Those men of ripened age; + They’ve often, often, often seen + That Actor off the stage! + + They see in his gay rotundity + A clumsy stuffed-out dress— + They see in the cup he waves on high + A tinselled emptiness. + + Those aged men so lean and wan, + They’ve seen it all before, + They know they’ll see the charlatan + But twice or three times more. + + And so they bear with dance and song, + And crimson foil and green, + They wearily sit, and grimly long + For the Transformation Scene. + + + + +HAUNTED. + + + HAUNTED? Ay, in a social way + By a body of ghosts in dread array; + But no conventional spectres they— + Appalling, grim, and tricky: + I quail at mine as I’d never quail + At a fine traditional spectre pale, + With a turnip head and a ghostly wail, + And a splash of blood on the dickey! + + Mine are horrible, social ghosts,— + Speeches and women and guests and hosts, + Weddings and morning calls and toasts, + In every bad variety: + Ghosts who hover about the grave + Of all that’s manly, free, and brave: + You’ll find their names on the architrave + Of that charnel-house, Society. + + Black Monday—black as its school-room ink— + With its dismal boys that snivel and think + Of its nauseous messes to eat and drink, + And its frozen tank to wash in. + That was the first that brought me grief, + And made me weep, till I sought relief + In an emblematical handkerchief, + To choke such baby bosh in. + + First and worst in the grim array— + Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way, + Which I wouldn’t revive for a single day + For all the wealth of PLUTUS— + Are the horrible ghosts that school-days scared: + If the classical ghost that BRUTUS dared + Was the ghost of his “Cæsar” unprepared, + I’m sure I pity BRUTUS. + + I pass to critical seventeen; + The ghost of that terrible wedding scene, + When an elderly Colonel stole my Queen, + And woke my dream of heaven. + No schoolgirl decked in her nurse-room curls + Was my gushing innocent Queen of Pearls; + If she wasn’t a girl of a thousand girls, + She was one of forty-seven! + + I see the ghost of my first cigar, + Of the thence-arising family jar— + Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar, + And I called the Judge “Your wushup!”) + Of reckless days and reckless nights, + With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights, + Unholy songs and tipsy fights, + Which I strove in vain to hush up. + + Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks, + Ghosts of “copy, declined with thanks,” + Of novels returned in endless ranks, + And thousands more, I suffer. + The only line to fitly grace + My humble tomb, when I’ve run my race, + Is, “Reader, this is the resting-place + Of an unsuccessful duffer.” + + I’ve fought them all, these ghosts of mine, + But the weapons I’ve used are sighs and brine, + And now that I’m nearly forty-nine, + Old age is my chiefest bogy; + For my hair is thinning away at the crown, + And the silver fights with the worn-out brown; + And a general verdict sets me down + As an irreclaimable fogy. + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +{1} Apart from a few illustrations on the title page the 140 +illustrations have not yet been scanned for this transcription. They +will appear in due time.—DP. + +{44} A version of this ballad is published as a Song, by Mr. Jeffreys, +Soho Square. + +{59} This ballad is published as a Song, under the title “If,” by +Messrs. Cramer and Co. + +{156a} “Go with me to a Notary—seal me there +Your single bond.”—_Merchant of Venice_, Act I., sc. 3. + +{156b} “And there shall she, at Friar Lawrence’ cell, +Be shrived and married.”—_Romeo and Juliet_, Act II., sc. 4. + +{156c} “And give the fasting horses provender.”—_Henry the Fifth_, Act +IV., sc. 2. + +{156d} “Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares.”—_Troilus and +Cressida_, Act I., sc. 3. + +{156e} “Then must the Jew be merciful.”—_Merchant of Venice_, Act IV., +sc. 1. + +{156f} “The spring, the summer, +The chilling autumn, angry winter, change +Their wonted liveries.”—_Midsummer Night Dream_, Act IV., sc. 1. + +{156g} “In the county of Glo’ster, justice of the peace and _coram_.” + + _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act I., sc. 1. + +{156h} “What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?”—_King John_, Act V., +sc. 2. + +{156i} “And I’ll provide his executioner.”—_Henry the Sixth_ (Second +Part), Act III., sc. 1. + +{156j} “The lioness had torn some flesh away, +Which all this while had bled.”—_As You Like It_, Act IV., sc. 3. + +{192} Described by MUNGO PARK. + +{233} “Like a bird.”—_Slang expression_. + +{243} Reprinted from the “The Graphic,” by permission of the +proprietors. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIFTY BAB BALLADS*** + + +******* This file should be named 757-0.txt or 757-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/7/5/757 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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