The Bab Ballads, with Which Are Included Songs of a Savoyard

by W. S. Gilbert

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 of 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 bade)

With their loud high jinks

And underbred winks

None thought they'd a family have—but they had;

A singular lad

Who drove 'em half mad,

He proved such 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 weed 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, no!"

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 go, if I may."

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 health 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.

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[THE WORKING MONARCH]

Rising early in the morning,

We proceed to light the fire,

Then our Majesty adorning

In its work-a-day attire,

We embark without delay

On the duties of the day.

First, we polish off some batches

Of political despatches,

And foreign politicians circumvent;

Then, if business isn't heavy,

We may hold a Royal levée,

Or ratify some Acts of Parliament:

Then we probably review the household troops—

With the usual "Shalloo humps" and "Shalloo hoops!"

Or receive with ceremonial and state

An interesting Eastern Potentate.

After that we generally

Go and dress our private valet—

(It's a rather nervous duty—he a touchy little man)—

Write some letters literary

For our private secretary—

(He is shaky in his spelling, so we help him if we can.)

Then, in view of cravings inner,

We go down and order dinner;

Or we polish the Regalia and the Coronation Plate—

Spend an hour in titivating

All our Gentlemen-in-Waiting;

Or we run on little errands for the Ministers of State.

Oh, philosophers may sing

Of the troubles of a King,

Yet the duties are delightful, and the privileges great;

But the privilege and pleasure

That we treasure beyond measure

Is to run on little errands for the Ministers of State!

After luncheon (making merry

On a bun and glass of sherry),

If we've nothing in particular to do,

We may make a Proclamation,

Or receive a Deputation—

Then we possibly create a Peer or two.

Then we help a fellow-creature on his path

With the Garter or the Thistle or the Bath:

Or we dress and toddle off in semi-State

To a festival, a function, or a fête.

Then we go and stand as sentry

At the Palace (private entry),

Marching hither, marching thither, up and down and to and fro,

While the warrior on duty

Goes in search of beer and beauty

(And it generally happens that he hasn't far to go).

He relieves us, if he's able,

Just in time to lay the table,

Then we dine and serve the coffee; and at half-past twelve or one,

With a pleasure that's emphatic,

Then we seek our little attic

With the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done.

Oh, philosophers may sing

Of the troubles of a King,

But of pleasures there are many and of troubles there are none;

And the culminating pleasure

That we treasure beyond measure

Is the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done!

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