Ballad
Why, pretty page, art ever sighing?
Is sorrow in thy heartlet lying?
Come, set a-ringing
Thy laugh entrancing,
And ever singing
And ever dancing.
Ever singing, Tra! la! la!
Ever dancing, Tra! la! la!
Ever singing, ever dancing,
Ever singing, Tra! la! la!
He skipped for joy like little muttons,
He danced like Esmeralda's kid.
(She did not mean a boy in buttons,
Although he fancied that she did.)
Poor lad! convinced he thus would win her,
He wore out many pairs of soles;
He danced when taking down the dinner—
He danced when bringing up the coals.
He danced and sang (however laden)
With his incessant "Tra! la! la!"
Which much surprised the noble maiden,
And puzzled even her Papa.
He nourished now his flame and fanned it,
He even danced at work below.
The upper servants wouldn't stand it,
And Bowles the butler told him so.
At length on impulse acting blindly,
His love he laid completely bare;
The gentle Earl received him kindly
And told the lad to take a chair.
"Oh, sir," the suitor uttered sadly,
"Don't give your indignation vent;
I fear you think I'm acting madly,
Perhaps you think me insolent?"
The kindly Earl repelled the notion;
His noble bosom heaved a sigh,
His fingers trembled with emotion,
A tear stood in his mild blue eye:
For, oh! the scene recalled too plainly
The half-forgotten time when he,
A boy of nine, had worshipped vainly
A governess of forty-three!
"My boy," he said, in tone consoling,
"Give up this idle fancy—do—
The song you heard my daughter trolling
Did not, indeed, refer to you.
"I feel for you, poor boy, acutely;
I would not wish to give you pain;
Your pangs I estimate minutely,—
I, too, have loved, and loved in vain.
"But still your humble rank and station
For Minnie surely are not meet"—
He said much more in conversation
Which it were needless to repeat.
Now I'm prepared to bet a guinea,
Were this a mere dramatic case,
The page would have eloped with Minnie.
But, no—he only left his place.
The simple Truth is my detective,
With me Sensation can't abide;
The Likely beats the mere Effective,
And Nature is my only guide.
[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 deal in 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,
Is free for half-an-hour to 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 recognised 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 the disgusting prison food,
For when a boy they taught him to distinguish Good from Bad,
And other educational advantages he's had.
"A burglar or garrotter, 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 apologise." So Mister William's out.
I hope he will be careful in his manuscripts, I'm sure,
And not begin experimentalising any more.
[WOULD YOU KNOW?]
Would you know the kind of maid
Sets my heart a flame-a?
Eyes must be downcast and staid,
Cheeks must flush for shame-a!
She may neither dance nor sing,
But, demure in everything,
Hang her head in modest way
With pouting lips that seem to say,
"Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,
Though I die of shame-a!"
Please you, that's the kind of maid
Sets my heart a flame-a!
When a maid is bold and gay
With a tongue goes clang-a,
Flaunting it in brave array,
Maiden may go hang-a!
Sunflower gay and hollyhock
Never shall my garden stock;
Mine the blushing rose of May,
With pouting lips that seem to say
"Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,
Though I die for shame-a!"
Please you, that's the kind of maid
Sets my heart a flame-a!
[PASHA BAILEY BEN]
A proud Pasha was Bailey Ben,
His wives were three, his tails were ten;
His form was dignified, but stout,
Men called him "Little Roundabout."
His Importance
Pale Pilgrims came from o'er the sea
To wait on Pasha Bailey B.,
All bearing presents in a crowd,
For B. was poor as well as proud.
His Presents
They brought him onions strung on ropes,
And cold boiled beef, and telescopes,
And balls of string, and shrimps, and guns,
And chops, and tacks, and hats, and buns.
More of them
They brought him white kid gloves, and pails,
And candlesticks, and potted quails,
And capstan-bars, and scales and weights,
And ornaments for empty grates.
Why I mention these
My tale is not of these—oh no!
I only mention them to show
The divers gifts that divers men
Brought o'er the sea to Bailey Ben.
His Confidant
A confidant had Bailey B.,
A gay Mongolian dog was he;
I am not good at Turkish names,
And so I call him Simple James.
His Confidant's Countenance
A dreadful legend you might trace
In Simple James's honest face,
For there you read, in Nature's print,
"A Scoundrel of the Deepest Tint."
His Character
A deed of blood, or fire, or flames,
Was meat and drink to Simple James:
To hide his guilt he did not plan,
But owned himself a bad young man.
The Author to his Reader
And why on earth good Bailey Ben
(The wisest, noblest, best of men)
Made Simple James his right-hand man
Is quite beyond my mental span.
The same, continued
But there—enough of gruesome deeds!
My heart, in thinking of them, bleeds;
And so let Simple James take wing,—
'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.
The Pasha's Clerk
Good Pasha Bailey kept a clerk
(For Bailey only made his mark),
His name was Matthew Wycombe Coo,
A man of nearly forty-two.
His Accomplishments
No person that I ever knew
Could "yödel" half as well as Coo,
And Highlanders exclaimed, "Eh, weel!"
When Coo began to dance a reel.
His Kindness to the Pasha's Wives
He used to dance and sing and play
In such an unaffected way,
He cheered the unexciting lives
Of Pasha Bailey's lovely wives.
The Author to his Reader
But why should I encumber you
With histories of Matthew Coo?
Let Matthew Coo at once take wing.—
'Tis not of Coo I'm going to sing.
The Author's Muse
Let me recall my wandering Muse
She shall be steady if I choose—
She roves, instead of helping me
To tell the deeds of Bailey B.
The Pasha's Visitor
One morning knocked, at half-past eight,
A tall Red Indian at his gate.
In Turkey, as you're p'raps aware,
Red Indians are extremely rare.
The Visitor's Outfit
Mocassins decked his graceful legs,
His eyes were black, and round as eggs,
And on his neck, instead of beads,
Hung several Catawampous seeds.
What the Visitor said
"Ho, ho!" he said, "thou pale-faced one,
Poor offspring of an Eastern sun,
You've never seen the Red Man skip
Upon the banks of Mississip!"
The Author's Moderation
To say that Bailey oped his eyes
Would feebly paint his great surprise—
To say it almost made him die
Would be to paint it much too high.
The Author to his Reader
But why should I ransack my head
To tell you all that Indian said;
We'll let the Indian man take wing,—
'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.
The Reader to the Author
Come, come, I say, that's quite enough
Of this absurd disjointed stuff;
Now let's get on to that affair
About Lieutenant-Colonel Flare.
[LIEUTENANT-COLONEL FLARE]
The earth has armies plenty,
And semi-warlike bands,
I dare say there are twenty
In European lands;
But, oh! in no direction
You'd find one to compare
In brotherly affection
With that of Colonel Flare.
His soldiers might be rated
As military Pearls:
As unsophisticated
As pretty little girls!
They never smoked or ratted,
Or talked of Sues or Polls;
The Sergeant-Major tatted,
The others nursed their dolls.
He spent his days in teaching
These truly solemn facts;
There's little use in preaching,
Or circulating tracts.
(The vainest plan invented
For stifling other creeds,
Unless it's supplemented
With charitable deeds.)
He taught his soldiers kindly
To give at Hunger's call:
"Oh, better far give blindly
Than never give at all!
Though sympathy be kindled
By Imposition's game,
Oh, better far be swindled
Than smother up its flame!"
His means were far from ample
For pleasure or for dress,
Yet note this bright example
Of single-heartedness:
Though ranking as a Colonel,
His pay was but a groat,
While their reward diurnal
Was—each a five-pound note.
Moreover,—this evinces
His kindness, you'll allow,—
He fed them all like princes,
And lived himself on cow.
He set them all regaling
On curious wines, and dear,
While he would sit pale-ale-ing,
Or quaffing ginger-beer.
Then at his instigation
(A pretty fancy this)
Their daily pay and ration
He'd take in change for his;
They brought it to him weekly,
And he without a groan
Would take it from them meekly
And give them all his own!
Though not exactly knighted
As knights, of course, should be,
Yet no one so delighted
In harmless chivalry.
If peasant girl or ladye
Beneath misfortunes sank,
Whate'er distinctions made he,
They were not those of rank.
No maiden young and comely
Who wanted good advice
(However poor or homely)
Need ask him for it twice.
He'd wipe away the blindness
That comes of teary dew;
His sympathetic kindness
No sort of limit knew.
He always hated dealing
With men who schemed or planned;
A person harsh—unfeeling—
The Colonel could not stand.
He hated cold, suspecting,
Official men in blue,
Who pass their lives detecting
The crimes that others do.
For men who'd shoot a sparrow,
Or immolate a worm
Beneath a farmer's harrow,
He could not find a term.
Humanely, ay, and knightly
He dealt with such an one;
He took and tied him tightly,
And blew him from a gun.
The earth has armies plenty,
And semi-warlike bands,
I'm certain there are twenty
In European lands;
But, oh! in no direction
You'd find one to compare
In brotherly affection
With that of Colonel Flare.
[SPECULATION]
Comes a train of little ladies
From scholastic trammels free,
Each a little bit afraid is,
Wondering what the world can be!
Is it but a world of trouble—
Sadness set to song?
Is its beauty but a bubble
Bound to break ere long?
Are its palaces and pleasures
Fantasies that fade?
And the glory of its treasures
Shadow of a shade?
Schoolgirls we, eighteen and under,
From scholastic trammels free,
And we wonder—how we wonder!—
What on earth the world can be!
[AH ME!]
When maiden loves, she sits and sighs
She wanders to and fro;
Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes,
And to all questions she replies
With a sad heigho!
'Tis but a little word—"heigho!"
So soft, 'tis scarcely heard—"heigho!
An idle breath—
Yet life and death
May hang upon a maid's "heigho!"
When maiden loves, she mopes apart,
As owl mopes on a tree;
Although she keenly feels the smart,
She cannot tell what ails her heart,
With its sad "Ah me!"
'Tis but a foolish sigh—"Ah me!"
Born but to droop and die—"Ah me!"
Yet all the sense
Of eloquence
Lies hidden in a maid's "Ah me!"
[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 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 the 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 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 them-
selves, 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 ecclesiastical
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 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 dinner, waiting generally on the family,
and making the beds.
But Blake even went farther than that, and said that, on
Sundays, 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 into 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 DUKE OF PLAZA-TORO]
In enterprise of martial kind,
When there was any fighting,
He led his regiment from behind
(He found it less exciting).
But when away his regiment ran,
His place was at the fore, O-
That celebrated,
Cultivated,
Underrated
Nobleman,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
In the first and foremost flight, ha, ha!
You always found that knight, ha, ha!
That celebrated,
Cultivated,
Underrated
Nobleman,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
When, to evade Destruction's hand,
To hide they all proceeded,
No soldier in that gallant band
Hid half as well as he did.
He lay concealed throughout the war,
And so preserved his gore, O!
That unaffected,
Undetected,
Well connected
Warrior,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
In every doughty deed, ha, ha!
He always took the lead, ha, ha!
That unaffected,
Undetected,
Well connected
Warrior,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
When told that they would all be shot
Unless they left the service,
That hero hesitated not,
So marvellous his nerve is.
He sent his resignation in,
The first of all his corps, O!
That very knowing,
Overflowing,
Easy-going
Paladin,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
To men of grosser clay, ha, ha!
He always showed the way, ha, ha!
That very knowing,
Overflowing,
Easy-going
Paladin,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
[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 herited 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 you'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 happen to want with me?"
"Wronged boy," said Paley Vollaire, "I will,
But don't you fidget yourself—sit still.
"'Tis now some thirty-seven years ago
Since first began the plot that I'm revealing.
A fine young woman, wed ten years or so,
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 her 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 darksome day (I should have mentioned that
We were alike in dress and baby feature)
I in MY cradle having placed the brat,
Crept into his—the pampered little creature!
It was imprudent—well, disgraceful maybe,
For, oh! I was a bad, black-hearted baby!
"So rare a luxury was food, I think
There was no wickedness I wouldn't 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 for my sin in fraudulently 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'd 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 ÆSTHETE]
If you're anxious for to shine in the high æsthetic line, as
a man of culture rare,
You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms,
and plant them everywhere.
You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in
novel phrases of your complicated state of mind
(The meaning doesn't matter if it's only idle chatter of a
transcendental kind).
And every one will say,
As you walk your mystic way,
"If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep
for me,
Why, what a very singularly deep
young man this deep young man must be!"
Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days which have
long since passed away,
And convince 'em, if you can, that the reign of good
Queen Anne was Culture's palmiest day.
Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever's fresh and new,
and declare it's crude and mean,
And that Art stopped short in the cultivated court of the
Empress Josephine.
And every one will say,
As you walk your mystic way,
"If that's not good enough for him which is good enough
for me,
Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind of
youth must be!"
Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion
must excite your languid spleen,
An attachment à la Plato for a bashful young potato, or a
not-too-French French bean.
Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an
apostle in the high æsthetic band,
If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your
mediæval hand.
And every one will say,
As you walk your flowery way,
"If he's content with a vegetable love which would
certainly not suit me,
Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure
young man must be!"
[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 his, 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, though he scarce knew why
(Perhaps to please the lookers-on),
He sat there every day—though con-
Stitutionally shy.
At first the Mermen sneered 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 Cleggs 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."
[SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I]
When I went to the Bar as a very young man
(Said I to myself—said I),
I'll work on a new and original plan
(Said I to myself—said I),
I'll never assume that a rogue or a thief
Is a gentleman worthy implicit belief,
Because his attorney has sent me a brief
(Said I to myself—said I!)
I'll never throw dust in a juryman's eyes
(Said I to myself—said I),
Or hoodwink a judge who is not over-wise
(Said I to myself—said I),
Or assume that the witnesses summoned in force
In Exchequer, Queen's Bench, Common Pleas, or Divorce,
Have perjured themselves as a matter of course
(Said I to myself—said I!)
Ere I go into court I will read my brief through
(Said I to myself—said I),
And I'll never take work I'm unable to do
(Said I to myself—said I).
My learned profession I'll never disgrace
By taking a fee with a grin on my face,
When I haven't been there to attend to the case
(Said I to myself—said I!)
In other professions in which men engage
(Said I to myself—said I),
The Army, the Navy, the Church, and the Stage
(Said I to myself—said I),
Professional licence, if carried too far,
Your chance of promotion will certainly mar—
And I fancy the rule might apply to the Bar
(Said I to myself—said I!)
