PASHA BAILEY BEN

Wouldyou know the kind of maidSets my heart a flame-a?Eyes must be downcast and staid,Cheeks must flush for shame-a!She may neither dance nor sing,But, demure in everything,Hang her head in modest wayWith pouting lips that seem to say,"Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,Though I die of shame-a!"Please you, that's the kind of maidSets my heart a flame-a!When a maid is bold and gayWith a tongue goes clang-a,Flaunting it in brave array,Maiden may go hang-a!Sunflower gay and hollyhockNever shall my garden stock;Mine the blushing rose of May,With pouting lips that seem to say"Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,Though I die for shame-a!"Please you, that's the kind of maidSets my heart a flame-a!PASHA BAILEY BENA proudPasha wasBailey Ben,His wives were three, his tails were ten;His form was dignified, but stout,Men called him "Little Roundabout."His ImportancePale Pilgrims came from o'er the seaTo wait onPasha Bailey B.,All bearing presents in a crowd,For B. was poor as well as proud.His PresentsThey brought him onions strung on ropes,And cold boiled beef, and telescopes,And balls of string, and shrimps, and guns,And chops, and tacks, and hats, and buns.More of themThey brought him white kid gloves, and pails,And candlesticks, and potted quails,And capstan-bars, and scales and weights,And ornaments for empty grates.Why I mention theseMy tale is not of these—oh no!I only mention them to showThe divers gifts that divers menBrought o'er the sea toBailey Ben.His ConfidantA confidant hadBailey B.,A gay Mongolian dog was he;I am not good at Turkish names,And so I call himSimple James.His Confidant's CountenanceA dreadful legend you might traceInSimple James'shonest face,For there you read, in Nature's print,"A Scoundrel of the Deepest Tint."His CharacterA deed of blood, or fire, or flames,Was meat and drink toSimple James:To hide his guilt he did not plan,But owned himself a bad young man.The Author to his ReaderAnd why on earth goodBailey Ben(The wisest, noblest, best of men)MadeSimple Jameshis right-hand manIs quite beyond my mental span.The same, continuedBut there—enough of gruesome deeds!My heart, in thinking of them, bleeds;And so letSimple Jamestake wing,—'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.The Pasha's ClerkGoodPasha Baileykept a clerk(ForBaileyonly made his mark),His name wasMatthew Wycombe Coo,A man of nearly forty-two.His AccomplishmentsNo person that I ever knewCould "yödel" half as well asCoo,And Highlanders exclaimed, "Eh, weel!"WhenCoobegan to dance a reel.His Kindness to the Pasha's WivesHe used to dance and sing and playIn such an unaffected way,He cheered the unexciting livesOfPasha Bailey'slovely wives.The Author to his ReaderBut why should I encumber youWith histories ofMatthew Coo?LetMatthew Cooat once take wing.—'Tis not ofCooI'm going to sing.The Author's MuseLet me recall my wandering MuseSheshallbe steady if I choose—She roves, instead of helping meTo tell the deeds ofBailey B.The Pasha's VisitorOne morning knocked, at half-past eight,A tall Red Indian at his gate.In Turkey, as you're p'raps aware,Red Indians are extremely rare.The Visitor's OutfitMocassins decked his graceful legs,His eyes were black, and round as eggs,And on his neck, instead of beads,Hung several Catawampous seeds.What the Visitor said"Ho, ho!" he said, "thou pale-faced one,Poor offspring of an Eastern sun,You'veneverseen the Red Man skipUpon the banks of Mississip!"The Author's ModerationTo say thatBaileyoped his eyesWould feebly paint his great surprise—To say it almost made him dieWould be to paint it much too high.The Author to his ReaderBut why should I ransack my headTo tell you all that Indian said;We'll let the Indian man take wing,—'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.The Reader to the AuthorCome, come, I say, that's quite enoughOf this absurd disjointed stuff;Now let's get on to that affairAboutLieutenant-Colonel Flare.LIEUTENANT-COLONEL FLARETheearth has armies plenty,And semi-warlike bands,I dare say there are twentyIn European lands;But, oh! in no directionYou'd find one to compareIn brotherly affectionWith that ofColonel Flare.His soldiers might be ratedAs military Pearls:As unsophisticatedAs pretty little girls!They never smoked or ratted,Or talked of Sues or Polls;The Sergeant-Major tatted,The others nursed their dolls.He spent his days in teachingThese truly solemn facts;There's little use in preaching,Or circulating tracts.(The vainest plan inventedFor stifling other creeds,Unless it's supplementedWith charitabledeeds.)He taught his soldiers kindlyTo give at Hunger's call:"Oh, better far give blindlyThan never give at all!Though sympathy be kindledBy Imposition's game,Oh, better far be swindledThan smother up its flame!"His means were far from ampleFor pleasure or for dress,Yet note this bright exampleOf single-heartedness:Though ranking as a Colonel,His pay was but a groat,While their reward diurnalWas—each a five-pound note.Moreover,—this evincesHis kindness, you'll allow,—He fed them all like princes,And lived himself on cow.He set them all regalingOn curious wines, and dear,While he would sit pale-ale-ing,Or quaffing ginger-beer.Then at his instigation(A pretty fancy this)Their daily pay and rationHe'd take in change for his;They brought it to him weekly,And he without a groanWould take it from them meeklyAnd give them all his own!Though not exactly knightedAs knights, of course, should be,Yet no one so delightedIn harmless chivalry.If peasant girl or ladyeBeneath misfortunes sank,Whate'er distinctions made he,They were not those of rank.No maiden young and comelyWho wanted good advice(However poor or homely)Need ask him for it twice.He'd wipe away the blindnessThat comes of teary dew;His sympathetic kindnessNo sort of limit knew.He always hated dealingWith men who schemed or planned;A person harsh—unfeeling—The Colonel could not stand.He hated cold, suspecting,Official men in blue,Who pass their lives detectingThe crimes that others do.For men who'd shoot a sparrow,Or immolate a wormBeneath a farmer's harrow,He could not find a term.Humanely, ay, and knightlyHe dealt with such an one;He took and tied him tightly,And blew him from a gun.The earth has armies plenty,And semi-warlike bands,I'm certain there are twentyIn European lands;But, oh! in no directionYou'd find one to compareIn brotherly affectionWith that ofColonel Flare.SPECULATIONComesa train of little ladiesFrom scholastic trammels free,Each a little bit afraid is,Wondering what the world can be!Is it but a world of trouble—Sadness set to song?Is its beauty but a bubbleBound to break ere long?Are its palaces and pleasuresFantasies that fade?And the glory of its treasuresShadow of a shade?Schoolgirls we, eighteen and under,From scholastic trammels free,And we wonder—how we wonder!—What on earth the world can be!AH ME!Whenmaiden loves, she sits and sighsShe wanders to and fro;Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes,And to all questions she repliesWith a sad heigho!'Tis but a little word—"heigho!"So soft, 'tis scarcely heard—"heigho!An idle breath—Yet life and deathMay hang upon a maid's "heigho!"When maiden loves, she mopes apart,As owl mopes on a tree;Although she keenly feels the smart,She cannot tell what ails her heart,With its sad "Ah me!"'Tis but a foolish sigh—"Ah me!"Born but to droop and die—"Ah me!"Yet all the senseOf eloquenceLies hidden in a maid's "Ah me!"LOST MR. BLAKEMr. Blakewas a regular out-and-out hardened sinner,Who was quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to speak:He was in the habit of smoking a long pipe and drinkinga glass of grog on Sunday after dinner,And seldom thought of going to church more than twice(or if Good Friday or Christmas Day happened tocome in it) three times a week.He was quite indifferent as to the particular kinds of dressesThat the clergyman wore at the church where he usedto go to pray,And whatever he did in the way of relieving a chap'sdistresses,He always did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, hole-and-corner sort of way.I have known him indulge in profane, ungentlemanlyemphatics,When the Protestant Church has been divided on thesubject of the width of a chasuble's hem;I have even known him to sneer at albs—and as fordalmatics,Words can't convey an idea of the contempt he expressedforthem.He didn't believe in persons who, not being well off them-selves, are obliged to confine their charitable exertionsto collecting money from wealthier people,And looked upon individuals of the former class asecclesiastical hawks;He used to say that he would no more think of interferingwith his priest's robes than with his church or hissteeple,And that he did not consider his soul imperilled becausesomebody over whom he had no influence whatever,chose to dress himself up like an ecclesiasticalGuy Fawkes.This shocking old vagabond was so unutterably shamelessThat he actually went a-courting a very respectable andpious middle-aged sister, by the name ofBiggs:She was a rather attractive widow whose life, as such, hadalways been particularly blameless;Her first husband had left her a secure but moderatecompetence owing to some fortunate speculations inthe matter of figs.She was an excellent person in every way—and won therespect even ofMrs. Grundy,She was a good housewife, too, and wouldn't have wasteda penny if she had owned the Koh-i-noor;She was just as strict as he was lax in her observance ofSunday,And being a good economist, and charitable besides, shetook all the bones and cold potatoes and brokenpie-crusts and candle-ends (when she had quite donewith them), and made them into an excellent soupfor the deserving poor.I am sorry to say that she rather took toBlake—that outcastof society;And when respectable brothers who were fond of herbegan to look dubious and to cough,She would say, "Oh, my friends, it's because I hope tobring this poor benighted soul back to virtue andpropriety"(And besides, the poor benighted soul, with all his faults,was uncommonly well off).And whenMr. Blake'sdissipated friends called his attentionto the frown or the pout of her,Whenever he did anything which appeared to her tosavour of an unmentionable place,He would say she would be a very decent old girl when allthat nonsense was knocked out of her—And his method of knocking it out of her is one thatcovered him with disgrace.She was fond of going to church services four times everySunday, and four or five times in the week, and neverseemed to pall of them,So he hunted out all the churches within a convenientdistance that had services at different hours, so tospeak;And when he had married her he positively insisted upontheir going to all of them,So they contrived to do about twelve churches everySunday, and, if they had luck, from twenty-two totwenty-three in the course of the week.She was fond of dropping his sovereigns ostentatiously intothe plate, and she liked to see them stand out ratherconspicuously against the commonplace half-crownsand shillings,So he took her to all the charity sermons, and if by anyextraordinary chance there wasn't a charity sermonanywhere, he would drop a couple of sovereigns (onefor him and one for her) into the poor-box at thedoor;And as he always deducted the sums thus given in charityfrom the housekeeping money, and the money heallowed her for her bonnets and frillings,She soon began to find that even charity, if you allow itto interfere with your personal luxuries, becomes anintolerable bore.On Sundays she was always melancholy and anything butgood society,For that day in her household was a day of sighings andsobbings and wringing of hands and shaking of heads:She wouldn't hear of a button being sewn on a glove,because it was a work neither of necessity nor ofpiety,And strictly prohibited her servants from amusing themselves,or indeed doing anything at all except dustingthe drawing-rooms, cleaning the boots and shoes,cooking the dinner, waiting generally on the family,and making the beds.ButBlakeeven went farther than that, and said that, onSundays, people should do their own works of necessity,and not delegate them to persons in a menial situation,So he wouldn't allow his servants to do so much aseven answer a bell.Here he is making his wife carry up the water for her bathto the second floor, much against her inclination,—And why in the world the gentleman who illustratesthese ballads has put him into a cocked hat is morethan I can tell.After about three months of this sort of thing, taking thesmooth with the rough of it(Blacking her own boots and peeling her own potatoeswas not her notion of connubial bliss),Mrs. Blakebegan to find that she had pretty nearly hadenough of it,And came, in course of time, to think thatBlake'sownoriginal line of conduct wasn't so much amiss.And now that wicked person—that detestable sinner("Belial Blake" his friends and well-wishers callhim for his atrocities),And his poor deluded victim whom all her Christianbrothers dislike and pity so,Go to the parish church only on Sunday morning andafternoon and occasionally on a week-day, and spendtheir evenings in connubial fondlings and affectionatereciprocities,And I should like to know where in the world (or rather,out of it) they expect to go!THE DUKE OF PLAZA-TOROInenterprise of martial kind,When there was any fighting,He led his regiment from behind(He found it less exciting).But when away his regiment ran,His place was at the fore, O-That celebrated,Cultivated,UnderratedNobleman,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!In the first and foremost flight, ha, ha!You always found that knight, ha, ha!That celebrated,Cultivated,UnderratedNobleman,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!When, to evade Destruction's hand,To hide they all proceeded,No soldier in that gallant bandHid half as well as he did.He lay concealed throughout the war,And so preserved his gore, O!That unaffected,Undetected,Well connectedWarrior,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!In every doughty deed, ha, ha!He always took the lead, ha, ha!That unaffected,Undetected,Well connectedWarrior,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!When told that they would all be shotUnless they left the service,That hero hesitated not,So marvellous his nerve is.He sent his resignation in,The first of all his corps, O!That very knowing,Overflowing,Easy-goingPaladin,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!To men of grosser clay, ha, ha!He always showed the way, ha, ha!That very knowing,Overflowing,Easy-goingPaladin,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!THE BABY'S VENGEANCEWearyat heart and extremely illWasPaley Vollaireof Bromptonville,In a dirty lodging, with fever down,Close to the Polygon, Somers Town.Paley Vollairewas an only son(For why? His mother had had but one),AndPaleyherited gold and groundsWorth several hundred thousand pounds.But he, like many a rich young man,Through this magnificent fortune ran,And nothing was left for his daily needsBut duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds.Shabby and sorry and sorely sick,He slept, and dreamt that the clock's "tick, tick"Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife,Snicking off bits of his shortened life.He woke and counted the pips on the walls,The outdoor passengers' loud footfalls,And reckoned all over, and reckoned again,The little white tufts on his counterpane.A medical man to his bedside came(I can't remember that doctor's name),And said, "You'll die in a very short whileIf you don't set sail for Madeira's isle.""Go to Madeira? goodness me!I haven't the money to pay your fee!""Then,Paley Vollaire," said the leech, "good-bye;I'll come no more, for you're sure to die."He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast;"Oh, send," said he, "forFrederick West,Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim:I've a terrible tale to whisper him!"Poor wasFrederick'slot in life,—A dustman he with a fair young wife,A worthy man with a hard-earned store,A hundred and seventy pounds—or more.Frederickcame, and he said, "MaybeYou'll say what you happen to want with me?""Wronged boy," saidPaley Vollaire, "I will,But don't you fidget yourself—sit still."'Tis now some thirty-seven years agoSince first began the plot that I'm revealing.A fine young woman, wed ten years or so,Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing,Herself by means of mangling reimbursing,And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing."Two little babes dwelt in her humble cot:One was her own—the other only lent to her:Her own she slighted.Tempted by a lotOf gold and silver regularly sent to her,She ministered unto the little otherIn the capacity of foster-mother."I was her own.Oh! how I lay and sobbedIn my poor cradle—deeply, deeply cursingThe rich man's pampered bantling, who had robbedMy only birthright—an attentive nursing!Sometimes, in hatred of my foster-brother,I gnashed my gums—which terrified my mother.One darksome day (I should have mentioned thatWe were alike in dress and baby feature)IinMYcradle having placed the brat,Crept into his—the pampered little creature!It was imprudent—well, disgraceful maybe,For, oh! I was a bad, black-hearted baby!"So rare a luxury was food, I thinkThere was no wickedness I wouldn't try for it.Nowif I wanted anything to drinkAt any time, I only had to cry for it!Once, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking,My blubbering involved a serious smacking!"We grew up in the usual way—my friend,My foster-brother, daily growing thinner,While gradually I began to mend,And thrived amazingly on double dinner.And every one, besides my foster-mother,Believed that either of us was the other."I came into his wealth—I bore his name,I bear it still—his property I squandered—I mortgaged everything—and now (oh, shame!)Into a Somers Town shake-down I've wandered!I am noPaley—noVollaire—it's true, my boy!The only rightfulPaley V.isyou, my boy!"And all I have is yours—and yours is mine.I still may place you in your true position:Give me the pounds you've saved, and I'll resignMy noble name, my rank, and my condition.So for my sin in fraudulently owningYour vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!"Frederickhe was a simple soul,He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll,And gave toPaleyhis hard-earned store,A hundred and seventy pounds or morePaley Vollaire, with many a groan,GaveFrederickall that he'd called his own,—Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean,A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.AndFred(entitled to all things there)He took the fever fromMr. Vollaire,Which killed poorFrederick West. MeanwhileVollairesailed off to Madeira's isle.THE ÆSTHETEIfyou're anxious for to shine in the high æsthetic line, asa man of culture rare,You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms,and plant them everywhere.You must lie upon the daisies and discourse innovel phrases of your complicated state of mind(The meaning doesn't matter if it's only idle chatter of atranscendental kind).And every one will say,As you walk your mystic way,"If this young man expresses himself in terms too deepforme,Why, what a very singularly deepyoung man this deep young man must be!"Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days which havelong since passed away,And convince 'em, if you can, that the reign of goodQueen Annewas Culture's palmiest day.Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever's fresh and new,and declare it's crude and mean,And that Art stopped short in the cultivated court of theEmpress Josephine.And every one will say,As you walk your mystic way,"If that's not good enough for him which is good enoughforme,Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind ofyouth must be!"Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashionmust excite your languid spleen,An attachmentà laPlato for a bashful young potato, or anot-too-French French bean.Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as anapostle in the high æsthetic band,If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in yourmediæval hand.And every one will say,As you walk your flowery way,"If he's content with a vegetable love which wouldcertainly not suitme,Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pureyoung man must be!"THE CAPTAIN AND THE MERMAIDSI singa legend of the sea,So hard-a-port upon your lee!A ship on starboard tack!She's bound upon a private cruise—(This is the kind of spice I useTo give a salt-sea smack).Behold, on every afternoon(Save in a gale or strong monsoon)GreatCaptain Capel Cleggs(Great morally, though rather short)Sat at an open weather-portAnd aired his shapely legs.And Mermaids hung around in flocks,On cable chains and distant rocks,To gaze upon those limbs;For legs like his, of flesh and bone,Are things "not generally known"To any MermanTimbs.But Mermen didn't seem to careMuch time (as far as I'm aware)WithCleggs'slegs to spend;Though Mermaids swam around all dayAnd gazed, exclaiming, "That's the wayA gentleman should end!"A pair of legs with well-cut kneesAnd calves and ankles such as theseWhich we in rapture hail,Are far more eloquent, it's clear,When clothed in silk and kerseymere,Than any nasty tail."AndCleggs—a worthy kind old boy—Rejoiced to add to others' joy,And, though he scarce knew why(Perhaps to please the lookers-on),He sat there every day—though con-Stitutionally shy.At first the Mermen sneered pooh-pooh,But finally they jealous grew,And sounded loud recalls;But vainly. So these fishy malesDeclared they too would clothe their tailsIn silken hose and smalls.They set to work, these water-men,And made their nether robes—but whenThey drew with dainty touchThe kerseymere upon their tails,They found it scraped against their scales,And hurt them very much.The silk, besides, with which they choseTo deck their tails, by way of hose(They never thought of shoon),For such a use was much too thin,—It tore against the caudal finAnd "went in ladders" soon.So they designed another plan:They sent their most seductive manThis note toCleggsto show—"Our Monarch sends toCaptain CleggsHis humble compliments, and begsHe'll join him down below;"We've pleasant homes below the sea—Besides, ifCaptain Cleggsshould be(As our advices say)A judge of Mermaids, he will findOur lady-fish of every kindInspection will repay."GoodCapelsent a kind reply,ForCapelthought he could descryAn admirable planTo study all their ways and laws—(But not their lady-fish, becauseHe was a married man).The Merman sank—the Captain tooJumped overboard, and dropped from viewLike stone from catapult;And when he reached the Merman's lairHe certainly was welcomed there,But, ah! with what result?They didn't let him learn their law,Or make a note of what he saw,Or interesting mem.:The lady-fish he couldn't find,But that, of course, he didn't mind—He didn't come for them.For though whenCaptain CapelsankThe Mermen drawn in double rankGave him a hearty hail;Yet when secure ofCaptain Cleggs,They cut off both his lovely legs,And gave himsucha tail!WhenCaptain Cleggsreturned aboard,His blithesome crew convulsive roar'd,To see him altered so.The Admiralty did insistThat he upon the Half-pay listImmediately should go.In vain declared the poor old salt,"It's my misfortune—not my fault,"With tear and trembling lip—In vain poorCapelbegged and begged—"A man must be completely leggedWho rules a British ship."So spake the stern First Lord aloud—He was a wag, though very proud,And much rejoiced to say,"You're only half a captain now—And so, my worthy friend, I vowYou'll only get half-pay."SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I

Wouldyou know the kind of maid

Sets my heart a flame-a?

Eyes must be downcast and staid,

Cheeks must flush for shame-a!

She may neither dance nor sing,

But, demure in everything,

Hang her head in modest way

With pouting lips that seem to say,

"Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,

Though I die of shame-a!"

Please you, that's the kind of maid

Sets my heart a flame-a!

When a maid is bold and gayWith a tongue goes clang-a,Flaunting it in brave array,Maiden may go hang-a!Sunflower gay and hollyhockNever shall my garden stock;Mine the blushing rose of May,With pouting lips that seem to say"Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,Though I die for shame-a!"Please you, that's the kind of maidSets my heart a flame-a!

When a maid is bold and gay

With a tongue goes clang-a,

Flaunting it in brave array,

Maiden may go hang-a!

Sunflower gay and hollyhock

Never shall my garden stock;

Mine the blushing rose of May,

With pouting lips that seem to say

"Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,

Though I die for shame-a!"

Please you, that's the kind of maid

Sets my heart a flame-a!

A proudPasha wasBailey Ben,His wives were three, his tails were ten;His form was dignified, but stout,Men called him "Little Roundabout."His ImportancePale Pilgrims came from o'er the seaTo wait onPasha Bailey B.,All bearing presents in a crowd,For B. was poor as well as proud.His PresentsThey brought him onions strung on ropes,And cold boiled beef, and telescopes,And balls of string, and shrimps, and guns,And chops, and tacks, and hats, and buns.More of themThey brought him white kid gloves, and pails,And candlesticks, and potted quails,And capstan-bars, and scales and weights,And ornaments for empty grates.Why I mention theseMy tale is not of these—oh no!I only mention them to showThe divers gifts that divers menBrought o'er the sea toBailey Ben.His ConfidantA confidant hadBailey B.,A gay Mongolian dog was he;I am not good at Turkish names,And so I call himSimple James.His Confidant's CountenanceA dreadful legend you might traceInSimple James'shonest face,For there you read, in Nature's print,"A Scoundrel of the Deepest Tint."His CharacterA deed of blood, or fire, or flames,Was meat and drink toSimple James:To hide his guilt he did not plan,But owned himself a bad young man.The Author to his ReaderAnd why on earth goodBailey Ben(The wisest, noblest, best of men)MadeSimple Jameshis right-hand manIs quite beyond my mental span.The same, continuedBut there—enough of gruesome deeds!My heart, in thinking of them, bleeds;And so letSimple Jamestake wing,—'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.The Pasha's ClerkGoodPasha Baileykept a clerk(ForBaileyonly made his mark),His name wasMatthew Wycombe Coo,A man of nearly forty-two.His AccomplishmentsNo person that I ever knewCould "yödel" half as well asCoo,And Highlanders exclaimed, "Eh, weel!"WhenCoobegan to dance a reel.His Kindness to the Pasha's WivesHe used to dance and sing and playIn such an unaffected way,He cheered the unexciting livesOfPasha Bailey'slovely wives.The Author to his ReaderBut why should I encumber youWith histories ofMatthew Coo?LetMatthew Cooat once take wing.—'Tis not ofCooI'm going to sing.The Author's MuseLet me recall my wandering MuseSheshallbe steady if I choose—She roves, instead of helping meTo tell the deeds ofBailey B.The Pasha's VisitorOne morning knocked, at half-past eight,A tall Red Indian at his gate.In Turkey, as you're p'raps aware,Red Indians are extremely rare.The Visitor's OutfitMocassins decked his graceful legs,His eyes were black, and round as eggs,And on his neck, instead of beads,Hung several Catawampous seeds.What the Visitor said"Ho, ho!" he said, "thou pale-faced one,Poor offspring of an Eastern sun,You'veneverseen the Red Man skipUpon the banks of Mississip!"The Author's ModerationTo say thatBaileyoped his eyesWould feebly paint his great surprise—To say it almost made him dieWould be to paint it much too high.The Author to his ReaderBut why should I ransack my headTo tell you all that Indian said;We'll let the Indian man take wing,—'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.The Reader to the AuthorCome, come, I say, that's quite enoughOf this absurd disjointed stuff;Now let's get on to that affairAboutLieutenant-Colonel Flare.

A proudPasha wasBailey Ben,His wives were three, his tails were ten;His form was dignified, but stout,Men called him "Little Roundabout."

A proudPasha wasBailey Ben,

His wives were three, his tails were ten;

His form was dignified, but stout,

Men called him "Little Roundabout."

His Importance

Pale Pilgrims came from o'er the seaTo wait onPasha Bailey B.,All bearing presents in a crowd,For B. was poor as well as proud.

Pale Pilgrims came from o'er the sea

To wait onPasha Bailey B.,

All bearing presents in a crowd,

For B. was poor as well as proud.

His Presents

They brought him onions strung on ropes,And cold boiled beef, and telescopes,And balls of string, and shrimps, and guns,And chops, and tacks, and hats, and buns.

They brought him onions strung on ropes,

And cold boiled beef, and telescopes,

And balls of string, and shrimps, and guns,

And chops, and tacks, and hats, and buns.

More of them

They brought him white kid gloves, and pails,And candlesticks, and potted quails,And capstan-bars, and scales and weights,And ornaments for empty grates.

They brought him white kid gloves, and pails,

And candlesticks, and potted quails,

And capstan-bars, and scales and weights,

And ornaments for empty grates.

Why I mention these

My tale is not of these—oh no!I only mention them to showThe divers gifts that divers menBrought o'er the sea toBailey Ben.

My tale is not of these—oh no!

I only mention them to show

The divers gifts that divers men

Brought o'er the sea toBailey Ben.

His Confidant

A confidant hadBailey B.,A gay Mongolian dog was he;I am not good at Turkish names,And so I call himSimple James.

A confidant hadBailey B.,

A gay Mongolian dog was he;

I am not good at Turkish names,

And so I call himSimple James.

His Confidant's Countenance

A dreadful legend you might traceInSimple James'shonest face,For there you read, in Nature's print,"A Scoundrel of the Deepest Tint."

A dreadful legend you might trace

InSimple James'shonest face,

For there you read, in Nature's print,

"A Scoundrel of the Deepest Tint."

His Character

A deed of blood, or fire, or flames,Was meat and drink toSimple James:To hide his guilt he did not plan,But owned himself a bad young man.

A deed of blood, or fire, or flames,

Was meat and drink toSimple James:

To hide his guilt he did not plan,

But owned himself a bad young man.

The Author to his Reader

And why on earth goodBailey Ben(The wisest, noblest, best of men)MadeSimple Jameshis right-hand manIs quite beyond my mental span.

And why on earth goodBailey Ben

(The wisest, noblest, best of men)

MadeSimple Jameshis right-hand man

Is quite beyond my mental span.

The same, continued

But there—enough of gruesome deeds!My heart, in thinking of them, bleeds;And so letSimple Jamestake wing,—'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.

But there—enough of gruesome deeds!

My heart, in thinking of them, bleeds;

And so letSimple Jamestake wing,—

'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.

The Pasha's Clerk

GoodPasha Baileykept a clerk(ForBaileyonly made his mark),His name wasMatthew Wycombe Coo,A man of nearly forty-two.

GoodPasha Baileykept a clerk

(ForBaileyonly made his mark),

His name wasMatthew Wycombe Coo,

A man of nearly forty-two.

His Accomplishments

No person that I ever knewCould "yödel" half as well asCoo,And Highlanders exclaimed, "Eh, weel!"WhenCoobegan to dance a reel.

No person that I ever knew

Could "yödel" half as well asCoo,

And Highlanders exclaimed, "Eh, weel!"

WhenCoobegan to dance a reel.

His Kindness to the Pasha's Wives

He used to dance and sing and playIn such an unaffected way,He cheered the unexciting livesOfPasha Bailey'slovely wives.

He used to dance and sing and play

In such an unaffected way,

He cheered the unexciting lives

OfPasha Bailey'slovely wives.

The Author to his Reader

But why should I encumber youWith histories ofMatthew Coo?LetMatthew Cooat once take wing.—'Tis not ofCooI'm going to sing.

But why should I encumber you

With histories ofMatthew Coo?

LetMatthew Cooat once take wing.—

'Tis not ofCooI'm going to sing.

The Author's Muse

Let me recall my wandering MuseSheshallbe steady if I choose—She roves, instead of helping meTo tell the deeds ofBailey B.

Let me recall my wandering Muse

Sheshallbe steady if I choose—

She roves, instead of helping me

To tell the deeds ofBailey B.

The Pasha's Visitor

One morning knocked, at half-past eight,A tall Red Indian at his gate.In Turkey, as you're p'raps aware,Red Indians are extremely rare.

One morning knocked, at half-past eight,

A tall Red Indian at his gate.

In Turkey, as you're p'raps aware,

Red Indians are extremely rare.

The Visitor's Outfit

Mocassins decked his graceful legs,His eyes were black, and round as eggs,And on his neck, instead of beads,Hung several Catawampous seeds.

Mocassins decked his graceful legs,

His eyes were black, and round as eggs,

And on his neck, instead of beads,

Hung several Catawampous seeds.

What the Visitor said

"Ho, ho!" he said, "thou pale-faced one,Poor offspring of an Eastern sun,You'veneverseen the Red Man skipUpon the banks of Mississip!"

"Ho, ho!" he said, "thou pale-faced one,

Poor offspring of an Eastern sun,

You'veneverseen the Red Man skip

Upon the banks of Mississip!"

The Author's Moderation

To say thatBaileyoped his eyesWould feebly paint his great surprise—To say it almost made him dieWould be to paint it much too high.

To say thatBaileyoped his eyes

Would feebly paint his great surprise—

To say it almost made him die

Would be to paint it much too high.

The Author to his Reader

But why should I ransack my headTo tell you all that Indian said;We'll let the Indian man take wing,—'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.

But why should I ransack my head

To tell you all that Indian said;

We'll let the Indian man take wing,—

'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.

The Reader to the Author

Come, come, I say, that's quite enoughOf this absurd disjointed stuff;Now let's get on to that affairAboutLieutenant-Colonel Flare.

Come, come, I say, that's quite enough

Of this absurd disjointed stuff;

Now let's get on to that affair

AboutLieutenant-Colonel Flare.

Theearth has armies plenty,And semi-warlike bands,I dare say there are twentyIn European lands;But, oh! in no directionYou'd find one to compareIn brotherly affectionWith that ofColonel Flare.His soldiers might be ratedAs military Pearls:As unsophisticatedAs pretty little girls!They never smoked or ratted,Or talked of Sues or Polls;The Sergeant-Major tatted,The others nursed their dolls.He spent his days in teachingThese truly solemn facts;There's little use in preaching,Or circulating tracts.(The vainest plan inventedFor stifling other creeds,Unless it's supplementedWith charitabledeeds.)He taught his soldiers kindlyTo give at Hunger's call:"Oh, better far give blindlyThan never give at all!Though sympathy be kindledBy Imposition's game,Oh, better far be swindledThan smother up its flame!"His means were far from ampleFor pleasure or for dress,Yet note this bright exampleOf single-heartedness:Though ranking as a Colonel,His pay was but a groat,While their reward diurnalWas—each a five-pound note.Moreover,—this evincesHis kindness, you'll allow,—He fed them all like princes,And lived himself on cow.He set them all regalingOn curious wines, and dear,While he would sit pale-ale-ing,Or quaffing ginger-beer.Then at his instigation(A pretty fancy this)Their daily pay and rationHe'd take in change for his;They brought it to him weekly,And he without a groanWould take it from them meeklyAnd give them all his own!Though not exactly knightedAs knights, of course, should be,Yet no one so delightedIn harmless chivalry.If peasant girl or ladyeBeneath misfortunes sank,Whate'er distinctions made he,They were not those of rank.No maiden young and comelyWho wanted good advice(However poor or homely)Need ask him for it twice.He'd wipe away the blindnessThat comes of teary dew;His sympathetic kindnessNo sort of limit knew.He always hated dealingWith men who schemed or planned;A person harsh—unfeeling—The Colonel could not stand.He hated cold, suspecting,Official men in blue,Who pass their lives detectingThe crimes that others do.For men who'd shoot a sparrow,Or immolate a wormBeneath a farmer's harrow,He could not find a term.Humanely, ay, and knightlyHe dealt with such an one;He took and tied him tightly,And blew him from a gun.The earth has armies plenty,And semi-warlike bands,I'm certain there are twentyIn European lands;But, oh! in no directionYou'd find one to compareIn brotherly affectionWith that ofColonel Flare.

Theearth has armies plenty,And semi-warlike bands,I dare say there are twentyIn European lands;But, oh! in no directionYou'd find one to compareIn brotherly affectionWith that ofColonel Flare.

Theearth has armies plenty,

And semi-warlike bands,

I dare say there are twenty

In European lands;

But, oh! in no direction

You'd find one to compare

In brotherly affection

With that ofColonel Flare.

His soldiers might be ratedAs military Pearls:As unsophisticatedAs pretty little girls!

His soldiers might be rated

As military Pearls:

As unsophisticated

As pretty little girls!

They never smoked or ratted,Or talked of Sues or Polls;The Sergeant-Major tatted,The others nursed their dolls.

They never smoked or ratted,

Or talked of Sues or Polls;

The Sergeant-Major tatted,

The others nursed their dolls.

He spent his days in teachingThese truly solemn facts;There's little use in preaching,Or circulating tracts.(The vainest plan inventedFor stifling other creeds,Unless it's supplementedWith charitabledeeds.)

He spent his days in teaching

These truly solemn facts;

There's little use in preaching,

Or circulating tracts.

(The vainest plan invented

For stifling other creeds,

Unless it's supplemented

With charitabledeeds.)

He taught his soldiers kindlyTo give at Hunger's call:"Oh, better far give blindlyThan never give at all!Though sympathy be kindledBy Imposition's game,Oh, better far be swindledThan smother up its flame!"

He taught his soldiers kindly

To give at Hunger's call:

"Oh, better far give blindly

Than never give at all!

Though sympathy be kindled

By Imposition's game,

Oh, better far be swindled

Than smother up its flame!"

His means were far from ampleFor pleasure or for dress,Yet note this bright exampleOf single-heartedness:Though ranking as a Colonel,His pay was but a groat,While their reward diurnalWas—each a five-pound note.

His means were far from ample

For pleasure or for dress,

Yet note this bright example

Of single-heartedness:

Though ranking as a Colonel,

His pay was but a groat,

While their reward diurnal

Was—each a five-pound note.

Moreover,—this evincesHis kindness, you'll allow,—He fed them all like princes,And lived himself on cow.

Moreover,—this evinces

His kindness, you'll allow,—

He fed them all like princes,

And lived himself on cow.

He set them all regalingOn curious wines, and dear,While he would sit pale-ale-ing,Or quaffing ginger-beer.

He set them all regaling

On curious wines, and dear,

While he would sit pale-ale-ing,

Or quaffing ginger-beer.

Then at his instigation(A pretty fancy this)Their daily pay and rationHe'd take in change for his;They brought it to him weekly,And he without a groanWould take it from them meeklyAnd give them all his own!

Then at his instigation

(A pretty fancy this)

Their daily pay and ration

He'd take in change for his;

They brought it to him weekly,

And he without a groan

Would take it from them meekly

And give them all his own!

Though not exactly knightedAs knights, of course, should be,Yet no one so delightedIn harmless chivalry.If peasant girl or ladyeBeneath misfortunes sank,Whate'er distinctions made he,They were not those of rank.

Though not exactly knighted

As knights, of course, should be,

Yet no one so delighted

In harmless chivalry.

If peasant girl or ladye

Beneath misfortunes sank,

Whate'er distinctions made he,

They were not those of rank.

No maiden young and comelyWho wanted good advice(However poor or homely)Need ask him for it twice.

No maiden young and comely

Who wanted good advice

(However poor or homely)

Need ask him for it twice.

He'd wipe away the blindnessThat comes of teary dew;His sympathetic kindnessNo sort of limit knew.

He'd wipe away the blindness

That comes of teary dew;

His sympathetic kindness

No sort of limit knew.

He always hated dealingWith men who schemed or planned;A person harsh—unfeeling—The Colonel could not stand.He hated cold, suspecting,Official men in blue,Who pass their lives detectingThe crimes that others do.

He always hated dealing

With men who schemed or planned;

A person harsh—unfeeling—

The Colonel could not stand.

He hated cold, suspecting,

Official men in blue,

Who pass their lives detecting

The crimes that others do.

For men who'd shoot a sparrow,Or immolate a wormBeneath a farmer's harrow,He could not find a term.Humanely, ay, and knightlyHe dealt with such an one;He took and tied him tightly,And blew him from a gun.

For men who'd shoot a sparrow,

Or immolate a worm

Beneath a farmer's harrow,

He could not find a term.

Humanely, ay, and knightly

He dealt with such an one;

He took and tied him tightly,

And blew him from a gun.

The earth has armies plenty,And semi-warlike bands,I'm certain there are twentyIn European lands;But, oh! in no directionYou'd find one to compareIn brotherly affectionWith that ofColonel Flare.

The earth has armies plenty,

And semi-warlike bands,

I'm certain there are twenty

In European lands;

But, oh! in no direction

You'd find one to compare

In brotherly affection

With that ofColonel Flare.

Comesa train of little ladiesFrom scholastic trammels free,Each a little bit afraid is,Wondering what the world can be!Is it but a world of trouble—Sadness set to song?Is its beauty but a bubbleBound to break ere long?Are its palaces and pleasuresFantasies that fade?And the glory of its treasuresShadow of a shade?Schoolgirls we, eighteen and under,From scholastic trammels free,And we wonder—how we wonder!—What on earth the world can be!

Comesa train of little ladiesFrom scholastic trammels free,Each a little bit afraid is,Wondering what the world can be!

Comesa train of little ladies

From scholastic trammels free,

Each a little bit afraid is,

Wondering what the world can be!

Is it but a world of trouble—Sadness set to song?Is its beauty but a bubbleBound to break ere long?

Is it but a world of trouble—

Sadness set to song?

Is its beauty but a bubble

Bound to break ere long?

Are its palaces and pleasuresFantasies that fade?And the glory of its treasuresShadow of a shade?

Are its palaces and pleasures

Fantasies that fade?

And the glory of its treasures

Shadow of a shade?

Schoolgirls we, eighteen and under,From scholastic trammels free,And we wonder—how we wonder!—What on earth the world can be!

Schoolgirls we, eighteen and under,

From scholastic trammels free,

And we wonder—how we wonder!—

What on earth the world can be!

Whenmaiden loves, she sits and sighsShe wanders to and fro;Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes,And to all questions she repliesWith a sad heigho!'Tis but a little word—"heigho!"So soft, 'tis scarcely heard—"heigho!An idle breath—Yet life and deathMay hang upon a maid's "heigho!"When maiden loves, she mopes apart,As owl mopes on a tree;Although she keenly feels the smart,She cannot tell what ails her heart,With its sad "Ah me!"'Tis but a foolish sigh—"Ah me!"Born but to droop and die—"Ah me!"Yet all the senseOf eloquenceLies hidden in a maid's "Ah me!"

Whenmaiden loves, she sits and sighs

She wanders to and fro;

Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes,

And to all questions she replies

With a sad heigho!

'Tis but a little word—"heigho!"

So soft, 'tis scarcely heard—"heigho!

An idle breath—

Yet life and death

May hang upon a maid's "heigho!"

When maiden loves, she mopes apart,As owl mopes on a tree;Although she keenly feels the smart,She cannot tell what ails her heart,With its sad "Ah me!"'Tis but a foolish sigh—"Ah me!"Born but to droop and die—"Ah me!"Yet all the senseOf eloquenceLies hidden in a maid's "Ah me!"

When maiden loves, she mopes apart,

As owl mopes on a tree;

Although she keenly feels the smart,

She cannot tell what ails her heart,

With its sad "Ah me!"

'Tis but a foolish sigh—"Ah me!"

Born but to droop and die—"Ah me!"

Yet all the sense

Of eloquence

Lies hidden in a maid's "Ah me!"

Mr. Blakewas a regular out-and-out hardened sinner,Who was quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to speak:He was in the habit of smoking a long pipe and drinkinga glass of grog on Sunday after dinner,And seldom thought of going to church more than twice(or if Good Friday or Christmas Day happened tocome in it) three times a week.He was quite indifferent as to the particular kinds of dressesThat the clergyman wore at the church where he usedto go to pray,And whatever he did in the way of relieving a chap'sdistresses,He always did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, hole-and-corner sort of way.I have known him indulge in profane, ungentlemanlyemphatics,When the Protestant Church has been divided on thesubject of the width of a chasuble's hem;I have even known him to sneer at albs—and as fordalmatics,Words can't convey an idea of the contempt he expressedforthem.He didn't believe in persons who, not being well off them-selves, are obliged to confine their charitable exertionsto collecting money from wealthier people,And looked upon individuals of the former class asecclesiastical hawks;He used to say that he would no more think of interferingwith his priest's robes than with his church or hissteeple,And that he did not consider his soul imperilled becausesomebody over whom he had no influence whatever,chose to dress himself up like an ecclesiasticalGuy Fawkes.This shocking old vagabond was so unutterably shamelessThat he actually went a-courting a very respectable andpious middle-aged sister, by the name ofBiggs:She was a rather attractive widow whose life, as such, hadalways been particularly blameless;Her first husband had left her a secure but moderatecompetence owing to some fortunate speculations inthe matter of figs.She was an excellent person in every way—and won therespect even ofMrs. Grundy,She was a good housewife, too, and wouldn't have wasteda penny if she had owned the Koh-i-noor;She was just as strict as he was lax in her observance ofSunday,And being a good economist, and charitable besides, shetook all the bones and cold potatoes and brokenpie-crusts and candle-ends (when she had quite donewith them), and made them into an excellent soupfor the deserving poor.I am sorry to say that she rather took toBlake—that outcastof society;And when respectable brothers who were fond of herbegan to look dubious and to cough,She would say, "Oh, my friends, it's because I hope tobring this poor benighted soul back to virtue andpropriety"(And besides, the poor benighted soul, with all his faults,was uncommonly well off).And whenMr. Blake'sdissipated friends called his attentionto the frown or the pout of her,Whenever he did anything which appeared to her tosavour of an unmentionable place,He would say she would be a very decent old girl when allthat nonsense was knocked out of her—And his method of knocking it out of her is one thatcovered him with disgrace.She was fond of going to church services four times everySunday, and four or five times in the week, and neverseemed to pall of them,So he hunted out all the churches within a convenientdistance that had services at different hours, so tospeak;And when he had married her he positively insisted upontheir going to all of them,So they contrived to do about twelve churches everySunday, and, if they had luck, from twenty-two totwenty-three in the course of the week.She was fond of dropping his sovereigns ostentatiously intothe plate, and she liked to see them stand out ratherconspicuously against the commonplace half-crownsand shillings,So he took her to all the charity sermons, and if by anyextraordinary chance there wasn't a charity sermonanywhere, he would drop a couple of sovereigns (onefor him and one for her) into the poor-box at thedoor;And as he always deducted the sums thus given in charityfrom the housekeeping money, and the money heallowed her for her bonnets and frillings,She soon began to find that even charity, if you allow itto interfere with your personal luxuries, becomes anintolerable bore.On Sundays she was always melancholy and anything butgood society,For that day in her household was a day of sighings andsobbings and wringing of hands and shaking of heads:She wouldn't hear of a button being sewn on a glove,because it was a work neither of necessity nor ofpiety,And strictly prohibited her servants from amusing themselves,or indeed doing anything at all except dustingthe drawing-rooms, cleaning the boots and shoes,cooking the dinner, waiting generally on the family,and making the beds.ButBlakeeven went farther than that, and said that, onSundays, people should do their own works of necessity,and not delegate them to persons in a menial situation,So he wouldn't allow his servants to do so much aseven answer a bell.Here he is making his wife carry up the water for her bathto the second floor, much against her inclination,—And why in the world the gentleman who illustratesthese ballads has put him into a cocked hat is morethan I can tell.After about three months of this sort of thing, taking thesmooth with the rough of it(Blacking her own boots and peeling her own potatoeswas not her notion of connubial bliss),Mrs. Blakebegan to find that she had pretty nearly hadenough of it,And came, in course of time, to think thatBlake'sownoriginal line of conduct wasn't so much amiss.And now that wicked person—that detestable sinner("Belial Blake" his friends and well-wishers callhim for his atrocities),And his poor deluded victim whom all her Christianbrothers dislike and pity so,Go to the parish church only on Sunday morning andafternoon and occasionally on a week-day, and spendtheir evenings in connubial fondlings and affectionatereciprocities,And I should like to know where in the world (or rather,out of it) they expect to go!

Mr. Blakewas a regular out-and-out hardened sinner,

Who was quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to speak:

He was in the habit of smoking a long pipe and drinking

a glass of grog on Sunday after dinner,

And seldom thought of going to church more than twice

(or if Good Friday or Christmas Day happened to

come in it) three times a week.

He was quite indifferent as to the particular kinds of dressesThat the clergyman wore at the church where he usedto go to pray,And whatever he did in the way of relieving a chap'sdistresses,He always did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, hole-and-corner sort of way.

He was quite indifferent as to the particular kinds of dresses

That the clergyman wore at the church where he used

to go to pray,

And whatever he did in the way of relieving a chap's

distresses,

He always did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, hole-

and-corner sort of way.

I have known him indulge in profane, ungentlemanlyemphatics,When the Protestant Church has been divided on thesubject of the width of a chasuble's hem;I have even known him to sneer at albs—and as fordalmatics,Words can't convey an idea of the contempt he expressedforthem.

I have known him indulge in profane, ungentlemanly

emphatics,

When the Protestant Church has been divided on the

subject of the width of a chasuble's hem;

I have even known him to sneer at albs—and as for

dalmatics,

Words can't convey an idea of the contempt he expressed

forthem.

He didn't believe in persons who, not being well off them-selves, are obliged to confine their charitable exertionsto collecting money from wealthier people,And looked upon individuals of the former class asecclesiastical hawks;He used to say that he would no more think of interferingwith his priest's robes than with his church or hissteeple,And that he did not consider his soul imperilled becausesomebody over whom he had no influence whatever,chose to dress himself up like an ecclesiasticalGuy Fawkes.

He didn't believe in persons who, not being well off them-

selves, are obliged to confine their charitable exertions

to collecting money from wealthier people,

And looked upon individuals of the former class as

ecclesiastical hawks;

He used to say that he would no more think of interfering

with his priest's robes than with his church or his

steeple,

And that he did not consider his soul imperilled because

somebody over whom he had no influence whatever,

chose to dress himself up like an ecclesiastical

Guy Fawkes.

This shocking old vagabond was so unutterably shamelessThat he actually went a-courting a very respectable andpious middle-aged sister, by the name ofBiggs:She was a rather attractive widow whose life, as such, hadalways been particularly blameless;Her first husband had left her a secure but moderatecompetence owing to some fortunate speculations inthe matter of figs.

This shocking old vagabond was so unutterably shameless

That he actually went a-courting a very respectable and

pious middle-aged sister, by the name ofBiggs:

She was a rather attractive widow whose life, as such, had

always been particularly blameless;

Her first husband had left her a secure but moderate

competence owing to some fortunate speculations in

the matter of figs.

She was an excellent person in every way—and won therespect even ofMrs. Grundy,She was a good housewife, too, and wouldn't have wasteda penny if she had owned the Koh-i-noor;

She was an excellent person in every way—and won the

respect even ofMrs. Grundy,

She was a good housewife, too, and wouldn't have wasted

a penny if she had owned the Koh-i-noor;

She was just as strict as he was lax in her observance ofSunday,And being a good economist, and charitable besides, shetook all the bones and cold potatoes and brokenpie-crusts and candle-ends (when she had quite donewith them), and made them into an excellent soupfor the deserving poor.

She was just as strict as he was lax in her observance of

Sunday,

And being a good economist, and charitable besides, she

took all the bones and cold potatoes and broken

pie-crusts and candle-ends (when she had quite done

with them), and made them into an excellent soup

for the deserving poor.

I am sorry to say that she rather took toBlake—that outcastof society;And when respectable brothers who were fond of herbegan to look dubious and to cough,She would say, "Oh, my friends, it's because I hope tobring this poor benighted soul back to virtue andpropriety"(And besides, the poor benighted soul, with all his faults,was uncommonly well off).

I am sorry to say that she rather took toBlake—that outcast

of society;

And when respectable brothers who were fond of her

began to look dubious and to cough,

She would say, "Oh, my friends, it's because I hope to

bring this poor benighted soul back to virtue and

propriety"

(And besides, the poor benighted soul, with all his faults,

was uncommonly well off).

And whenMr. Blake'sdissipated friends called his attentionto the frown or the pout of her,Whenever he did anything which appeared to her tosavour of an unmentionable place,He would say she would be a very decent old girl when allthat nonsense was knocked out of her—And his method of knocking it out of her is one thatcovered him with disgrace.

And whenMr. Blake'sdissipated friends called his attention

to the frown or the pout of her,

Whenever he did anything which appeared to her to

savour of an unmentionable place,

He would say she would be a very decent old girl when all

that nonsense was knocked out of her—

And his method of knocking it out of her is one that

covered him with disgrace.

She was fond of going to church services four times everySunday, and four or five times in the week, and neverseemed to pall of them,So he hunted out all the churches within a convenientdistance that had services at different hours, so tospeak;And when he had married her he positively insisted upontheir going to all of them,So they contrived to do about twelve churches everySunday, and, if they had luck, from twenty-two totwenty-three in the course of the week.

She was fond of going to church services four times every

Sunday, and four or five times in the week, and never

seemed to pall of them,

So he hunted out all the churches within a convenient

distance that had services at different hours, so to

speak;

And when he had married her he positively insisted upon

their going to all of them,

So they contrived to do about twelve churches every

Sunday, and, if they had luck, from twenty-two to

twenty-three in the course of the week.

She was fond of dropping his sovereigns ostentatiously intothe plate, and she liked to see them stand out ratherconspicuously against the commonplace half-crownsand shillings,So he took her to all the charity sermons, and if by anyextraordinary chance there wasn't a charity sermonanywhere, he would drop a couple of sovereigns (onefor him and one for her) into the poor-box at thedoor;

She was fond of dropping his sovereigns ostentatiously into

the plate, and she liked to see them stand out rather

conspicuously against the commonplace half-crowns

and shillings,

So he took her to all the charity sermons, and if by any

extraordinary chance there wasn't a charity sermon

anywhere, he would drop a couple of sovereigns (one

for him and one for her) into the poor-box at the

door;

And as he always deducted the sums thus given in charityfrom the housekeeping money, and the money heallowed her for her bonnets and frillings,She soon began to find that even charity, if you allow itto interfere with your personal luxuries, becomes anintolerable bore.

And as he always deducted the sums thus given in charity

from the housekeeping money, and the money he

allowed her for her bonnets and frillings,

She soon began to find that even charity, if you allow it

to interfere with your personal luxuries, becomes an

intolerable bore.

On Sundays she was always melancholy and anything butgood society,For that day in her household was a day of sighings andsobbings and wringing of hands and shaking of heads:She wouldn't hear of a button being sewn on a glove,because it was a work neither of necessity nor ofpiety,

On Sundays she was always melancholy and anything but

good society,

For that day in her household was a day of sighings and

sobbings and wringing of hands and shaking of heads:

She wouldn't hear of a button being sewn on a glove,

because it was a work neither of necessity nor of

piety,

And strictly prohibited her servants from amusing themselves,or indeed doing anything at all except dustingthe drawing-rooms, cleaning the boots and shoes,cooking the dinner, waiting generally on the family,and making the beds.

And strictly prohibited her servants from amusing themselves,

or indeed doing anything at all except dusting

the drawing-rooms, cleaning the boots and shoes,

cooking the dinner, waiting generally on the family,

and making the beds.

ButBlakeeven went farther than that, and said that, onSundays, people should do their own works of necessity,and not delegate them to persons in a menial situation,So he wouldn't allow his servants to do so much aseven answer a bell.Here he is making his wife carry up the water for her bathto the second floor, much against her inclination,—And why in the world the gentleman who illustratesthese ballads has put him into a cocked hat is morethan I can tell.

ButBlakeeven went farther than that, and said that, on

Sundays, people should do their own works of necessity,

and not delegate them to persons in a menial situation,

So he wouldn't allow his servants to do so much as

even answer a bell.

Here he is making his wife carry up the water for her bath

to the second floor, much against her inclination,—

And why in the world the gentleman who illustrates

these ballads has put him into a cocked hat is more

than I can tell.

After about three months of this sort of thing, taking thesmooth with the rough of it(Blacking her own boots and peeling her own potatoeswas not her notion of connubial bliss),Mrs. Blakebegan to find that she had pretty nearly hadenough of it,And came, in course of time, to think thatBlake'sownoriginal line of conduct wasn't so much amiss.

After about three months of this sort of thing, taking the

smooth with the rough of it

(Blacking her own boots and peeling her own potatoes

was not her notion of connubial bliss),

Mrs. Blakebegan to find that she had pretty nearly had

enough of it,

And came, in course of time, to think thatBlake'sown

original line of conduct wasn't so much amiss.

And now that wicked person—that detestable sinner("Belial Blake" his friends and well-wishers callhim for his atrocities),And his poor deluded victim whom all her Christianbrothers dislike and pity so,Go to the parish church only on Sunday morning andafternoon and occasionally on a week-day, and spendtheir evenings in connubial fondlings and affectionatereciprocities,And I should like to know where in the world (or rather,out of it) they expect to go!

And now that wicked person—that detestable sinner

("Belial Blake" his friends and well-wishers call

him for his atrocities),

And his poor deluded victim whom all her Christian

brothers dislike and pity so,

Go to the parish church only on Sunday morning and

afternoon and occasionally on a week-day, and spend

their evenings in connubial fondlings and affectionate

reciprocities,

And I should like to know where in the world (or rather,

out of it) they expect to go!

Inenterprise of martial kind,When there was any fighting,He led his regiment from behind(He found it less exciting).But when away his regiment ran,His place was at the fore, O-That celebrated,Cultivated,UnderratedNobleman,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!In the first and foremost flight, ha, ha!You always found that knight, ha, ha!That celebrated,Cultivated,UnderratedNobleman,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!When, to evade Destruction's hand,To hide they all proceeded,No soldier in that gallant bandHid half as well as he did.He lay concealed throughout the war,And so preserved his gore, O!That unaffected,Undetected,Well connectedWarrior,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!In every doughty deed, ha, ha!He always took the lead, ha, ha!That unaffected,Undetected,Well connectedWarrior,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!When told that they would all be shotUnless they left the service,That hero hesitated not,So marvellous his nerve is.He sent his resignation in,The first of all his corps, O!That very knowing,Overflowing,Easy-goingPaladin,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!To men of grosser clay, ha, ha!He always showed the way, ha, ha!That very knowing,Overflowing,Easy-goingPaladin,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

Inenterprise of martial kind,

When there was any fighting,

He led his regiment from behind

(He found it less exciting).

But when away his regiment ran,

His place was at the fore, O-

That celebrated,

Cultivated,

Underrated

Nobleman,

The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

In the first and foremost flight, ha, ha!You always found that knight, ha, ha!That celebrated,Cultivated,UnderratedNobleman,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

In the first and foremost flight, ha, ha!

You always found that knight, ha, ha!

That celebrated,

Cultivated,

Underrated

Nobleman,

The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

When, to evade Destruction's hand,To hide they all proceeded,No soldier in that gallant bandHid half as well as he did.He lay concealed throughout the war,And so preserved his gore, O!That unaffected,Undetected,Well connectedWarrior,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!In every doughty deed, ha, ha!He always took the lead, ha, ha!That unaffected,Undetected,Well connectedWarrior,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

When, to evade Destruction's hand,

To hide they all proceeded,

No soldier in that gallant band

Hid half as well as he did.

He lay concealed throughout the war,

And so preserved his gore, O!

That unaffected,

Undetected,

Well connected

Warrior,

The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

In every doughty deed, ha, ha!

He always took the lead, ha, ha!

That unaffected,

Undetected,

Well connected

Warrior,

The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

When told that they would all be shotUnless they left the service,That hero hesitated not,So marvellous his nerve is.He sent his resignation in,The first of all his corps, O!

When told that they would all be shot

Unless they left the service,

That hero hesitated not,

So marvellous his nerve is.

He sent his resignation in,

The first of all his corps, O!

That very knowing,Overflowing,Easy-goingPaladin,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!To men of grosser clay, ha, ha!He always showed the way, ha, ha!That very knowing,Overflowing,Easy-goingPaladin,The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

That very knowing,

Overflowing,

Easy-going

Paladin,

The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

To men of grosser clay, ha, ha!

He always showed the way, ha, ha!

That very knowing,

Overflowing,

Easy-going

Paladin,

The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

Wearyat heart and extremely illWasPaley Vollaireof Bromptonville,In a dirty lodging, with fever down,Close to the Polygon, Somers Town.Paley Vollairewas an only son(For why? His mother had had but one),AndPaleyherited gold and groundsWorth several hundred thousand pounds.But he, like many a rich young man,Through this magnificent fortune ran,And nothing was left for his daily needsBut duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds.Shabby and sorry and sorely sick,He slept, and dreamt that the clock's "tick, tick"Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife,Snicking off bits of his shortened life.He woke and counted the pips on the walls,The outdoor passengers' loud footfalls,And reckoned all over, and reckoned again,The little white tufts on his counterpane.A medical man to his bedside came(I can't remember that doctor's name),And said, "You'll die in a very short whileIf you don't set sail for Madeira's isle.""Go to Madeira? goodness me!I haven't the money to pay your fee!""Then,Paley Vollaire," said the leech, "good-bye;I'll come no more, for you're sure to die."He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast;"Oh, send," said he, "forFrederick West,Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim:I've a terrible tale to whisper him!"Poor wasFrederick'slot in life,—A dustman he with a fair young wife,A worthy man with a hard-earned store,A hundred and seventy pounds—or more.Frederickcame, and he said, "MaybeYou'll say what you happen to want with me?""Wronged boy," saidPaley Vollaire, "I will,But don't you fidget yourself—sit still."'Tis now some thirty-seven years agoSince first began the plot that I'm revealing.A fine young woman, wed ten years or so,Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing,Herself by means of mangling reimbursing,And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing."Two little babes dwelt in her humble cot:One was her own—the other only lent to her:Her own she slighted.Tempted by a lotOf gold and silver regularly sent to her,She ministered unto the little otherIn the capacity of foster-mother."I was her own.Oh! how I lay and sobbedIn my poor cradle—deeply, deeply cursingThe rich man's pampered bantling, who had robbedMy only birthright—an attentive nursing!Sometimes, in hatred of my foster-brother,I gnashed my gums—which terrified my mother.One darksome day (I should have mentioned thatWe were alike in dress and baby feature)IinMYcradle having placed the brat,Crept into his—the pampered little creature!It was imprudent—well, disgraceful maybe,For, oh! I was a bad, black-hearted baby!"So rare a luxury was food, I thinkThere was no wickedness I wouldn't try for it.Nowif I wanted anything to drinkAt any time, I only had to cry for it!Once, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking,My blubbering involved a serious smacking!"We grew up in the usual way—my friend,My foster-brother, daily growing thinner,While gradually I began to mend,And thrived amazingly on double dinner.And every one, besides my foster-mother,Believed that either of us was the other."I came into his wealth—I bore his name,I bear it still—his property I squandered—I mortgaged everything—and now (oh, shame!)Into a Somers Town shake-down I've wandered!I am noPaley—noVollaire—it's true, my boy!The only rightfulPaley V.isyou, my boy!"And all I have is yours—and yours is mine.I still may place you in your true position:Give me the pounds you've saved, and I'll resignMy noble name, my rank, and my condition.So for my sin in fraudulently owningYour vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!"Frederickhe was a simple soul,He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll,And gave toPaleyhis hard-earned store,A hundred and seventy pounds or morePaley Vollaire, with many a groan,GaveFrederickall that he'd called his own,—Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean,A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.AndFred(entitled to all things there)He took the fever fromMr. Vollaire,Which killed poorFrederick West. MeanwhileVollairesailed off to Madeira's isle.

Wearyat heart and extremely illWasPaley Vollaireof Bromptonville,In a dirty lodging, with fever down,Close to the Polygon, Somers Town.

Wearyat heart and extremely ill

WasPaley Vollaireof Bromptonville,

In a dirty lodging, with fever down,

Close to the Polygon, Somers Town.

Paley Vollairewas an only son(For why? His mother had had but one),AndPaleyherited gold and groundsWorth several hundred thousand pounds.

Paley Vollairewas an only son

(For why? His mother had had but one),

AndPaleyherited gold and grounds

Worth several hundred thousand pounds.

But he, like many a rich young man,Through this magnificent fortune ran,And nothing was left for his daily needsBut duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds.

But he, like many a rich young man,

Through this magnificent fortune ran,

And nothing was left for his daily needs

But duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds.

Shabby and sorry and sorely sick,He slept, and dreamt that the clock's "tick, tick"Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife,Snicking off bits of his shortened life.

Shabby and sorry and sorely sick,

He slept, and dreamt that the clock's "tick, tick"

Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife,

Snicking off bits of his shortened life.

He woke and counted the pips on the walls,The outdoor passengers' loud footfalls,And reckoned all over, and reckoned again,The little white tufts on his counterpane.

He woke and counted the pips on the walls,

The outdoor passengers' loud footfalls,

And reckoned all over, and reckoned again,

The little white tufts on his counterpane.

A medical man to his bedside came(I can't remember that doctor's name),And said, "You'll die in a very short whileIf you don't set sail for Madeira's isle."

A medical man to his bedside came

(I can't remember that doctor's name),

And said, "You'll die in a very short while

If you don't set sail for Madeira's isle."

"Go to Madeira? goodness me!I haven't the money to pay your fee!""Then,Paley Vollaire," said the leech, "good-bye;I'll come no more, for you're sure to die."

"Go to Madeira? goodness me!

I haven't the money to pay your fee!"

"Then,Paley Vollaire," said the leech, "good-bye;

I'll come no more, for you're sure to die."

He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast;"Oh, send," said he, "forFrederick West,Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim:I've a terrible tale to whisper him!"

He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast;

"Oh, send," said he, "forFrederick West,

Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim:

I've a terrible tale to whisper him!"

Poor wasFrederick'slot in life,—A dustman he with a fair young wife,A worthy man with a hard-earned store,A hundred and seventy pounds—or more.

Poor wasFrederick'slot in life,—

A dustman he with a fair young wife,

A worthy man with a hard-earned store,

A hundred and seventy pounds—or more.

Frederickcame, and he said, "MaybeYou'll say what you happen to want with me?""Wronged boy," saidPaley Vollaire, "I will,But don't you fidget yourself—sit still.

Frederickcame, and he said, "Maybe

You'll say what you happen to want with me?"

"Wronged boy," saidPaley Vollaire, "I will,

But don't you fidget yourself—sit still.

"'Tis now some thirty-seven years agoSince first began the plot that I'm revealing.A fine young woman, wed ten years or so,Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing,Herself by means of mangling reimbursing,And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing.

"'Tis now some thirty-seven years ago

Since first began the plot that I'm revealing.

A fine young woman, wed ten years or so,

Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing,

Herself by means of mangling reimbursing,

And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing.

"Two little babes dwelt in her humble cot:One was her own—the other only lent to her:Her own she slighted.Tempted by a lotOf gold and silver regularly sent to her,She ministered unto the little otherIn the capacity of foster-mother.

"Two little babes dwelt in her humble cot:

One was her own—the other only lent to her:

Her own she slighted.Tempted by a lot

Of gold and silver regularly sent to her,

She ministered unto the little other

In the capacity of foster-mother.

"I was her own.Oh! how I lay and sobbedIn my poor cradle—deeply, deeply cursingThe rich man's pampered bantling, who had robbedMy only birthright—an attentive nursing!Sometimes, in hatred of my foster-brother,I gnashed my gums—which terrified my mother.

"I was her own.Oh! how I lay and sobbed

In my poor cradle—deeply, deeply cursing

The rich man's pampered bantling, who had robbed

My only birthright—an attentive nursing!

Sometimes, in hatred of my foster-brother,

I gnashed my gums—which terrified my mother.

One darksome day (I should have mentioned thatWe were alike in dress and baby feature)IinMYcradle having placed the brat,Crept into his—the pampered little creature!It was imprudent—well, disgraceful maybe,For, oh! I was a bad, black-hearted baby!

One darksome day (I should have mentioned that

We were alike in dress and baby feature)

IinMYcradle having placed the brat,

Crept into his—the pampered little creature!

It was imprudent—well, disgraceful maybe,

For, oh! I was a bad, black-hearted baby!

"So rare a luxury was food, I thinkThere was no wickedness I wouldn't try for it.Nowif I wanted anything to drinkAt any time, I only had to cry for it!Once, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking,My blubbering involved a serious smacking!

"So rare a luxury was food, I think

There was no wickedness I wouldn't try for it.

Nowif I wanted anything to drink

At any time, I only had to cry for it!

Once, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking,

My blubbering involved a serious smacking!

"We grew up in the usual way—my friend,My foster-brother, daily growing thinner,While gradually I began to mend,And thrived amazingly on double dinner.And every one, besides my foster-mother,Believed that either of us was the other.

"We grew up in the usual way—my friend,

My foster-brother, daily growing thinner,

While gradually I began to mend,

And thrived amazingly on double dinner.

And every one, besides my foster-mother,

Believed that either of us was the other.

"I came into his wealth—I bore his name,I bear it still—his property I squandered—I mortgaged everything—and now (oh, shame!)Into a Somers Town shake-down I've wandered!I am noPaley—noVollaire—it's true, my boy!The only rightfulPaley V.isyou, my boy!

"I came into his wealth—I bore his name,

I bear it still—his property I squandered—

I mortgaged everything—and now (oh, shame!)

Into a Somers Town shake-down I've wandered!

I am noPaley—noVollaire—it's true, my boy!

The only rightfulPaley V.isyou, my boy!

"And all I have is yours—and yours is mine.I still may place you in your true position:Give me the pounds you've saved, and I'll resignMy noble name, my rank, and my condition.So for my sin in fraudulently owningYour vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!"

"And all I have is yours—and yours is mine.

I still may place you in your true position:

Give me the pounds you've saved, and I'll resign

My noble name, my rank, and my condition.

So for my sin in fraudulently owning

Your vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!"

Frederickhe was a simple soul,He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll,And gave toPaleyhis hard-earned store,A hundred and seventy pounds or more

Frederickhe was a simple soul,

He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll,

And gave toPaleyhis hard-earned store,

A hundred and seventy pounds or more

Paley Vollaire, with many a groan,GaveFrederickall that he'd called his own,—Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean,A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.

Paley Vollaire, with many a groan,

GaveFrederickall that he'd called his own,—

Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean,

A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.

AndFred(entitled to all things there)He took the fever fromMr. Vollaire,Which killed poorFrederick West. MeanwhileVollairesailed off to Madeira's isle.

AndFred(entitled to all things there)

He took the fever fromMr. Vollaire,

Which killed poorFrederick West. Meanwhile

Vollairesailed off to Madeira's isle.

Ifyou're anxious for to shine in the high æsthetic line, asa man of culture rare,You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms,and plant them everywhere.You must lie upon the daisies and discourse innovel phrases of your complicated state of mind(The meaning doesn't matter if it's only idle chatter of atranscendental kind).And every one will say,As you walk your mystic way,"If this young man expresses himself in terms too deepforme,Why, what a very singularly deepyoung man this deep young man must be!"Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days which havelong since passed away,And convince 'em, if you can, that the reign of goodQueen Annewas Culture's palmiest day.Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever's fresh and new,and declare it's crude and mean,And that Art stopped short in the cultivated court of theEmpress Josephine.And every one will say,As you walk your mystic way,"If that's not good enough for him which is good enoughforme,Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind ofyouth must be!"Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashionmust excite your languid spleen,An attachmentà laPlato for a bashful young potato, or anot-too-French French bean.Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as anapostle in the high æsthetic band,If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in yourmediæval hand.And every one will say,As you walk your flowery way,"If he's content with a vegetable love which wouldcertainly not suitme,Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pureyoung man must be!"

Ifyou're anxious for to shine in the high æsthetic line, as

a man of culture rare,

You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms,

and plant them everywhere.

You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in

novel phrases of your complicated state of mind

(The meaning doesn't matter if it's only idle chatter of a

transcendental kind).

And every one will say,

As you walk your mystic way,

"If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep

forme,

Why, what a very singularly deep

young man this deep young man must be!"

Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days which havelong since passed away,And convince 'em, if you can, that the reign of goodQueen Annewas Culture's palmiest day.Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever's fresh and new,and declare it's crude and mean,And that Art stopped short in the cultivated court of theEmpress Josephine.And every one will say,As you walk your mystic way,"If that's not good enough for him which is good enoughforme,Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind ofyouth must be!"

Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days which have

long since passed away,

And convince 'em, if you can, that the reign of good

Queen Annewas Culture's palmiest day.

Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever's fresh and new,

and declare it's crude and mean,

And that Art stopped short in the cultivated court of the

Empress Josephine.

And every one will say,

As you walk your mystic way,

"If that's not good enough for him which is good enough

forme,

Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind of

youth must be!"

Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashionmust excite your languid spleen,An attachmentà laPlato for a bashful young potato, or anot-too-French French bean.Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as anapostle in the high æsthetic band,If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in yourmediæval hand.And every one will say,As you walk your flowery way,"If he's content with a vegetable love which wouldcertainly not suitme,Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pureyoung man must be!"

Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion

must excite your languid spleen,

An attachmentà laPlato for a bashful young potato, or a

not-too-French French bean.

Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an

apostle in the high æsthetic band,

If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your

mediæval hand.

And every one will say,

As you walk your flowery way,

"If he's content with a vegetable love which would

certainly not suitme,

Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure

young man must be!"

I singa legend of the sea,So hard-a-port upon your lee!A ship on starboard tack!She's bound upon a private cruise—(This is the kind of spice I useTo give a salt-sea smack).Behold, on every afternoon(Save in a gale or strong monsoon)GreatCaptain Capel Cleggs(Great morally, though rather short)Sat at an open weather-portAnd aired his shapely legs.And Mermaids hung around in flocks,On cable chains and distant rocks,To gaze upon those limbs;For legs like his, of flesh and bone,Are things "not generally known"To any MermanTimbs.But Mermen didn't seem to careMuch time (as far as I'm aware)WithCleggs'slegs to spend;Though Mermaids swam around all dayAnd gazed, exclaiming, "That's the wayA gentleman should end!"A pair of legs with well-cut kneesAnd calves and ankles such as theseWhich we in rapture hail,Are far more eloquent, it's clear,When clothed in silk and kerseymere,Than any nasty tail."AndCleggs—a worthy kind old boy—Rejoiced to add to others' joy,And, though he scarce knew why(Perhaps to please the lookers-on),He sat there every day—though con-Stitutionally shy.At first the Mermen sneered pooh-pooh,But finally they jealous grew,And sounded loud recalls;But vainly. So these fishy malesDeclared they too would clothe their tailsIn silken hose and smalls.They set to work, these water-men,And made their nether robes—but whenThey drew with dainty touchThe kerseymere upon their tails,They found it scraped against their scales,And hurt them very much.The silk, besides, with which they choseTo deck their tails, by way of hose(They never thought of shoon),For such a use was much too thin,—It tore against the caudal finAnd "went in ladders" soon.So they designed another plan:They sent their most seductive manThis note toCleggsto show—"Our Monarch sends toCaptain CleggsHis humble compliments, and begsHe'll join him down below;"We've pleasant homes below the sea—Besides, ifCaptain Cleggsshould be(As our advices say)A judge of Mermaids, he will findOur lady-fish of every kindInspection will repay."GoodCapelsent a kind reply,ForCapelthought he could descryAn admirable planTo study all their ways and laws—(But not their lady-fish, becauseHe was a married man).The Merman sank—the Captain tooJumped overboard, and dropped from viewLike stone from catapult;And when he reached the Merman's lairHe certainly was welcomed there,But, ah! with what result?They didn't let him learn their law,Or make a note of what he saw,Or interesting mem.:The lady-fish he couldn't find,But that, of course, he didn't mind—He didn't come for them.For though whenCaptain CapelsankThe Mermen drawn in double rankGave him a hearty hail;Yet when secure ofCaptain Cleggs,They cut off both his lovely legs,And gave himsucha tail!WhenCaptain Cleggsreturned aboard,His blithesome crew convulsive roar'd,To see him altered so.The Admiralty did insistThat he upon the Half-pay listImmediately should go.In vain declared the poor old salt,"It's my misfortune—not my fault,"With tear and trembling lip—In vain poorCapelbegged and begged—"A man must be completely leggedWho rules a British ship."So spake the stern First Lord aloud—He was a wag, though very proud,And much rejoiced to say,"You're only half a captain now—And so, my worthy friend, I vowYou'll only get half-pay."

I singa legend of the sea,So hard-a-port upon your lee!A ship on starboard tack!She's bound upon a private cruise—(This is the kind of spice I useTo give a salt-sea smack).

I singa legend of the sea,

So hard-a-port upon your lee!

A ship on starboard tack!

She's bound upon a private cruise—

(This is the kind of spice I use

To give a salt-sea smack).

Behold, on every afternoon(Save in a gale or strong monsoon)GreatCaptain Capel Cleggs(Great morally, though rather short)Sat at an open weather-portAnd aired his shapely legs.

Behold, on every afternoon

(Save in a gale or strong monsoon)

GreatCaptain Capel Cleggs

(Great morally, though rather short)

Sat at an open weather-port

And aired his shapely legs.

And Mermaids hung around in flocks,On cable chains and distant rocks,To gaze upon those limbs;For legs like his, of flesh and bone,Are things "not generally known"To any MermanTimbs.

And Mermaids hung around in flocks,

On cable chains and distant rocks,

To gaze upon those limbs;

For legs like his, of flesh and bone,

Are things "not generally known"

To any MermanTimbs.

But Mermen didn't seem to careMuch time (as far as I'm aware)WithCleggs'slegs to spend;Though Mermaids swam around all dayAnd gazed, exclaiming, "That's the wayA gentleman should end!

But Mermen didn't seem to care

Much time (as far as I'm aware)

WithCleggs'slegs to spend;

Though Mermaids swam around all day

And gazed, exclaiming, "That's the way

A gentleman should end!

"A pair of legs with well-cut kneesAnd calves and ankles such as theseWhich we in rapture hail,Are far more eloquent, it's clear,When clothed in silk and kerseymere,Than any nasty tail."

"A pair of legs with well-cut knees

And calves and ankles such as these

Which we in rapture hail,

Are far more eloquent, it's clear,

When clothed in silk and kerseymere,

Than any nasty tail."

AndCleggs—a worthy kind old boy—Rejoiced to add to others' joy,And, though he scarce knew why(Perhaps to please the lookers-on),He sat there every day—though con-Stitutionally shy.

AndCleggs—a worthy kind old boy—

Rejoiced to add to others' joy,

And, though he scarce knew why

(Perhaps to please the lookers-on),

He sat there every day—though con-

Stitutionally shy.

At first the Mermen sneered pooh-pooh,But finally they jealous grew,And sounded loud recalls;But vainly. So these fishy malesDeclared they too would clothe their tailsIn silken hose and smalls.

At first the Mermen sneered pooh-pooh,

But finally they jealous grew,

And sounded loud recalls;

But vainly. So these fishy males

Declared they too would clothe their tails

In silken hose and smalls.

They set to work, these water-men,And made their nether robes—but whenThey drew with dainty touchThe kerseymere upon their tails,They found it scraped against their scales,And hurt them very much.

They set to work, these water-men,

And made their nether robes—but when

They drew with dainty touch

The kerseymere upon their tails,

They found it scraped against their scales,

And hurt them very much.

The silk, besides, with which they choseTo deck their tails, by way of hose(They never thought of shoon),For such a use was much too thin,—It tore against the caudal finAnd "went in ladders" soon.

The silk, besides, with which they chose

To deck their tails, by way of hose

(They never thought of shoon),

For such a use was much too thin,—

It tore against the caudal fin

And "went in ladders" soon.

So they designed another plan:They sent their most seductive manThis note toCleggsto show—"Our Monarch sends toCaptain CleggsHis humble compliments, and begsHe'll join him down below;

So they designed another plan:

They sent their most seductive man

This note toCleggsto show—

"Our Monarch sends toCaptain Cleggs

His humble compliments, and begs

He'll join him down below;

"We've pleasant homes below the sea—Besides, ifCaptain Cleggsshould be(As our advices say)A judge of Mermaids, he will findOur lady-fish of every kindInspection will repay."

"We've pleasant homes below the sea—

Besides, ifCaptain Cleggsshould be

(As our advices say)

A judge of Mermaids, he will find

Our lady-fish of every kind

Inspection will repay."

GoodCapelsent a kind reply,ForCapelthought he could descryAn admirable planTo study all their ways and laws—(But not their lady-fish, becauseHe was a married man).

GoodCapelsent a kind reply,

ForCapelthought he could descry

An admirable plan

To study all their ways and laws—

(But not their lady-fish, because

He was a married man).

The Merman sank—the Captain tooJumped overboard, and dropped from viewLike stone from catapult;And when he reached the Merman's lairHe certainly was welcomed there,But, ah! with what result?

The Merman sank—the Captain too

Jumped overboard, and dropped from view

Like stone from catapult;

And when he reached the Merman's lair

He certainly was welcomed there,

But, ah! with what result?

They didn't let him learn their law,Or make a note of what he saw,Or interesting mem.:The lady-fish he couldn't find,But that, of course, he didn't mind—He didn't come for them.

They didn't let him learn their law,

Or make a note of what he saw,

Or interesting mem.:

The lady-fish he couldn't find,

But that, of course, he didn't mind—

He didn't come for them.

For though whenCaptain CapelsankThe Mermen drawn in double rankGave him a hearty hail;Yet when secure ofCaptain Cleggs,They cut off both his lovely legs,And gave himsucha tail!

For though whenCaptain Capelsank

The Mermen drawn in double rank

Gave him a hearty hail;

Yet when secure ofCaptain Cleggs,

They cut off both his lovely legs,

And gave himsucha tail!

WhenCaptain Cleggsreturned aboard,His blithesome crew convulsive roar'd,To see him altered so.The Admiralty did insistThat he upon the Half-pay listImmediately should go.

WhenCaptain Cleggsreturned aboard,

His blithesome crew convulsive roar'd,

To see him altered so.

The Admiralty did insist

That he upon the Half-pay list

Immediately should go.

In vain declared the poor old salt,"It's my misfortune—not my fault,"With tear and trembling lip—In vain poorCapelbegged and begged—"A man must be completely leggedWho rules a British ship."

In vain declared the poor old salt,

"It's my misfortune—not my fault,"

With tear and trembling lip—

In vain poorCapelbegged and begged—

"A man must be completely legged

Who rules a British ship."

So spake the stern First Lord aloud—He was a wag, though very proud,And much rejoiced to say,"You're only half a captain now—And so, my worthy friend, I vowYou'll only get half-pay."

So spake the stern First Lord aloud—

He was a wag, though very proud,

And much rejoiced to say,

"You're only half a captain now—

And so, my worthy friend, I vow

You'll only get half-pay."

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