Whenthe night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies,And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies—When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay the moon,Then is the spectres' holiday—then is the ghosts' high noon!As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie low on the fen,From grey tombstones are gathered the bones that once were women and men,And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too soon,For cockcrow limits our holiday—the dead of the night's high noon!And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds take flight,With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim "good night";Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its jolliest tune,And ushers our next high holiday—the dead of the night's high noon!A WORM WILL TURNI lovea man who'll smile and jokeWhen with misfortune crowned;Who'll pun beneath a pauper's yoke,And as he breaks his daily toke,Conundrums gay propound.Just such a man wasBernard Jupp,He scoffed at Fortune's frown;He gaily drained his bitter cup—Though Fortune often threw him up,It never cast him down.Though years their share of sorrow bring,We know that far aboveAll other griefs, are griefs that springFrom some misfortune happeningTo those we really love.E'en sorrow for another's woeOurBernardfailed to quell;Though by this special form of blowNo person ever suffered so,Or bore his grief so well.His father, wealthy and well clad,And owning house and park.Lost every halfpenny he had,And then became (extremely sad!)A poor attorney's clerk.All sons it surely would appal,Except the passing meek,To see a father lose his all,And from an independence fallTo one pound ten a week!ButJuppshook off this sorrow's weightAnd, like a Christian son,Proved Poverty a happy fate—Proved Wealth to be a devil's bait,To lure poor sinners on.With other sorrowsBernardcoped,For sorrows came in packs;His cousins with their housemaids sloped—His uncles forged—his aunts eloped—His sisters married blacks.ButBernard, far from murmuring(Exemplar, friends, to us),Determined to his faith to cling,—He made the best of everything,And argued softly thus:"'Twere harsh my uncles' forging knackToo rudely to condemn—My aunts, repentant, may come back,And blacks are nothing like as blackAs people colour them!"Still Fate, with many a sorrow rife,Maintained relentless fight:His grandmamma next lost her life,Then died the mother of his wife,But still he seemed all right.His brother fond (the only linkTo life that bound him now)One morning, overcome by drink,He broke his leg (the right, I think)In some disgraceful row.But did myBernardswear and curse?Oh no—to murmur loth,He only said, "Go, get a nurse:Be thankful that it isn't worse;You might have broken both!"But worms who watch without concernThe cockchafer on thorns,Or beetles smashed, themselves will turnIf, walking through the slippery fern,You tread upon their corns.One night asBernardmade his trackThrough Brompton home to bed,A footpad, with a vizor black,Took watch and purse, and dealt a crackOnBernard'ssaint-like head.It was too much—his spirit rose,He looked extremely cross.Men thought him steeled to mortal foes,But no—he bowed to countless blows,But kicked against this loss.He finally made up his mindUpon his friends to call;Subscription lists were largely signed,For men were really glad to findHim mortal, after all!THE HUMANE MIKADOA morehumane Mikado neverDid in Japan exist;To nobody second,I'm certainly reckonedA true philanthropist.It is my very humane endeavourTo make, to some extent,Each evil liverA running riverOf harmless merriment.My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime:And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment—Of innocent merriment!All prosy dull society sinners,Who chatter and bleat and bore,Are sent to hear sermonsFrom mystical GermansWho preach from ten to four:The amateur tenor, whose vocal villainiesAll desire to shirk,Shall, during off-hours,Exhibit his powersTo Madame Tussaud's waxwork:The lady who dyes a chemical yellow,Or stains her grey hair puce,Or pinches her figger,Is painted with vigourAnd permanent walnut juice:The idiot who, in railway carriages,Scribbles on window panes,We only sufferTo ride on a bufferIn Parliamentary trains.My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime;And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment—Of innocent merriment!The advertising quack who weariesWith tales of countless cures,His teeth, I've enacted,Shall all be extractedBy terrified amateurs:The music-hall singer attends a seriesOf masses and fugues and "ops"By Bach, interwovenWith Spohr and Beethoven,At classical Monday Pops:The billiard sharp whom any one catches,His doom's extremely hard—He's made to dwellIn a dungeon cellOn a spot that's always barred;And there he plays extravagant matchesIn fitless finger-stalls,On a cloth untrue,With a twisted cueAnd elliptical billiard balls!My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime;And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment,Of innocent merriment!THE HAUGHTY ACTORAnactor—Gibbs, of Drury Lane—Of very decent station,Once happened in a part to gainExcessive approbation;It sometimes turns a fellow's brainAnd makes him singularly vainWhen he believes that he receivesTremendous approbation.His great success half drove him mad,But no one seemed to mind him;Well, in another piece he hadAnother part assigned him.This part was smaller, by a bit,Than that in which he made a hit.So, much ill-used, he straight refusedTo play the part assigned him.That night that actor slept, and I'll attemptTo tell you of the vivid dream he dreamt:THE DREAMIn fighting with a robber band(A thing he loved sincerely)A sword struckGibbsupon the handAnd 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 boundHad wounded him severely.To SurgeonCobbhe made a trip,Who'd just effected featlyAn amputation at the hipParticularly neatly.A rising man was SurgeonCobb,But this extremely ticklish jobHe 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 againThe Theatre Royal, Drury LaneThis 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 playrôles'Utility' that verge on.'First amputation'—nothing less—That is my line of business:We surgeon nobs despise all jobsUtility that verge on."When in your hip there lurks disease"(So dreamt this lively dreamer),"Or devastatingcariesInhumerusorfemur,If you can pay a handsome fee,Oh, then you may remember me,With joy elate I'll amputateYourhumerusorfemur."The disconcerted actor ceasedThe 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,HowCobb'sneglect of his defectHad made his finger fester."Oh, bring my action, if you please,The case I pray you urge on,And win me thumping damagesFromCobb, that haughty surgeon.He culpably neglected meAlthough I proffered him his fee,So pray come down, in wig and gown,OnCobbthat haughty surgeon!"That Counsel, learned in the laws,With passion almost trembled,He just had gained a mighty causeBefore the Peers assembled!Said he, "How dare you have the faceTo come with Common Jury caseTo one who wings rhetoric flingsBefore 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 beforeThe Court of the Exchequer."He found a Baron—one of thoseWho with our laws supply us—In wig and silken gown and hose,As if atNisi Prius.But he'd just given, off the reel,A famous judgment on Appeal:It scarce became his heightened fameTo sit atNisi Prius.Our friend began, with easy wit,That half concealed his terror:"Pooh!" said the Judge, "I only sitInBancoor in Error.Can you suppose, my man, that I'dO'erNisi PriusCourts preside,Or condescend my time to spendOn anything but Error?""Too bad," saidGibbs, "my case to shirk!You must be bad innately,To save your skill for mighty workBecause 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 witCombined, achieved a perfect "hit"—The papers praised him greatly.WILLOW WALY!
Whenthe night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies,And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies—When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay the moon,Then is the spectres' holiday—then is the ghosts' high noon!As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie low on the fen,From grey tombstones are gathered the bones that once were women and men,And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too soon,For cockcrow limits our holiday—the dead of the night's high noon!And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds take flight,With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim "good night";Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its jolliest tune,And ushers our next high holiday—the dead of the night's high noon!A WORM WILL TURNI lovea man who'll smile and jokeWhen with misfortune crowned;Who'll pun beneath a pauper's yoke,And as he breaks his daily toke,Conundrums gay propound.Just such a man wasBernard Jupp,He scoffed at Fortune's frown;He gaily drained his bitter cup—Though Fortune often threw him up,It never cast him down.Though years their share of sorrow bring,We know that far aboveAll other griefs, are griefs that springFrom some misfortune happeningTo those we really love.E'en sorrow for another's woeOurBernardfailed to quell;Though by this special form of blowNo person ever suffered so,Or bore his grief so well.His father, wealthy and well clad,And owning house and park.Lost every halfpenny he had,And then became (extremely sad!)A poor attorney's clerk.All sons it surely would appal,Except the passing meek,To see a father lose his all,And from an independence fallTo one pound ten a week!ButJuppshook off this sorrow's weightAnd, like a Christian son,Proved Poverty a happy fate—Proved Wealth to be a devil's bait,To lure poor sinners on.With other sorrowsBernardcoped,For sorrows came in packs;His cousins with their housemaids sloped—His uncles forged—his aunts eloped—His sisters married blacks.ButBernard, far from murmuring(Exemplar, friends, to us),Determined to his faith to cling,—He made the best of everything,And argued softly thus:"'Twere harsh my uncles' forging knackToo rudely to condemn—My aunts, repentant, may come back,And blacks are nothing like as blackAs people colour them!"Still Fate, with many a sorrow rife,Maintained relentless fight:His grandmamma next lost her life,Then died the mother of his wife,But still he seemed all right.His brother fond (the only linkTo life that bound him now)One morning, overcome by drink,He broke his leg (the right, I think)In some disgraceful row.But did myBernardswear and curse?Oh no—to murmur loth,He only said, "Go, get a nurse:Be thankful that it isn't worse;You might have broken both!"But worms who watch without concernThe cockchafer on thorns,Or beetles smashed, themselves will turnIf, walking through the slippery fern,You tread upon their corns.One night asBernardmade his trackThrough Brompton home to bed,A footpad, with a vizor black,Took watch and purse, and dealt a crackOnBernard'ssaint-like head.It was too much—his spirit rose,He looked extremely cross.Men thought him steeled to mortal foes,But no—he bowed to countless blows,But kicked against this loss.He finally made up his mindUpon his friends to call;Subscription lists were largely signed,For men were really glad to findHim mortal, after all!THE HUMANE MIKADOA morehumane Mikado neverDid in Japan exist;To nobody second,I'm certainly reckonedA true philanthropist.It is my very humane endeavourTo make, to some extent,Each evil liverA running riverOf harmless merriment.My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime:And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment—Of innocent merriment!All prosy dull society sinners,Who chatter and bleat and bore,Are sent to hear sermonsFrom mystical GermansWho preach from ten to four:The amateur tenor, whose vocal villainiesAll desire to shirk,Shall, during off-hours,Exhibit his powersTo Madame Tussaud's waxwork:The lady who dyes a chemical yellow,Or stains her grey hair puce,Or pinches her figger,Is painted with vigourAnd permanent walnut juice:The idiot who, in railway carriages,Scribbles on window panes,We only sufferTo ride on a bufferIn Parliamentary trains.My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime;And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment—Of innocent merriment!The advertising quack who weariesWith tales of countless cures,His teeth, I've enacted,Shall all be extractedBy terrified amateurs:The music-hall singer attends a seriesOf masses and fugues and "ops"By Bach, interwovenWith Spohr and Beethoven,At classical Monday Pops:The billiard sharp whom any one catches,His doom's extremely hard—He's made to dwellIn a dungeon cellOn a spot that's always barred;And there he plays extravagant matchesIn fitless finger-stalls,On a cloth untrue,With a twisted cueAnd elliptical billiard balls!My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime;And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment,Of innocent merriment!THE HAUGHTY ACTORAnactor—Gibbs, of Drury Lane—Of very decent station,Once happened in a part to gainExcessive approbation;It sometimes turns a fellow's brainAnd makes him singularly vainWhen he believes that he receivesTremendous approbation.His great success half drove him mad,But no one seemed to mind him;Well, in another piece he hadAnother part assigned him.This part was smaller, by a bit,Than that in which he made a hit.So, much ill-used, he straight refusedTo play the part assigned him.That night that actor slept, and I'll attemptTo tell you of the vivid dream he dreamt:THE DREAMIn fighting with a robber band(A thing he loved sincerely)A sword struckGibbsupon the handAnd 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 boundHad wounded him severely.To SurgeonCobbhe made a trip,Who'd just effected featlyAn amputation at the hipParticularly neatly.A rising man was SurgeonCobb,But this extremely ticklish jobHe 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 againThe Theatre Royal, Drury LaneThis 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 playrôles'Utility' that verge on.'First amputation'—nothing less—That is my line of business:We surgeon nobs despise all jobsUtility that verge on."When in your hip there lurks disease"(So dreamt this lively dreamer),"Or devastatingcariesInhumerusorfemur,If you can pay a handsome fee,Oh, then you may remember me,With joy elate I'll amputateYourhumerusorfemur."The disconcerted actor ceasedThe 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,HowCobb'sneglect of his defectHad made his finger fester."Oh, bring my action, if you please,The case I pray you urge on,And win me thumping damagesFromCobb, that haughty surgeon.He culpably neglected meAlthough I proffered him his fee,So pray come down, in wig and gown,OnCobbthat haughty surgeon!"That Counsel, learned in the laws,With passion almost trembled,He just had gained a mighty causeBefore the Peers assembled!Said he, "How dare you have the faceTo come with Common Jury caseTo one who wings rhetoric flingsBefore 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 beforeThe Court of the Exchequer."He found a Baron—one of thoseWho with our laws supply us—In wig and silken gown and hose,As if atNisi Prius.But he'd just given, off the reel,A famous judgment on Appeal:It scarce became his heightened fameTo sit atNisi Prius.Our friend began, with easy wit,That half concealed his terror:"Pooh!" said the Judge, "I only sitInBancoor in Error.Can you suppose, my man, that I'dO'erNisi PriusCourts preside,Or condescend my time to spendOn anything but Error?""Too bad," saidGibbs, "my case to shirk!You must be bad innately,To save your skill for mighty workBecause 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 witCombined, achieved a perfect "hit"—The papers praised him greatly.WILLOW WALY!
Whenthe night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies,And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies—When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay the moon,Then is the spectres' holiday—then is the ghosts' high noon!As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie low on the fen,From grey tombstones are gathered the bones that once were women and men,And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too soon,For cockcrow limits our holiday—the dead of the night's high noon!And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds take flight,With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim "good night";Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its jolliest tune,And ushers our next high holiday—the dead of the night's high noon!
Whenthe night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies,And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies—When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay the moon,Then is the spectres' holiday—then is the ghosts' high noon!As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie low on the fen,From grey tombstones are gathered the bones that once were women and men,And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too soon,For cockcrow limits our holiday—the dead of the night's high noon!And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds take flight,With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim "good night";Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its jolliest tune,And ushers our next high holiday—the dead of the night's high noon!
Whenthe night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies,And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies—When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay the moon,Then is the spectres' holiday—then is the ghosts' high noon!
Whenthe night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies,
And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies—
When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay the moon,
Then is the spectres' holiday—then is the ghosts' high noon!
As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie low on the fen,From grey tombstones are gathered the bones that once were women and men,And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too soon,For cockcrow limits our holiday—the dead of the night's high noon!
As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie low on the fen,
From grey tombstones are gathered the bones that once were women and men,
And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too soon,
For cockcrow limits our holiday—the dead of the night's high noon!
And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds take flight,With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim "good night";Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its jolliest tune,And ushers our next high holiday—the dead of the night's high noon!
And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds take flight,
With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim "good night";
Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its jolliest tune,
And ushers our next high holiday—the dead of the night's high noon!
I lovea man who'll smile and jokeWhen with misfortune crowned;Who'll pun beneath a pauper's yoke,And as he breaks his daily toke,Conundrums gay propound.Just such a man wasBernard Jupp,He scoffed at Fortune's frown;He gaily drained his bitter cup—Though Fortune often threw him up,It never cast him down.Though years their share of sorrow bring,We know that far aboveAll other griefs, are griefs that springFrom some misfortune happeningTo those we really love.E'en sorrow for another's woeOurBernardfailed to quell;Though by this special form of blowNo person ever suffered so,Or bore his grief so well.His father, wealthy and well clad,And owning house and park.Lost every halfpenny he had,And then became (extremely sad!)A poor attorney's clerk.All sons it surely would appal,Except the passing meek,To see a father lose his all,And from an independence fallTo one pound ten a week!ButJuppshook off this sorrow's weightAnd, like a Christian son,Proved Poverty a happy fate—Proved Wealth to be a devil's bait,To lure poor sinners on.With other sorrowsBernardcoped,For sorrows came in packs;His cousins with their housemaids sloped—His uncles forged—his aunts eloped—His sisters married blacks.ButBernard, far from murmuring(Exemplar, friends, to us),Determined to his faith to cling,—He made the best of everything,And argued softly thus:"'Twere harsh my uncles' forging knackToo rudely to condemn—My aunts, repentant, may come back,And blacks are nothing like as blackAs people colour them!"Still Fate, with many a sorrow rife,Maintained relentless fight:His grandmamma next lost her life,Then died the mother of his wife,But still he seemed all right.His brother fond (the only linkTo life that bound him now)One morning, overcome by drink,He broke his leg (the right, I think)In some disgraceful row.But did myBernardswear and curse?Oh no—to murmur loth,He only said, "Go, get a nurse:Be thankful that it isn't worse;You might have broken both!"But worms who watch without concernThe cockchafer on thorns,Or beetles smashed, themselves will turnIf, walking through the slippery fern,You tread upon their corns.One night asBernardmade his trackThrough Brompton home to bed,A footpad, with a vizor black,Took watch and purse, and dealt a crackOnBernard'ssaint-like head.It was too much—his spirit rose,He looked extremely cross.Men thought him steeled to mortal foes,But no—he bowed to countless blows,But kicked against this loss.He finally made up his mindUpon his friends to call;Subscription lists were largely signed,For men were really glad to findHim mortal, after all!
I lovea man who'll smile and jokeWhen with misfortune crowned;Who'll pun beneath a pauper's yoke,And as he breaks his daily toke,Conundrums gay propound.Just such a man wasBernard Jupp,He scoffed at Fortune's frown;He gaily drained his bitter cup—Though Fortune often threw him up,It never cast him down.Though years their share of sorrow bring,We know that far aboveAll other griefs, are griefs that springFrom some misfortune happeningTo those we really love.E'en sorrow for another's woeOurBernardfailed to quell;Though by this special form of blowNo person ever suffered so,Or bore his grief so well.His father, wealthy and well clad,And owning house and park.Lost every halfpenny he had,And then became (extremely sad!)A poor attorney's clerk.All sons it surely would appal,Except the passing meek,To see a father lose his all,And from an independence fallTo one pound ten a week!ButJuppshook off this sorrow's weightAnd, like a Christian son,Proved Poverty a happy fate—Proved Wealth to be a devil's bait,To lure poor sinners on.With other sorrowsBernardcoped,For sorrows came in packs;His cousins with their housemaids sloped—His uncles forged—his aunts eloped—His sisters married blacks.ButBernard, far from murmuring(Exemplar, friends, to us),Determined to his faith to cling,—He made the best of everything,And argued softly thus:"'Twere harsh my uncles' forging knackToo rudely to condemn—My aunts, repentant, may come back,And blacks are nothing like as blackAs people colour them!"Still Fate, with many a sorrow rife,Maintained relentless fight:His grandmamma next lost her life,Then died the mother of his wife,But still he seemed all right.His brother fond (the only linkTo life that bound him now)One morning, overcome by drink,He broke his leg (the right, I think)In some disgraceful row.But did myBernardswear and curse?Oh no—to murmur loth,He only said, "Go, get a nurse:Be thankful that it isn't worse;You might have broken both!"But worms who watch without concernThe cockchafer on thorns,Or beetles smashed, themselves will turnIf, walking through the slippery fern,You tread upon their corns.One night asBernardmade his trackThrough Brompton home to bed,A footpad, with a vizor black,Took watch and purse, and dealt a crackOnBernard'ssaint-like head.It was too much—his spirit rose,He looked extremely cross.Men thought him steeled to mortal foes,But no—he bowed to countless blows,But kicked against this loss.He finally made up his mindUpon his friends to call;Subscription lists were largely signed,For men were really glad to findHim mortal, after all!
I lovea man who'll smile and jokeWhen with misfortune crowned;Who'll pun beneath a pauper's yoke,And as he breaks his daily toke,Conundrums gay propound.
I lovea man who'll smile and joke
When with misfortune crowned;
Who'll pun beneath a pauper's yoke,
And as he breaks his daily toke,
Conundrums gay propound.
Just such a man wasBernard Jupp,He scoffed at Fortune's frown;He gaily drained his bitter cup—Though Fortune often threw him up,It never cast him down.
Just such a man wasBernard Jupp,
He scoffed at Fortune's frown;
He gaily drained his bitter cup—
Though Fortune often threw him up,
It never cast him down.
Though years their share of sorrow bring,We know that far aboveAll other griefs, are griefs that springFrom some misfortune happeningTo those we really love.
Though years their share of sorrow bring,
We know that far above
All other griefs, are griefs that spring
From some misfortune happening
To those we really love.
E'en sorrow for another's woeOurBernardfailed to quell;Though by this special form of blowNo person ever suffered so,Or bore his grief so well.
E'en sorrow for another's woe
OurBernardfailed to quell;
Though by this special form of blow
No person ever suffered so,
Or bore his grief so well.
His father, wealthy and well clad,And owning house and park.Lost every halfpenny he had,And then became (extremely sad!)A poor attorney's clerk.
His father, wealthy and well clad,
And owning house and park.
Lost every halfpenny he had,
And then became (extremely sad!)
A poor attorney's clerk.
All sons it surely would appal,Except the passing meek,To see a father lose his all,And from an independence fallTo one pound ten a week!
All sons it surely would appal,
Except the passing meek,
To see a father lose his all,
And from an independence fall
To one pound ten a week!
ButJuppshook off this sorrow's weightAnd, like a Christian son,Proved Poverty a happy fate—Proved Wealth to be a devil's bait,To lure poor sinners on.
ButJuppshook off this sorrow's weight
And, like a Christian son,
Proved Poverty a happy fate—
Proved Wealth to be a devil's bait,
To lure poor sinners on.
With other sorrowsBernardcoped,For sorrows came in packs;His cousins with their housemaids sloped—His uncles forged—his aunts eloped—His sisters married blacks.
With other sorrowsBernardcoped,
For sorrows came in packs;
His cousins with their housemaids sloped—
His uncles forged—his aunts eloped—
His sisters married blacks.
ButBernard, far from murmuring(Exemplar, friends, to us),Determined to his faith to cling,—He made the best of everything,And argued softly thus:
ButBernard, far from murmuring
(Exemplar, friends, to us),
Determined to his faith to cling,—
He made the best of everything,
And argued softly thus:
"'Twere harsh my uncles' forging knackToo rudely to condemn—My aunts, repentant, may come back,And blacks are nothing like as blackAs people colour them!"
"'Twere harsh my uncles' forging knack
Too rudely to condemn—
My aunts, repentant, may come back,
And blacks are nothing like as black
As people colour them!"
Still Fate, with many a sorrow rife,Maintained relentless fight:His grandmamma next lost her life,Then died the mother of his wife,But still he seemed all right.
Still Fate, with many a sorrow rife,
Maintained relentless fight:
His grandmamma next lost her life,
Then died the mother of his wife,
But still he seemed all right.
His brother fond (the only linkTo life that bound him now)One morning, overcome by drink,He broke his leg (the right, I think)In some disgraceful row.
His brother fond (the only link
To life that bound him now)
One morning, overcome by drink,
He broke his leg (the right, I think)
In some disgraceful row.
But did myBernardswear and curse?Oh no—to murmur loth,He only said, "Go, get a nurse:Be thankful that it isn't worse;You might have broken both!"
But did myBernardswear and curse?
Oh no—to murmur loth,
He only said, "Go, get a nurse:
Be thankful that it isn't worse;
You might have broken both!"
But worms who watch without concernThe cockchafer on thorns,Or beetles smashed, themselves will turnIf, walking through the slippery fern,You tread upon their corns.
But worms who watch without concern
The cockchafer on thorns,
Or beetles smashed, themselves will turn
If, walking through the slippery fern,
You tread upon their corns.
One night asBernardmade his trackThrough Brompton home to bed,A footpad, with a vizor black,Took watch and purse, and dealt a crackOnBernard'ssaint-like head.
One night asBernardmade his track
Through Brompton home to bed,
A footpad, with a vizor black,
Took watch and purse, and dealt a crack
OnBernard'ssaint-like head.
It was too much—his spirit rose,He looked extremely cross.Men thought him steeled to mortal foes,But no—he bowed to countless blows,But kicked against this loss.
It was too much—his spirit rose,
He looked extremely cross.
Men thought him steeled to mortal foes,
But no—he bowed to countless blows,
But kicked against this loss.
He finally made up his mindUpon his friends to call;Subscription lists were largely signed,For men were really glad to findHim mortal, after all!
He finally made up his mind
Upon his friends to call;
Subscription lists were largely signed,
For men were really glad to find
Him mortal, after all!
A morehumane Mikado neverDid in Japan exist;To nobody second,I'm certainly reckonedA true philanthropist.It is my very humane endeavourTo make, to some extent,Each evil liverA running riverOf harmless merriment.My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime:And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment—Of innocent merriment!All prosy dull society sinners,Who chatter and bleat and bore,Are sent to hear sermonsFrom mystical GermansWho preach from ten to four:The amateur tenor, whose vocal villainiesAll desire to shirk,Shall, during off-hours,Exhibit his powersTo Madame Tussaud's waxwork:The lady who dyes a chemical yellow,Or stains her grey hair puce,Or pinches her figger,Is painted with vigourAnd permanent walnut juice:The idiot who, in railway carriages,Scribbles on window panes,We only sufferTo ride on a bufferIn Parliamentary trains.My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime;And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment—Of innocent merriment!The advertising quack who weariesWith tales of countless cures,His teeth, I've enacted,Shall all be extractedBy terrified amateurs:The music-hall singer attends a seriesOf masses and fugues and "ops"By Bach, interwovenWith Spohr and Beethoven,At classical Monday Pops:The billiard sharp whom any one catches,His doom's extremely hard—He's made to dwellIn a dungeon cellOn a spot that's always barred;And there he plays extravagant matchesIn fitless finger-stalls,On a cloth untrue,With a twisted cueAnd elliptical billiard balls!My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime;And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment,Of innocent merriment!
A morehumane Mikado neverDid in Japan exist;To nobody second,I'm certainly reckonedA true philanthropist.It is my very humane endeavourTo make, to some extent,Each evil liverA running riverOf harmless merriment.My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime:And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment—Of innocent merriment!All prosy dull society sinners,Who chatter and bleat and bore,Are sent to hear sermonsFrom mystical GermansWho preach from ten to four:The amateur tenor, whose vocal villainiesAll desire to shirk,Shall, during off-hours,Exhibit his powersTo Madame Tussaud's waxwork:The lady who dyes a chemical yellow,Or stains her grey hair puce,Or pinches her figger,Is painted with vigourAnd permanent walnut juice:The idiot who, in railway carriages,Scribbles on window panes,We only sufferTo ride on a bufferIn Parliamentary trains.My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime;And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment—Of innocent merriment!The advertising quack who weariesWith tales of countless cures,His teeth, I've enacted,Shall all be extractedBy terrified amateurs:The music-hall singer attends a seriesOf masses and fugues and "ops"By Bach, interwovenWith Spohr and Beethoven,At classical Monday Pops:The billiard sharp whom any one catches,His doom's extremely hard—He's made to dwellIn a dungeon cellOn a spot that's always barred;And there he plays extravagant matchesIn fitless finger-stalls,On a cloth untrue,With a twisted cueAnd elliptical billiard balls!My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime;And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment,Of innocent merriment!
A morehumane Mikado neverDid in Japan exist;To nobody second,I'm certainly reckonedA true philanthropist.It is my very humane endeavourTo make, to some extent,Each evil liverA running riverOf harmless merriment.
A morehumane Mikado never
Did in Japan exist;
To nobody second,
I'm certainly reckoned
A true philanthropist.
It is my very humane endeavour
To make, to some extent,
Each evil liver
A running river
Of harmless merriment.
My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime:
My object all sublime
I shall achieve in time—
To let the punishment fit the crime—
The punishment fit the crime:
And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment—Of innocent merriment!
And make each prisoner pent
Unwillingly represent
A source of innocent merriment—
Of innocent merriment!
All prosy dull society sinners,Who chatter and bleat and bore,Are sent to hear sermonsFrom mystical GermansWho preach from ten to four:The amateur tenor, whose vocal villainiesAll desire to shirk,Shall, during off-hours,Exhibit his powersTo Madame Tussaud's waxwork:The lady who dyes a chemical yellow,Or stains her grey hair puce,Or pinches her figger,Is painted with vigourAnd permanent walnut juice:The idiot who, in railway carriages,Scribbles on window panes,We only sufferTo ride on a bufferIn Parliamentary trains.
All prosy dull society sinners,
Who chatter and bleat and bore,
Are sent to hear sermons
From mystical Germans
Who preach from ten to four:
The amateur tenor, whose vocal villainies
All desire to shirk,
Shall, during off-hours,
Exhibit his powers
To Madame Tussaud's waxwork:
The lady who dyes a chemical yellow,
Or stains her grey hair puce,
Or pinches her figger,
Is painted with vigour
And permanent walnut juice:
The idiot who, in railway carriages,
Scribbles on window panes,
We only suffer
To ride on a buffer
In Parliamentary trains.
My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime;And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment—Of innocent merriment!
My object all sublime
I shall achieve in time—
To let the punishment fit the crime—
The punishment fit the crime;
And make each prisoner pent
Unwillingly represent
A source of innocent merriment—
Of innocent merriment!
The advertising quack who weariesWith tales of countless cures,His teeth, I've enacted,Shall all be extractedBy terrified amateurs:The music-hall singer attends a seriesOf masses and fugues and "ops"By Bach, interwovenWith Spohr and Beethoven,At classical Monday Pops:The billiard sharp whom any one catches,His doom's extremely hard—He's made to dwellIn a dungeon cellOn a spot that's always barred;And there he plays extravagant matchesIn fitless finger-stalls,On a cloth untrue,With a twisted cueAnd elliptical billiard balls!
The advertising quack who wearies
With tales of countless cures,
His teeth, I've enacted,
Shall all be extracted
By terrified amateurs:
The music-hall singer attends a series
Of masses and fugues and "ops"
By Bach, interwoven
With Spohr and Beethoven,
At classical Monday Pops:
The billiard sharp whom any one catches,
His doom's extremely hard—
He's made to dwell
In a dungeon cell
On a spot that's always barred;
And there he plays extravagant matches
In fitless finger-stalls,
On a cloth untrue,
With a twisted cue
And elliptical billiard balls!
My object all sublimeI shall achieve in time—To let the punishment fit the crime—The punishment fit the crime;And make each prisoner pentUnwillingly representA source of innocent merriment,Of innocent merriment!
My object all sublime
I shall achieve in time—
To let the punishment fit the crime—
The punishment fit the crime;
And make each prisoner pent
Unwillingly represent
A source of innocent merriment,
Of innocent merriment!
Anactor—Gibbs, of Drury Lane—Of very decent station,Once happened in a part to gainExcessive approbation;It sometimes turns a fellow's brainAnd makes him singularly vainWhen he believes that he receivesTremendous approbation.His great success half drove him mad,But no one seemed to mind him;Well, in another piece he hadAnother part assigned him.This part was smaller, by a bit,Than that in which he made a hit.So, much ill-used, he straight refusedTo play the part assigned him.That night that actor slept, and I'll attemptTo tell you of the vivid dream he dreamt:THE DREAMIn fighting with a robber band(A thing he loved sincerely)A sword struckGibbsupon the handAnd 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 boundHad wounded him severely.To SurgeonCobbhe made a trip,Who'd just effected featlyAn amputation at the hipParticularly neatly.A rising man was SurgeonCobb,But this extremely ticklish jobHe 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 againThe Theatre Royal, Drury LaneThis 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 playrôles'Utility' that verge on.'First amputation'—nothing less—That is my line of business:We surgeon nobs despise all jobsUtility that verge on."When in your hip there lurks disease"(So dreamt this lively dreamer),"Or devastatingcariesInhumerusorfemur,If you can pay a handsome fee,Oh, then you may remember me,With joy elate I'll amputateYourhumerusorfemur."The disconcerted actor ceasedThe 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,HowCobb'sneglect of his defectHad made his finger fester."Oh, bring my action, if you please,The case I pray you urge on,And win me thumping damagesFromCobb, that haughty surgeon.He culpably neglected meAlthough I proffered him his fee,So pray come down, in wig and gown,OnCobbthat haughty surgeon!"That Counsel, learned in the laws,With passion almost trembled,He just had gained a mighty causeBefore the Peers assembled!Said he, "How dare you have the faceTo come with Common Jury caseTo one who wings rhetoric flingsBefore 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 beforeThe Court of the Exchequer."He found a Baron—one of thoseWho with our laws supply us—In wig and silken gown and hose,As if atNisi Prius.But he'd just given, off the reel,A famous judgment on Appeal:It scarce became his heightened fameTo sit atNisi Prius.Our friend began, with easy wit,That half concealed his terror:"Pooh!" said the Judge, "I only sitInBancoor in Error.Can you suppose, my man, that I'dO'erNisi PriusCourts preside,Or condescend my time to spendOn anything but Error?""Too bad," saidGibbs, "my case to shirk!You must be bad innately,To save your skill for mighty workBecause 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 witCombined, achieved a perfect "hit"—The papers praised him greatly.
Anactor—Gibbs, of Drury Lane—Of very decent station,Once happened in a part to gainExcessive approbation;It sometimes turns a fellow's brainAnd makes him singularly vainWhen he believes that he receivesTremendous approbation.His great success half drove him mad,But no one seemed to mind him;Well, in another piece he hadAnother part assigned him.This part was smaller, by a bit,Than that in which he made a hit.So, much ill-used, he straight refusedTo play the part assigned him.That night that actor slept, and I'll attemptTo tell you of the vivid dream he dreamt:THE DREAMIn fighting with a robber band(A thing he loved sincerely)A sword struckGibbsupon the handAnd 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 boundHad wounded him severely.To SurgeonCobbhe made a trip,Who'd just effected featlyAn amputation at the hipParticularly neatly.A rising man was SurgeonCobb,But this extremely ticklish jobHe 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 againThe Theatre Royal, Drury LaneThis 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 playrôles'Utility' that verge on.'First amputation'—nothing less—That is my line of business:We surgeon nobs despise all jobsUtility that verge on."When in your hip there lurks disease"(So dreamt this lively dreamer),"Or devastatingcariesInhumerusorfemur,If you can pay a handsome fee,Oh, then you may remember me,With joy elate I'll amputateYourhumerusorfemur."The disconcerted actor ceasedThe 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,HowCobb'sneglect of his defectHad made his finger fester."Oh, bring my action, if you please,The case I pray you urge on,And win me thumping damagesFromCobb, that haughty surgeon.He culpably neglected meAlthough I proffered him his fee,So pray come down, in wig and gown,OnCobbthat haughty surgeon!"That Counsel, learned in the laws,With passion almost trembled,He just had gained a mighty causeBefore the Peers assembled!Said he, "How dare you have the faceTo come with Common Jury caseTo one who wings rhetoric flingsBefore 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 beforeThe Court of the Exchequer."He found a Baron—one of thoseWho with our laws supply us—In wig and silken gown and hose,As if atNisi Prius.But he'd just given, off the reel,A famous judgment on Appeal:It scarce became his heightened fameTo sit atNisi Prius.Our friend began, with easy wit,That half concealed his terror:"Pooh!" said the Judge, "I only sitInBancoor in Error.Can you suppose, my man, that I'dO'erNisi PriusCourts preside,Or condescend my time to spendOn anything but Error?""Too bad," saidGibbs, "my case to shirk!You must be bad innately,To save your skill for mighty workBecause 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 witCombined, achieved a perfect "hit"—The papers praised him greatly.
Anactor—Gibbs, of Drury Lane—Of very decent station,Once happened in a part to gainExcessive approbation;It sometimes turns a fellow's brainAnd makes him singularly vainWhen he believes that he receivesTremendous approbation.
Anactor—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 hadAnother part assigned him.
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 refusedTo play the 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 attemptTo tell you of the vivid dream he dreamt:
That night that actor slept, and I'll attempt
To tell you of the vivid dream he dreamt:
In fighting with a robber band(A thing he loved sincerely)A sword struckGibbsupon the handAnd 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 boundHad wounded him severely.
In fighting with a robber band
(A thing he loved sincerely)
A sword struckGibbsupon 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 SurgeonCobbhe made a trip,Who'd just effected featlyAn amputation at the hipParticularly neatly.A rising man was SurgeonCobb,But this extremely ticklish jobHe had achieved (as he believed)Particularly neatly.
To SurgeonCobbhe made a trip,
Who'd just effected featly
An amputation at the hip
Particularly neatly.
A rising man was SurgeonCobb,
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 againThe Theatre Royal, Drury LaneThis very night I have to fight—So prithee do not linger."
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 playrôles'Utility' that verge on.'First amputation'—nothing less—That is my line of business:We surgeon nobs despise all jobsUtility that verge on.
"I don't strap fingers up for doles,"
Replied the haughty surgeon;
"To use your cant, I don't playrôles
'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 devastatingcariesInhumerusorfemur,If you can pay a handsome fee,Oh, then you may remember me,With joy elate I'll amputateYourhumerusorfemur."
"When in your hip there lurks disease"
(So dreamt this lively dreamer),
"Or devastatingcaries
Inhumerusorfemur,
If you can pay a handsome fee,
Oh, then you may remember me,
With joy elate I'll amputate
Yourhumerusorfemur."
The disconcerted actor ceasedThe 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,HowCobb'sneglect of his defectHad made his finger fester.
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,
HowCobb'sneglect 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 damagesFromCobb, that haughty surgeon.He culpably neglected meAlthough I proffered him his fee,So pray come down, in wig and gown,OnCobbthat haughty surgeon!"
"Oh, bring my action, if you please,
The case I pray you urge on,
And win me thumping damages
FromCobb, that haughty surgeon.
He culpably neglected me
Although I proffered him his fee,
So pray come down, in wig and gown,
OnCobbthat haughty surgeon!"
That Counsel, learned in the laws,With passion almost trembled,He just had gained a mighty causeBefore the Peers assembled!Said he, "How dare you have the faceTo come with Common Jury caseTo one who wings rhetoric flingsBefore the Peers assembled?"
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 beforeThe Court of the Exchequer."
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 thoseWho with our laws supply us—In wig and silken gown and hose,As if atNisi Prius.But he'd just given, off the reel,A famous judgment on Appeal:It scarce became his heightened fameTo sit atNisi Prius.
He found a Baron—one of those
Who with our laws supply us—
In wig and silken gown and hose,
As if atNisi Prius.
But he'd just given, off the reel,
A famous judgment on Appeal:
It scarce became his heightened fame
To sit atNisi Prius.
Our friend began, with easy wit,That half concealed his terror:"Pooh!" said the Judge, "I only sitInBancoor in Error.Can you suppose, my man, that I'dO'erNisi PriusCourts preside,Or condescend my time to spendOn anything but Error?"
Our friend began, with easy wit,
That half concealed his terror:
"Pooh!" said the Judge, "I only sit
InBancoor in Error.
Can you suppose, my man, that I'd
O'erNisi PriusCourts preside,
Or condescend my time to spend
On anything but Error?"
"Too bad," saidGibbs, "my case to shirk!You must be bad innately,To save your skill for mighty workBecause it's valued greatly!"But here he woke, with sudden start.
"Too bad," saidGibbs, "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 witCombined, achieved a perfect "hit"—The papers praised him greatly.
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.