THE BAFFLED GRUMBLER

Dalilah de DardyadoredThe very correctest of cards,Lorenzo de Lardy, a lord—He was one of Her Majesty's Guards.Dalilah de Dardywas fat,Dalilah de Dardywas old—(No doubt in the world about that)ButDalilah de Dardyhad gold.Lorenzo de Lardywas tall,The flower of maidenly pets,Young ladies would love at his call,ButLorenzo de Lardyhad debts.His money-position was queer,And one of his favourite freaksWas to hide himself three times a year,In Paris, for several weeks.Many days didn't pass him beforeHe fanned himself into a flame,For a beautiful "Dam du Comptwore,"And this was her singular name:Alice Eulalie CoralineEuphrosine Colombina ThérèseJuliette Stephanie CelestineCharlotte Russe de la Sauce Mayonnaise.She booked all the orders and tin,Accoutred in showy fal-lal,At a two-fifty Restaurant, inThe glittering Palais Royal.He'd gaze in her orbit of blue,Her hand he would tenderly squeeze,But the words of her tongue that he knewWere limited strictly to these:"Coraline Celestine Eulalie,Houp là! Je vous aime, oui, mossoo,Combien donnez moi aujourd'huiBonjour, Mademoiselle, parlez voo."Mademoiselle de la Sauce MayonnaiseWas a witty and beautiful miss,Extremely correct in her ways,But her English consisted of this:"Oh my! pretty man, if you please,Blom boodin, biftek, currie lamb,Bouldogue, two franc half, quite ze cheese,Rosbif, me spik Angleesh, godam."A waiter, for seasons before,Had basked in her beautiful gaze,And burnt to dismemberMilor,He lovedde la Sauce Mayonnaise.He said to her, "MéchanteThérèse,Avec désespoir tu m'accables.Penses-tu,de la Sauce Mayonnaise,Ses intentions sont honorables?"Flirte toujours, ma belle, si tu oses—Je me vengerai ainsi, ma chère,Je lui dirai de quoi l'on composeVol au vent à la Financière!"Lord Lardyknew nothing of this—The waiter's devotion ignored,But he gazed on the beautiful miss,And never seemed weary or bored.The waiter would screw up his nerve,His fingers he'd snap and he'd dance—AndLord Lardywould smile and observe,"How strange are the customs of France!"Well, after delaying a space,His tradesmen no longer would wait:Returning to England apace,He yielded himself to his fate.Lord Lardyespoused, with a groan,Miss Dardy'sdeveloping charms,And agreed to tag on to his ownHer name and her newly-found arms.The waiter he knelt at the toesOf an ugly and thin coryphée,Who danced in the hindermost rowsAt the Théâtre des Variétés.Mademoiselle de la Sauce MayonnaiseDidn't yield to a gnawing despairBut married a soldier, and playsAs a pretty and pert Vivandière.THE BAFFLED GRUMBLERWhene'erI pokeSarcastic jokeReplete with malice spiteful,The people vilePolitely smileAnd vote me quite delightful!Now, when a wightSits up all nightIll-natured jokes devising,And all his wilesAre met with smiles,It's hard, there's no disguising!Oh, don't the days seem lank and longWhen all goes right and nothing goes wrong,And isn't your life extremely flatWith nothing whatever to grumble at!When German bandsFrom music standsPlay Wagner imperfectly—I bid them go—They don't say no,But off they trot directly!The organ boysThey stop their noiseWith readiness surprising,And grinning herdsOf hurdy-gurdsRetire apologising!Oh, don't the days seem lank and longWhen all goes right and nothing goes wrong,And isn't your life extremely flatWith nothing whatever to grumble at!I've offered gold,In sums untold,To all who'd contradict me—I've said I'd payA pound a dayTo any one who kicked me—I've bribed with toysGreat vulgar boysTo utter something spiteful,But, bless you, no!Theywillbe soConfoundedly politeful!In short, these aggravating lads,They tickle my tastes, they feed my fads,They give me this and they give me that,And I've nothing whatever to grumble at!DISILLUSIONEDBY AN EX-ENTHUSIASTOh, that my soul its gods could seeAs years ago they seemed to meWhen first I painted them;Invested with the circumstanceOf old conventional romance:Exploded theorem!The bard who could, all men above,Inflame my soul with songs of love,And, with his verse, inspireThe craven soul who feared to dieWith all the glow of chivalryAnd old heroic fire;I found him in a beerhouse tapAwaking from a gin-born nap,With pipe and sloven dress;Amusing chums, who fooled his bent,With muddy, maudlin sentiment,And tipsy foolishness!The novelist, whose painting penTo legions of fictitious menA real existence lends,Brain-people whom we rarely fail,Whene'er we hear their names, to hailAs old and welcome friends;I found in clumsy snuffy suit,In seedy glove, and blucher boot,Uncomfortably big.Particularly commonplace,With vulgar, coarse, stockbroking face,And spectacles and wig.My favourite actor who, at will,With mimic woe my eyes could fillWith unaccustomed brine:A being who appeared to me(Before I knew him well) to beA song incarnadine;I found a coarse unpleasant manWith speckled chin—unhealthy, wan—Of self-importance full:Existing in an atmosphereThat reeked of gin and pipes and beer—Conceited, fractious, dull.The warrior whose ennobled nameIs woven with his country's fame,Triumphant over all,I found weak, palsied, bloated, blear;His province seemed to be, to leerAt bonnets in Pall Mall.Would that ye always shone, who write,Bathed in your own innate limelight,And ye who battles wage,Or that in darkness I had diedBefore my soul had ever sighedTo see you off the stage!THE HOUSE OF PEERSWhenBritain really ruled the waves—(In good Queen Bess's time)The House of Peers made no pretenceTo intellectual eminence,Or scholarship sublime;Yet Britain won her proudest baysIn good Queen Bess's glorious days!When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte,As every child can tell,The House of Peers, throughout the war,Did nothing in particular,And did it very well;Yet Britain set the world ablazeIn good King George's glorious days!And while the House of Peers withholdsIts legislative hand,And noble statesmen do not itchTo interfere with matters whichThey do not understand,As bright will shine Great Britain's rays,As in King George's glorious days!BABETTE'S LOVEBabetteshe was a fisher gal,With jupon striped and cap in crimps.She passed her days inside the Halle,Or catching little nimble shrimps.Yet she was sweet as flowers in May,With no professional bouquet.Jacotwas, of the Customs bold,An officer, at gay Boulogne,He lovedBabette—his love he told,And sighed, "Oh, soyez vous my own!"But "Non!" said she, "Jacot, my pet,Vous êtes trop scraggy pourBabette."Of one alone I nightly dream,An able mariner is he,And gaily serves the Gen'ral Steam-Boat Navigation Companee.I'll marry him, if he but will—His name, I rather think, isBill."I see him when he's not aware,Upon our hospitable coast,Reclining with an easy airUpon thePortagainst a post,A-thinking of, I'll dare to say,His native Chelsea far away!""Oh, mon!" exclaimed the Customs bold,"Mes yeux!" he said (which means "my eye")."Oh, chère!" he also cried, I'm told,"Par Jove," he added, with a sigh."Oh, mon! oh, chère! mes yeux! par Jove!Je n'aime pas cet enticing cove!"ThePanther'scaptain stood hard by,He was a man of morals strict,If e'er a sailor winked his eye,Straightway he had that sailor licked,Mast-headed all (such was his code)Who dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed.He wept to think a tar of hisShould lean so gracefully on posts,He sighed and sobbed to think of this,On foreign, French, and friendly coasts."It's human natur', p'raps—if so,Oh, isn't human natur' low!"He called hisBill, who pulled his curl,He said, "MyBill, I understandYou've captivated some young gurlOn this here French and foreign land.Her tender heart your beauties jog—They do, you know they do, you dog."You have a graceful way, I learn,Of leaning airily on posts,By which you've been and caused to burnA tender flame on these here coasts.A fisher gurl, I much regret,—Her age, sixteen—her name,Babette."You'll marry her, you gentle tar—Your union I myself will bless,And when you matrimonied are,I will appoint her stewardess."ButWilliamhitched himself and sighed,And cleared his throat, and thus replied:"Not so: unless you're fond of strife,You'd better mind your own affairs,I have an able-bodied wifeAwaiting me at Wapping Stairs;If all this here to her I tell,She'll larrup you and me as well."Skin-deep, and valued at a pin,Is beauty such asVenusowns—Herbeauty is beneath her skin,And lies in layers on her bones.The other sailors of the crewThey always calls her 'Whopping Sue!'""Oho!" the Captain said, "I see!And is she then so very strong?""She'd take your honour's scruff," said he,"And pitch you over to Bolong!""I pardon you," the Captain said,"The fairBabetteyou needn't wed."Perhaps the Customs had his will,And coaxed the scornful girl to wed,Perhaps the Captain and hisBill,AndWilliam'slittle wife are dead;Or p'raps they're all alive and well:I cannot, cannot, cannot tell.A MERRY MADRIGALBrightlydawns our wedding day;Joyous hour, we give thee greeting!Whither, whither art thou fleeting?Fickle moment, prithee stay!What though mortal joys be hollow?Pleasures come, if sorrows follow.Though the tocsin sound, ere long,Ding dong! Ding dong!Yet until the shadows fallOver one and over all,Sing a merry madrigal—Fal la!Let us dry the ready tear;Though the hours are surely creeping,Little need for woeful weepingTill the sad sundown is near.All must sip the cup of sorrow,I to-day and thou to-morrow:This the close of every song—Ding dong! Ding dong!What though solemn shadows fall,Sooner, later, over all?Sing a merry madrigal—Fal la!TO MY BRIDE(WHOEVER SHE MAY BE)Oh! little maid!—(I do not know your name,Or who you are, so, as a safe precautionI'll add)—Oh, buxom widow! married dame!(As one of these must be your present portion)Listen, while I unveil prophetic lore for you,And sing the fate that Fortune has in store for you.You'll marry soon—within a year or twain—A bachelor ofcircatwo-and-thirty,Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain,And, when you're intimate, you call him "Bertie."Neat—dresses well; his temper has been classifiedAs hasty; but he's very quickly pacified.You'll find him working mildly at the Bar,After a touch at two or three professions,From easy affluence extremely far,A brief or two on Circuit—"soup" at Sessions;A pound or two from whist and backing horses,And, say, three hundred from his own resources.Quiet in harness; free from serious vice,His faults are not particularly shady;You'll never find him "shy"—for, once or twiceAlready, he's been driven by a lady,Who parts with him—perhaps a poor excuse for him—Because she hasn't any further use for him.Oh! bride of mine—tall, dumpy, dark, or fair!Oh! widow—wife, maybe, or blushing maiden,I've toldyourfortune: solved the gravest careWith whichyourmind has hitherto been laden.I've prophesied correctly, never doubt it;Now tell me mine—and please be quick about it!You—only you—can tell me, an you will,To whom I'm destined shortly to be mated,Will she run up a heavymodiste'sbill?If so, I want to hear her income stated.(This is a point which interests me greatly),To quote the bard, "Oh! have I seen her lately?"Say, must I wait till husband number oneIs comfortably stowed away at Woking?How is her hair most usually done?And tell me, please, will she object to smoking?The colour of her eyes, too, you may mention:Come, Sibyl, prophesy—I'm all attention.THE DUKE AND THE DUCHESSThe Duke.Smalltitles and ordersFor Mayors and RecordersI get—and they're highly delighted.M.P.s baronetted,Sham Colonels gazetted,And second-rate Aldermen knighted.Foundation-stone layingI find very paying,It adds a large sum to my makings.At charity dinnersThe best of speech-spinners,I get ten per cent on the takings!The Duchess.I present any ladyWhose conduct is shadyOr smacking of doubtful propriety;When Virtue would quash herI take and whitewash herAnd launch her in first-rate society.I recommend acresOf clumsy dressmakers—Their fit and their finishing touches;A sum in additionThey pay for permissionTo say that they make for the Duchess!The Duke.Those pressing prevailers,The ready-made tailors,Quote me as their great double-barrel;I allow them to do so,ThoughRobinson CrusoeWould jib at their wearing apparel!I sit, by selection,Upon the directionOf several Companies bubble;As soon as they're floatedI'm freely bank-noted—I'm pretty well paid for my trouble!The Duchess.At middle-class partyI play atécarté—And I'm by no means a beginner;To one of my stationThe remuneration—Five guineas a night and my dinner.I write letters blatantOn medicines patent—And use any other you mustn't;And vow my complexionDerives its perfectionFrom somebody's soap—which it doesn't.The Duke.We're ready as witnessTo any one's fitnessTo fill any place or preferment;We're often in waitingAt junket orfêting,And sometimes attend an interment.In short, if you'd kindleThe spark of a swindle,Lure simpletons into your clutches,Or hoodwink a debtor,You cannot do betterThan trot out a Duke or a Duchess!THE FOLLY OF BROWNBy a General AgentI knewa boor—a clownish card(His only friends were pigs and cows andThe poultry of a small farmyard),Who came into two hundred thousand.Good fortune worked no change inBrown,Though she's a mighty social chymist;He was a clown—and by a clownI do not mean a pantomimist.It left him quiet, calm, and cool,Though hardly knowing what a crown was—You can't imagine what a foolPoor rich uneducatedBrownwas!He scouted all who wished to comeAnd give him monetary schooling;And I propose to give you someIdea of his insensate fooling.I formed a company or two—(Of course I don't know what the rest meant,I formed them solely with a viewTo help him to a sound investment).Their objects were—their only cares—To justify their Boards in showingA handsome dividend on sharesAnd keep their good promoter going.But no—the lout sticks to his brass,Though shares at par I freely proffer:Yet—will it be believed?—the assDeclines, with thanks, my well-meant offer!He adds, with bumpkin's stolid grin(A weakly intellect denoting),He'd rather not invest it inA company of my promoting!"You have two hundred 'thou' or more,"Said I. "You'll waste it, lose it, lend it;Come, take my furnished second floor,I'll gladly show you how to spend it."But will it be believed that he,With grin upon his face of poppy,Declined my aid, while thanking meFor what he called my "philanthroppy"?Some blind, suspicious fools rejoiceIn doubting friends who wouldn't harm them;They will not hear the charmer's voice,However wisely he may charm them!I showed him that his coat, all dust,Top boots and cords provoked compassion,And proved that men of station mustConform to the decrees of fashion.I showed him where to buy his hat,To coat him, trouser him, and boot him;But no—he wouldn't hear of that—"He didn't think the style would suit him!"I offered him a county seat,And made no end of an oration;I made it certainty complete,And introduced the deputation.But no—the clown my prospect blights—(The worth of birth it surely teaches!)"Why should I want to spend my nightsIn Parliament, a-making speeches?"I haven't never been to school—I ain't had not no eddication—And I should surely be a foolTo publish that to all the nation!"I offered him a trotting horse—No hack had ever trotted faster—I also offered him, of course,A rare and curious "old master."I offered to procure him weeds—Wines fit for one in his position—But, though an ass in all his deeds,He'd learnt the meaning of "commission."He called me "thief" the other day,And daily from his door he thrusts me;Much more of this, and soon I mayBegin to think thatBrownmistrusts me.So deaf to all sound Reason's ruleThis poor uneducated clown is,You cannotfancy what a foolPoor rich uneducatedBrownis.EHEU FUGACES—!Theair is charged with amatory numbers—Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers' lays.Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbersThe aching memory of the old, old days?Time was when Love and I were well acquainted;Time was when we walked ever hand in hand;A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted,None better loved than I in all the land!Time was, when maidens of the noblest station,Forsaking even military men,Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration—Ah me, I was a fair young curate then!Had I a headache? sighed the maids assembled;Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear;Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled;And when I coughed all thought the end was near!I had no care—no jealous doubts hung o'er me—For I was loved beyond all other men.Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me—Ah me, I was a pale young curate then!SIR MACKLINOfall the youths I ever sawNone were so wicked, vain, or silly,So lost to shame and Sabbath lawAs worldlyTom, andBob, andBilly.For every Sabbath day they walked(Such was their gay and thoughtless natur')In parks or gardens, where they talkedFrom three to six, or even later.Sir Macklinwas a priest severeIn conduct and in conversation,It did a sinner good to hearHim deal in ratiocination.He could in every action showSome sin, and nobody could doubt him.He argued high, he argued low,He also argued round about him.He wept to think each thoughtless youthContained of wickedness a skinful,And burnt to teach the awful truth,That walking out on Sunday's sinful."Oh, youths," said he, "I grieve to findThe course of life you've been and hit on—Sit down," said he, "and never mindThe pennies for the chairs you sit on."My opening head is 'Kensington,'How walking there the sinner hardens;Which when I have enlarged upon,I go to 'Secondly'—its Gardens."My 'Thirdly' comprehendeth 'Hyde,'Of Secrecy the guilts and shameses;My 'Fourthly'—'Park'—its verdure wide—My 'Fifthly' comprehends 'St. James's.'"That matter settled I shall reachThe 'Sixthly' in my solemn tether,And show that what is true of each,Is also true of all, together."Then I shall demonstrate to you,According to the rules of Whately.That what is true of all, is trueOf each, considered separately."In lavish stream his accents flow,Tom,Bob, andBillydare not flout him;He argued high, he argued low,He also argued round about him."Ha, ha!" he said, "you loathe your ways,Repentance on your souls is dawning,In agony your hands you raise."(And so they did, for they were yawning.)To "Twenty-firstly" on they go,The lads do not attempt to scout him;He argued high, he argued low,He also argued round about him."Ho, ho!" he cries, "you bow your crests—My eloquence has set you weeping;In shame you bend upon your breasts!"(They bent their heads, for they were sleeping.)He proved them this—he proved them that—This good but wearisome ascetic;He jumped and thumped upon his hat,He was so very energetic.His bishop at this moment chancedTo pass, and found the road encumbered;He noticed how the Churchman danced,And how his congregation slumbered.The hundred and eleventh headThe priest completed of his stricture;"Oh, bosh!" the worthy bishop said,And walked him off, as in the picture.THEY'LL NONE OF 'EM BE MISSED

Dalilah de DardyadoredThe very correctest of cards,Lorenzo de Lardy, a lord—He was one of Her Majesty's Guards.

Dalilah de Dardyadored

The very correctest of cards,

Lorenzo de Lardy, a lord—

He was one of Her Majesty's Guards.

Dalilah de Dardywas fat,Dalilah de Dardywas old—(No doubt in the world about that)ButDalilah de Dardyhad gold.

Dalilah de Dardywas fat,

Dalilah de Dardywas old—

(No doubt in the world about that)

ButDalilah de Dardyhad gold.

Lorenzo de Lardywas tall,The flower of maidenly pets,Young ladies would love at his call,ButLorenzo de Lardyhad debts.

Lorenzo de Lardywas tall,

The flower of maidenly pets,

Young ladies would love at his call,

ButLorenzo de Lardyhad debts.

His money-position was queer,And one of his favourite freaksWas to hide himself three times a year,In Paris, for several weeks.

His money-position was queer,

And one of his favourite freaks

Was to hide himself three times a year,

In Paris, for several weeks.

Many days didn't pass him beforeHe fanned himself into a flame,For a beautiful "Dam du Comptwore,"And this was her singular name:

Many days didn't pass him before

He fanned himself into a flame,

For a beautiful "Dam du Comptwore,"

And this was her singular name:

Alice Eulalie CoralineEuphrosine Colombina ThérèseJuliette Stephanie CelestineCharlotte Russe de la Sauce Mayonnaise.

Alice Eulalie Coraline

Euphrosine Colombina Thérèse

Juliette Stephanie Celestine

Charlotte Russe de la Sauce Mayonnaise.

She booked all the orders and tin,Accoutred in showy fal-lal,At a two-fifty Restaurant, inThe glittering Palais Royal.

She booked all the orders and tin,

Accoutred in showy fal-lal,

At a two-fifty Restaurant, in

The glittering Palais Royal.

He'd gaze in her orbit of blue,Her hand he would tenderly squeeze,But the words of her tongue that he knewWere limited strictly to these:

He'd gaze in her orbit of blue,

Her hand he would tenderly squeeze,

But the words of her tongue that he knew

Were limited strictly to these:

"Coraline Celestine Eulalie,Houp là! Je vous aime, oui, mossoo,Combien donnez moi aujourd'huiBonjour, Mademoiselle, parlez voo."

"Coraline Celestine Eulalie,

Houp là! Je vous aime, oui, mossoo,

Combien donnez moi aujourd'hui

Bonjour, Mademoiselle, parlez voo."

Mademoiselle de la Sauce MayonnaiseWas a witty and beautiful miss,Extremely correct in her ways,But her English consisted of this:

Mademoiselle de la Sauce Mayonnaise

Was a witty and beautiful miss,

Extremely correct in her ways,

But her English consisted of this:

"Oh my! pretty man, if you please,Blom boodin, biftek, currie lamb,Bouldogue, two franc half, quite ze cheese,Rosbif, me spik Angleesh, godam."

"Oh my! pretty man, if you please,

Blom boodin, biftek, currie lamb,

Bouldogue, two franc half, quite ze cheese,

Rosbif, me spik Angleesh, godam."

A waiter, for seasons before,Had basked in her beautiful gaze,And burnt to dismemberMilor,He lovedde la Sauce Mayonnaise.

A waiter, for seasons before,

Had basked in her beautiful gaze,

And burnt to dismemberMilor,

He lovedde la Sauce Mayonnaise.

He said to her, "MéchanteThérèse,Avec désespoir tu m'accables.Penses-tu,de la Sauce Mayonnaise,Ses intentions sont honorables?

He said to her, "MéchanteThérèse,

Avec désespoir tu m'accables.

Penses-tu,de la Sauce Mayonnaise,

Ses intentions sont honorables?

"Flirte toujours, ma belle, si tu oses—Je me vengerai ainsi, ma chère,Je lui dirai de quoi l'on composeVol au vent à la Financière!"Lord Lardyknew nothing of this—The waiter's devotion ignored,But he gazed on the beautiful miss,And never seemed weary or bored.The waiter would screw up his nerve,His fingers he'd snap and he'd dance—AndLord Lardywould smile and observe,"How strange are the customs of France!"Well, after delaying a space,His tradesmen no longer would wait:Returning to England apace,He yielded himself to his fate.Lord Lardyespoused, with a groan,Miss Dardy'sdeveloping charms,And agreed to tag on to his ownHer name and her newly-found arms.The waiter he knelt at the toesOf an ugly and thin coryphée,Who danced in the hindermost rowsAt the Théâtre des Variétés.Mademoiselle de la Sauce MayonnaiseDidn't yield to a gnawing despairBut married a soldier, and playsAs a pretty and pert Vivandière.

"Flirte toujours, ma belle, si tu oses—

Je me vengerai ainsi, ma chère,

Je lui dirai de quoi l'on compose

Vol au vent à la Financière!"

Lord Lardyknew nothing of this—The waiter's devotion ignored,But he gazed on the beautiful miss,And never seemed weary or bored.

Lord Lardyknew nothing of this—

The waiter's devotion ignored,

But he gazed on the beautiful miss,

And never seemed weary or bored.

The waiter would screw up his nerve,His fingers he'd snap and he'd dance—AndLord Lardywould smile and observe,"How strange are the customs of France!"

The waiter would screw up his nerve,

His fingers he'd snap and he'd dance—

AndLord Lardywould smile and observe,

"How strange are the customs of France!"

Well, after delaying a space,His tradesmen no longer would wait:Returning to England apace,He yielded himself to his fate.

Well, after delaying a space,

His tradesmen no longer would wait:

Returning to England apace,

He yielded himself to his fate.

Lord Lardyespoused, with a groan,Miss Dardy'sdeveloping charms,And agreed to tag on to his ownHer name and her newly-found arms.

Lord Lardyespoused, with a groan,

Miss Dardy'sdeveloping charms,

And agreed to tag on to his own

Her name and her newly-found arms.

The waiter he knelt at the toesOf an ugly and thin coryphée,Who danced in the hindermost rowsAt the Théâtre des Variétés.

The waiter he knelt at the toes

Of an ugly and thin coryphée,

Who danced in the hindermost rows

At the Théâtre des Variétés.

Mademoiselle de la Sauce MayonnaiseDidn't yield to a gnawing despairBut married a soldier, and playsAs a pretty and pert Vivandière.

Mademoiselle de la Sauce Mayonnaise

Didn't yield to a gnawing despair

But married a soldier, and plays

As a pretty and pert Vivandière.

Whene'erI pokeSarcastic jokeReplete with malice spiteful,The people vilePolitely smileAnd vote me quite delightful!Now, when a wightSits up all nightIll-natured jokes devising,And all his wilesAre met with smiles,It's hard, there's no disguising!Oh, don't the days seem lank and longWhen all goes right and nothing goes wrong,And isn't your life extremely flatWith nothing whatever to grumble at!When German bandsFrom music standsPlay Wagner imperfectly—I bid them go—They don't say no,But off they trot directly!The organ boysThey stop their noiseWith readiness surprising,And grinning herdsOf hurdy-gurdsRetire apologising!Oh, don't the days seem lank and longWhen all goes right and nothing goes wrong,And isn't your life extremely flatWith nothing whatever to grumble at!I've offered gold,In sums untold,To all who'd contradict me—I've said I'd payA pound a dayTo any one who kicked me—I've bribed with toysGreat vulgar boysTo utter something spiteful,But, bless you, no!Theywillbe soConfoundedly politeful!In short, these aggravating lads,They tickle my tastes, they feed my fads,They give me this and they give me that,And I've nothing whatever to grumble at!

Whene'erI poke

Sarcastic joke

Replete with malice spiteful,

The people vile

Politely smile

And vote me quite delightful!

Now, when a wight

Sits up all night

Ill-natured jokes devising,

And all his wiles

Are met with smiles,

It's hard, there's no disguising!

Oh, don't the days seem lank and long

When all goes right and nothing goes wrong,

And isn't your life extremely flat

With nothing whatever to grumble at!

When German bandsFrom music standsPlay Wagner imperfectly—I bid them go—They don't say no,But off they trot directly!The organ boysThey stop their noiseWith readiness surprising,And grinning herdsOf hurdy-gurdsRetire apologising!Oh, don't the days seem lank and longWhen all goes right and nothing goes wrong,And isn't your life extremely flatWith nothing whatever to grumble at!

When German bands

From music stands

Play Wagner imperfectly—

I bid them go—

They don't say no,

But off they trot directly!

The organ boys

They stop their noise

With readiness surprising,

And grinning herds

Of hurdy-gurds

Retire apologising!

Oh, don't the days seem lank and long

When all goes right and nothing goes wrong,

And isn't your life extremely flat

With nothing whatever to grumble at!

I've offered gold,In sums untold,To all who'd contradict me—I've said I'd payA pound a dayTo any one who kicked me—I've bribed with toysGreat vulgar boysTo utter something spiteful,But, bless you, no!Theywillbe soConfoundedly politeful!

I've offered gold,

In sums untold,

To all who'd contradict me—

I've said I'd pay

A pound a day

To any one who kicked me—

I've bribed with toys

Great vulgar boys

To utter something spiteful,

But, bless you, no!

Theywillbe so

Confoundedly politeful!

In short, these aggravating lads,They tickle my tastes, they feed my fads,They give me this and they give me that,And I've nothing whatever to grumble at!

In short, these aggravating lads,

They tickle my tastes, they feed my fads,

They give me this and they give me that,

And I've nothing whatever to grumble at!

Oh, that my soul its gods could seeAs years ago they seemed to meWhen first I painted them;Invested with the circumstanceOf old conventional romance:Exploded theorem!The bard who could, all men above,Inflame my soul with songs of love,And, with his verse, inspireThe craven soul who feared to dieWith all the glow of chivalryAnd old heroic fire;I found him in a beerhouse tapAwaking from a gin-born nap,With pipe and sloven dress;Amusing chums, who fooled his bent,With muddy, maudlin sentiment,And tipsy foolishness!The novelist, whose painting penTo legions of fictitious menA real existence lends,Brain-people whom we rarely fail,Whene'er we hear their names, to hailAs old and welcome friends;I found in clumsy snuffy suit,In seedy glove, and blucher boot,Uncomfortably big.Particularly commonplace,With vulgar, coarse, stockbroking face,And spectacles and wig.My favourite actor who, at will,With mimic woe my eyes could fillWith unaccustomed brine:A being who appeared to me(Before I knew him well) to beA song incarnadine;I found a coarse unpleasant manWith speckled chin—unhealthy, wan—Of self-importance full:Existing in an atmosphereThat reeked of gin and pipes and beer—Conceited, fractious, dull.The warrior whose ennobled nameIs woven with his country's fame,Triumphant over all,I found weak, palsied, bloated, blear;His province seemed to be, to leerAt bonnets in Pall Mall.Would that ye always shone, who write,Bathed in your own innate limelight,And ye who battles wage,Or that in darkness I had diedBefore my soul had ever sighedTo see you off the stage!

Oh, that my soul its gods could seeAs years ago they seemed to meWhen first I painted them;Invested with the circumstanceOf old conventional romance:Exploded theorem!

Oh, that my soul its gods could see

As years ago they seemed to me

When first I painted them;

Invested with the circumstance

Of old conventional romance:

Exploded theorem!

The bard who could, all men above,Inflame my soul with songs of love,And, with his verse, inspireThe craven soul who feared to dieWith all the glow of chivalryAnd old heroic fire;

The bard who could, all men above,

Inflame my soul with songs of love,

And, with his verse, inspire

The craven soul who feared to die

With all the glow of chivalry

And old heroic fire;

I found him in a beerhouse tapAwaking from a gin-born nap,With pipe and sloven dress;Amusing chums, who fooled his bent,With muddy, maudlin sentiment,And tipsy foolishness!

I found him in a beerhouse tap

Awaking from a gin-born nap,

With pipe and sloven dress;

Amusing chums, who fooled his bent,

With muddy, maudlin sentiment,

And tipsy foolishness!

The novelist, whose painting penTo legions of fictitious menA real existence lends,Brain-people whom we rarely fail,Whene'er we hear their names, to hailAs old and welcome friends;

The novelist, whose painting pen

To legions of fictitious men

A real existence lends,

Brain-people whom we rarely fail,

Whene'er we hear their names, to hail

As old and welcome friends;

I found in clumsy snuffy suit,In seedy glove, and blucher boot,Uncomfortably big.Particularly commonplace,With vulgar, coarse, stockbroking face,And spectacles and wig.

I found in clumsy snuffy suit,

In seedy glove, and blucher boot,

Uncomfortably big.

Particularly commonplace,

With vulgar, coarse, stockbroking face,

And spectacles and wig.

My favourite actor who, at will,With mimic woe my eyes could fillWith unaccustomed brine:A being who appeared to me(Before I knew him well) to beA song incarnadine;

My favourite actor who, at will,

With mimic woe my eyes could fill

With unaccustomed brine:

A being who appeared to me

(Before I knew him well) to be

A song incarnadine;

I found a coarse unpleasant manWith speckled chin—unhealthy, wan—Of self-importance full:Existing in an atmosphereThat reeked of gin and pipes and beer—Conceited, fractious, dull.

I found a coarse unpleasant man

With speckled chin—unhealthy, wan—

Of self-importance full:

Existing in an atmosphere

That reeked of gin and pipes and beer—

Conceited, fractious, dull.

The warrior whose ennobled nameIs woven with his country's fame,Triumphant over all,I found weak, palsied, bloated, blear;His province seemed to be, to leerAt bonnets in Pall Mall.

The warrior whose ennobled name

Is woven with his country's fame,

Triumphant over all,

I found weak, palsied, bloated, blear;

His province seemed to be, to leer

At bonnets in Pall Mall.

Would that ye always shone, who write,Bathed in your own innate limelight,And ye who battles wage,Or that in darkness I had diedBefore my soul had ever sighedTo see you off the stage!

Would that ye always shone, who write,

Bathed in your own innate limelight,

And ye who battles wage,

Or that in darkness I had died

Before my soul had ever sighed

To see you off the stage!

WhenBritain really ruled the waves—(In good Queen Bess's time)The House of Peers made no pretenceTo intellectual eminence,Or scholarship sublime;Yet Britain won her proudest baysIn good Queen Bess's glorious days!When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte,As every child can tell,The House of Peers, throughout the war,Did nothing in particular,And did it very well;Yet Britain set the world ablazeIn good King George's glorious days!And while the House of Peers withholdsIts legislative hand,And noble statesmen do not itchTo interfere with matters whichThey do not understand,As bright will shine Great Britain's rays,As in King George's glorious days!

WhenBritain really ruled the waves—

(In good Queen Bess's time)

The House of Peers made no pretence

To intellectual eminence,

Or scholarship sublime;

Yet Britain won her proudest bays

In good Queen Bess's glorious days!

When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte,As every child can tell,The House of Peers, throughout the war,Did nothing in particular,And did it very well;Yet Britain set the world ablazeIn good King George's glorious days!

When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte,

As every child can tell,

The House of Peers, throughout the war,

Did nothing in particular,

And did it very well;

Yet Britain set the world ablaze

In good King George's glorious days!

And while the House of Peers withholdsIts legislative hand,And noble statesmen do not itchTo interfere with matters whichThey do not understand,As bright will shine Great Britain's rays,As in King George's glorious days!

And while the House of Peers withholds

Its legislative hand,

And noble statesmen do not itch

To interfere with matters which

They do not understand,

As bright will shine Great Britain's rays,

As in King George's glorious days!

Babetteshe was a fisher gal,With jupon striped and cap in crimps.She passed her days inside the Halle,Or catching little nimble shrimps.Yet she was sweet as flowers in May,With no professional bouquet.Jacotwas, of the Customs bold,An officer, at gay Boulogne,He lovedBabette—his love he told,And sighed, "Oh, soyez vous my own!"But "Non!" said she, "Jacot, my pet,Vous êtes trop scraggy pourBabette."Of one alone I nightly dream,An able mariner is he,And gaily serves the Gen'ral Steam-Boat Navigation Companee.I'll marry him, if he but will—His name, I rather think, isBill."I see him when he's not aware,Upon our hospitable coast,Reclining with an easy airUpon thePortagainst a post,A-thinking of, I'll dare to say,His native Chelsea far away!""Oh, mon!" exclaimed the Customs bold,"Mes yeux!" he said (which means "my eye")."Oh, chère!" he also cried, I'm told,"Par Jove," he added, with a sigh."Oh, mon! oh, chère! mes yeux! par Jove!Je n'aime pas cet enticing cove!"ThePanther'scaptain stood hard by,He was a man of morals strict,If e'er a sailor winked his eye,Straightway he had that sailor licked,Mast-headed all (such was his code)Who dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed.He wept to think a tar of hisShould lean so gracefully on posts,He sighed and sobbed to think of this,On foreign, French, and friendly coasts."It's human natur', p'raps—if so,Oh, isn't human natur' low!"He called hisBill, who pulled his curl,He said, "MyBill, I understandYou've captivated some young gurlOn this here French and foreign land.Her tender heart your beauties jog—They do, you know they do, you dog."You have a graceful way, I learn,Of leaning airily on posts,By which you've been and caused to burnA tender flame on these here coasts.A fisher gurl, I much regret,—Her age, sixteen—her name,Babette."You'll marry her, you gentle tar—Your union I myself will bless,And when you matrimonied are,I will appoint her stewardess."ButWilliamhitched himself and sighed,And cleared his throat, and thus replied:"Not so: unless you're fond of strife,You'd better mind your own affairs,I have an able-bodied wifeAwaiting me at Wapping Stairs;If all this here to her I tell,She'll larrup you and me as well."Skin-deep, and valued at a pin,Is beauty such asVenusowns—Herbeauty is beneath her skin,And lies in layers on her bones.The other sailors of the crewThey always calls her 'Whopping Sue!'""Oho!" the Captain said, "I see!And is she then so very strong?""She'd take your honour's scruff," said he,"And pitch you over to Bolong!""I pardon you," the Captain said,"The fairBabetteyou needn't wed."Perhaps the Customs had his will,And coaxed the scornful girl to wed,Perhaps the Captain and hisBill,AndWilliam'slittle wife are dead;Or p'raps they're all alive and well:I cannot, cannot, cannot tell.

Babetteshe was a fisher gal,

With jupon striped and cap in crimps.

She passed her days inside the Halle,

Or catching little nimble shrimps.

Yet she was sweet as flowers in May,

With no professional bouquet.

Jacotwas, of the Customs bold,An officer, at gay Boulogne,He lovedBabette—his love he told,And sighed, "Oh, soyez vous my own!"But "Non!" said she, "Jacot, my pet,Vous êtes trop scraggy pourBabette.

Jacotwas, of the Customs bold,

An officer, at gay Boulogne,

He lovedBabette—his love he told,

And sighed, "Oh, soyez vous my own!"

But "Non!" said she, "Jacot, my pet,

Vous êtes trop scraggy pourBabette.

"Of one alone I nightly dream,An able mariner is he,And gaily serves the Gen'ral Steam-Boat Navigation Companee.I'll marry him, if he but will—His name, I rather think, isBill.

"Of one alone I nightly dream,

An able mariner is he,

And gaily serves the Gen'ral Steam-

Boat Navigation Companee.

I'll marry him, if he but will—

His name, I rather think, isBill.

"I see him when he's not aware,Upon our hospitable coast,Reclining with an easy airUpon thePortagainst a post,A-thinking of, I'll dare to say,His native Chelsea far away!"

"I see him when he's not aware,

Upon our hospitable coast,

Reclining with an easy air

Upon thePortagainst a post,

A-thinking of, I'll dare to say,

His native Chelsea far away!"

"Oh, mon!" exclaimed the Customs bold,"Mes yeux!" he said (which means "my eye")."Oh, chère!" he also cried, I'm told,"Par Jove," he added, with a sigh."Oh, mon! oh, chère! mes yeux! par Jove!Je n'aime pas cet enticing cove!"

"Oh, mon!" exclaimed the Customs bold,

"Mes yeux!" he said (which means "my eye").

"Oh, chère!" he also cried, I'm told,

"Par Jove," he added, with a sigh.

"Oh, mon! oh, chère! mes yeux! par Jove!

Je n'aime pas cet enticing cove!"

ThePanther'scaptain stood hard by,He was a man of morals strict,If e'er a sailor winked his eye,Straightway he had that sailor licked,Mast-headed all (such was his code)Who dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed.

ThePanther'scaptain stood hard by,

He was a man of morals strict,

If e'er a sailor winked his eye,

Straightway he had that sailor licked,

Mast-headed all (such was his code)

Who dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed.

He wept to think a tar of hisShould lean so gracefully on posts,He sighed and sobbed to think of this,On foreign, French, and friendly coasts."It's human natur', p'raps—if so,Oh, isn't human natur' low!"

He wept to think a tar of his

Should lean so gracefully on posts,

He sighed and sobbed to think of this,

On foreign, French, and friendly coasts.

"It's human natur', p'raps—if so,

Oh, isn't human natur' low!"

He called hisBill, who pulled his curl,He said, "MyBill, I understandYou've captivated some young gurlOn this here French and foreign land.Her tender heart your beauties jog—They do, you know they do, you dog.

He called hisBill, who pulled his curl,

He said, "MyBill, I understand

You've captivated some young gurl

On this here French and foreign land.

Her tender heart your beauties jog—

They do, you know they do, you dog.

"You have a graceful way, I learn,Of leaning airily on posts,By which you've been and caused to burnA tender flame on these here coasts.A fisher gurl, I much regret,—Her age, sixteen—her name,Babette.

"You have a graceful way, I learn,

Of leaning airily on posts,

By which you've been and caused to burn

A tender flame on these here coasts.

A fisher gurl, I much regret,—

Her age, sixteen—her name,Babette.

"You'll marry her, you gentle tar—Your union I myself will bless,And when you matrimonied are,I will appoint her stewardess."ButWilliamhitched himself and sighed,And cleared his throat, and thus replied:

"You'll marry her, you gentle tar—

Your union I myself will bless,

And when you matrimonied are,

I will appoint her stewardess."

ButWilliamhitched himself and sighed,

And cleared his throat, and thus replied:

"Not so: unless you're fond of strife,You'd better mind your own affairs,I have an able-bodied wifeAwaiting me at Wapping Stairs;If all this here to her I tell,She'll larrup you and me as well.

"Not so: unless you're fond of strife,

You'd better mind your own affairs,

I have an able-bodied wife

Awaiting me at Wapping Stairs;

If all this here to her I tell,

She'll larrup you and me as well.

"Skin-deep, and valued at a pin,Is beauty such asVenusowns—Herbeauty is beneath her skin,And lies in layers on her bones.The other sailors of the crewThey always calls her 'Whopping Sue!'"

"Skin-deep, and valued at a pin,

Is beauty such asVenusowns—

Herbeauty is beneath her skin,

And lies in layers on her bones.

The other sailors of the crew

They always calls her 'Whopping Sue!'"

"Oho!" the Captain said, "I see!And is she then so very strong?""She'd take your honour's scruff," said he,"And pitch you over to Bolong!""I pardon you," the Captain said,"The fairBabetteyou needn't wed."

"Oho!" the Captain said, "I see!

And is she then so very strong?"

"She'd take your honour's scruff," said he,

"And pitch you over to Bolong!"

"I pardon you," the Captain said,

"The fairBabetteyou needn't wed."

Perhaps the Customs had his will,And coaxed the scornful girl to wed,Perhaps the Captain and hisBill,AndWilliam'slittle wife are dead;Or p'raps they're all alive and well:I cannot, cannot, cannot tell.

Perhaps the Customs had his will,

And coaxed the scornful girl to wed,

Perhaps the Captain and hisBill,

AndWilliam'slittle wife are dead;

Or p'raps they're all alive and well:

I cannot, cannot, cannot tell.

Brightlydawns our wedding day;Joyous hour, we give thee greeting!Whither, whither art thou fleeting?Fickle moment, prithee stay!What though mortal joys be hollow?Pleasures come, if sorrows follow.Though the tocsin sound, ere long,Ding dong! Ding dong!Yet until the shadows fallOver one and over all,Sing a merry madrigal—Fal la!Let us dry the ready tear;Though the hours are surely creeping,Little need for woeful weepingTill the sad sundown is near.All must sip the cup of sorrow,I to-day and thou to-morrow:This the close of every song—Ding dong! Ding dong!What though solemn shadows fall,Sooner, later, over all?Sing a merry madrigal—Fal la!

Brightlydawns our wedding day;

Joyous hour, we give thee greeting!

Whither, whither art thou fleeting?

Fickle moment, prithee stay!

What though mortal joys be hollow?

Pleasures come, if sorrows follow.

Though the tocsin sound, ere long,

Ding dong! Ding dong!

Yet until the shadows fall

Over one and over all,

Sing a merry madrigal—

Fal la!

Let us dry the ready tear;Though the hours are surely creeping,Little need for woeful weepingTill the sad sundown is near.All must sip the cup of sorrow,I to-day and thou to-morrow:This the close of every song—Ding dong! Ding dong!What though solemn shadows fall,Sooner, later, over all?Sing a merry madrigal—Fal la!

Let us dry the ready tear;

Though the hours are surely creeping,

Little need for woeful weeping

Till the sad sundown is near.

All must sip the cup of sorrow,

I to-day and thou to-morrow:

This the close of every song—

Ding dong! Ding dong!

What though solemn shadows fall,

Sooner, later, over all?

Sing a merry madrigal—

Fal la!

Oh! little maid!—(I do not know your name,Or who you are, so, as a safe precautionI'll add)—Oh, buxom widow! married dame!(As one of these must be your present portion)Listen, while I unveil prophetic lore for you,And sing the fate that Fortune has in store for you.You'll marry soon—within a year or twain—A bachelor ofcircatwo-and-thirty,Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain,And, when you're intimate, you call him "Bertie."Neat—dresses well; his temper has been classifiedAs hasty; but he's very quickly pacified.You'll find him working mildly at the Bar,After a touch at two or three professions,From easy affluence extremely far,A brief or two on Circuit—"soup" at Sessions;A pound or two from whist and backing horses,And, say, three hundred from his own resources.Quiet in harness; free from serious vice,His faults are not particularly shady;You'll never find him "shy"—for, once or twiceAlready, he's been driven by a lady,Who parts with him—perhaps a poor excuse for him—Because she hasn't any further use for him.Oh! bride of mine—tall, dumpy, dark, or fair!Oh! widow—wife, maybe, or blushing maiden,I've toldyourfortune: solved the gravest careWith whichyourmind has hitherto been laden.I've prophesied correctly, never doubt it;Now tell me mine—and please be quick about it!You—only you—can tell me, an you will,To whom I'm destined shortly to be mated,Will she run up a heavymodiste'sbill?If so, I want to hear her income stated.(This is a point which interests me greatly),To quote the bard, "Oh! have I seen her lately?"Say, must I wait till husband number oneIs comfortably stowed away at Woking?How is her hair most usually done?And tell me, please, will she object to smoking?The colour of her eyes, too, you may mention:Come, Sibyl, prophesy—I'm all attention.

Oh! little maid!—(I do not know your name,

Or who you are, so, as a safe precaution

I'll add)—Oh, buxom widow! married dame!

(As one of these must be your present portion)

Listen, while I unveil prophetic lore for you,

And sing the fate that Fortune has in store for you.

You'll marry soon—within a year or twain—A bachelor ofcircatwo-and-thirty,Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain,And, when you're intimate, you call him "Bertie."Neat—dresses well; his temper has been classifiedAs hasty; but he's very quickly pacified.

You'll marry soon—within a year or twain—

A bachelor ofcircatwo-and-thirty,

Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain,

And, when you're intimate, you call him "Bertie."

Neat—dresses well; his temper has been classified

As hasty; but he's very quickly pacified.

You'll find him working mildly at the Bar,After a touch at two or three professions,From easy affluence extremely far,A brief or two on Circuit—"soup" at Sessions;A pound or two from whist and backing horses,And, say, three hundred from his own resources.

You'll find him working mildly at the Bar,

After a touch at two or three professions,

From easy affluence extremely far,

A brief or two on Circuit—"soup" at Sessions;

A pound or two from whist and backing horses,

And, say, three hundred from his own resources.

Quiet in harness; free from serious vice,His faults are not particularly shady;You'll never find him "shy"—for, once or twiceAlready, he's been driven by a lady,Who parts with him—perhaps a poor excuse for him—Because she hasn't any further use for him.

Quiet in harness; free from serious vice,

His faults are not particularly shady;

You'll never find him "shy"—for, once or twice

Already, he's been driven by a lady,

Who parts with him—perhaps a poor excuse for him—

Because she hasn't any further use for him.

Oh! bride of mine—tall, dumpy, dark, or fair!Oh! widow—wife, maybe, or blushing maiden,I've toldyourfortune: solved the gravest careWith whichyourmind has hitherto been laden.I've prophesied correctly, never doubt it;Now tell me mine—and please be quick about it!

Oh! bride of mine—tall, dumpy, dark, or fair!

Oh! widow—wife, maybe, or blushing maiden,

I've toldyourfortune: solved the gravest care

With whichyourmind has hitherto been laden.

I've prophesied correctly, never doubt it;

Now tell me mine—and please be quick about it!

You—only you—can tell me, an you will,To whom I'm destined shortly to be mated,Will she run up a heavymodiste'sbill?If so, I want to hear her income stated.(This is a point which interests me greatly),To quote the bard, "Oh! have I seen her lately?"

You—only you—can tell me, an you will,

To whom I'm destined shortly to be mated,

Will she run up a heavymodiste'sbill?

If so, I want to hear her income stated.

(This is a point which interests me greatly),

To quote the bard, "Oh! have I seen her lately?"

Say, must I wait till husband number oneIs comfortably stowed away at Woking?How is her hair most usually done?And tell me, please, will she object to smoking?The colour of her eyes, too, you may mention:Come, Sibyl, prophesy—I'm all attention.

Say, must I wait till husband number one

Is comfortably stowed away at Woking?

How is her hair most usually done?

And tell me, please, will she object to smoking?

The colour of her eyes, too, you may mention:

Come, Sibyl, prophesy—I'm all attention.

The Duke.Smalltitles and ordersFor Mayors and RecordersI get—and they're highly delighted.M.P.s baronetted,Sham Colonels gazetted,And second-rate Aldermen knighted.Foundation-stone layingI find very paying,It adds a large sum to my makings.At charity dinnersThe best of speech-spinners,I get ten per cent on the takings!The Duchess.I present any ladyWhose conduct is shadyOr smacking of doubtful propriety;When Virtue would quash herI take and whitewash herAnd launch her in first-rate society.I recommend acresOf clumsy dressmakers—Their fit and their finishing touches;A sum in additionThey pay for permissionTo say that they make for the Duchess!The Duke.Those pressing prevailers,The ready-made tailors,Quote me as their great double-barrel;I allow them to do so,ThoughRobinson CrusoeWould jib at their wearing apparel!I sit, by selection,Upon the directionOf several Companies bubble;As soon as they're floatedI'm freely bank-noted—I'm pretty well paid for my trouble!The Duchess.At middle-class partyI play atécarté—And I'm by no means a beginner;To one of my stationThe remuneration—Five guineas a night and my dinner.I write letters blatantOn medicines patent—And use any other you mustn't;And vow my complexionDerives its perfectionFrom somebody's soap—which it doesn't.The Duke.We're ready as witnessTo any one's fitnessTo fill any place or preferment;We're often in waitingAt junket orfêting,And sometimes attend an interment.In short, if you'd kindleThe spark of a swindle,Lure simpletons into your clutches,Or hoodwink a debtor,You cannot do betterThan trot out a Duke or a Duchess!

The Duke.Smalltitles and orders

For Mayors and Recorders

I get—and they're highly delighted.

M.P.s baronetted,

Sham Colonels gazetted,

And second-rate Aldermen knighted.

Foundation-stone laying

I find very paying,

It adds a large sum to my makings.

At charity dinners

The best of speech-spinners,

I get ten per cent on the takings!

The Duchess.I present any ladyWhose conduct is shadyOr smacking of doubtful propriety;When Virtue would quash herI take and whitewash herAnd launch her in first-rate society.

The Duchess.I present any lady

Whose conduct is shady

Or smacking of doubtful propriety;

When Virtue would quash her

I take and whitewash her

And launch her in first-rate society.

I recommend acresOf clumsy dressmakers—Their fit and their finishing touches;A sum in additionThey pay for permissionTo say that they make for the Duchess!

I recommend acres

Of clumsy dressmakers—

Their fit and their finishing touches;

A sum in addition

They pay for permission

To say that they make for the Duchess!

The Duke.Those pressing prevailers,The ready-made tailors,Quote me as their great double-barrel;I allow them to do so,ThoughRobinson CrusoeWould jib at their wearing apparel!I sit, by selection,Upon the directionOf several Companies bubble;As soon as they're floatedI'm freely bank-noted—I'm pretty well paid for my trouble!

The Duke.Those pressing prevailers,

The ready-made tailors,

Quote me as their great double-barrel;

I allow them to do so,

ThoughRobinson Crusoe

Would jib at their wearing apparel!

I sit, by selection,

Upon the direction

Of several Companies bubble;

As soon as they're floated

I'm freely bank-noted—

I'm pretty well paid for my trouble!

The Duchess.At middle-class partyI play atécarté—And I'm by no means a beginner;To one of my stationThe remuneration—Five guineas a night and my dinner.I write letters blatantOn medicines patent—And use any other you mustn't;And vow my complexionDerives its perfectionFrom somebody's soap—which it doesn't.

The Duchess.At middle-class party

I play atécarté—

And I'm by no means a beginner;

To one of my station

The remuneration—

Five guineas a night and my dinner.

I write letters blatant

On medicines patent—

And use any other you mustn't;

And vow my complexion

Derives its perfection

From somebody's soap—which it doesn't.

The Duke.We're ready as witnessTo any one's fitnessTo fill any place or preferment;We're often in waitingAt junket orfêting,And sometimes attend an interment.In short, if you'd kindleThe spark of a swindle,Lure simpletons into your clutches,Or hoodwink a debtor,You cannot do betterThan trot out a Duke or a Duchess!

The Duke.We're ready as witness

To any one's fitness

To fill any place or preferment;

We're often in waiting

At junket orfêting,

And sometimes attend an interment.

In short, if you'd kindle

The spark of a swindle,

Lure simpletons into your clutches,

Or hoodwink a debtor,

You cannot do better

Than trot out a Duke or a Duchess!

I knewa boor—a clownish card(His only friends were pigs and cows andThe poultry of a small farmyard),Who came into two hundred thousand.Good fortune worked no change inBrown,Though she's a mighty social chymist;He was a clown—and by a clownI do not mean a pantomimist.It left him quiet, calm, and cool,Though hardly knowing what a crown was—You can't imagine what a foolPoor rich uneducatedBrownwas!He scouted all who wished to comeAnd give him monetary schooling;And I propose to give you someIdea of his insensate fooling.I formed a company or two—(Of course I don't know what the rest meant,I formed them solely with a viewTo help him to a sound investment).Their objects were—their only cares—To justify their Boards in showingA handsome dividend on sharesAnd keep their good promoter going.But no—the lout sticks to his brass,Though shares at par I freely proffer:Yet—will it be believed?—the assDeclines, with thanks, my well-meant offer!He adds, with bumpkin's stolid grin(A weakly intellect denoting),He'd rather not invest it inA company of my promoting!"You have two hundred 'thou' or more,"Said I. "You'll waste it, lose it, lend it;Come, take my furnished second floor,I'll gladly show you how to spend it."But will it be believed that he,With grin upon his face of poppy,Declined my aid, while thanking meFor what he called my "philanthroppy"?Some blind, suspicious fools rejoiceIn doubting friends who wouldn't harm them;They will not hear the charmer's voice,However wisely he may charm them!I showed him that his coat, all dust,Top boots and cords provoked compassion,And proved that men of station mustConform to the decrees of fashion.I showed him where to buy his hat,To coat him, trouser him, and boot him;But no—he wouldn't hear of that—"He didn't think the style would suit him!"I offered him a county seat,And made no end of an oration;I made it certainty complete,And introduced the deputation.But no—the clown my prospect blights—(The worth of birth it surely teaches!)"Why should I want to spend my nightsIn Parliament, a-making speeches?"I haven't never been to school—I ain't had not no eddication—And I should surely be a foolTo publish that to all the nation!"I offered him a trotting horse—No hack had ever trotted faster—I also offered him, of course,A rare and curious "old master."I offered to procure him weeds—Wines fit for one in his position—But, though an ass in all his deeds,He'd learnt the meaning of "commission."He called me "thief" the other day,And daily from his door he thrusts me;Much more of this, and soon I mayBegin to think thatBrownmistrusts me.So deaf to all sound Reason's ruleThis poor uneducated clown is,You cannotfancy what a foolPoor rich uneducatedBrownis.

I knewa boor—a clownish card(His only friends were pigs and cows andThe poultry of a small farmyard),Who came into two hundred thousand.

I knewa boor—a clownish card

(His only friends were pigs and cows and

The poultry of a small farmyard),

Who came into two hundred thousand.

Good fortune worked no change inBrown,Though she's a mighty social chymist;He was a clown—and by a clownI do not mean a pantomimist.

Good fortune worked no change inBrown,

Though she's a mighty social chymist;

He was a clown—and by a clown

I do not mean a pantomimist.

It left him quiet, calm, and cool,Though hardly knowing what a crown was—You can't imagine what a foolPoor rich uneducatedBrownwas!

It left him quiet, calm, and cool,

Though hardly knowing what a crown was—

You can't imagine what a fool

Poor rich uneducatedBrownwas!

He scouted all who wished to comeAnd give him monetary schooling;And I propose to give you someIdea of his insensate fooling.

He scouted all who wished to come

And give him monetary schooling;

And I propose to give you some

Idea of his insensate fooling.

I formed a company or two—(Of course I don't know what the rest meant,I formed them solely with a viewTo help him to a sound investment).

I formed a company or two—

(Of course I don't know what the rest meant,

I formed them solely with a view

To help him to a sound investment).

Their objects were—their only cares—To justify their Boards in showingA handsome dividend on sharesAnd keep their good promoter going.

Their objects were—their only cares—

To justify their Boards in showing

A handsome dividend on shares

And keep their good promoter going.

But no—the lout sticks to his brass,Though shares at par I freely proffer:Yet—will it be believed?—the assDeclines, with thanks, my well-meant offer!

But no—the lout sticks to his brass,

Though shares at par I freely proffer:

Yet—will it be believed?—the ass

Declines, with thanks, my well-meant offer!

He adds, with bumpkin's stolid grin(A weakly intellect denoting),He'd rather not invest it inA company of my promoting!

He adds, with bumpkin's stolid grin

(A weakly intellect denoting),

He'd rather not invest it in

A company of my promoting!

"You have two hundred 'thou' or more,"Said I. "You'll waste it, lose it, lend it;Come, take my furnished second floor,I'll gladly show you how to spend it."

"You have two hundred 'thou' or more,"

Said I. "You'll waste it, lose it, lend it;

Come, take my furnished second floor,

I'll gladly show you how to spend it."

But will it be believed that he,With grin upon his face of poppy,Declined my aid, while thanking meFor what he called my "philanthroppy"?

But will it be believed that he,

With grin upon his face of poppy,

Declined my aid, while thanking me

For what he called my "philanthroppy"?

Some blind, suspicious fools rejoiceIn doubting friends who wouldn't harm them;They will not hear the charmer's voice,However wisely he may charm them!

Some blind, suspicious fools rejoice

In doubting friends who wouldn't harm them;

They will not hear the charmer's voice,

However wisely he may charm them!

I showed him that his coat, all dust,Top boots and cords provoked compassion,And proved that men of station mustConform to the decrees of fashion.

I showed him that his coat, all dust,

Top boots and cords provoked compassion,

And proved that men of station must

Conform to the decrees of fashion.

I showed him where to buy his hat,To coat him, trouser him, and boot him;But no—he wouldn't hear of that—"He didn't think the style would suit him!"

I showed him where to buy his hat,

To coat him, trouser him, and boot him;

But no—he wouldn't hear of that—

"He didn't think the style would suit him!"

I offered him a county seat,And made no end of an oration;I made it certainty complete,And introduced the deputation.

I offered him a county seat,

And made no end of an oration;

I made it certainty complete,

And introduced the deputation.

But no—the clown my prospect blights—(The worth of birth it surely teaches!)"Why should I want to spend my nightsIn Parliament, a-making speeches?

But no—the clown my prospect blights—

(The worth of birth it surely teaches!)

"Why should I want to spend my nights

In Parliament, a-making speeches?

"I haven't never been to school—I ain't had not no eddication—And I should surely be a foolTo publish that to all the nation!"

"I haven't never been to school—

I ain't had not no eddication—

And I should surely be a fool

To publish that to all the nation!"

I offered him a trotting horse—No hack had ever trotted faster—I also offered him, of course,A rare and curious "old master."

I offered him a trotting horse—

No hack had ever trotted faster—

I also offered him, of course,

A rare and curious "old master."

I offered to procure him weeds—Wines fit for one in his position—But, though an ass in all his deeds,He'd learnt the meaning of "commission."

I offered to procure him weeds—

Wines fit for one in his position—

But, though an ass in all his deeds,

He'd learnt the meaning of "commission."

He called me "thief" the other day,And daily from his door he thrusts me;Much more of this, and soon I mayBegin to think thatBrownmistrusts me.

He called me "thief" the other day,

And daily from his door he thrusts me;

Much more of this, and soon I may

Begin to think thatBrownmistrusts me.

So deaf to all sound Reason's ruleThis poor uneducated clown is,You cannotfancy what a foolPoor rich uneducatedBrownis.

So deaf to all sound Reason's rule

This poor uneducated clown is,

You cannotfancy what a fool

Poor rich uneducatedBrownis.

Theair is charged with amatory numbers—Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers' lays.Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbersThe aching memory of the old, old days?Time was when Love and I were well acquainted;Time was when we walked ever hand in hand;A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted,None better loved than I in all the land!Time was, when maidens of the noblest station,Forsaking even military men,Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration—Ah me, I was a fair young curate then!Had I a headache? sighed the maids assembled;Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear;Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled;And when I coughed all thought the end was near!I had no care—no jealous doubts hung o'er me—For I was loved beyond all other men.Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me—Ah me, I was a pale young curate then!

Theair is charged with amatory numbers—Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers' lays.Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbersThe aching memory of the old, old days?

Theair is charged with amatory numbers—

Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers' lays.

Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers

The aching memory of the old, old days?

Time was when Love and I were well acquainted;Time was when we walked ever hand in hand;A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted,None better loved than I in all the land!Time was, when maidens of the noblest station,Forsaking even military men,Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration—Ah me, I was a fair young curate then!

Time was when Love and I were well acquainted;

Time was when we walked ever hand in hand;

A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted,

None better loved than I in all the land!

Time was, when maidens of the noblest station,

Forsaking even military men,

Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration—

Ah me, I was a fair young curate then!

Had I a headache? sighed the maids assembled;Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear;Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled;And when I coughed all thought the end was near!I had no care—no jealous doubts hung o'er me—For I was loved beyond all other men.Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me—Ah me, I was a pale young curate then!

Had I a headache? sighed the maids assembled;

Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear;

Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled;

And when I coughed all thought the end was near!

I had no care—no jealous doubts hung o'er me—

For I was loved beyond all other men.

Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me—

Ah me, I was a pale young curate then!

Ofall the youths I ever sawNone were so wicked, vain, or silly,So lost to shame and Sabbath lawAs worldlyTom, andBob, andBilly.For every Sabbath day they walked(Such was their gay and thoughtless natur')In parks or gardens, where they talkedFrom three to six, or even later.Sir Macklinwas a priest severeIn conduct and in conversation,It did a sinner good to hearHim deal in ratiocination.He could in every action showSome sin, and nobody could doubt him.He argued high, he argued low,He also argued round about him.He wept to think each thoughtless youthContained of wickedness a skinful,And burnt to teach the awful truth,That walking out on Sunday's sinful."Oh, youths," said he, "I grieve to findThe course of life you've been and hit on—Sit down," said he, "and never mindThe pennies for the chairs you sit on."My opening head is 'Kensington,'How walking there the sinner hardens;Which when I have enlarged upon,I go to 'Secondly'—its Gardens."My 'Thirdly' comprehendeth 'Hyde,'Of Secrecy the guilts and shameses;My 'Fourthly'—'Park'—its verdure wide—My 'Fifthly' comprehends 'St. James's.'"That matter settled I shall reachThe 'Sixthly' in my solemn tether,And show that what is true of each,Is also true of all, together."Then I shall demonstrate to you,According to the rules of Whately.That what is true of all, is trueOf each, considered separately."In lavish stream his accents flow,Tom,Bob, andBillydare not flout him;He argued high, he argued low,He also argued round about him."Ha, ha!" he said, "you loathe your ways,Repentance on your souls is dawning,In agony your hands you raise."(And so they did, for they were yawning.)To "Twenty-firstly" on they go,The lads do not attempt to scout him;He argued high, he argued low,He also argued round about him."Ho, ho!" he cries, "you bow your crests—My eloquence has set you weeping;In shame you bend upon your breasts!"(They bent their heads, for they were sleeping.)He proved them this—he proved them that—This good but wearisome ascetic;He jumped and thumped upon his hat,He was so very energetic.His bishop at this moment chancedTo pass, and found the road encumbered;He noticed how the Churchman danced,And how his congregation slumbered.The hundred and eleventh headThe priest completed of his stricture;"Oh, bosh!" the worthy bishop said,And walked him off, as in the picture.

Ofall the youths I ever sawNone were so wicked, vain, or silly,So lost to shame and Sabbath lawAs worldlyTom, andBob, andBilly.

Ofall the youths I ever saw

None were so wicked, vain, or silly,

So lost to shame and Sabbath law

As worldlyTom, andBob, andBilly.

For every Sabbath day they walked(Such was their gay and thoughtless natur')In parks or gardens, where they talkedFrom three to six, or even later.

For every Sabbath day they walked

(Such was their gay and thoughtless natur')

In parks or gardens, where they talked

From three to six, or even later.

Sir Macklinwas a priest severeIn conduct and in conversation,It did a sinner good to hearHim deal in ratiocination.

Sir Macklinwas a priest severe

In conduct and in conversation,

It did a sinner good to hear

Him deal in ratiocination.

He could in every action showSome sin, and nobody could doubt him.He argued high, he argued low,He also argued round about him.

He could in every action show

Some sin, and nobody could doubt him.

He argued high, he argued low,

He also argued round about him.

He wept to think each thoughtless youthContained of wickedness a skinful,And burnt to teach the awful truth,That walking out on Sunday's sinful.

He wept to think each thoughtless youth

Contained of wickedness a skinful,

And burnt to teach the awful truth,

That walking out on Sunday's sinful.

"Oh, youths," said he, "I grieve to findThe course of life you've been and hit on—Sit down," said he, "and never mindThe pennies for the chairs you sit on.

"Oh, youths," said he, "I grieve to find

The course of life you've been and hit on—

Sit down," said he, "and never mind

The pennies for the chairs you sit on.

"My opening head is 'Kensington,'How walking there the sinner hardens;Which when I have enlarged upon,I go to 'Secondly'—its Gardens.

"My opening head is 'Kensington,'

How walking there the sinner hardens;

Which when I have enlarged upon,

I go to 'Secondly'—its Gardens.

"My 'Thirdly' comprehendeth 'Hyde,'Of Secrecy the guilts and shameses;My 'Fourthly'—'Park'—its verdure wide—My 'Fifthly' comprehends 'St. James's.'

"My 'Thirdly' comprehendeth 'Hyde,'

Of Secrecy the guilts and shameses;

My 'Fourthly'—'Park'—its verdure wide—

My 'Fifthly' comprehends 'St. James's.'

"That matter settled I shall reachThe 'Sixthly' in my solemn tether,And show that what is true of each,Is also true of all, together.

"That matter settled I shall reach

The 'Sixthly' in my solemn tether,

And show that what is true of each,

Is also true of all, together.

"Then I shall demonstrate to you,According to the rules of Whately.That what is true of all, is trueOf each, considered separately."

"Then I shall demonstrate to you,

According to the rules of Whately.

That what is true of all, is true

Of each, considered separately."

In lavish stream his accents flow,Tom,Bob, andBillydare not flout him;He argued high, he argued low,He also argued round about him.

In lavish stream his accents flow,

Tom,Bob, andBillydare not flout him;

He argued high, he argued low,

He also argued round about him.

"Ha, ha!" he said, "you loathe your ways,Repentance on your souls is dawning,In agony your hands you raise."(And so they did, for they were yawning.)

"Ha, ha!" he said, "you loathe your ways,

Repentance on your souls is dawning,

In agony your hands you raise."

(And so they did, for they were yawning.)

To "Twenty-firstly" on they go,The lads do not attempt to scout him;He argued high, he argued low,He also argued round about him.

To "Twenty-firstly" on they go,

The lads do not attempt to scout him;

He argued high, he argued low,

He also argued round about him.

"Ho, ho!" he cries, "you bow your crests—My eloquence has set you weeping;In shame you bend upon your breasts!"(They bent their heads, for they were sleeping.)

"Ho, ho!" he cries, "you bow your crests—

My eloquence has set you weeping;

In shame you bend upon your breasts!"

(They bent their heads, for they were sleeping.)

He proved them this—he proved them that—This good but wearisome ascetic;He jumped and thumped upon his hat,He was so very energetic.

He proved them this—he proved them that—

This good but wearisome ascetic;

He jumped and thumped upon his hat,

He was so very energetic.

His bishop at this moment chancedTo pass, and found the road encumbered;He noticed how the Churchman danced,And how his congregation slumbered.

His bishop at this moment chanced

To pass, and found the road encumbered;

He noticed how the Churchman danced,

And how his congregation slumbered.

The hundred and eleventh headThe priest completed of his stricture;"Oh, bosh!" the worthy bishop said,And walked him off, as in the picture.

The hundred and eleventh head

The priest completed of his stricture;

"Oh, bosh!" the worthy bishop said,

And walked him off, as in the picture.

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