MY LADY

The,Reverend Micah Sowls,He shouts and yells and howls,He screams, he mouths, he bumps,He foams, he rants, he thumps.His armour he has buckled on, to wageThe regulation war against the Stage;And warns his congregation all to shun"The Presence-Chamber of the Evil One."The subject's sad enoughTo make him rant and puff,And fortunately, too,His Bishop's in a pew.SoReverend Micahclaps on extra steam,His eyes are flashing with superior gleam,He is as energetic as can be,For there are fatter livings in that see.The Bishop, when it's o'er,Goes through the vestry door,WhereMicah, very red,Is mopping of his head."Pardon, my Lord, yourSowls' excessive zeal,It is a theme on which I strongly feel."(The sermon somebody had sent him downFrom London, at a charge of half-a-crown.)The Bishop bowed his head,And, acquiescing, said,"I've heard your well-meant rageAgainst the Modern Stage."A modern Theatre, as I heard you say,Sows seeds of evil broadcast—well it may;But let me ask you, my respected son,Pray, have you ever ventured into one?""My Lord," saidMicah, "no!I never, never go!What! Go and see a play?My goodness gracious, nay!"The worthy Bishop said, "My friend, no doubtThe Stage may be the place you make it out;But if, myReverend Sowls, you never go,I don't quite understand how you're to know.""Well, really,"Micahsaid,"I've often heard and read,But never go—do you?"The Bishop said, "I do.""That proves me wrong," saidMicah, in a trice;"I thought it all frivolity and vice."The Bishop handed him a printed card;"Go to a theatre where they play our Bard."The Bishop took his leave,Rejoicing in his sleeve.The next ensuing daySowlswent and heard a play.He saw a dreary person on the stage,Who mouthed and mugged in simulated rage,Who growled and spluttered in a mode absurd,And spoke an EnglishSowlshad never heard.For "gaunt" was spoken "garnt,"And "haunt" transformed to "harnt,"And "wrath" pronounced as "rath,"And "death" was changed to "dath."For hours and hours that dismal actor walked,And talked, and talked, and talked, and talked,Till lethargy upon the parson crept,And sleepyMicah Sowlsserenely slept.He slept away untilThe farce that closed the billHad warned him not to stay,And then he went away."I thoughtmygait ridiculous," said he—"Myelocution faulty as could be;I thoughtImumbled on a matchless plan—I had not seen our great Tragedian!"Forgive me, if you can,O great Tragedian!I own it with a sigh—You're drearier than I!"MY LADYBedeckedin fashion trim,With every curl a-quiver;Or leaping, light of limb,O'er rivulet and river;Or skipping o'er the leaOn daffodil and daisy;Or stretched beneath a tree,All languishing and lazy;Whatever be her mood—Be she demurely prudeOr languishingly lazy—My lady drives me crazy!In vain her heart is wooed,Whatever be her mood!What profit should I gainSuppose she loved me dearly?Her coldness turns my brainTovergeof madness merely.Her kiss—though, Heaven knows,To dream of it were treason—Would tend, as I suppose,To utter loss of reason!My state is not amiss;I would not have a kissWhich, in or out of season,Might tend to loss of reason:What profit in such bliss?A fig for such a kiss!ONE AGAINST THE WORLDIt'smy opinion—though I ownIn thinking so I'm quite alone—In some respects I'm but a fright.Youlike my features, I suppose?I'mdisappointed with my nose:Some rave about it—perhaps they're right.My figure just sets off a fit;But when they say it's exquisite(And theydosay so), that's too strong.I hope I'm not what people callOpinionated! After all,I'm but a goose, and may be wrong!When charms enthralThere's some excuseFor measures strong;And after allI'm but a goose,And may be wrong!My teeth are very neat, no doubt;But after all theymayfall out:Ithink they will—some think they won't.My hands are small, as you may see,But not as small as they might be,At least,Ithink so—others don't.But there, a girl may preach and prateFrom morning six to evening eight,And never stop to dine,When all the world, although misled,Is quite agreed on any head—And it is quite agreed on mine!All said and done,It's little IAgainst a throng.I'm only one,And possiblyI may be wrong!THE FORCE OF ARGUMENTLord B.was a nobleman boldWho came of illustrious stocks,He was thirty or forty years old,And several feet in his socks.To Turniptopville-by-the-SeaThis elegant nobleman went,For that was a borough that heWas anxious to rep-per-re-sent.At local assemblies he dancedUntil he felt thoroughly ill;He waltzed, and he galoped, and lanced,And threaded the mazy quadrille.The maidens of TurniptopvilleWere simple—ingenuous—pure—And they all worked away with a willThe nobleman's heart to secure.Two maidens all others beyondEndeavoured his cares to dispel—The one was the livelyAnn Pond,The other sadMary Morell.Ann Pondhad determined to tryAnd carry the Earl with a rush;Her principal feature was eye,Her greatest accomplishment—gush.AndMarychose this for her play:Whenever he looked in her eyeShe'd blush and turn quickly away,And flitter, and flutter, and sigh.It was noticed he constantly sighedAs she worked out the scheme she had planned,A fact he endeavoured to hideWith his aristocratical hand.OldPondwas a farmer, they say,And so was oldTommy Morell.In a humble and pottering wayThey were doing exceedingly well.They both of them carried by voteThe Earl was a dangerous man;So nervously clearing his throat,One morning oldTommybegan:"My darter's no pratty young doll—I'm a plain-spoken Zommerzet man—Now what do 'ee mean by myPoll,And what do 'ee mean by hisAnn?"Said B., "I will give you my bondI mean them uncommonly well,Believe me, my excellentPond,And credit me, worthyMorell."It's quite indisputable, forI'll prove it with singular ease,—You shall have it in 'Barbara' or'Celarent'—whichever you please.'You see, when an anchorite bowsTo the yoke of intentional sin,If the state of the country allows,Homogeny always steps in—"It's a highly æsthetical bond,As any mere ploughboy can tell——""Of course," replied puzzled oldPond."I see," said oldTommy Morell."Very good, then," continued the lord;"When it's fooled to the top of its bent,With a sweep of a Damocles swordThe web of intention is rent."That's patent to all of us here,As any mere schoolboy can tell."Pondanswered, "Of course it's quite clear";And so did that humbugMorell."Its tone's esoteric in force—I trust that I make myself clear?"Morellonly answered, "Of course,"WhilePondslowly muttered, "Hear, hear.""Volition—celestial prize,Pellucid as porphyry cell—Is based on a principle wise.""Quite so," exclaimedPondandMorell."From what I have said you will seeThat I couldn't wed either—in fine,By Nature's unchanging decreeYourdaughters could never bemine."Go home to your pigs and your ricks,My hands of the matter I've rinsed."So they take up their hats and their sticks,Andexeunt ambo, convinced.PUT A PENNY IN THE SLOTIfmy action's stiff and crude,Do not laugh, because it's rude.If my gestures promise larks,Do not make unkind remarks.Clockwork figures may be foundEverywhere and all around.Ten to one, if I but knew,You are clockwork figures too.And the motto of the lot,"Put a penny in the slot!"Usurer, for money lent,Making out his cent per cent—Widow plump or maiden rare,Deaf and dumb to suitor's prayer—Tax collectors, whom in vainYou implore to "call again"—Cautious voter, whom you findSlow in making up his mind—If you'd move them on the spot,Put a penny in the slot!Bland reporters in the courts,Who suppress police reports—Sheriff's yeoman, pen in fist,Making out a jury list—Stern policemen, tall and spare,Acting all "upon the square"—(Which in words that plainer fall,Means that you can square them all)—If you want to move the lot,Put a penny in the slot!GOOD LITTLE GIRLSAlthoughof native maids the cream,We're brought up on the English scheme—The best of allFor great and smallWho modesty adore.For English girls are good as gold,Extremely modest (so we're told),Demurely coy—divinely cold—And we are that—and more.To please papa, who argues thus—All girls should mould themselves on us,Because we are,By furlongs far,The best of all the bunch;We show ourselves to loud applauseFrom ten to four without a pause—Which is an awkward time becauseIt cuts into our lunch.Oh, maids of high and low degree,Whose social code is rather free,Please look at us and you will seeWhat good young ladies ought to be!And as we stand, like clockwork toys,A lecturer papa employsTo puff and praiseOur modest waysAnd guileless character—Our well-known blush—our downcast eyes—Our famous look of mild surprise(Which competition still defies)—Our celebrated "Sir!!!"Then all the crowd take down our looksIn pocket memorandum books.To diagnoseOur modest poseThe kodaks do their best:If evidence you would possessOf what is maiden bashfulness,You only need a button press—Andwedo all the rest.THE PHANTOM CURATEA FABLEA bishoponce—I will not name his see—Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional;From pulpit shackles never set them free,And found a sin where sin was unintentional.All pleasures ended in abuse auricular—That Bishop was so terribly particular.Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man,He sought to make of human pleasures clearances,And form his priests on that much-lauded planWhich pays undue attention to appearances.He couldn't do good deeds without a psalm in 'em,Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in 'em.Enraged to find a deacon at a dance,Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity,He sought by open censure to enhanceTheir dread of joining harmless social jollity;Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety)The ordinary pleasures of society.One evening, sitting at a pantomime(Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of him),Roaring at jokessansmetre, sense, or rhyme,He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him—His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it—A curate, also heartily enjoying it.Again, 'twas Christmas Eve, and to enhanceHis children's pleasure in their harmless rollicking,He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance;When something checked the current of his frolicking:That curate, with a maid he treated loverly,Stood up and figured with him in the "Coverley"!Once, yielding to an universal choice(The company's demand was an emphatic one,For the old Bishop had a glorious voice),In a quartet he joined—an operatic one—Harmless enough, though ne'er a word of grace in it;When, lo! that curate came and took the bass in it!One day, when passing through a quiet street,He stopped awhile and joined a Punch's gathering,And chuckled more than solemn folk think meetTo see that gentleman his Judy lathering;And heard, as Punch was being treated penally,That phantom curate laughing all hyænally!Now at a picnic, 'mid fair golden curls,Bright eyes, straw hats,bottinesthat fit amazingly,A croquet-bout is planned by all the girls,And he, consenting, speaks of croquet praisingly;But suddenly declines to play at all in it—The curate fiend has come to take a ball in it!Next, when at quiet seaside village, freedFrom cares episcopal and ties monarchical,He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed,In manner anything but hierarchical—He sees—and fixes an unearthly stare on it—That curate's face, with half a yard of hair on it!At length he gave a charge, and spake this word:"Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye may.To check their harmless pleasuring's absurd;What laymen do without reproach, my clergy may."He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of him,The curate vanished—no one since has heard of him.LIFEFirstyou're born—and I'll be bound youFind a dozen strangers round you."Hallo," cries the new-born baby,"Where's my parents? which may they be?"Awkward silence—no reply—Puzzled baby wonders why!Father rises, bows politely—Mother smiles (but not too brightly)—Doctor mumbles like a dumb thing—Nurse is busy mixing something.—Every symptom tends to showYou're decidedlyde trop—Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!Time's teetotum,If you spin it,Give its quotumOnce a minute:I'll go bailYou hit the nail,And if you failThe deuce is in it!You grow up, and you discoverWhat it is to be a lover.Some young lady is selected—Poor, perhaps, but well-connected,Whom you hail (for Love is blind)As the Queen of Fairy-kind.Though she's plain—perhaps unsightly,Makes her face up—laces tightly,In her form your fancy tracesAll the gifts of all the graces.Rivals none the maiden woo,So you take her and she takes you!Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!Joke beginning,Never ceases,Till your inningTime releases;On your wayYou blindly stray,And day by dayThe joke increases!Ten years later—Time progresses—Sours your temper—thins your tresses;Fancy, then, her chain relaxes;Rates are facts and so are taxes.Fairy Queen's no longer young—Fairy Queen has such a tongue!Twins have probably intruded—Quite unbidden—just as you did;They're a source of care and trouble—Just as you were—only double.Comes at last the final stroke—Time has had his little joke!Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!Daily driven(Wife as drover)Ill you've thriven—Ne'er in clover:Lastly, whenThreescore and ten(And not till then),The joke is over!Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!Then—and thenThe joke is over!LIMITED LIABILITYSomeseven men form an Association(If possible, all Peers and Baronets),They start off with a public declarationTo what extent they mean to pay their debts.That's called their Capital: if they are waryThey will not quote it at a sum immense.The figure's immaterial—it may varyFrom eighteen million down to eighteenpence.Ishould put it rather low;The good sense of doing soWill be evident at once to any debtor.When it's left to you to sayWhat amount you mean to pay,Why, the lower you can put it at, the better.They then proceed to trade with all who'll trust 'em,Quite irrespective of their capital(It's shady, but it's sanctified by custom);Bank, Railway, Loan, or Panama Canal.You can't embark on trading too tremendous—It's strictly fair, and based on common sense—If you succeed, your profits are stupendous—And if you fail, pop goes your eighteenpence.Make the money-spinner spin!For you only stand to win,And you'll never with dishonesty be twitted.For nobody can know,To a million or so,To what extent your capital's committed!If you come to grief, and creditors are craving(For nothing that is planned by mortal headIs certain in this Vale of Sorrow—savingThat one's Liability is Limited),—Do you suppose that signifies perdition?If so you're but a monetary dunce—You merely file a Winding-Up Petition,And start another Company at once!Though a Rothschild you may beIn your own capacity,As a Company you've come to utter sorrow—But the Liquidators say,"Never mind—you needn't pay,"So you start another Company to-morrow!THE SENSATION CAPTAINNonobler captain ever trodThanCaptain Parklebury Todd,So good—so wise—so brave, he!But still, as all his friends would own,He had one folly—one alone—This Captain in the Navy.I do not think I ever knewA man so wholly given toCreating a sensation;Or p'raps I should in justice say—To what in an Adelphi playIs known as "situation."He passed his time designing trapsTo flurry unsuspicious chaps—The taste was his innately;He couldn't walk into a roomWithout ejaculating "Boom!"Which startled ladies greatly.He'd wear a mask and muffling cloak,Not, you will understand, in joke,As some assume disguises;He did it, actuated byA simple love of mysteryAnd fondness for surprises.I need not say he loved a maid—His eloquence threw into shadeAll others who adored her.The maid, though pleased at first, I know,Found, after several years or so,Her startling lover bored her.So, when his orders came to sail,She did not faint or scream or wail,Or with her tears anoint him:She shook his hand, and said "Good-bye,"With laughter dancing in her eye—Which seemed to disappoint him.But ere he went aboard his boat,He placed around her little throatA ribbon, blue and yellow,On which he hung a double tooth—A simple token this, in sooth—'Twas all he had, poor fellow!"I often wonder," he would say,When very, very far away,"IfAngelinawears it?A plan has entered in my head:I will pretend that I am dead,And see howAngybears it."The news he made a messmate tell.HisAngelinabore it well,No sign gave she of crazing;But, steady as the Inchcape Rock,HisAngelinastood the shockWith fortitude amazing.She said, "Some one I must electPoorAngelinato protectFrom all who wish to harm her—Since worthyCaptain Toddis dead,I rather feel inclined to wedA comfortable farmer."A comfortable farmer came(Bassanio Tylerwas his name),Who had no end of treasure.He said, "My noble gal, be mine!"The noble gal did not decline,But simply said. "With pleasure."When this was told toCaptain Todd,At first he thought it rather odd,And felt some perturbation;But very long he did not grieve,He thought he could a way perceiveTosucha situation!"I'll not reveal myself," said he,"Till they are both in theEcclesiastical arena;Then suddenly I will appear,And paralysing them with fear,Demand myAngelina!"At length arrived the wedding day;Accoutred in the usual wayAppeared the bridal body;The worthy clergyman began,When in the gallant Captain ranAnd cried, "Behold yourToddy!"The bridegroom, p'raps, was terrified,And also possibly the bride—The bridesmaidswereaffrighted;ButAngelina, noble soul,Contrived her feelings to control,And really seemed delighted."My bride!" said gallantCaptain Todd,"She's mine, uninteresting clod!My own, my darling charmer!""Oh dear," said she, "you're just too late—I'm married to, I beg to state,This comfortable farmer!""Indeed," the farmer said, "she's mine;You've been and cut it far too fine!""I see," saidTodd, "I'm beaten."And so he went to sea once more,"Sensation" he for aye forswore,And married on her native shoreA lady whom he'd met before—A lovely Otaheitan.ANGLICISED UTOPIASocietyhas quite forsaken all her wicked courses,Which empties our police courts, and abolishes divorces.(Divorce is nearly obsolete in England.)No tolerance we show to undeserving rank and splendour;For the higher his position is, the greater the offender.(That's a maxim that is prevalent in England.)No Peeress at our Drawing-Room before the Presence passesWho wouldn't be accepted by the lower-middle classes;Each shady dame, whatever be her rank, is bowed out neatly.In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely!It really is surprisingWhat a thorough AnglicisingWe've brought about—Utopia's quite another land;In her enterprising movements,She is England—with improvements,Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land!Our city we have beautified—we've done it willy-nilly—And all that isn't Belgrave Square is Strand and Piccadilly.(They haven't any slummeries in England.)We have solved the labour question with discrimination polished,So poverty is obsolete and hunger is abolished—(They are going to abolish it in England.)The Chamberlain our native stage has purged, beyond a question,Of "risky" situation and indelicate suggestion;No piece is tolerated if it's costumed indiscreetly—In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely!It really is surprisingWhat a thorough AnglicisingWe've brought about—Utopia's quite another land;In her enterprising movements,She is England—with improvements,Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land!Our Peerage we've remodelled on an intellectual basis,Which certainly is rough on our hereditary races—(They are going to remodel it in England.)The Brewers and the Cotton Lords no longer seek admission,And Literary Merit meets with proper recognition—(As Literary Merit does in England!)Who knows but we may count among our intellectual chickensLike them an Earl of Thackeray and p'raps a Duke of Dickens—Lord Fildes and Viscount Millais (when they come) we'll welcome sweetly—And then, this happy country will be Anglicised completely!It really is surprisingWhat a thorough AnglicisingWe've brought about—Utopia's quite another land;In her enterprising movements,She is England—with improvements,Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land!AN ENGLISH GIRL

The,Reverend Micah Sowls,He shouts and yells and howls,He screams, he mouths, he bumps,He foams, he rants, he thumps.

The,Reverend Micah Sowls,

He shouts and yells and howls,

He screams, he mouths, he bumps,

He foams, he rants, he thumps.

His armour he has buckled on, to wageThe regulation war against the Stage;And warns his congregation all to shun"The Presence-Chamber of the Evil One."

His armour he has buckled on, to wage

The regulation war against the Stage;

And warns his congregation all to shun

"The Presence-Chamber of the Evil One."

The subject's sad enoughTo make him rant and puff,And fortunately, too,His Bishop's in a pew.

The subject's sad enough

To make him rant and puff,

And fortunately, too,

His Bishop's in a pew.

SoReverend Micahclaps on extra steam,His eyes are flashing with superior gleam,He is as energetic as can be,For there are fatter livings in that see.

SoReverend Micahclaps on extra steam,

His eyes are flashing with superior gleam,

He is as energetic as can be,

For there are fatter livings in that see.

The Bishop, when it's o'er,Goes through the vestry door,WhereMicah, very red,Is mopping of his head.

The Bishop, when it's o'er,

Goes through the vestry door,

WhereMicah, very red,

Is mopping of his head.

"Pardon, my Lord, yourSowls' excessive zeal,It is a theme on which I strongly feel."(The sermon somebody had sent him downFrom London, at a charge of half-a-crown.)

"Pardon, my Lord, yourSowls' excessive zeal,

It is a theme on which I strongly feel."

(The sermon somebody had sent him down

From London, at a charge of half-a-crown.)

The Bishop bowed his head,And, acquiescing, said,"I've heard your well-meant rageAgainst the Modern Stage.

The Bishop bowed his head,

And, acquiescing, said,

"I've heard your well-meant rage

Against the Modern Stage.

"A modern Theatre, as I heard you say,Sows seeds of evil broadcast—well it may;But let me ask you, my respected son,Pray, have you ever ventured into one?"

"A modern Theatre, as I heard you say,

Sows seeds of evil broadcast—well it may;

But let me ask you, my respected son,

Pray, have you ever ventured into one?"

"My Lord," saidMicah, "no!I never, never go!What! Go and see a play?My goodness gracious, nay!"

"My Lord," saidMicah, "no!

I never, never go!

What! Go and see a play?

My goodness gracious, nay!"

The worthy Bishop said, "My friend, no doubtThe Stage may be the place you make it out;But if, myReverend Sowls, you never go,I don't quite understand how you're to know."

The worthy Bishop said, "My friend, no doubt

The Stage may be the place you make it out;

But if, myReverend Sowls, you never go,

I don't quite understand how you're to know."

"Well, really,"Micahsaid,"I've often heard and read,But never go—do you?"The Bishop said, "I do."

"Well, really,"Micahsaid,

"I've often heard and read,

But never go—do you?"

The Bishop said, "I do."

"That proves me wrong," saidMicah, in a trice;"I thought it all frivolity and vice."The Bishop handed him a printed card;"Go to a theatre where they play our Bard."

"That proves me wrong," saidMicah, in a trice;

"I thought it all frivolity and vice."

The Bishop handed him a printed card;

"Go to a theatre where they play our Bard."

The Bishop took his leave,Rejoicing in his sleeve.The next ensuing daySowlswent and heard a play.

The Bishop took his leave,

Rejoicing in his sleeve.

The next ensuing day

Sowlswent and heard a play.

He saw a dreary person on the stage,Who mouthed and mugged in simulated rage,Who growled and spluttered in a mode absurd,And spoke an EnglishSowlshad never heard.

He saw a dreary person on the stage,

Who mouthed and mugged in simulated rage,

Who growled and spluttered in a mode absurd,

And spoke an EnglishSowlshad never heard.

For "gaunt" was spoken "garnt,"And "haunt" transformed to "harnt,"And "wrath" pronounced as "rath,"And "death" was changed to "dath."

For "gaunt" was spoken "garnt,"

And "haunt" transformed to "harnt,"

And "wrath" pronounced as "rath,"

And "death" was changed to "dath."

For hours and hours that dismal actor walked,And talked, and talked, and talked, and talked,Till lethargy upon the parson crept,And sleepyMicah Sowlsserenely slept.

For hours and hours that dismal actor walked,

And talked, and talked, and talked, and talked,

Till lethargy upon the parson crept,

And sleepyMicah Sowlsserenely slept.

He slept away untilThe farce that closed the billHad warned him not to stay,And then he went away.

He slept away until

The farce that closed the bill

Had warned him not to stay,

And then he went away.

"I thoughtmygait ridiculous," said he—"Myelocution faulty as could be;I thoughtImumbled on a matchless plan—I had not seen our great Tragedian!

"I thoughtmygait ridiculous," said he—

"Myelocution faulty as could be;

I thoughtImumbled on a matchless plan—

I had not seen our great Tragedian!

"Forgive me, if you can,O great Tragedian!I own it with a sigh—You're drearier than I!"

"Forgive me, if you can,

O great Tragedian!

I own it with a sigh—

You're drearier than I!"

Bedeckedin fashion trim,With every curl a-quiver;Or leaping, light of limb,O'er rivulet and river;Or skipping o'er the leaOn daffodil and daisy;Or stretched beneath a tree,All languishing and lazy;Whatever be her mood—Be she demurely prudeOr languishingly lazy—My lady drives me crazy!In vain her heart is wooed,Whatever be her mood!What profit should I gainSuppose she loved me dearly?Her coldness turns my brainTovergeof madness merely.Her kiss—though, Heaven knows,To dream of it were treason—Would tend, as I suppose,To utter loss of reason!My state is not amiss;I would not have a kissWhich, in or out of season,Might tend to loss of reason:What profit in such bliss?A fig for such a kiss!

Bedeckedin fashion trim,

With every curl a-quiver;

Or leaping, light of limb,

O'er rivulet and river;

Or skipping o'er the lea

On daffodil and daisy;

Or stretched beneath a tree,

All languishing and lazy;

Whatever be her mood—

Be she demurely prude

Or languishingly lazy—

My lady drives me crazy!

In vain her heart is wooed,

Whatever be her mood!

What profit should I gainSuppose she loved me dearly?Her coldness turns my brainTovergeof madness merely.Her kiss—though, Heaven knows,To dream of it were treason—Would tend, as I suppose,To utter loss of reason!My state is not amiss;I would not have a kissWhich, in or out of season,Might tend to loss of reason:What profit in such bliss?A fig for such a kiss!

What profit should I gain

Suppose she loved me dearly?

Her coldness turns my brain

Tovergeof madness merely.

Her kiss—though, Heaven knows,

To dream of it were treason—

Would tend, as I suppose,

To utter loss of reason!

My state is not amiss;

I would not have a kiss

Which, in or out of season,

Might tend to loss of reason:

What profit in such bliss?

A fig for such a kiss!

It'smy opinion—though I ownIn thinking so I'm quite alone—In some respects I'm but a fright.Youlike my features, I suppose?I'mdisappointed with my nose:Some rave about it—perhaps they're right.My figure just sets off a fit;But when they say it's exquisite(And theydosay so), that's too strong.I hope I'm not what people callOpinionated! After all,I'm but a goose, and may be wrong!When charms enthralThere's some excuseFor measures strong;And after allI'm but a goose,And may be wrong!My teeth are very neat, no doubt;But after all theymayfall out:Ithink they will—some think they won't.My hands are small, as you may see,But not as small as they might be,At least,Ithink so—others don't.But there, a girl may preach and prateFrom morning six to evening eight,And never stop to dine,When all the world, although misled,Is quite agreed on any head—And it is quite agreed on mine!All said and done,It's little IAgainst a throng.I'm only one,And possiblyI may be wrong!

It'smy opinion—though I own

In thinking so I'm quite alone—

In some respects I'm but a fright.

Youlike my features, I suppose?

I'mdisappointed with my nose:

Some rave about it—perhaps they're right.

My figure just sets off a fit;

But when they say it's exquisite

(And theydosay so), that's too strong.

I hope I'm not what people call

Opinionated! After all,

I'm but a goose, and may be wrong!

When charms enthralThere's some excuseFor measures strong;And after allI'm but a goose,And may be wrong!

When charms enthral

There's some excuse

For measures strong;

And after all

I'm but a goose,

And may be wrong!

My teeth are very neat, no doubt;But after all theymayfall out:Ithink they will—some think they won't.My hands are small, as you may see,But not as small as they might be,At least,Ithink so—others don't.But there, a girl may preach and prateFrom morning six to evening eight,And never stop to dine,When all the world, although misled,Is quite agreed on any head—And it is quite agreed on mine!

My teeth are very neat, no doubt;

But after all theymayfall out:

Ithink they will—some think they won't.

My hands are small, as you may see,

But not as small as they might be,

At least,Ithink so—others don't.

But there, a girl may preach and prate

From morning six to evening eight,

And never stop to dine,

When all the world, although misled,

Is quite agreed on any head—

And it is quite agreed on mine!

All said and done,It's little IAgainst a throng.I'm only one,And possiblyI may be wrong!

All said and done,

It's little I

Against a throng.

I'm only one,

And possibly

I may be wrong!

Lord B.was a nobleman boldWho came of illustrious stocks,He was thirty or forty years old,And several feet in his socks.To Turniptopville-by-the-SeaThis elegant nobleman went,For that was a borough that heWas anxious to rep-per-re-sent.At local assemblies he dancedUntil he felt thoroughly ill;He waltzed, and he galoped, and lanced,And threaded the mazy quadrille.The maidens of TurniptopvilleWere simple—ingenuous—pure—And they all worked away with a willThe nobleman's heart to secure.Two maidens all others beyondEndeavoured his cares to dispel—The one was the livelyAnn Pond,The other sadMary Morell.Ann Pondhad determined to tryAnd carry the Earl with a rush;Her principal feature was eye,Her greatest accomplishment—gush.AndMarychose this for her play:Whenever he looked in her eyeShe'd blush and turn quickly away,And flitter, and flutter, and sigh.It was noticed he constantly sighedAs she worked out the scheme she had planned,A fact he endeavoured to hideWith his aristocratical hand.OldPondwas a farmer, they say,And so was oldTommy Morell.In a humble and pottering wayThey were doing exceedingly well.They both of them carried by voteThe Earl was a dangerous man;So nervously clearing his throat,One morning oldTommybegan:"My darter's no pratty young doll—I'm a plain-spoken Zommerzet man—Now what do 'ee mean by myPoll,And what do 'ee mean by hisAnn?"Said B., "I will give you my bondI mean them uncommonly well,Believe me, my excellentPond,And credit me, worthyMorell."It's quite indisputable, forI'll prove it with singular ease,—You shall have it in 'Barbara' or'Celarent'—whichever you please.'You see, when an anchorite bowsTo the yoke of intentional sin,If the state of the country allows,Homogeny always steps in—"It's a highly æsthetical bond,As any mere ploughboy can tell——""Of course," replied puzzled oldPond."I see," said oldTommy Morell."Very good, then," continued the lord;"When it's fooled to the top of its bent,With a sweep of a Damocles swordThe web of intention is rent."That's patent to all of us here,As any mere schoolboy can tell."Pondanswered, "Of course it's quite clear";And so did that humbugMorell."Its tone's esoteric in force—I trust that I make myself clear?"Morellonly answered, "Of course,"WhilePondslowly muttered, "Hear, hear.""Volition—celestial prize,Pellucid as porphyry cell—Is based on a principle wise.""Quite so," exclaimedPondandMorell."From what I have said you will seeThat I couldn't wed either—in fine,By Nature's unchanging decreeYourdaughters could never bemine."Go home to your pigs and your ricks,My hands of the matter I've rinsed."So they take up their hats and their sticks,Andexeunt ambo, convinced.

Lord B.was a nobleman boldWho came of illustrious stocks,He was thirty or forty years old,And several feet in his socks.

Lord B.was a nobleman bold

Who came of illustrious stocks,

He was thirty or forty years old,

And several feet in his socks.

To Turniptopville-by-the-SeaThis elegant nobleman went,For that was a borough that heWas anxious to rep-per-re-sent.

To Turniptopville-by-the-Sea

This elegant nobleman went,

For that was a borough that he

Was anxious to rep-per-re-sent.

At local assemblies he dancedUntil he felt thoroughly ill;He waltzed, and he galoped, and lanced,And threaded the mazy quadrille.

At local assemblies he danced

Until he felt thoroughly ill;

He waltzed, and he galoped, and lanced,

And threaded the mazy quadrille.

The maidens of TurniptopvilleWere simple—ingenuous—pure—And they all worked away with a willThe nobleman's heart to secure.

The maidens of Turniptopville

Were simple—ingenuous—pure—

And they all worked away with a will

The nobleman's heart to secure.

Two maidens all others beyondEndeavoured his cares to dispel—The one was the livelyAnn Pond,The other sadMary Morell.

Two maidens all others beyond

Endeavoured his cares to dispel—

The one was the livelyAnn Pond,

The other sadMary Morell.

Ann Pondhad determined to tryAnd carry the Earl with a rush;Her principal feature was eye,Her greatest accomplishment—gush.

Ann Pondhad determined to try

And carry the Earl with a rush;

Her principal feature was eye,

Her greatest accomplishment—gush.

AndMarychose this for her play:Whenever he looked in her eyeShe'd blush and turn quickly away,And flitter, and flutter, and sigh.

AndMarychose this for her play:

Whenever he looked in her eye

She'd blush and turn quickly away,

And flitter, and flutter, and sigh.

It was noticed he constantly sighedAs she worked out the scheme she had planned,A fact he endeavoured to hideWith his aristocratical hand.

It was noticed he constantly sighed

As she worked out the scheme she had planned,

A fact he endeavoured to hide

With his aristocratical hand.

OldPondwas a farmer, they say,And so was oldTommy Morell.In a humble and pottering wayThey were doing exceedingly well.

OldPondwas a farmer, they say,

And so was oldTommy Morell.

In a humble and pottering way

They were doing exceedingly well.

They both of them carried by voteThe Earl was a dangerous man;So nervously clearing his throat,One morning oldTommybegan:

They both of them carried by vote

The Earl was a dangerous man;

So nervously clearing his throat,

One morning oldTommybegan:

"My darter's no pratty young doll—I'm a plain-spoken Zommerzet man—Now what do 'ee mean by myPoll,And what do 'ee mean by hisAnn?"

"My darter's no pratty young doll—

I'm a plain-spoken Zommerzet man—

Now what do 'ee mean by myPoll,

And what do 'ee mean by hisAnn?"

Said B., "I will give you my bondI mean them uncommonly well,Believe me, my excellentPond,And credit me, worthyMorell.

Said B., "I will give you my bond

I mean them uncommonly well,

Believe me, my excellentPond,

And credit me, worthyMorell.

"It's quite indisputable, forI'll prove it with singular ease,—You shall have it in 'Barbara' or'Celarent'—whichever you please.

"It's quite indisputable, for

I'll prove it with singular ease,—

You shall have it in 'Barbara' or

'Celarent'—whichever you please.

'You see, when an anchorite bowsTo the yoke of intentional sin,If the state of the country allows,Homogeny always steps in—

'You see, when an anchorite bows

To the yoke of intentional sin,

If the state of the country allows,

Homogeny always steps in—

"It's a highly æsthetical bond,As any mere ploughboy can tell——""Of course," replied puzzled oldPond."I see," said oldTommy Morell.

"It's a highly æsthetical bond,

As any mere ploughboy can tell——"

"Of course," replied puzzled oldPond.

"I see," said oldTommy Morell.

"Very good, then," continued the lord;"When it's fooled to the top of its bent,With a sweep of a Damocles swordThe web of intention is rent.

"Very good, then," continued the lord;

"When it's fooled to the top of its bent,

With a sweep of a Damocles sword

The web of intention is rent.

"That's patent to all of us here,As any mere schoolboy can tell."Pondanswered, "Of course it's quite clear";And so did that humbugMorell.

"That's patent to all of us here,

As any mere schoolboy can tell."

Pondanswered, "Of course it's quite clear";

And so did that humbugMorell.

"Its tone's esoteric in force—I trust that I make myself clear?"Morellonly answered, "Of course,"WhilePondslowly muttered, "Hear, hear."

"Its tone's esoteric in force—

I trust that I make myself clear?"

Morellonly answered, "Of course,"

WhilePondslowly muttered, "Hear, hear."

"Volition—celestial prize,Pellucid as porphyry cell—Is based on a principle wise.""Quite so," exclaimedPondandMorell.

"Volition—celestial prize,

Pellucid as porphyry cell—

Is based on a principle wise."

"Quite so," exclaimedPondandMorell.

"From what I have said you will seeThat I couldn't wed either—in fine,By Nature's unchanging decreeYourdaughters could never bemine.

"From what I have said you will see

That I couldn't wed either—in fine,

By Nature's unchanging decree

Yourdaughters could never bemine.

"Go home to your pigs and your ricks,My hands of the matter I've rinsed."So they take up their hats and their sticks,Andexeunt ambo, convinced.

"Go home to your pigs and your ricks,

My hands of the matter I've rinsed."

So they take up their hats and their sticks,

Andexeunt ambo, convinced.

Ifmy action's stiff and crude,Do not laugh, because it's rude.If my gestures promise larks,Do not make unkind remarks.Clockwork figures may be foundEverywhere and all around.Ten to one, if I but knew,You are clockwork figures too.And the motto of the lot,"Put a penny in the slot!"Usurer, for money lent,Making out his cent per cent—Widow plump or maiden rare,Deaf and dumb to suitor's prayer—Tax collectors, whom in vainYou implore to "call again"—Cautious voter, whom you findSlow in making up his mind—If you'd move them on the spot,Put a penny in the slot!Bland reporters in the courts,Who suppress police reports—Sheriff's yeoman, pen in fist,Making out a jury list—Stern policemen, tall and spare,Acting all "upon the square"—(Which in words that plainer fall,Means that you can square them all)—If you want to move the lot,Put a penny in the slot!

Ifmy action's stiff and crude,

Do not laugh, because it's rude.

If my gestures promise larks,

Do not make unkind remarks.

Clockwork figures may be found

Everywhere and all around.

Ten to one, if I but knew,

You are clockwork figures too.

And the motto of the lot,

"Put a penny in the slot!"

Usurer, for money lent,Making out his cent per cent—Widow plump or maiden rare,Deaf and dumb to suitor's prayer—Tax collectors, whom in vainYou implore to "call again"—Cautious voter, whom you findSlow in making up his mind—If you'd move them on the spot,Put a penny in the slot!

Usurer, for money lent,

Making out his cent per cent—

Widow plump or maiden rare,

Deaf and dumb to suitor's prayer—

Tax collectors, whom in vain

You implore to "call again"—

Cautious voter, whom you find

Slow in making up his mind—

If you'd move them on the spot,

Put a penny in the slot!

Bland reporters in the courts,Who suppress police reports—Sheriff's yeoman, pen in fist,Making out a jury list—Stern policemen, tall and spare,Acting all "upon the square"—(Which in words that plainer fall,Means that you can square them all)—If you want to move the lot,Put a penny in the slot!

Bland reporters in the courts,

Who suppress police reports—

Sheriff's yeoman, pen in fist,

Making out a jury list—

Stern policemen, tall and spare,

Acting all "upon the square"—

(Which in words that plainer fall,

Means that you can square them all)—

If you want to move the lot,

Put a penny in the slot!

Althoughof native maids the cream,We're brought up on the English scheme—The best of allFor great and smallWho modesty adore.For English girls are good as gold,Extremely modest (so we're told),Demurely coy—divinely cold—And we are that—and more.To please papa, who argues thus—All girls should mould themselves on us,Because we are,By furlongs far,The best of all the bunch;We show ourselves to loud applauseFrom ten to four without a pause—Which is an awkward time becauseIt cuts into our lunch.Oh, maids of high and low degree,Whose social code is rather free,Please look at us and you will seeWhat good young ladies ought to be!And as we stand, like clockwork toys,A lecturer papa employsTo puff and praiseOur modest waysAnd guileless character—Our well-known blush—our downcast eyes—Our famous look of mild surprise(Which competition still defies)—Our celebrated "Sir!!!"Then all the crowd take down our looksIn pocket memorandum books.To diagnoseOur modest poseThe kodaks do their best:If evidence you would possessOf what is maiden bashfulness,You only need a button press—Andwedo all the rest.

Althoughof native maids the cream,

We're brought up on the English scheme—

The best of all

For great and small

Who modesty adore.

For English girls are good as gold,

Extremely modest (so we're told),

Demurely coy—divinely cold—

And we are that—and more.

To please papa, who argues thus—

All girls should mould themselves on us,

Because we are,

By furlongs far,

The best of all the bunch;We show ourselves to loud applauseFrom ten to four without a pause—Which is an awkward time becauseIt cuts into our lunch.

The best of all the bunch;

We show ourselves to loud applause

From ten to four without a pause—

Which is an awkward time because

It cuts into our lunch.

Oh, maids of high and low degree,Whose social code is rather free,Please look at us and you will seeWhat good young ladies ought to be!

Oh, maids of high and low degree,

Whose social code is rather free,

Please look at us and you will see

What good young ladies ought to be!

And as we stand, like clockwork toys,A lecturer papa employsTo puff and praiseOur modest waysAnd guileless character—Our well-known blush—our downcast eyes—Our famous look of mild surprise(Which competition still defies)—Our celebrated "Sir!!!"Then all the crowd take down our looksIn pocket memorandum books.To diagnoseOur modest poseThe kodaks do their best:If evidence you would possessOf what is maiden bashfulness,You only need a button press—Andwedo all the rest.

And as we stand, like clockwork toys,

A lecturer papa employs

To puff and praise

Our modest ways

And guileless character—

Our well-known blush—our downcast eyes—

Our famous look of mild surprise

(Which competition still defies)—

Our celebrated "Sir!!!"

Then all the crowd take down our looks

In pocket memorandum books.

To diagnose

Our modest pose

The kodaks do their best:

If evidence you would possess

Of what is maiden bashfulness,

You only need a button press—

Andwedo all the rest.

A bishoponce—I will not name his see—Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional;From pulpit shackles never set them free,And found a sin where sin was unintentional.All pleasures ended in abuse auricular—That Bishop was so terribly particular.Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man,He sought to make of human pleasures clearances,And form his priests on that much-lauded planWhich pays undue attention to appearances.He couldn't do good deeds without a psalm in 'em,Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in 'em.Enraged to find a deacon at a dance,Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity,He sought by open censure to enhanceTheir dread of joining harmless social jollity;Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety)The ordinary pleasures of society.One evening, sitting at a pantomime(Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of him),Roaring at jokessansmetre, sense, or rhyme,He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him—His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it—A curate, also heartily enjoying it.Again, 'twas Christmas Eve, and to enhanceHis children's pleasure in their harmless rollicking,He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance;When something checked the current of his frolicking:That curate, with a maid he treated loverly,Stood up and figured with him in the "Coverley"!Once, yielding to an universal choice(The company's demand was an emphatic one,For the old Bishop had a glorious voice),In a quartet he joined—an operatic one—Harmless enough, though ne'er a word of grace in it;When, lo! that curate came and took the bass in it!One day, when passing through a quiet street,He stopped awhile and joined a Punch's gathering,And chuckled more than solemn folk think meetTo see that gentleman his Judy lathering;And heard, as Punch was being treated penally,That phantom curate laughing all hyænally!Now at a picnic, 'mid fair golden curls,Bright eyes, straw hats,bottinesthat fit amazingly,A croquet-bout is planned by all the girls,And he, consenting, speaks of croquet praisingly;But suddenly declines to play at all in it—The curate fiend has come to take a ball in it!Next, when at quiet seaside village, freedFrom cares episcopal and ties monarchical,He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed,In manner anything but hierarchical—He sees—and fixes an unearthly stare on it—That curate's face, with half a yard of hair on it!At length he gave a charge, and spake this word:"Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye may.To check their harmless pleasuring's absurd;What laymen do without reproach, my clergy may."He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of him,The curate vanished—no one since has heard of him.

A bishoponce—I will not name his see—

Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional;

From pulpit shackles never set them free,

And found a sin where sin was unintentional.

All pleasures ended in abuse auricular—

That Bishop was so terribly particular.

Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man,He sought to make of human pleasures clearances,And form his priests on that much-lauded planWhich pays undue attention to appearances.He couldn't do good deeds without a psalm in 'em,Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in 'em.

Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man,

He sought to make of human pleasures clearances,

And form his priests on that much-lauded plan

Which pays undue attention to appearances.

He couldn't do good deeds without a psalm in 'em,

Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in 'em.

Enraged to find a deacon at a dance,Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity,He sought by open censure to enhanceTheir dread of joining harmless social jollity;Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety)The ordinary pleasures of society.

Enraged to find a deacon at a dance,

Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity,

He sought by open censure to enhance

Their dread of joining harmless social jollity;

Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety)

The ordinary pleasures of society.

One evening, sitting at a pantomime(Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of him),Roaring at jokessansmetre, sense, or rhyme,He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him—His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it—A curate, also heartily enjoying it.

One evening, sitting at a pantomime

(Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of him),

Roaring at jokessansmetre, sense, or rhyme,

He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him—

His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it—

A curate, also heartily enjoying it.

Again, 'twas Christmas Eve, and to enhanceHis children's pleasure in their harmless rollicking,He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance;When something checked the current of his frolicking:That curate, with a maid he treated loverly,Stood up and figured with him in the "Coverley"!

Again, 'twas Christmas Eve, and to enhance

His children's pleasure in their harmless rollicking,

He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance;

When something checked the current of his frolicking:

That curate, with a maid he treated loverly,

Stood up and figured with him in the "Coverley"!

Once, yielding to an universal choice(The company's demand was an emphatic one,For the old Bishop had a glorious voice),In a quartet he joined—an operatic one—Harmless enough, though ne'er a word of grace in it;When, lo! that curate came and took the bass in it!

Once, yielding to an universal choice

(The company's demand was an emphatic one,

For the old Bishop had a glorious voice),

In a quartet he joined—an operatic one—

Harmless enough, though ne'er a word of grace in it;

When, lo! that curate came and took the bass in it!

One day, when passing through a quiet street,He stopped awhile and joined a Punch's gathering,And chuckled more than solemn folk think meetTo see that gentleman his Judy lathering;And heard, as Punch was being treated penally,That phantom curate laughing all hyænally!

One day, when passing through a quiet street,

He stopped awhile and joined a Punch's gathering,

And chuckled more than solemn folk think meet

To see that gentleman his Judy lathering;

And heard, as Punch was being treated penally,

That phantom curate laughing all hyænally!

Now at a picnic, 'mid fair golden curls,Bright eyes, straw hats,bottinesthat fit amazingly,A croquet-bout is planned by all the girls,And he, consenting, speaks of croquet praisingly;But suddenly declines to play at all in it—The curate fiend has come to take a ball in it!

Now at a picnic, 'mid fair golden curls,

Bright eyes, straw hats,bottinesthat fit amazingly,

A croquet-bout is planned by all the girls,

And he, consenting, speaks of croquet praisingly;

But suddenly declines to play at all in it—

The curate fiend has come to take a ball in it!

Next, when at quiet seaside village, freedFrom cares episcopal and ties monarchical,He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed,In manner anything but hierarchical—He sees—and fixes an unearthly stare on it—That curate's face, with half a yard of hair on it!

Next, when at quiet seaside village, freed

From cares episcopal and ties monarchical,

He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed,

In manner anything but hierarchical—

He sees—and fixes an unearthly stare on it—

That curate's face, with half a yard of hair on it!

At length he gave a charge, and spake this word:"Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye may.To check their harmless pleasuring's absurd;What laymen do without reproach, my clergy may."He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of him,The curate vanished—no one since has heard of him.

At length he gave a charge, and spake this word:

"Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye may.

To check their harmless pleasuring's absurd;

What laymen do without reproach, my clergy may."

He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of him,

The curate vanished—no one since has heard of him.

Firstyou're born—and I'll be bound youFind a dozen strangers round you."Hallo," cries the new-born baby,"Where's my parents? which may they be?"Awkward silence—no reply—Puzzled baby wonders why!Father rises, bows politely—Mother smiles (but not too brightly)—Doctor mumbles like a dumb thing—Nurse is busy mixing something.—Every symptom tends to showYou're decidedlyde trop—Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!Time's teetotum,If you spin it,Give its quotumOnce a minute:I'll go bailYou hit the nail,And if you failThe deuce is in it!You grow up, and you discoverWhat it is to be a lover.Some young lady is selected—Poor, perhaps, but well-connected,Whom you hail (for Love is blind)As the Queen of Fairy-kind.Though she's plain—perhaps unsightly,Makes her face up—laces tightly,In her form your fancy tracesAll the gifts of all the graces.Rivals none the maiden woo,So you take her and she takes you!Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!Joke beginning,Never ceases,Till your inningTime releases;On your wayYou blindly stray,And day by dayThe joke increases!Ten years later—Time progresses—Sours your temper—thins your tresses;Fancy, then, her chain relaxes;Rates are facts and so are taxes.Fairy Queen's no longer young—Fairy Queen has such a tongue!Twins have probably intruded—Quite unbidden—just as you did;They're a source of care and trouble—Just as you were—only double.Comes at last the final stroke—Time has had his little joke!Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!Daily driven(Wife as drover)Ill you've thriven—Ne'er in clover:Lastly, whenThreescore and ten(And not till then),The joke is over!Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!Then—and thenThe joke is over!

Firstyou're born—and I'll be bound you

Find a dozen strangers round you.

"Hallo," cries the new-born baby,

"Where's my parents? which may they be?"

Awkward silence—no reply—

Puzzled baby wonders why!

Father rises, bows politely—

Mother smiles (but not too brightly)—

Doctor mumbles like a dumb thing—

Nurse is busy mixing something.—

Every symptom tends to show

You're decidedlyde trop—

Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!

Time's teetotum,

If you spin it,

Give its quotum

Once a minute:

I'll go bail

You hit the nail,

And if you fail

The deuce is in it!

You grow up, and you discoverWhat it is to be a lover.Some young lady is selected—Poor, perhaps, but well-connected,Whom you hail (for Love is blind)As the Queen of Fairy-kind.Though she's plain—perhaps unsightly,Makes her face up—laces tightly,In her form your fancy tracesAll the gifts of all the graces.Rivals none the maiden woo,So you take her and she takes you!Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!Joke beginning,Never ceases,Till your inningTime releases;On your wayYou blindly stray,And day by dayThe joke increases!

You grow up, and you discover

What it is to be a lover.

Some young lady is selected—

Poor, perhaps, but well-connected,

Whom you hail (for Love is blind)

As the Queen of Fairy-kind.

Though she's plain—perhaps unsightly,

Makes her face up—laces tightly,

In her form your fancy traces

All the gifts of all the graces.

Rivals none the maiden woo,

So you take her and she takes you!

Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!

Joke beginning,

Never ceases,

Till your inning

Time releases;

On your way

You blindly stray,

And day by day

The joke increases!

Ten years later—Time progresses—Sours your temper—thins your tresses;Fancy, then, her chain relaxes;Rates are facts and so are taxes.Fairy Queen's no longer young—Fairy Queen has such a tongue!Twins have probably intruded—Quite unbidden—just as you did;They're a source of care and trouble—Just as you were—only double.Comes at last the final stroke—Time has had his little joke!

Ten years later—Time progresses—

Sours your temper—thins your tresses;

Fancy, then, her chain relaxes;

Rates are facts and so are taxes.

Fairy Queen's no longer young—

Fairy Queen has such a tongue!

Twins have probably intruded—

Quite unbidden—just as you did;

They're a source of care and trouble—

Just as you were—only double.

Comes at last the final stroke—

Time has had his little joke!

Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!Daily driven(Wife as drover)Ill you've thriven—Ne'er in clover:Lastly, whenThreescore and ten(And not till then),The joke is over!Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!Then—and thenThe joke is over!

Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!

Daily driven

(Wife as drover)

Ill you've thriven—

Ne'er in clover:

Lastly, when

Threescore and ten

(And not till then),

The joke is over!

Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!

Then—and then

The joke is over!

Someseven men form an Association(If possible, all Peers and Baronets),They start off with a public declarationTo what extent they mean to pay their debts.That's called their Capital: if they are waryThey will not quote it at a sum immense.The figure's immaterial—it may varyFrom eighteen million down to eighteenpence.Ishould put it rather low;The good sense of doing soWill be evident at once to any debtor.When it's left to you to sayWhat amount you mean to pay,Why, the lower you can put it at, the better.They then proceed to trade with all who'll trust 'em,Quite irrespective of their capital(It's shady, but it's sanctified by custom);Bank, Railway, Loan, or Panama Canal.You can't embark on trading too tremendous—It's strictly fair, and based on common sense—If you succeed, your profits are stupendous—And if you fail, pop goes your eighteenpence.Make the money-spinner spin!For you only stand to win,And you'll never with dishonesty be twitted.For nobody can know,To a million or so,To what extent your capital's committed!If you come to grief, and creditors are craving(For nothing that is planned by mortal headIs certain in this Vale of Sorrow—savingThat one's Liability is Limited),—Do you suppose that signifies perdition?If so you're but a monetary dunce—You merely file a Winding-Up Petition,And start another Company at once!Though a Rothschild you may beIn your own capacity,As a Company you've come to utter sorrow—But the Liquidators say,"Never mind—you needn't pay,"So you start another Company to-morrow!

Someseven men form an Association

(If possible, all Peers and Baronets),

They start off with a public declaration

To what extent they mean to pay their debts.

That's called their Capital: if they are wary

They will not quote it at a sum immense.

The figure's immaterial—it may vary

From eighteen million down to eighteenpence.

Ishould put it rather low;

The good sense of doing so

Will be evident at once to any debtor.

When it's left to you to say

What amount you mean to pay,

Why, the lower you can put it at, the better.

They then proceed to trade with all who'll trust 'em,Quite irrespective of their capital(It's shady, but it's sanctified by custom);Bank, Railway, Loan, or Panama Canal.You can't embark on trading too tremendous—It's strictly fair, and based on common sense—If you succeed, your profits are stupendous—And if you fail, pop goes your eighteenpence.Make the money-spinner spin!For you only stand to win,And you'll never with dishonesty be twitted.For nobody can know,To a million or so,To what extent your capital's committed!

They then proceed to trade with all who'll trust 'em,

Quite irrespective of their capital

(It's shady, but it's sanctified by custom);

Bank, Railway, Loan, or Panama Canal.

You can't embark on trading too tremendous—

It's strictly fair, and based on common sense—

If you succeed, your profits are stupendous—

And if you fail, pop goes your eighteenpence.

Make the money-spinner spin!

For you only stand to win,

And you'll never with dishonesty be twitted.

For nobody can know,

To a million or so,

To what extent your capital's committed!

If you come to grief, and creditors are craving(For nothing that is planned by mortal headIs certain in this Vale of Sorrow—savingThat one's Liability is Limited),—Do you suppose that signifies perdition?If so you're but a monetary dunce—You merely file a Winding-Up Petition,And start another Company at once!Though a Rothschild you may beIn your own capacity,As a Company you've come to utter sorrow—But the Liquidators say,"Never mind—you needn't pay,"So you start another Company to-morrow!

If you come to grief, and creditors are craving

(For nothing that is planned by mortal head

Is certain in this Vale of Sorrow—saving

That one's Liability is Limited),—

Do you suppose that signifies perdition?

If so you're but a monetary dunce—

You merely file a Winding-Up Petition,

And start another Company at once!

Though a Rothschild you may be

In your own capacity,

As a Company you've come to utter sorrow—

But the Liquidators say,

"Never mind—you needn't pay,"

So you start another Company to-morrow!

Nonobler captain ever trodThanCaptain Parklebury Todd,So good—so wise—so brave, he!But still, as all his friends would own,He had one folly—one alone—This Captain in the Navy.I do not think I ever knewA man so wholly given toCreating a sensation;Or p'raps I should in justice say—To what in an Adelphi playIs known as "situation."He passed his time designing trapsTo flurry unsuspicious chaps—The taste was his innately;He couldn't walk into a roomWithout ejaculating "Boom!"Which startled ladies greatly.He'd wear a mask and muffling cloak,Not, you will understand, in joke,As some assume disguises;He did it, actuated byA simple love of mysteryAnd fondness for surprises.I need not say he loved a maid—His eloquence threw into shadeAll others who adored her.The maid, though pleased at first, I know,Found, after several years or so,Her startling lover bored her.So, when his orders came to sail,She did not faint or scream or wail,Or with her tears anoint him:She shook his hand, and said "Good-bye,"With laughter dancing in her eye—Which seemed to disappoint him.But ere he went aboard his boat,He placed around her little throatA ribbon, blue and yellow,On which he hung a double tooth—A simple token this, in sooth—'Twas all he had, poor fellow!"I often wonder," he would say,When very, very far away,"IfAngelinawears it?A plan has entered in my head:I will pretend that I am dead,And see howAngybears it."The news he made a messmate tell.HisAngelinabore it well,No sign gave she of crazing;But, steady as the Inchcape Rock,HisAngelinastood the shockWith fortitude amazing.She said, "Some one I must electPoorAngelinato protectFrom all who wish to harm her—Since worthyCaptain Toddis dead,I rather feel inclined to wedA comfortable farmer."A comfortable farmer came(Bassanio Tylerwas his name),Who had no end of treasure.He said, "My noble gal, be mine!"The noble gal did not decline,But simply said. "With pleasure."When this was told toCaptain Todd,At first he thought it rather odd,And felt some perturbation;But very long he did not grieve,He thought he could a way perceiveTosucha situation!"I'll not reveal myself," said he,"Till they are both in theEcclesiastical arena;Then suddenly I will appear,And paralysing them with fear,Demand myAngelina!"At length arrived the wedding day;Accoutred in the usual wayAppeared the bridal body;The worthy clergyman began,When in the gallant Captain ranAnd cried, "Behold yourToddy!"The bridegroom, p'raps, was terrified,And also possibly the bride—The bridesmaidswereaffrighted;ButAngelina, noble soul,Contrived her feelings to control,And really seemed delighted."My bride!" said gallantCaptain Todd,"She's mine, uninteresting clod!My own, my darling charmer!""Oh dear," said she, "you're just too late—I'm married to, I beg to state,This comfortable farmer!""Indeed," the farmer said, "she's mine;You've been and cut it far too fine!""I see," saidTodd, "I'm beaten."And so he went to sea once more,"Sensation" he for aye forswore,And married on her native shoreA lady whom he'd met before—A lovely Otaheitan.

Nonobler captain ever trodThanCaptain Parklebury Todd,So good—so wise—so brave, he!But still, as all his friends would own,He had one folly—one alone—This Captain in the Navy.

Nonobler captain ever trod

ThanCaptain Parklebury Todd,

So good—so wise—so brave, he!

But still, as all his friends would own,

He had one folly—one alone—

This Captain in the Navy.

I do not think I ever knewA man so wholly given toCreating a sensation;Or p'raps I should in justice say—To what in an Adelphi playIs known as "situation."

I do not think I ever knew

A man so wholly given to

Creating a sensation;

Or p'raps I should in justice say—

To what in an Adelphi play

Is known as "situation."

He passed his time designing trapsTo flurry unsuspicious chaps—The taste was his innately;He couldn't walk into a roomWithout ejaculating "Boom!"Which startled ladies greatly.

He passed his time designing traps

To flurry unsuspicious chaps—

The taste was his innately;

He couldn't walk into a room

Without ejaculating "Boom!"

Which startled ladies greatly.

He'd wear a mask and muffling cloak,Not, you will understand, in joke,As some assume disguises;He did it, actuated byA simple love of mysteryAnd fondness for surprises.

He'd wear a mask and muffling cloak,

Not, you will understand, in joke,

As some assume disguises;

He did it, actuated by

A simple love of mystery

And fondness for surprises.

I need not say he loved a maid—His eloquence threw into shadeAll others who adored her.The maid, though pleased at first, I know,Found, after several years or so,Her startling lover bored her.

I need not say he loved a maid—

His eloquence threw into shade

All others who adored her.

The maid, though pleased at first, I know,

Found, after several years or so,

Her startling lover bored her.

So, when his orders came to sail,She did not faint or scream or wail,Or with her tears anoint him:She shook his hand, and said "Good-bye,"With laughter dancing in her eye—Which seemed to disappoint him.

So, when his orders came to sail,

She did not faint or scream or wail,

Or with her tears anoint him:

She shook his hand, and said "Good-bye,"

With laughter dancing in her eye—

Which seemed to disappoint him.

But ere he went aboard his boat,He placed around her little throatA ribbon, blue and yellow,On which he hung a double tooth—A simple token this, in sooth—'Twas all he had, poor fellow!

But ere he went aboard his boat,

He placed around her little throat

A ribbon, blue and yellow,

On which he hung a double tooth—

A simple token this, in sooth—

'Twas all he had, poor fellow!

"I often wonder," he would say,When very, very far away,"IfAngelinawears it?A plan has entered in my head:I will pretend that I am dead,And see howAngybears it."

"I often wonder," he would say,

When very, very far away,

"IfAngelinawears it?

A plan has entered in my head:

I will pretend that I am dead,

And see howAngybears it."

The news he made a messmate tell.HisAngelinabore it well,No sign gave she of crazing;But, steady as the Inchcape Rock,HisAngelinastood the shockWith fortitude amazing.

The news he made a messmate tell.

HisAngelinabore it well,

No sign gave she of crazing;

But, steady as the Inchcape Rock,

HisAngelinastood the shock

With fortitude amazing.

She said, "Some one I must electPoorAngelinato protectFrom all who wish to harm her—Since worthyCaptain Toddis dead,I rather feel inclined to wedA comfortable farmer."

She said, "Some one I must elect

PoorAngelinato protect

From all who wish to harm her—

Since worthyCaptain Toddis dead,

I rather feel inclined to wed

A comfortable farmer."

A comfortable farmer came(Bassanio Tylerwas his name),Who had no end of treasure.He said, "My noble gal, be mine!"The noble gal did not decline,But simply said. "With pleasure."

A comfortable farmer came

(Bassanio Tylerwas his name),

Who had no end of treasure.

He said, "My noble gal, be mine!"

The noble gal did not decline,

But simply said. "With pleasure."

When this was told toCaptain Todd,At first he thought it rather odd,And felt some perturbation;But very long he did not grieve,He thought he could a way perceiveTosucha situation!

When this was told toCaptain Todd,

At first he thought it rather odd,

And felt some perturbation;

But very long he did not grieve,

He thought he could a way perceive

Tosucha situation!

"I'll not reveal myself," said he,"Till they are both in theEcclesiastical arena;Then suddenly I will appear,And paralysing them with fear,Demand myAngelina!"

"I'll not reveal myself," said he,

"Till they are both in the

Ecclesiastical arena;

Then suddenly I will appear,

And paralysing them with fear,

Demand myAngelina!"

At length arrived the wedding day;Accoutred in the usual wayAppeared the bridal body;The worthy clergyman began,When in the gallant Captain ranAnd cried, "Behold yourToddy!"

At length arrived the wedding day;

Accoutred in the usual way

Appeared the bridal body;

The worthy clergyman began,

When in the gallant Captain ran

And cried, "Behold yourToddy!"

The bridegroom, p'raps, was terrified,And also possibly the bride—The bridesmaidswereaffrighted;ButAngelina, noble soul,Contrived her feelings to control,And really seemed delighted.

The bridegroom, p'raps, was terrified,

And also possibly the bride—

The bridesmaidswereaffrighted;

ButAngelina, noble soul,

Contrived her feelings to control,

And really seemed delighted.

"My bride!" said gallantCaptain Todd,"She's mine, uninteresting clod!My own, my darling charmer!""Oh dear," said she, "you're just too late—I'm married to, I beg to state,This comfortable farmer!"

"My bride!" said gallantCaptain Todd,

"She's mine, uninteresting clod!

My own, my darling charmer!"

"Oh dear," said she, "you're just too late—

I'm married to, I beg to state,

This comfortable farmer!"

"Indeed," the farmer said, "she's mine;You've been and cut it far too fine!""I see," saidTodd, "I'm beaten."And so he went to sea once more,"Sensation" he for aye forswore,And married on her native shoreA lady whom he'd met before—A lovely Otaheitan.

"Indeed," the farmer said, "she's mine;

You've been and cut it far too fine!"

"I see," saidTodd, "I'm beaten."

And so he went to sea once more,

"Sensation" he for aye forswore,

And married on her native shore

A lady whom he'd met before—

A lovely Otaheitan.

Societyhas quite forsaken all her wicked courses,Which empties our police courts, and abolishes divorces.(Divorce is nearly obsolete in England.)No tolerance we show to undeserving rank and splendour;For the higher his position is, the greater the offender.(That's a maxim that is prevalent in England.)No Peeress at our Drawing-Room before the Presence passesWho wouldn't be accepted by the lower-middle classes;Each shady dame, whatever be her rank, is bowed out neatly.In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely!It really is surprisingWhat a thorough AnglicisingWe've brought about—Utopia's quite another land;In her enterprising movements,She is England—with improvements,Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land!Our city we have beautified—we've done it willy-nilly—And all that isn't Belgrave Square is Strand and Piccadilly.(They haven't any slummeries in England.)We have solved the labour question with discrimination polished,So poverty is obsolete and hunger is abolished—(They are going to abolish it in England.)The Chamberlain our native stage has purged, beyond a question,Of "risky" situation and indelicate suggestion;No piece is tolerated if it's costumed indiscreetly—In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely!It really is surprisingWhat a thorough AnglicisingWe've brought about—Utopia's quite another land;In her enterprising movements,She is England—with improvements,Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land!Our Peerage we've remodelled on an intellectual basis,Which certainly is rough on our hereditary races—(They are going to remodel it in England.)The Brewers and the Cotton Lords no longer seek admission,And Literary Merit meets with proper recognition—(As Literary Merit does in England!)Who knows but we may count among our intellectual chickensLike them an Earl of Thackeray and p'raps a Duke of Dickens—Lord Fildes and Viscount Millais (when they come) we'll welcome sweetly—And then, this happy country will be Anglicised completely!It really is surprisingWhat a thorough AnglicisingWe've brought about—Utopia's quite another land;In her enterprising movements,She is England—with improvements,Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land!

Societyhas quite forsaken all her wicked courses,

Which empties our police courts, and abolishes divorces.

(Divorce is nearly obsolete in England.)

No tolerance we show to undeserving rank and splendour;

For the higher his position is, the greater the offender.

(That's a maxim that is prevalent in England.)

No Peeress at our Drawing-Room before the Presence passes

Who wouldn't be accepted by the lower-middle classes;

Each shady dame, whatever be her rank, is bowed out neatly.

In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely!

It really is surprising

What a thorough Anglicising

We've brought about—Utopia's quite another land;

In her enterprising movements,

She is England—with improvements,

Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land!

Our city we have beautified—we've done it willy-nilly—And all that isn't Belgrave Square is Strand and Piccadilly.(They haven't any slummeries in England.)We have solved the labour question with discrimination polished,So poverty is obsolete and hunger is abolished—(They are going to abolish it in England.)The Chamberlain our native stage has purged, beyond a question,Of "risky" situation and indelicate suggestion;No piece is tolerated if it's costumed indiscreetly—In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely!It really is surprisingWhat a thorough AnglicisingWe've brought about—Utopia's quite another land;In her enterprising movements,She is England—with improvements,Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land!

Our city we have beautified—we've done it willy-nilly—

And all that isn't Belgrave Square is Strand and Piccadilly.

(They haven't any slummeries in England.)

We have solved the labour question with discrimination polished,

So poverty is obsolete and hunger is abolished—

(They are going to abolish it in England.)

The Chamberlain our native stage has purged, beyond a question,

Of "risky" situation and indelicate suggestion;

No piece is tolerated if it's costumed indiscreetly—

In short, this happy country has been Anglicised completely!

It really is surprising

What a thorough Anglicising

We've brought about—Utopia's quite another land;

In her enterprising movements,

She is England—with improvements,

Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land!

Our Peerage we've remodelled on an intellectual basis,Which certainly is rough on our hereditary races—(They are going to remodel it in England.)The Brewers and the Cotton Lords no longer seek admission,And Literary Merit meets with proper recognition—(As Literary Merit does in England!)Who knows but we may count among our intellectual chickensLike them an Earl of Thackeray and p'raps a Duke of Dickens—Lord Fildes and Viscount Millais (when they come) we'll welcome sweetly—And then, this happy country will be Anglicised completely!It really is surprisingWhat a thorough AnglicisingWe've brought about—Utopia's quite another land;In her enterprising movements,She is England—with improvements,Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land!

Our Peerage we've remodelled on an intellectual basis,

Which certainly is rough on our hereditary races—

(They are going to remodel it in England.)

The Brewers and the Cotton Lords no longer seek admission,

And Literary Merit meets with proper recognition—

(As Literary Merit does in England!)

Who knows but we may count among our intellectual chickens

Like them an Earl of Thackeray and p'raps a Duke of Dickens—

Lord Fildes and Viscount Millais (when they come) we'll welcome sweetly—

And then, this happy country will be Anglicised completely!

It really is surprising

What a thorough Anglicising

We've brought about—Utopia's quite another land;

In her enterprising movements,

She is England—with improvements,

Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land!

Back to Index Next