THE CHAMBERMAID.
When clouds obscure the evening sky,
And rains in torrents pour,
The inn with joy the travellers spy,
And seek its welcome door.
'Tis there I stand to please them all,
And follow still my trade;
I smile and run whene'er they call,
A merry little chambermaid.
But when appears the dawn of day,
Farewell to every guest,
They take their leaves and onward stray,
Some east and others west.
And when that horrid bore, the bill,
Is call'd for, read, and paid,
I cry, "I hope, give what you will,
You'll not forget the chambermaid."
Thus happy might I pass my life,
But love rules in my breast,
And till I'm made a happy wife,
I ne'er shall be at rest.
Then Fortune's gifts in vain she sheds,
For love I leave my trade;
And give my all to him who weds
The merry little chambermaid.
SONG.[70]
When I was a very little fellow,
To Italy I went
Upon music intent,
With a voice very pliable and mellow.
Il sondo to my earo
Si suito e so clearo.
I like it;—I love it;—I adore, oh
And den it was I resolved to have some more,
Che il gela del timore
Sua Pace in tanta pena
Tanta Smorza l'ardore,
Gia sento in ogni vena.
To Turkey then I bent my way;
Tink, tink, a ting a ring, oh!
When cymbals jingle, music play,
Ting, ting a ting a ring, oh!
Yet then I change;
To Germany I range;
And Holland, too, mynher vat is der name,
Bazzoon, O Gloch da cram bo
Vat can a, do, do!
Then turn again
To flippant Spain,
Fast as ever I can go,
Where pretty sets
With castanets
Tack a rack to the merry Fandango.
In France I there
Learn'd many an air,
And music made my gain
With Comment ça,
Monsieur? Ha! Ha!
Miron ton ton ton tain!
But near home I got land,
And lilted I into Scotland,
Where Donald loo'd fair Maggie bonnie;
She loo'd Jock and hated Johnny;
Wi bit love between 'em ganging,
Sawney gied the lad a banging.
And now to Hibernia, the true land of harmony,
Tippling your whiskey to Shelim a gig,
Music, love, wine, and true friendship so charming ye,
Blood and ouns, boderoo, fizle my gig.
In England, no music is fit to be read,
Save one glorious tune that's in every one's head.
'Tis a tune we delight in,
So glorious to sing;
God save great George our King,
Long live our noble King!
God save the King.
SIR TILBURY TOTT.[71]
The plump Lady Tott to her husband one day
Said, "Let us go driving this evening, I pray."
(Lady Tott was an alderman's daughter.)
"Well, where shall we go?" said Sir Tilbury Tott;
"Why, my love," said my lady, "the weather is hot,
Suppose we drive round by the water,—
The water,—
Suppose we drive round by the water."
The dinner was ended, the claret was "done,"
The knight getting up—getting down was the sun,—
And my lady agog for heart-slaughter;
When Sir Tilbury, lazy, like cows after grains,
Said, "The weather is lowering, my love; see, it rains,—
Only look at the drops in the water,—
The water,—
Only look at the drops in the water."
Lady Tott, who, when earnestly fix'd on a drive,
Overcame all excuses Sir Til might contrive,
Had her bonnet and parasol brought her:
Says she, "Dear Sir Til, don't let me ask in vain;
The dots in the pond which you take to be rain,
Are nothing but flies in the water,—
The water,—
Are nothing but flies in the water."
Sir Tilbury saw that he could not escape;
So he put on his coat, with a three-doubled cape,
And then by the hand gently caught her;
And lifting her up to his high one-horse "shay,"
She settled her "things," and the pair drove away,
And skirted the edge of the water,—
The water,—
And skirted the edge of the water.
Sir Til was quite right; on the top of his crown,
Like small shot in volleys, the rain pepper'd down,—
Only small shot would do much more slaughter,—
Till the gay Lady Tott, who was getting quite wet,
Said, "My dear Sir T. T.," in a kind of half pet,
"Turn back, for I'm drench'd with rain-water,—
Rain-water,—
Turn back, for I'm drench'd with rain-water."
"Oh, dear Lady T," said Til, winking his eye,
"You everything know so much better than I;"
(For, when angry, with kindness he fought her.)
"You may fancy this rain, as I did before,
But you show'd me my folly;—'tis really no more
Than the skimming of flies in the water,—
The water,—
Than the skimming of flies in the water."
He drove her about for an hour or two,
Till her ladyship's clothes were completely soak'd through,
Then home to Tott Cottage he brought her,
And said, "Now, Lady T., by the joke of to-night,
I'll reign over you; for you'll own that I'm right,
And know rain, ma'am, from flies in the water,—
The water,—
Know rain, ma'am, from flies in the water."
VENICE PRESERVED.[72]
Tune—"The Sprig of Shillelagh."
Och, tell me truth now, and did you ne'er hear
Of a pair of big traitors, call'd Jaffier and Pierre,
Who thought that their country was shockingly served?
Who met in the dark, and the night, and the fogs,—
Who "howl'd at the moon" and call'd themselves "dogs,"
Till Jaffier to Pierre pledged his honour and life,
And into the bargain his iligant wife,—
By which very means was ould Venice preserved.
The ringleaders held a snug club in the town,
The object of which was to knock the Doge down,
Because from his duty they thought he had swerved.
They met every evening, and more was their fault,
At the house of a gentleman, Mr. Renault,
Who—och, the spalpeen!—when they all went away,
Stay'd at home, and made love to the sweet Mrs. J.,—
By which, in the end, was ould Venice preserved.
When Jaffier came back, his most delicate belle—
Belvidera they call'd her—determined to tell
How she by old Renault that night had been served.
This blew up a breeze, and made Jaffier repent
Of the plots he had laid: to the Senate he went.
He got safe home by twelve: his wife bade him not fail;
And by half-after-one he was snug in the gaol,—
By which, as we'll see, was ould Venice preserved.
The Doge and the Court, when J.'s story they'd heard,
Thought it good for the country to forfeit their word,
And break the conditions they should have observed.
So they sent the police out to clear every street,
And seize whomsoever by chance they might meet;
And before the bright sun was aloft in the sky,
Twenty-two of the party were sentenced to die,—
And that was the way was ould Venice preserved.
Mr. Jaffier, who 'peach'd, was let off at the time;
But that wouldn't do, he committed a crime,
Which punishment more than his others deserved;
So when Pierre was condemn'd, to the scaffold he went,
Pierre whisper'd and nodded, and J. said "Content."
They mounted together, till kind Mr. J.,
Having stabb'd Mr. P., served himself the same way,—
And so was their honour in Venice preserved.
But och! what a scene, when the beautiful Bell,
At her father's, found out how her dear husband fell!
The sight would the stoutest of hearts have unnerved.
She did nothing but tumble, and squabble, and rave,
And try to scratch J., with her nails from the grave.
This lasted three months, when, cured of her pain,
She chuck'd off her weeds, and got married again,—
By which very means was this Venus preserved.
DAYLIGHT DINNERS.[73]
When Summer's smiles rejoice the plains,
And deck the vale with flowers;
And blushing nymphs, and gentle swains,
With love beguile the hours;
Oh! then conceive the ills that mock
The well-dress'd London sinner,
Invited just at seven o'clock
To join a "daylight dinner."
The sun, no trees the eye to shade,
Glares full into the windows,
And scorches widow, wife, and maid
Just as it does the Hindoos;
One's shoes look brown, one's black looks grey,
One's legs if thin, look thinner;
There's nothing equals, in its way,
A London daylight dinner.
The cloth seems blue, the plate's like lead,
The faded carpet dirty,
Grey hairs peep out from each dark head,
And twenty looks like thirty.
You sit beside an heiress gay,
And do your best to win her,
But oh!—what can one do or say,
If 'tis a daylight dinner?
A lovely dame just forty-one,
At night a charming creature,
My praise unqualified had won,
In figure, form, and feature,
That she was born, without a doubt,
Before the days of Jenner,
By sitting next her, I found out,
Once at a daylight dinner.
Freckles, and moles, and holes, and spots,
The envious sun discloses,
And little bumps, and little dots,
On chins, and cheeks, and noses.
Last Monday, Kate, when next me placed
(A most determined grinner),
Betray'd four teeth of mineral paste,
Eating a daylight dinner.