At last the point was given up in absolute despair,
When a distant cousin died, and he became a millionaire,
With a county seat in Parliament, a moor or two of grouse,
And a taste for making inconvenient speeches in the House!
Then it flashed upon Britannia that the fittest of rewards
Was, to take him from the Commons and to put him in the Lords!
And who so fit to sit in it, deny it if you can,
As this very great—this very good—this very gifted man?
(Though I’m more than half afraid
That it sometimes may be said
That we never should have revelled in that source of proper pride,
However great his merits—if his cousin hadn’t died!)
THE MAGNET AND THE CHURN
A Magnet hung in a hardware shop,
And all around was a loving crop
Of scissors and needles, nails and knives,
Offering love for all their lives;
But for iron the Magnet felt no whim,
Though he charmed iron, it charmed not him,
From needles and nails and knives he’d turn,
For he’d set his love on a Silver Churn!
His most æsthetic,
Very magnetic
Fancy took this turn—
“If I can wheedle
A knife or needle,
Why not a Silver Churn?”
And Iron and Steel expressed surprise,
The needles opened their well-drilled eyes,
The pen-knives felt “shut up,” no doubt,
The scissors declared themselves “cut out,”
The kettles they boiled with rage, ’tis said,
While every nail went off its head,
And hither and thither began to roam,
Till a hammer came up—and drove it home,
While this magnetic
Peripatetic
Lover he lived to learn,
By no endeavour,
Can Magnet ever
Attract a Silver Churn!
THE FAMILY FOOL
Oh! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon,
If you listen to popular rumour;
From morning to night he’s so joyous and bright,
And he bubbles with wit and good humour!
He’s so quaint and so terse, both in prose and in verse;
Yet though people forgive his transgression,
There are one or two rules that all Family Fools
Must observe, if they love their profession.
There are one or two rules,
Half-a-dozen, maybe,
That all family fools,
Of whatever degree,
Must observe if they love their profession.
If you wish to succeed as a jester, you’ll need
To consider each person’s auricular:
What is all right for B would quite scandalise C
(For C is so very particular);
And D may be dull, and E’s very thick skull
Is as empty of brains as a ladle;
While F is F sharp, and will cry with a carp,
That he’s known your best joke from his cradle!
When your humour they flout,
You can’t let yourself go;
And it does put you out
When a person says, “Oh!
I have known that old joke from my cradle!”
If your master is surly, from getting up early
(And tempers are short in the morning),
An inopportune joke is enough to provoke
Him to give you, at once, a month’s warning.
Then if you refrain, he is at you again,
For he likes to get value for money:
He’ll ask then and there, with an insolent stare,
“If you know that you’re paid to be funny?”
It adds to the tasks
Of a merryman’s place,
When your principal asks,
With a scowl on his face,
If you know that you’re paid to be funny?
Comes a Bishop, maybe, or a solemn D.D.—
Oh, beware of his anger provoking!
Better not pull his hair—don’t stick pins in his chair;
He won’t understand practical joking.
If the jests that you crack have an orthodox smack,
You may get a bland smile from these sages;
But should it, by chance, be imported from France,
Half-a-crown is stopped out of your wages!
It’s a general rule,
Though your zeal it may quench,
If the Family Fool
Makes a joke that’s too French,
Half-a-crown is stopped out of his wages!
Though your head it may rack with a bilious attack,
And your senses with toothache you’re losing,
And you’re mopy and flat—they don’t fine you for that
If you’re properly quaint and amusing!
Though your wife ran away with a soldier that day,
And took with her your trifle of money;
Bless your heart, they don’t mind—they’re exceedingly kind—
They don’t blame you—as long as you’re funny!
It’s a comfort to feel
If your partner should flit,
Though you suffer a deal,
They don’t mind it a bit—
They don’t blame you—so long as you’re funny!