THE CUNNING WOMAN

Fearno unlicensed entry,Heed no bombastic talk,While guards the British SentryPall Mall and Birdcage Walk.Let European thundersOccasion no alarms,Though diplomatic blundersMay cause a cry "To arms!"Sleep on, ye pale civilians;All thunder-clouds defy:On Europe's countless millionsThe Sentry keeps his eye!Should foreign-born rapscallionsIn London dare to showTheir overgrown battalions,Be sure I'll let you know.Should Russians or NorwegiansPollute our favoured climeWith rough barbaric legions,I'll mention it in time.So sleep in peace, civilians,The Continent defy;While on its countless millionsThe Sentry keeps his eye!THE CUNNING WOMANOnall Arcadia's sunny plain,On all Arcadia's hill,None were so blithe asBillandJane,So blithe asJaneandBill.No social earthquake e'er occurredTo rack their common mind:To them a Panic was a word—A Crisis, empty wind.No Stock Exchange disturbed the ladWith overwhelming shocks—Billploughed with all the shares he had,Janeplanted all her stocks.And learn in what a simple wayTheir pleasures they enhanced—Janedanced like any lamb all day,Billpiped as well as danced.Surrounded by a twittling crew,Of linnet, lark, and thrush,Billtreated his young lady toThis sentimental gush:"Oh,Jane, how true I am to you!How true you are to me!And how we woo, and how we coo!So fond a pair are we!"To think, dearJane, that anyways,Your chiefest end and aimIs, one of these fine summer days,To bear my humble name!"QuothJane, "Well, as you put the case,I'm true enough, no doubt,But then, you see, in this here placeThere's none to cut you out."But, oh! if anybody came—A Lord or any such—I do not think your humble nameWould fascinate me much."For though your mates, you often boastYou distance out-and-out;Still, in the abstract, you're a mostUncompromising lout!"PoorBill, he gave a heavy sigh,He tried in vain to speak—A fat tear started to each eyeAnd coursed adown each cheek.For, oh! right well in truth he knewThat very self-same day,TheLord de Jacob PillalooWas coming there to stay!TheLord de Jacob PillalooAll proper maidens shun—He loves all women, it is true,But never marries one.NowJane, with all her mad self-will,Was no coquette—oh no!She really loved her faithfulBill,And thus she tuned her woe:"Oh, willow, willow, o'er the lea!And willow once again!The Peer will fall in love with me!Why wasn't I made plain?"A cunning woman lived hard by,A sorceressing dame,MacCatacomb de Salmon-EyeWas her uncommon name.To her goodJane, with kindly yearnForBill'sincreasing pain,Repaired in secrecy to learnHow best to make her plain."Oh,Jane," the worthy woman said,"This mystic phial keep,And rub its liquor in your headBefore you go to sleep."When you awake next day, I trow,You'll look in form and hueTo others just as you do now—Butnot toPillaloo!"When you approach him, you will findHe'll think you coarse—unkempt—And rudely bid you get behind,With undisguised contempt."TheLord de PillalooarrivedWith his expensive train,And when in state serenely hived,He sent forBillandJane."Oh, spare her,Lord of Pillaloo!(SaidBill) if wed you be,There's anythingI'drather doThan flirt withLady P."The Lord he gazed in Jenny's eyes,He looked her through and through:The cunning woman's propheciesWere clearly coming true.Lord Pillaloo, the Rustic's Bane(Bad person he, and proud),He laughed Ha! ha! at prettyJane,And sneered at her aloud!He bade her get behind him then,And seek her mother's stye—Yet to her native countrymenShe was as fair as aye!MacCatacomb, continue green!Grow,Salmon-Eye, in might,Except for you, there might have beenThe deuce's own delight!THE LOVE-SICK BOYWhenfirst my old, old love I knew,My bosom welled with joy;My riches at her feet I threw;I was a love-sick boy!No terms seemed too extravagantUpon her to employ—I used to mope, and sigh, and pant,Just like a love-sick boy!But joy incessant palls the sense;And love unchanged will cloy,And she became a bore intenseUnto her love-sick boy?With fitful glimmer burnt my flame.And I grew cold and coy,At last, one morning, I becameAnother's love-sick boy!PHRENOLOGY"Come, collar this bad man—Around the throat he knotted meTill I to choke began—In point of fact, garrotted me!"So spakeSir Herbert WhiteToJames, Policeman Thirty-two—All ruffled with his fightSir Herbertwas, and dirty too.Policeman nothing said(Though he had much to say on it),But from the bad man's headHe took the cap that lay on it."No, greatSir Herbert White—Impossible to take him up.This man is honest quite—Wherever did you rake him up?"For Burglars, Thieves, and Co.,Indeed I'm no apologist;But I, some years ago,Assisted a Phrenologist."Observe his various bumps,His head as I uncover it;His morals lie in lumpsAll round about and over it.""Now take him," saidSir White,"Or you will soon be rueing it;Bless me! I must be right,—I caught the fellow doing it!"Policeman calmly smiled,"Indeed you are mistaken, sir,You're agitated—riled—And very badly shaken, sir."Sit down, and I'll explainMy system of Phrenology,A second, please, remain"—(A second is horology).Policeman left his beat—(The Bart., no longer furious,Sat down upon a seat,Observing, "This is curious!")"Oh, surely here are signsShould soften your rigidity,This gentleman combinesPoliteness with timidity."Of Shyness here's a lump—A hole for Animosity—And like my fist his bumpOf Generenerosity."Just here the bump appearsOf Innocent Hilarity,And just behind his earAre Faith, and Hope, and Charity."He of true Christian waysAs bright example sent us is—This maxim he obeys,'Sorte tuâ contentus sis.'"There, let him go his ways,He needs no stern admonishing."The Bart., in blank amaze,Exclaimed, "This is astonishing!"Imusthave made a mull,This matter I've been blind in it:Examine, please,myskull,And tell me what you find in it."Policeman looked, and said,With unimpaired urbanity,"Sir Herbert, you've a headThat teems with inhumanity."Here's Murder, Envy, Strife(Propensity to kill any),And Lies as large as life,And heaps of Social Villainy:"Here's Love of Bran New Clothes,Embezzling—Arson—Deism—A taste for Slang and Oaths,And Fraudulent Trusteeism."Here's Love of Groundless Charge—Here's Malice, too, and Trickery,Unusually largeYour bump of Pocket-Pickery——""Stop!" said the Bart., "my cupIs full—I'm worse than him in all—Policeman, take me up—No doubt I am some criminal!"That Policeman's scorn grew large(Phrenology had nettled it),He took that Bart. in charge—I don't know how they settled it.POETRY EVERYWHEREWhattime the poet hath hymnedThe writhing maid, lithe-limbed,Quivering on amaranthine asphodel,How can he paint her woes,Knowing, as well he knows,That all can be set right with calomel?When from the poet's plinthThe amorous colocynthYearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous thrills,How can he hymn their throesKnowing, as well he knows,That they are only uncompounded pills?Is it, and can it be,Nature hath this decree,Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell?Or that in all her worksSomething poetic lurks,Even in colocynth and calomel?THE FAIRY CURATEOncea fairyLight and airyMarried with a mortal;Men, however,Never, neverPass the fairy portal.Slyly stealing,She to EalingMade a daily journey;There she found him,Clients round him(He was an attorney).Long they tarried,Then they married.When the ceremonyOnce was ended,Off they wendedOn their moon of honey.Twelvemonth, maybe,Saw a baby(Friends performed an orgie)Much they prized him,And baptized himBy the name ofGeorgie.Georgiegrew up;Then he flew upTo his fairy mother.Happy meetingPleasant greeting—Kissing one another."Choose a callingMost enthralling,I sincerely urge ye.""Mother," said he(Rev'rence made he),"I would join the clergy""Give permissionIn addition—Pa will let me do it:There's a livingIn his giving,He'll appoint me to it.Dreams of coff'ringEaster off'ring,Tithe and rent and pew-rate,So inflame me(Do not blame me),That I'll be a curate."She, with pleasure,Said, "My treasure,Tis my wish precisely.Do your duty,There's a beauty;You have chosen wisely.Tell your fatherI would ratherAs a churchman rank you.You, in clover,I'll watch over."Georgiesaid, "Oh, thank you!"Georgiescudded,Went and studied,Made all preparations,And with credit(Though he said it)Passed examinations.(Do not quarrel)With him, moralScrupulous digestions—But his mother,And no other,Answered all the questions.Time proceeded;Little neededGeorgieadmonition:He, elated,VindicatedClergyman's position.People round himAlways found himPlain and unpretending;Kindly teaching,Plainly preaching—All his money lending.So the fairy,Wise and wary,Felt no sorrow rising—No occasionFor persuasion,Warning, or advising.He, resumingFairy pluming(That's not English, is it?)Oft would fly up,To the sky up,Pay mamma a visit.Time progressing,Georgie'sblessingGrew more Ritualistic—Popish scandals,Tonsures—sandals—Genuflections mystic;Gushing meetings—Bosom-beatings—Heavenly ecstatics—Broidered spencers—Copes and censers—Rochets and dalmatics.This quandaryVexed the fairy—Flew she down to Ealing."Georgie, stop it!Pray you, drop it;Hark to my appealing:To this foolishPapal rule-ishTwaddle put an ending;This a swerve isFrom our ServicePlain and unpretending."He, replying,Answered, sighing,Hawing, hemming, humming,"It's a pity—They're so pritty;Yet in mode becoming,Mother tender,I'll surrender—I'll be unaffected—"Then his BishopIntohisshopEntered unexpected:"Who is this, sir,—Ballet miss, sir?"Said the Bishop coldly."'Tis my mother,And no other,"Georgieanswered boldly."Go along, sir!You are wrong, sir,You have years in plenty;While this hussy(Gracious mussy!)Isn't two-and-twenty!"(Fairies cleverNever, neverGrow in visage older;And the fairy,All unwary,Leant upon his shoulder!)Bishop grieved him,Disbelieved him,Georgethe point grew warm on;Changed religion,Like a pigeon,[11]And became a Mormon.[11]"Like a Bird."HE LOVES!Heloves! If in the bygone yearsThine eyes have ever shedTears—bitter, unavailing tears,For one untimely dead—If in the eventide of lifeSad thoughts of her arise,Then let the memory of thy wifePlead for my boy—he dies!He dies! If fondly laid asideIn some old cabinet,Memorials of thy long-dead brideLie, dearly treasured yet,Then let her hallowed bridal dress—Her little dainty gloves—Her withered flowers—her faded tress—Plead for my boy—he loves!THE WAY OF WOOINGA maidensat at her window wide,Pretty enough for a prince's bride,Yet nobody came to claim her.She sat like a beautiful picture there,With pretty bluebells and roses fair,And jasmine leaves to frame her.And why she sat there nobody knows;But thus she sang as she plucked a rose,The leaves around her strewing:"I've time to lose and power to choose;'Tis not so much the gallant who woosAs the gallant's way of wooing!"A lover came riding by awhile,A wealthy lover was he, whose smileSome maids would value greatly—A formal lover, who bowed and bent,With many a high-flown compliment,And cold demeanour stately."You've still," said she to her suitor stern,"The 'prentice-work of your craft to learn.If thus you come a-cooing.I've time to lose and power to choose;'Tis not so much the gallant who woosAs the gallant's way of wooing!"A second lover came ambling by—A timid lad with a frightened eyeAnd a colour mantling highly.He muttered the errand on which he'd come,Then only chuckled and bit his thumb,And simpered, simpered shyly."No," said the maiden, "go your way,You dare but think what a man would say,Yet dare come a-suing!I've time to lose and power to choose;'Tis not so much the gallant who woosAs the gallant's way of wooing!"A third rode up at a startling pace—A suitor poor, with a homely face—No doubts appeared to bind him.He kissed her lips and he pressed her waist,And off he rode with the maiden, placedOn a pillion safe behind him.And she heard the suitor bold confideThis golden hint to the priest who tiedThe knot there's no undoing:"With pretty young maidens who can choose"Tis not so much the gallant who woosAs the gallant's way of wooing!"TRUE DIFFIDENCEMyboy, you may take it from me,That of all the afflictions accurstWith which a man's saddledAnd hampered and addled,A diffident nature's the worst.Though clever as clever can be—A Crichton of early romance—You must stir it and stump it,And blow your own trumpet,Or, trust me, you haven't a chance.Now take, for example,mycase:I've a bright intellectual brain—-In all London cityThere's no one so witty—I've thought so again and again.I've a highly intelligent face—My features can not be denied—But, whatever I try, sir,I fail in—and why, sir?I'm modesty personified!As a poet, I'm tender and quaint—I've passion and fervour and grace—From Ovid and HoraceTo Swinburne and Morris,They all of them take a back place.Then I sing and I play and I paint;Though none are accomplished as ITo say so were treason:You ask me the reason?I'm diffident, modest, and shy!HONGREE AND MAHRYA RICHARDSONIAN MELODRAMAThesun was setting in its wonted west,WhenHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,MetMahry Daubigny, the Village Rose,Under the Wizard's Oak—old trysting-placeOf those who loved in rosy Aquitaine.They thought themselves unwatched, but they were notForHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Found inLieutenant-Colonel Jooles DuboscA rival, envious and unscrupulous,Who thought it not foul scorn to dog his steps,And listen, unperceived, to all that passedBetween the simple little Village RoseAndHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.A clumsy barrack-bully wasDubosc,Quite unfamiliar with the well-bred tactThat actuates a proper gentlemanIn dealing with a girl of humble rank.You'll understand his coarseness when I sayHe would have marriedMahry Daubigny,And dragged the unsophisticated girlInto the whirl of fashionable life,For which her singularly rustic ways,Her breeding (moral, but extremely rude),Her language (chaste, but ungrammatical),Would absolutely have unfitted her.No such intention lurked within the breastOfHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores!Contemporary with the incidentRelated in our opening paragraph,Was that sad war 'twixt Gallia and ourselvesThat followed on the treaty signed at Troyes;And soLieutenant-Colonel Jooles Dubosc(Brave soldier, he, with all his faults of style)AndHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Were sent byCharlesof France against the linesOf our SixthHenry(Fourteen twenty-nine),To drive his legions out of Aquitaine.WhenHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Returned (suspecting nothing) to his camp,After his meeting with the Village Rose,He found inside his barrack letter-boxA note from the commanding-officer,Requiring his attendance at headquarters.He went, and foundLieutenant-Colonel Jooles."YoungHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,This night we shall attack the English camp:Be the 'forlorn hope' yours—you'll lead it sir,And lead it too with credit, I've no doubt"(These last words with a cruelly obvious sneer)."As every soul must certainly be killed(For you are twenty 'gainst two thousand men),It is not likely that you will return;But what of that? you'll have the benefitOf knowing that you die a soldier's death."Obedience was youngHongree'sstrongest point,But he imagined that he only owedAllegiance to hisMahryand his King."IfMahrybade me lead these fated men,I'd lead them—but I do not think she would.IfCharles, my King, said, 'Go, my son, and die,'I'd go, of course—my duty would be clear.ButMahryis in bed asleep (I hope),AndCharles, my King, a hundred leagues from this,As forLieutenant-Colonel Jooles Dubosc,How know I that our monarch would approveThe order he has given me to-night?My King I've sworn in all things to obey—I'll only take my orders from my King!"ThusHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Interpreted the terms of his commission.AndHongree, who was wise as he was good,Disguised himself that night in ample cloak,Round flapping hat, and visor mask of black,And made, unnoticed, for the English camp.He passed the unsuspecting sentinels(Who little thought a man in this disguiseCould be a proper object of suspicion),And ere the curfew-bell had boomed "lights out,"He found in audience Bedford's haughty Duke."Your Grace," he said, "start not—be not alarmed,Although a Frenchman stands before your eyes.I'mHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.My colonel will attack your camp to-night,And orders me to lead the hope forlorn.Now I am sure our excellentKing CharlesWould not approve of this; but he's awayA hundred leagues, and rather more than that.So, utterly devoted to my King,Blinded by my attachment to the throne,And having but its interest at heart,I feel it is my duty to discloseAll schemes that emanate fromColonel Jooles,If I believe that they are not the kindOf schemes that our good monarch could approve.""But how," said Bedford's Duke, "do you proposeThat we should overthrow your colonel's scheme?"AndHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Replied at once with never-failing tact:"Oh, sir, I know this cursed country well.Entrust yourself and all your host to me;I'll lead you safely by a secret pathInto the heart ofColonel Jooles' array,And you can then attack them unprepared,And slay my fellow-countrymen unarmed."The thing was done. TheDuke of BedfordgaveThe order, and two thousand fighting-menCrept silently into the Gallic camp,And killed the Frenchmen as they lay asleep;And Bedford's haughty Duke slewColonel Jooles,And marriedMahry, pride of Aquitaine,ToHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.THE TANGLED SKEINTrywe life-long, we can neverStraighten out life's tangled skein,Why should we, in vain endeavour,Guess and guess and guess again?Life's a pudding full of plums,Care's a canker that benumbs,Wherefore waste our elocutionOn impossible solution?Life's a pleasant institution,Let us take it as it comes!Set aside the dull enigma,We shall guess it all too soon;Failure brings no kind of stigma—Dance we to another tune!String the lyre and fill the cup,Lest on sorrow we should sup;Hop and skip to Fancy's fiddle,Hands across and down the middle—Life's perhaps the only riddleThat we shrink from giving up!THE REVEREND MICAH SOWLS

Fearno unlicensed entry,

Heed no bombastic talk,

While guards the British Sentry

Pall Mall and Birdcage Walk.

Let European thunders

Occasion no alarms,

Though diplomatic blunders

May cause a cry "To arms!"

Sleep on, ye pale civilians;

All thunder-clouds defy:

On Europe's countless millions

The Sentry keeps his eye!

Should foreign-born rapscallionsIn London dare to showTheir overgrown battalions,Be sure I'll let you know.Should Russians or NorwegiansPollute our favoured climeWith rough barbaric legions,I'll mention it in time.So sleep in peace, civilians,The Continent defy;While on its countless millionsThe Sentry keeps his eye!

Should foreign-born rapscallions

In London dare to show

Their overgrown battalions,

Be sure I'll let you know.

Should Russians or Norwegians

Pollute our favoured clime

With rough barbaric legions,

I'll mention it in time.

So sleep in peace, civilians,

The Continent defy;

While on its countless millions

The Sentry keeps his eye!

Onall Arcadia's sunny plain,On all Arcadia's hill,None were so blithe asBillandJane,So blithe asJaneandBill.No social earthquake e'er occurredTo rack their common mind:To them a Panic was a word—A Crisis, empty wind.No Stock Exchange disturbed the ladWith overwhelming shocks—Billploughed with all the shares he had,Janeplanted all her stocks.And learn in what a simple wayTheir pleasures they enhanced—Janedanced like any lamb all day,Billpiped as well as danced.Surrounded by a twittling crew,Of linnet, lark, and thrush,Billtreated his young lady toThis sentimental gush:"Oh,Jane, how true I am to you!How true you are to me!And how we woo, and how we coo!So fond a pair are we!"To think, dearJane, that anyways,Your chiefest end and aimIs, one of these fine summer days,To bear my humble name!"QuothJane, "Well, as you put the case,I'm true enough, no doubt,But then, you see, in this here placeThere's none to cut you out."But, oh! if anybody came—A Lord or any such—I do not think your humble nameWould fascinate me much."For though your mates, you often boastYou distance out-and-out;Still, in the abstract, you're a mostUncompromising lout!"PoorBill, he gave a heavy sigh,He tried in vain to speak—A fat tear started to each eyeAnd coursed adown each cheek.For, oh! right well in truth he knewThat very self-same day,TheLord de Jacob PillalooWas coming there to stay!TheLord de Jacob PillalooAll proper maidens shun—He loves all women, it is true,But never marries one.NowJane, with all her mad self-will,Was no coquette—oh no!She really loved her faithfulBill,And thus she tuned her woe:"Oh, willow, willow, o'er the lea!And willow once again!The Peer will fall in love with me!Why wasn't I made plain?"A cunning woman lived hard by,A sorceressing dame,MacCatacomb de Salmon-EyeWas her uncommon name.To her goodJane, with kindly yearnForBill'sincreasing pain,Repaired in secrecy to learnHow best to make her plain."Oh,Jane," the worthy woman said,"This mystic phial keep,And rub its liquor in your headBefore you go to sleep."When you awake next day, I trow,You'll look in form and hueTo others just as you do now—Butnot toPillaloo!"When you approach him, you will findHe'll think you coarse—unkempt—And rudely bid you get behind,With undisguised contempt."TheLord de PillalooarrivedWith his expensive train,And when in state serenely hived,He sent forBillandJane."Oh, spare her,Lord of Pillaloo!(SaidBill) if wed you be,There's anythingI'drather doThan flirt withLady P."The Lord he gazed in Jenny's eyes,He looked her through and through:The cunning woman's propheciesWere clearly coming true.Lord Pillaloo, the Rustic's Bane(Bad person he, and proud),He laughed Ha! ha! at prettyJane,And sneered at her aloud!He bade her get behind him then,And seek her mother's stye—Yet to her native countrymenShe was as fair as aye!MacCatacomb, continue green!Grow,Salmon-Eye, in might,Except for you, there might have beenThe deuce's own delight!

Onall Arcadia's sunny plain,On all Arcadia's hill,None were so blithe asBillandJane,So blithe asJaneandBill.

Onall Arcadia's sunny plain,

On all Arcadia's hill,

None were so blithe asBillandJane,

So blithe asJaneandBill.

No social earthquake e'er occurredTo rack their common mind:To them a Panic was a word—A Crisis, empty wind.

No social earthquake e'er occurred

To rack their common mind:

To them a Panic was a word—

A Crisis, empty wind.

No Stock Exchange disturbed the ladWith overwhelming shocks—Billploughed with all the shares he had,Janeplanted all her stocks.

No Stock Exchange disturbed the lad

With overwhelming shocks—

Billploughed with all the shares he had,

Janeplanted all her stocks.

And learn in what a simple wayTheir pleasures they enhanced—Janedanced like any lamb all day,Billpiped as well as danced.

And learn in what a simple way

Their pleasures they enhanced—

Janedanced like any lamb all day,

Billpiped as well as danced.

Surrounded by a twittling crew,Of linnet, lark, and thrush,Billtreated his young lady toThis sentimental gush:

Surrounded by a twittling crew,

Of linnet, lark, and thrush,

Billtreated his young lady to

This sentimental gush:

"Oh,Jane, how true I am to you!How true you are to me!And how we woo, and how we coo!So fond a pair are we!

"Oh,Jane, how true I am to you!

How true you are to me!

And how we woo, and how we coo!

So fond a pair are we!

"To think, dearJane, that anyways,Your chiefest end and aimIs, one of these fine summer days,To bear my humble name!"

"To think, dearJane, that anyways,

Your chiefest end and aim

Is, one of these fine summer days,

To bear my humble name!"

QuothJane, "Well, as you put the case,I'm true enough, no doubt,But then, you see, in this here placeThere's none to cut you out.

QuothJane, "Well, as you put the case,

I'm true enough, no doubt,

But then, you see, in this here place

There's none to cut you out.

"But, oh! if anybody came—A Lord or any such—I do not think your humble nameWould fascinate me much.

"But, oh! if anybody came—

A Lord or any such—

I do not think your humble name

Would fascinate me much.

"For though your mates, you often boastYou distance out-and-out;Still, in the abstract, you're a mostUncompromising lout!"

"For though your mates, you often boast

You distance out-and-out;

Still, in the abstract, you're a most

Uncompromising lout!"

PoorBill, he gave a heavy sigh,He tried in vain to speak—A fat tear started to each eyeAnd coursed adown each cheek.

PoorBill, he gave a heavy sigh,

He tried in vain to speak—

A fat tear started to each eye

And coursed adown each cheek.

For, oh! right well in truth he knewThat very self-same day,TheLord de Jacob PillalooWas coming there to stay!

For, oh! right well in truth he knew

That very self-same day,

TheLord de Jacob Pillaloo

Was coming there to stay!

TheLord de Jacob PillalooAll proper maidens shun—He loves all women, it is true,But never marries one.

TheLord de Jacob Pillaloo

All proper maidens shun—

He loves all women, it is true,

But never marries one.

NowJane, with all her mad self-will,Was no coquette—oh no!She really loved her faithfulBill,And thus she tuned her woe:

NowJane, with all her mad self-will,

Was no coquette—oh no!

She really loved her faithfulBill,

And thus she tuned her woe:

"Oh, willow, willow, o'er the lea!And willow once again!The Peer will fall in love with me!Why wasn't I made plain?"

"Oh, willow, willow, o'er the lea!

And willow once again!

The Peer will fall in love with me!

Why wasn't I made plain?"

A cunning woman lived hard by,A sorceressing dame,MacCatacomb de Salmon-EyeWas her uncommon name.

A cunning woman lived hard by,

A sorceressing dame,

MacCatacomb de Salmon-Eye

Was her uncommon name.

To her goodJane, with kindly yearnForBill'sincreasing pain,Repaired in secrecy to learnHow best to make her plain.

To her goodJane, with kindly yearn

ForBill'sincreasing pain,

Repaired in secrecy to learn

How best to make her plain.

"Oh,Jane," the worthy woman said,"This mystic phial keep,And rub its liquor in your headBefore you go to sleep.

"Oh,Jane," the worthy woman said,

"This mystic phial keep,

And rub its liquor in your head

Before you go to sleep.

"When you awake next day, I trow,You'll look in form and hueTo others just as you do now—Butnot toPillaloo!

"When you awake next day, I trow,

You'll look in form and hue

To others just as you do now—But

not toPillaloo!

"When you approach him, you will findHe'll think you coarse—unkempt—And rudely bid you get behind,With undisguised contempt."

"When you approach him, you will find

He'll think you coarse—unkempt—

And rudely bid you get behind,

With undisguised contempt."

TheLord de PillalooarrivedWith his expensive train,And when in state serenely hived,He sent forBillandJane.

TheLord de Pillalooarrived

With his expensive train,

And when in state serenely hived,

He sent forBillandJane.

"Oh, spare her,Lord of Pillaloo!(SaidBill) if wed you be,There's anythingI'drather doThan flirt withLady P."

"Oh, spare her,Lord of Pillaloo!

(SaidBill) if wed you be,

There's anythingI'drather do

Than flirt withLady P."

The Lord he gazed in Jenny's eyes,He looked her through and through:The cunning woman's propheciesWere clearly coming true.

The Lord he gazed in Jenny's eyes,

He looked her through and through:

The cunning woman's prophecies

Were clearly coming true.

Lord Pillaloo, the Rustic's Bane(Bad person he, and proud),He laughed Ha! ha! at prettyJane,And sneered at her aloud!

Lord Pillaloo, the Rustic's Bane

(Bad person he, and proud),

He laughed Ha! ha! at prettyJane,

And sneered at her aloud!

He bade her get behind him then,And seek her mother's stye—Yet to her native countrymenShe was as fair as aye!

He bade her get behind him then,

And seek her mother's stye—

Yet to her native countrymen

She was as fair as aye!

MacCatacomb, continue green!Grow,Salmon-Eye, in might,Except for you, there might have beenThe deuce's own delight!

MacCatacomb, continue green!

Grow,Salmon-Eye, in might,

Except for you, there might have been

The deuce's own delight!

Whenfirst my old, old love I knew,My bosom welled with joy;My riches at her feet I threw;I was a love-sick boy!No terms seemed too extravagantUpon her to employ—I used to mope, and sigh, and pant,Just like a love-sick boy!But joy incessant palls the sense;And love unchanged will cloy,And she became a bore intenseUnto her love-sick boy?With fitful glimmer burnt my flame.And I grew cold and coy,At last, one morning, I becameAnother's love-sick boy!

Whenfirst my old, old love I knew,

My bosom welled with joy;

My riches at her feet I threw;

I was a love-sick boy!

No terms seemed too extravagant

Upon her to employ—

I used to mope, and sigh, and pant,

Just like a love-sick boy!

But joy incessant palls the sense;And love unchanged will cloy,And she became a bore intenseUnto her love-sick boy?With fitful glimmer burnt my flame.And I grew cold and coy,At last, one morning, I becameAnother's love-sick boy!

But joy incessant palls the sense;

And love unchanged will cloy,

And she became a bore intense

Unto her love-sick boy?

With fitful glimmer burnt my flame.

And I grew cold and coy,

At last, one morning, I became

Another's love-sick boy!

"Come, collar this bad man—Around the throat he knotted meTill I to choke began—In point of fact, garrotted me!"So spakeSir Herbert WhiteToJames, Policeman Thirty-two—All ruffled with his fightSir Herbertwas, and dirty too.Policeman nothing said(Though he had much to say on it),But from the bad man's headHe took the cap that lay on it."No, greatSir Herbert White—Impossible to take him up.This man is honest quite—Wherever did you rake him up?"For Burglars, Thieves, and Co.,Indeed I'm no apologist;But I, some years ago,Assisted a Phrenologist."Observe his various bumps,His head as I uncover it;His morals lie in lumpsAll round about and over it.""Now take him," saidSir White,"Or you will soon be rueing it;Bless me! I must be right,—I caught the fellow doing it!"Policeman calmly smiled,"Indeed you are mistaken, sir,You're agitated—riled—And very badly shaken, sir."Sit down, and I'll explainMy system of Phrenology,A second, please, remain"—(A second is horology).Policeman left his beat—(The Bart., no longer furious,Sat down upon a seat,Observing, "This is curious!")"Oh, surely here are signsShould soften your rigidity,This gentleman combinesPoliteness with timidity."Of Shyness here's a lump—A hole for Animosity—And like my fist his bumpOf Generenerosity."Just here the bump appearsOf Innocent Hilarity,And just behind his earAre Faith, and Hope, and Charity."He of true Christian waysAs bright example sent us is—This maxim he obeys,'Sorte tuâ contentus sis.'"There, let him go his ways,He needs no stern admonishing."The Bart., in blank amaze,Exclaimed, "This is astonishing!"Imusthave made a mull,This matter I've been blind in it:Examine, please,myskull,And tell me what you find in it."Policeman looked, and said,With unimpaired urbanity,"Sir Herbert, you've a headThat teems with inhumanity."Here's Murder, Envy, Strife(Propensity to kill any),And Lies as large as life,And heaps of Social Villainy:"Here's Love of Bran New Clothes,Embezzling—Arson—Deism—A taste for Slang and Oaths,And Fraudulent Trusteeism."Here's Love of Groundless Charge—Here's Malice, too, and Trickery,Unusually largeYour bump of Pocket-Pickery——""Stop!" said the Bart., "my cupIs full—I'm worse than him in all—Policeman, take me up—No doubt I am some criminal!"That Policeman's scorn grew large(Phrenology had nettled it),He took that Bart. in charge—I don't know how they settled it.

"Come, collar this bad man—Around the throat he knotted meTill I to choke began—In point of fact, garrotted me!"

"Come, collar this bad man—

Around the throat he knotted me

Till I to choke began—

In point of fact, garrotted me!"

So spakeSir Herbert WhiteToJames, Policeman Thirty-two—All ruffled with his fightSir Herbertwas, and dirty too.

So spakeSir Herbert White

ToJames, Policeman Thirty-two—

All ruffled with his fight

Sir Herbertwas, and dirty too.

Policeman nothing said(Though he had much to say on it),But from the bad man's headHe took the cap that lay on it.

Policeman nothing said

(Though he had much to say on it),

But from the bad man's head

He took the cap that lay on it.

"No, greatSir Herbert White—Impossible to take him up.This man is honest quite—Wherever did you rake him up?

"No, greatSir Herbert White—

Impossible to take him up.

This man is honest quite—

Wherever did you rake him up?

"For Burglars, Thieves, and Co.,Indeed I'm no apologist;But I, some years ago,Assisted a Phrenologist.

"For Burglars, Thieves, and Co.,

Indeed I'm no apologist;

But I, some years ago,

Assisted a Phrenologist.

"Observe his various bumps,His head as I uncover it;His morals lie in lumpsAll round about and over it."

"Observe his various bumps,

His head as I uncover it;

His morals lie in lumps

All round about and over it."

"Now take him," saidSir White,"Or you will soon be rueing it;Bless me! I must be right,—I caught the fellow doing it!"

"Now take him," saidSir White,

"Or you will soon be rueing it;

Bless me! I must be right,—

I caught the fellow doing it!"

Policeman calmly smiled,"Indeed you are mistaken, sir,You're agitated—riled—And very badly shaken, sir.

Policeman calmly smiled,

"Indeed you are mistaken, sir,

You're agitated—riled—

And very badly shaken, sir.

"Sit down, and I'll explainMy system of Phrenology,A second, please, remain"—(A second is horology).

"Sit down, and I'll explain

My system of Phrenology,

A second, please, remain"—

(A second is horology).

Policeman left his beat—(The Bart., no longer furious,Sat down upon a seat,Observing, "This is curious!")

Policeman left his beat—

(The Bart., no longer furious,

Sat down upon a seat,

Observing, "This is curious!")

"Oh, surely here are signsShould soften your rigidity,This gentleman combinesPoliteness with timidity.

"Oh, surely here are signs

Should soften your rigidity,

This gentleman combines

Politeness with timidity.

"Of Shyness here's a lump—A hole for Animosity—And like my fist his bumpOf Generenerosity.

"Of Shyness here's a lump—

A hole for Animosity—

And like my fist his bump

Of Generenerosity.

"Just here the bump appearsOf Innocent Hilarity,And just behind his earAre Faith, and Hope, and Charity.

"Just here the bump appears

Of Innocent Hilarity,

And just behind his ear

Are Faith, and Hope, and Charity.

"He of true Christian waysAs bright example sent us is—This maxim he obeys,'Sorte tuâ contentus sis.'

"He of true Christian ways

As bright example sent us is—

This maxim he obeys,

'Sorte tuâ contentus sis.'

"There, let him go his ways,He needs no stern admonishing."The Bart., in blank amaze,Exclaimed, "This is astonishing!

"There, let him go his ways,

He needs no stern admonishing."

The Bart., in blank amaze,

Exclaimed, "This is astonishing!

"Imusthave made a mull,This matter I've been blind in it:Examine, please,myskull,And tell me what you find in it."

"Imusthave made a mull,

This matter I've been blind in it:

Examine, please,myskull,

And tell me what you find in it."

Policeman looked, and said,With unimpaired urbanity,"Sir Herbert, you've a headThat teems with inhumanity.

Policeman looked, and said,

With unimpaired urbanity,

"Sir Herbert, you've a head

That teems with inhumanity.

"Here's Murder, Envy, Strife(Propensity to kill any),And Lies as large as life,And heaps of Social Villainy:

"Here's Murder, Envy, Strife

(Propensity to kill any),

And Lies as large as life,

And heaps of Social Villainy:

"Here's Love of Bran New Clothes,Embezzling—Arson—Deism—A taste for Slang and Oaths,And Fraudulent Trusteeism.

"Here's Love of Bran New Clothes,

Embezzling—Arson—Deism—

A taste for Slang and Oaths,

And Fraudulent Trusteeism.

"Here's Love of Groundless Charge—Here's Malice, too, and Trickery,Unusually largeYour bump of Pocket-Pickery——"

"Here's Love of Groundless Charge—

Here's Malice, too, and Trickery,

Unusually large

Your bump of Pocket-Pickery——"

"Stop!" said the Bart., "my cupIs full—I'm worse than him in all—Policeman, take me up—No doubt I am some criminal!"

"Stop!" said the Bart., "my cup

Is full—I'm worse than him in all—

Policeman, take me up—

No doubt I am some criminal!"

That Policeman's scorn grew large(Phrenology had nettled it),He took that Bart. in charge—I don't know how they settled it.

That Policeman's scorn grew large

(Phrenology had nettled it),

He took that Bart. in charge—

I don't know how they settled it.

Whattime the poet hath hymnedThe writhing maid, lithe-limbed,Quivering on amaranthine asphodel,How can he paint her woes,Knowing, as well he knows,That all can be set right with calomel?When from the poet's plinthThe amorous colocynthYearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous thrills,How can he hymn their throesKnowing, as well he knows,That they are only uncompounded pills?Is it, and can it be,Nature hath this decree,Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell?Or that in all her worksSomething poetic lurks,Even in colocynth and calomel?

Whattime the poet hath hymnedThe writhing maid, lithe-limbed,Quivering on amaranthine asphodel,How can he paint her woes,Knowing, as well he knows,That all can be set right with calomel?

Whattime the poet hath hymned

The writhing maid, lithe-limbed,

Quivering on amaranthine asphodel,

How can he paint her woes,

Knowing, as well he knows,

That all can be set right with calomel?

When from the poet's plinthThe amorous colocynthYearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous thrills,How can he hymn their throesKnowing, as well he knows,That they are only uncompounded pills?

When from the poet's plinth

The amorous colocynth

Yearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous thrills,

How can he hymn their throes

Knowing, as well he knows,

That they are only uncompounded pills?

Is it, and can it be,Nature hath this decree,Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell?Or that in all her worksSomething poetic lurks,Even in colocynth and calomel?

Is it, and can it be,

Nature hath this decree,

Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell?

Or that in all her works

Something poetic lurks,

Even in colocynth and calomel?

Oncea fairyLight and airyMarried with a mortal;Men, however,Never, neverPass the fairy portal.Slyly stealing,She to EalingMade a daily journey;There she found him,Clients round him(He was an attorney).Long they tarried,Then they married.When the ceremonyOnce was ended,Off they wendedOn their moon of honey.Twelvemonth, maybe,Saw a baby(Friends performed an orgie)Much they prized him,And baptized himBy the name ofGeorgie.Georgiegrew up;Then he flew upTo his fairy mother.Happy meetingPleasant greeting—Kissing one another."Choose a callingMost enthralling,I sincerely urge ye.""Mother," said he(Rev'rence made he),"I would join the clergy""Give permissionIn addition—Pa will let me do it:There's a livingIn his giving,He'll appoint me to it.Dreams of coff'ringEaster off'ring,Tithe and rent and pew-rate,So inflame me(Do not blame me),That I'll be a curate."She, with pleasure,Said, "My treasure,Tis my wish precisely.Do your duty,There's a beauty;You have chosen wisely.Tell your fatherI would ratherAs a churchman rank you.You, in clover,I'll watch over."Georgiesaid, "Oh, thank you!"Georgiescudded,Went and studied,Made all preparations,And with credit(Though he said it)Passed examinations.(Do not quarrel)With him, moralScrupulous digestions—But his mother,And no other,Answered all the questions.Time proceeded;Little neededGeorgieadmonition:He, elated,VindicatedClergyman's position.People round himAlways found himPlain and unpretending;Kindly teaching,Plainly preaching—All his money lending.So the fairy,Wise and wary,Felt no sorrow rising—No occasionFor persuasion,Warning, or advising.He, resumingFairy pluming(That's not English, is it?)Oft would fly up,To the sky up,Pay mamma a visit.Time progressing,Georgie'sblessingGrew more Ritualistic—Popish scandals,Tonsures—sandals—Genuflections mystic;Gushing meetings—Bosom-beatings—Heavenly ecstatics—Broidered spencers—Copes and censers—Rochets and dalmatics.This quandaryVexed the fairy—Flew she down to Ealing."Georgie, stop it!Pray you, drop it;Hark to my appealing:To this foolishPapal rule-ishTwaddle put an ending;This a swerve isFrom our ServicePlain and unpretending."He, replying,Answered, sighing,Hawing, hemming, humming,"It's a pity—They're so pritty;Yet in mode becoming,Mother tender,I'll surrender—I'll be unaffected—"Then his BishopIntohisshopEntered unexpected:"Who is this, sir,—Ballet miss, sir?"Said the Bishop coldly."'Tis my mother,And no other,"Georgieanswered boldly."Go along, sir!You are wrong, sir,You have years in plenty;While this hussy(Gracious mussy!)Isn't two-and-twenty!"(Fairies cleverNever, neverGrow in visage older;And the fairy,All unwary,Leant upon his shoulder!)Bishop grieved him,Disbelieved him,Georgethe point grew warm on;Changed religion,Like a pigeon,[11]And became a Mormon.

Oncea fairy

Light and airy

Married with a mortal;

Men, however,

Never, never

Pass the fairy portal.

Slyly stealing,

She to Ealing

Made a daily journey;

There she found him,

Clients round him

(He was an attorney).

Long they tarried,Then they married.When the ceremonyOnce was ended,Off they wendedOn their moon of honey.

Long they tarried,

Then they married.

When the ceremony

Once was ended,

Off they wended

On their moon of honey.

Twelvemonth, maybe,Saw a baby(Friends performed an orgie)Much they prized him,And baptized himBy the name ofGeorgie.

Twelvemonth, maybe,

Saw a baby

(Friends performed an orgie)

Much they prized him,

And baptized him

By the name ofGeorgie.

Georgiegrew up;Then he flew upTo his fairy mother.Happy meetingPleasant greeting—Kissing one another."Choose a callingMost enthralling,I sincerely urge ye.""Mother," said he(Rev'rence made he),"I would join the clergy"

Georgiegrew up;

Then he flew up

To his fairy mother.

Happy meeting

Pleasant greeting—

Kissing one another.

"Choose a calling

Most enthralling,

I sincerely urge ye."

"Mother," said he

(Rev'rence made he),

"I would join the clergy"

"Give permissionIn addition—Pa will let me do it:There's a livingIn his giving,He'll appoint me to it.Dreams of coff'ringEaster off'ring,Tithe and rent and pew-rate,So inflame me(Do not blame me),That I'll be a curate."

"Give permission

In addition—

Pa will let me do it:

There's a living

In his giving,

He'll appoint me to it.

Dreams of coff'ring

Easter off'ring,

Tithe and rent and pew-rate,

So inflame me

(Do not blame me),

That I'll be a curate."

She, with pleasure,Said, "My treasure,Tis my wish precisely.

She, with pleasure,

Said, "My treasure,

Tis my wish precisely.

Do your duty,There's a beauty;You have chosen wisely.Tell your fatherI would ratherAs a churchman rank you.You, in clover,I'll watch over."Georgiesaid, "Oh, thank you!"

Do your duty,

There's a beauty;

You have chosen wisely.

Tell your father

I would rather

As a churchman rank you.

You, in clover,

I'll watch over."

Georgiesaid, "Oh, thank you!"

Georgiescudded,Went and studied,Made all preparations,And with credit(Though he said it)Passed examinations.(Do not quarrel)With him, moralScrupulous digestions—But his mother,And no other,Answered all the questions.

Georgiescudded,

Went and studied,

Made all preparations,

And with credit

(Though he said it)

Passed examinations.

(Do not quarrel)

With him, moral

Scrupulous digestions—

But his mother,

And no other,

Answered all the questions.

Time proceeded;Little neededGeorgieadmonition:He, elated,VindicatedClergyman's position.People round himAlways found himPlain and unpretending;Kindly teaching,Plainly preaching—All his money lending.

Time proceeded;

Little needed

Georgieadmonition:

He, elated,

Vindicated

Clergyman's position.

People round him

Always found him

Plain and unpretending;

Kindly teaching,

Plainly preaching—

All his money lending.

So the fairy,Wise and wary,Felt no sorrow rising—No occasionFor persuasion,Warning, or advising.He, resumingFairy pluming(That's not English, is it?)

So the fairy,

Wise and wary,

Felt no sorrow rising—

No occasion

For persuasion,

Warning, or advising.

He, resuming

Fairy pluming

(That's not English, is it?)

Oft would fly up,To the sky up,Pay mamma a visit.

Oft would fly up,

To the sky up,

Pay mamma a visit.

Time progressing,Georgie'sblessingGrew more Ritualistic—Popish scandals,Tonsures—sandals—Genuflections mystic;Gushing meetings—Bosom-beatings—Heavenly ecstatics—Broidered spencers—Copes and censers—Rochets and dalmatics.

Time progressing,

Georgie'sblessing

Grew more Ritualistic—

Popish scandals,

Tonsures—sandals—

Genuflections mystic;

Gushing meetings—

Bosom-beatings—

Heavenly ecstatics—

Broidered spencers—

Copes and censers—

Rochets and dalmatics.

This quandaryVexed the fairy—Flew she down to Ealing."Georgie, stop it!Pray you, drop it;Hark to my appealing:To this foolishPapal rule-ishTwaddle put an ending;This a swerve isFrom our ServicePlain and unpretending."

This quandary

Vexed the fairy—

Flew she down to Ealing.

"Georgie, stop it!

Pray you, drop it;

Hark to my appealing:

To this foolish

Papal rule-ish

Twaddle put an ending;

This a swerve is

From our Service

Plain and unpretending."

He, replying,Answered, sighing,Hawing, hemming, humming,

He, replying,

Answered, sighing,

Hawing, hemming, humming,

"It's a pity—They're so pritty;Yet in mode becoming,Mother tender,I'll surrender—I'll be unaffected—"Then his BishopIntohisshopEntered unexpected:

"It's a pity—

They're so pritty;

Yet in mode becoming,

Mother tender,

I'll surrender—

I'll be unaffected—"

Then his Bishop

Intohisshop

Entered unexpected:

"Who is this, sir,—Ballet miss, sir?"Said the Bishop coldly."'Tis my mother,And no other,"Georgieanswered boldly.

"Who is this, sir,—

Ballet miss, sir?"

Said the Bishop coldly.

"'Tis my mother,

And no other,"

Georgieanswered boldly.

"Go along, sir!You are wrong, sir,You have years in plenty;While this hussy(Gracious mussy!)Isn't two-and-twenty!"

"Go along, sir!

You are wrong, sir,

You have years in plenty;

While this hussy

(Gracious mussy!)

Isn't two-and-twenty!"

(Fairies cleverNever, neverGrow in visage older;And the fairy,All unwary,Leant upon his shoulder!)Bishop grieved him,Disbelieved him,Georgethe point grew warm on;Changed religion,Like a pigeon,[11]And became a Mormon.

(Fairies clever

Never, never

Grow in visage older;

And the fairy,

All unwary,

Leant upon his shoulder!)

Bishop grieved him,

Disbelieved him,

Georgethe point grew warm on;

Changed religion,

Like a pigeon,[11]

And became a Mormon.

[11]"Like a Bird."

Heloves! If in the bygone yearsThine eyes have ever shedTears—bitter, unavailing tears,For one untimely dead—If in the eventide of lifeSad thoughts of her arise,Then let the memory of thy wifePlead for my boy—he dies!He dies! If fondly laid asideIn some old cabinet,Memorials of thy long-dead brideLie, dearly treasured yet,Then let her hallowed bridal dress—Her little dainty gloves—Her withered flowers—her faded tress—Plead for my boy—he loves!

Heloves! If in the bygone years

Thine eyes have ever shed

Tears—bitter, unavailing tears,

For one untimely dead—

If in the eventide of life

Sad thoughts of her arise,

Then let the memory of thy wife

Plead for my boy—he dies!

He dies! If fondly laid asideIn some old cabinet,Memorials of thy long-dead brideLie, dearly treasured yet,Then let her hallowed bridal dress—Her little dainty gloves—Her withered flowers—her faded tress—Plead for my boy—he loves!

He dies! If fondly laid aside

In some old cabinet,

Memorials of thy long-dead bride

Lie, dearly treasured yet,

Then let her hallowed bridal dress—

Her little dainty gloves—

Her withered flowers—her faded tress—

Plead for my boy—he loves!

A maidensat at her window wide,Pretty enough for a prince's bride,Yet nobody came to claim her.She sat like a beautiful picture there,With pretty bluebells and roses fair,And jasmine leaves to frame her.And why she sat there nobody knows;But thus she sang as she plucked a rose,The leaves around her strewing:"I've time to lose and power to choose;'Tis not so much the gallant who woosAs the gallant's way of wooing!"A lover came riding by awhile,A wealthy lover was he, whose smileSome maids would value greatly—A formal lover, who bowed and bent,With many a high-flown compliment,And cold demeanour stately."You've still," said she to her suitor stern,"The 'prentice-work of your craft to learn.If thus you come a-cooing.I've time to lose and power to choose;'Tis not so much the gallant who woosAs the gallant's way of wooing!"A second lover came ambling by—A timid lad with a frightened eyeAnd a colour mantling highly.He muttered the errand on which he'd come,Then only chuckled and bit his thumb,And simpered, simpered shyly."No," said the maiden, "go your way,You dare but think what a man would say,Yet dare come a-suing!I've time to lose and power to choose;'Tis not so much the gallant who woosAs the gallant's way of wooing!"A third rode up at a startling pace—A suitor poor, with a homely face—No doubts appeared to bind him.He kissed her lips and he pressed her waist,And off he rode with the maiden, placedOn a pillion safe behind him.And she heard the suitor bold confideThis golden hint to the priest who tiedThe knot there's no undoing:"With pretty young maidens who can choose"Tis not so much the gallant who woosAs the gallant's way of wooing!"

A maidensat at her window wide,

Pretty enough for a prince's bride,

Yet nobody came to claim her.

She sat like a beautiful picture there,

With pretty bluebells and roses fair,

And jasmine leaves to frame her.

And why she sat there nobody knows;

But thus she sang as she plucked a rose,

The leaves around her strewing:

"I've time to lose and power to choose;

'Tis not so much the gallant who woos

As the gallant's way of wooing!"

A lover came riding by awhile,A wealthy lover was he, whose smileSome maids would value greatly—A formal lover, who bowed and bent,With many a high-flown compliment,And cold demeanour stately.

A lover came riding by awhile,

A wealthy lover was he, whose smile

Some maids would value greatly—

A formal lover, who bowed and bent,

With many a high-flown compliment,

And cold demeanour stately.

"You've still," said she to her suitor stern,"The 'prentice-work of your craft to learn.If thus you come a-cooing.I've time to lose and power to choose;'Tis not so much the gallant who woosAs the gallant's way of wooing!"

"You've still," said she to her suitor stern,

"The 'prentice-work of your craft to learn.

If thus you come a-cooing.

I've time to lose and power to choose;

'Tis not so much the gallant who woos

As the gallant's way of wooing!"

A second lover came ambling by—A timid lad with a frightened eyeAnd a colour mantling highly.He muttered the errand on which he'd come,Then only chuckled and bit his thumb,And simpered, simpered shyly."No," said the maiden, "go your way,You dare but think what a man would say,Yet dare come a-suing!I've time to lose and power to choose;'Tis not so much the gallant who woosAs the gallant's way of wooing!"

A second lover came ambling by—

A timid lad with a frightened eye

And a colour mantling highly.

He muttered the errand on which he'd come,

Then only chuckled and bit his thumb,

And simpered, simpered shyly.

"No," said the maiden, "go your way,

You dare but think what a man would say,

Yet dare come a-suing!

I've time to lose and power to choose;

'Tis not so much the gallant who woos

As the gallant's way of wooing!"

A third rode up at a startling pace—A suitor poor, with a homely face—No doubts appeared to bind him.He kissed her lips and he pressed her waist,And off he rode with the maiden, placedOn a pillion safe behind him.

A third rode up at a startling pace—

A suitor poor, with a homely face—

No doubts appeared to bind him.

He kissed her lips and he pressed her waist,

And off he rode with the maiden, placed

On a pillion safe behind him.

And she heard the suitor bold confideThis golden hint to the priest who tiedThe knot there's no undoing:"With pretty young maidens who can choose"Tis not so much the gallant who woosAs the gallant's way of wooing!"

And she heard the suitor bold confide

This golden hint to the priest who tied

The knot there's no undoing:

"With pretty young maidens who can choose

"Tis not so much the gallant who woos

As the gallant's way of wooing!"

Myboy, you may take it from me,That of all the afflictions accurstWith which a man's saddledAnd hampered and addled,A diffident nature's the worst.Though clever as clever can be—A Crichton of early romance—You must stir it and stump it,And blow your own trumpet,Or, trust me, you haven't a chance.Now take, for example,mycase:I've a bright intellectual brain—-In all London cityThere's no one so witty—I've thought so again and again.I've a highly intelligent face—My features can not be denied—But, whatever I try, sir,I fail in—and why, sir?I'm modesty personified!As a poet, I'm tender and quaint—I've passion and fervour and grace—From Ovid and HoraceTo Swinburne and Morris,They all of them take a back place.Then I sing and I play and I paint;Though none are accomplished as ITo say so were treason:You ask me the reason?I'm diffident, modest, and shy!

Myboy, you may take it from me,

That of all the afflictions accurst

With which a man's saddled

And hampered and addled,

A diffident nature's the worst.

Though clever as clever can be—

A Crichton of early romance—

You must stir it and stump it,

And blow your own trumpet,

Or, trust me, you haven't a chance.

Now take, for example,mycase:I've a bright intellectual brain—-In all London cityThere's no one so witty—I've thought so again and again.

Now take, for example,mycase:

I've a bright intellectual brain—-

In all London city

There's no one so witty—

I've thought so again and again.

I've a highly intelligent face—My features can not be denied—But, whatever I try, sir,I fail in—and why, sir?I'm modesty personified!

I've a highly intelligent face—

My features can not be denied—

But, whatever I try, sir,

I fail in—and why, sir?

I'm modesty personified!

As a poet, I'm tender and quaint—I've passion and fervour and grace—From Ovid and HoraceTo Swinburne and Morris,They all of them take a back place.Then I sing and I play and I paint;Though none are accomplished as ITo say so were treason:You ask me the reason?I'm diffident, modest, and shy!

As a poet, I'm tender and quaint—

I've passion and fervour and grace—

From Ovid and Horace

To Swinburne and Morris,

They all of them take a back place.

Then I sing and I play and I paint;

Though none are accomplished as I

To say so were treason:

You ask me the reason?

I'm diffident, modest, and shy!

Thesun was setting in its wonted west,WhenHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,MetMahry Daubigny, the Village Rose,Under the Wizard's Oak—old trysting-placeOf those who loved in rosy Aquitaine.They thought themselves unwatched, but they were notForHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Found inLieutenant-Colonel Jooles DuboscA rival, envious and unscrupulous,Who thought it not foul scorn to dog his steps,And listen, unperceived, to all that passedBetween the simple little Village RoseAndHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.A clumsy barrack-bully wasDubosc,Quite unfamiliar with the well-bred tactThat actuates a proper gentlemanIn dealing with a girl of humble rank.You'll understand his coarseness when I sayHe would have marriedMahry Daubigny,And dragged the unsophisticated girlInto the whirl of fashionable life,For which her singularly rustic ways,Her breeding (moral, but extremely rude),Her language (chaste, but ungrammatical),Would absolutely have unfitted her.No such intention lurked within the breastOfHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores!Contemporary with the incidentRelated in our opening paragraph,Was that sad war 'twixt Gallia and ourselvesThat followed on the treaty signed at Troyes;And soLieutenant-Colonel Jooles Dubosc(Brave soldier, he, with all his faults of style)AndHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Were sent byCharlesof France against the linesOf our SixthHenry(Fourteen twenty-nine),To drive his legions out of Aquitaine.WhenHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Returned (suspecting nothing) to his camp,After his meeting with the Village Rose,He found inside his barrack letter-boxA note from the commanding-officer,Requiring his attendance at headquarters.He went, and foundLieutenant-Colonel Jooles."YoungHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,This night we shall attack the English camp:Be the 'forlorn hope' yours—you'll lead it sir,And lead it too with credit, I've no doubt"(These last words with a cruelly obvious sneer)."As every soul must certainly be killed(For you are twenty 'gainst two thousand men),It is not likely that you will return;But what of that? you'll have the benefitOf knowing that you die a soldier's death."Obedience was youngHongree'sstrongest point,But he imagined that he only owedAllegiance to hisMahryand his King."IfMahrybade me lead these fated men,I'd lead them—but I do not think she would.IfCharles, my King, said, 'Go, my son, and die,'I'd go, of course—my duty would be clear.ButMahryis in bed asleep (I hope),AndCharles, my King, a hundred leagues from this,As forLieutenant-Colonel Jooles Dubosc,How know I that our monarch would approveThe order he has given me to-night?My King I've sworn in all things to obey—I'll only take my orders from my King!"ThusHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Interpreted the terms of his commission.AndHongree, who was wise as he was good,Disguised himself that night in ample cloak,Round flapping hat, and visor mask of black,And made, unnoticed, for the English camp.He passed the unsuspecting sentinels(Who little thought a man in this disguiseCould be a proper object of suspicion),And ere the curfew-bell had boomed "lights out,"He found in audience Bedford's haughty Duke."Your Grace," he said, "start not—be not alarmed,Although a Frenchman stands before your eyes.I'mHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.My colonel will attack your camp to-night,And orders me to lead the hope forlorn.Now I am sure our excellentKing CharlesWould not approve of this; but he's awayA hundred leagues, and rather more than that.So, utterly devoted to my King,Blinded by my attachment to the throne,And having but its interest at heart,I feel it is my duty to discloseAll schemes that emanate fromColonel Jooles,If I believe that they are not the kindOf schemes that our good monarch could approve.""But how," said Bedford's Duke, "do you proposeThat we should overthrow your colonel's scheme?"AndHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Replied at once with never-failing tact:"Oh, sir, I know this cursed country well.Entrust yourself and all your host to me;I'll lead you safely by a secret pathInto the heart ofColonel Jooles' array,And you can then attack them unprepared,And slay my fellow-countrymen unarmed."The thing was done. TheDuke of BedfordgaveThe order, and two thousand fighting-menCrept silently into the Gallic camp,And killed the Frenchmen as they lay asleep;And Bedford's haughty Duke slewColonel Jooles,And marriedMahry, pride of Aquitaine,ToHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.

Thesun was setting in its wonted west,WhenHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,MetMahry Daubigny, the Village Rose,Under the Wizard's Oak—old trysting-placeOf those who loved in rosy Aquitaine.

Thesun was setting in its wonted west,

WhenHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,

MetMahry Daubigny, the Village Rose,

Under the Wizard's Oak—old trysting-place

Of those who loved in rosy Aquitaine.

They thought themselves unwatched, but they were notForHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Found inLieutenant-Colonel Jooles DuboscA rival, envious and unscrupulous,Who thought it not foul scorn to dog his steps,And listen, unperceived, to all that passedBetween the simple little Village RoseAndHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.

They thought themselves unwatched, but they were not

ForHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,

Found inLieutenant-Colonel Jooles Dubosc

A rival, envious and unscrupulous,

Who thought it not foul scorn to dog his steps,

And listen, unperceived, to all that passed

Between the simple little Village Rose

AndHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.

A clumsy barrack-bully wasDubosc,Quite unfamiliar with the well-bred tactThat actuates a proper gentlemanIn dealing with a girl of humble rank.You'll understand his coarseness when I sayHe would have marriedMahry Daubigny,And dragged the unsophisticated girlInto the whirl of fashionable life,For which her singularly rustic ways,Her breeding (moral, but extremely rude),Her language (chaste, but ungrammatical),Would absolutely have unfitted her.No such intention lurked within the breastOfHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores!

A clumsy barrack-bully wasDubosc,

Quite unfamiliar with the well-bred tact

That actuates a proper gentleman

In dealing with a girl of humble rank.

You'll understand his coarseness when I say

He would have marriedMahry Daubigny,

And dragged the unsophisticated girl

Into the whirl of fashionable life,

For which her singularly rustic ways,

Her breeding (moral, but extremely rude),

Her language (chaste, but ungrammatical),

Would absolutely have unfitted her.

No such intention lurked within the breast

OfHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores!

Contemporary with the incidentRelated in our opening paragraph,Was that sad war 'twixt Gallia and ourselvesThat followed on the treaty signed at Troyes;And soLieutenant-Colonel Jooles Dubosc(Brave soldier, he, with all his faults of style)AndHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Were sent byCharlesof France against the linesOf our SixthHenry(Fourteen twenty-nine),To drive his legions out of Aquitaine.

Contemporary with the incident

Related in our opening paragraph,

Was that sad war 'twixt Gallia and ourselves

That followed on the treaty signed at Troyes;

And soLieutenant-Colonel Jooles Dubosc

(Brave soldier, he, with all his faults of style)

AndHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,

Were sent byCharlesof France against the lines

Of our SixthHenry(Fourteen twenty-nine),

To drive his legions out of Aquitaine.

WhenHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Returned (suspecting nothing) to his camp,After his meeting with the Village Rose,He found inside his barrack letter-boxA note from the commanding-officer,Requiring his attendance at headquarters.

WhenHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,

Returned (suspecting nothing) to his camp,

After his meeting with the Village Rose,

He found inside his barrack letter-box

A note from the commanding-officer,

Requiring his attendance at headquarters.

He went, and foundLieutenant-Colonel Jooles."YoungHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,This night we shall attack the English camp:Be the 'forlorn hope' yours—you'll lead it sir,

He went, and foundLieutenant-Colonel Jooles.

"YoungHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,

This night we shall attack the English camp:

Be the 'forlorn hope' yours—you'll lead it sir,

And lead it too with credit, I've no doubt"(These last words with a cruelly obvious sneer)."As every soul must certainly be killed(For you are twenty 'gainst two thousand men),It is not likely that you will return;But what of that? you'll have the benefitOf knowing that you die a soldier's death."

And lead it too with credit, I've no doubt"

(These last words with a cruelly obvious sneer).

"As every soul must certainly be killed

(For you are twenty 'gainst two thousand men),

It is not likely that you will return;

But what of that? you'll have the benefit

Of knowing that you die a soldier's death."

Obedience was youngHongree'sstrongest point,But he imagined that he only owedAllegiance to hisMahryand his King."IfMahrybade me lead these fated men,I'd lead them—but I do not think she would.IfCharles, my King, said, 'Go, my son, and die,'I'd go, of course—my duty would be clear.ButMahryis in bed asleep (I hope),AndCharles, my King, a hundred leagues from this,As forLieutenant-Colonel Jooles Dubosc,

Obedience was youngHongree'sstrongest point,

But he imagined that he only owed

Allegiance to hisMahryand his King.

"IfMahrybade me lead these fated men,

I'd lead them—but I do not think she would.

IfCharles, my King, said, 'Go, my son, and die,'

I'd go, of course—my duty would be clear.

ButMahryis in bed asleep (I hope),

AndCharles, my King, a hundred leagues from this,

As forLieutenant-Colonel Jooles Dubosc,

How know I that our monarch would approveThe order he has given me to-night?My King I've sworn in all things to obey—I'll only take my orders from my King!"ThusHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Interpreted the terms of his commission.

How know I that our monarch would approve

The order he has given me to-night?

My King I've sworn in all things to obey—

I'll only take my orders from my King!"

ThusHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,

Interpreted the terms of his commission.

AndHongree, who was wise as he was good,Disguised himself that night in ample cloak,Round flapping hat, and visor mask of black,And made, unnoticed, for the English camp.He passed the unsuspecting sentinels(Who little thought a man in this disguiseCould be a proper object of suspicion),And ere the curfew-bell had boomed "lights out,"He found in audience Bedford's haughty Duke.

AndHongree, who was wise as he was good,

Disguised himself that night in ample cloak,

Round flapping hat, and visor mask of black,

And made, unnoticed, for the English camp.

He passed the unsuspecting sentinels

(Who little thought a man in this disguise

Could be a proper object of suspicion),

And ere the curfew-bell had boomed "lights out,"

He found in audience Bedford's haughty Duke.

"Your Grace," he said, "start not—be not alarmed,Although a Frenchman stands before your eyes.I'mHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.My colonel will attack your camp to-night,And orders me to lead the hope forlorn.Now I am sure our excellentKing CharlesWould not approve of this; but he's awayA hundred leagues, and rather more than that.So, utterly devoted to my King,Blinded by my attachment to the throne,And having but its interest at heart,I feel it is my duty to discloseAll schemes that emanate fromColonel Jooles,If I believe that they are not the kindOf schemes that our good monarch could approve.""But how," said Bedford's Duke, "do you propose

"Your Grace," he said, "start not—be not alarmed,

Although a Frenchman stands before your eyes.

I'mHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.

My colonel will attack your camp to-night,

And orders me to lead the hope forlorn.

Now I am sure our excellentKing Charles

Would not approve of this; but he's away

A hundred leagues, and rather more than that.

So, utterly devoted to my King,

Blinded by my attachment to the throne,

And having but its interest at heart,

I feel it is my duty to disclose

All schemes that emanate fromColonel Jooles,

If I believe that they are not the kind

Of schemes that our good monarch could approve."

"But how," said Bedford's Duke, "do you propose

That we should overthrow your colonel's scheme?"AndHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,Replied at once with never-failing tact:"Oh, sir, I know this cursed country well.Entrust yourself and all your host to me;I'll lead you safely by a secret pathInto the heart ofColonel Jooles' array,And you can then attack them unprepared,And slay my fellow-countrymen unarmed."

That we should overthrow your colonel's scheme?"

AndHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,

Replied at once with never-failing tact:

"Oh, sir, I know this cursed country well.

Entrust yourself and all your host to me;

I'll lead you safely by a secret path

Into the heart ofColonel Jooles' array,

And you can then attack them unprepared,

And slay my fellow-countrymen unarmed."

The thing was done. TheDuke of BedfordgaveThe order, and two thousand fighting-menCrept silently into the Gallic camp,And killed the Frenchmen as they lay asleep;And Bedford's haughty Duke slewColonel Jooles,And marriedMahry, pride of Aquitaine,ToHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.

The thing was done. TheDuke of Bedfordgave

The order, and two thousand fighting-men

Crept silently into the Gallic camp,

And killed the Frenchmen as they lay asleep;

And Bedford's haughty Duke slewColonel Jooles,

And marriedMahry, pride of Aquitaine,

ToHongree, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.

Trywe life-long, we can neverStraighten out life's tangled skein,Why should we, in vain endeavour,Guess and guess and guess again?Life's a pudding full of plums,Care's a canker that benumbs,Wherefore waste our elocutionOn impossible solution?Life's a pleasant institution,Let us take it as it comes!Set aside the dull enigma,We shall guess it all too soon;Failure brings no kind of stigma—Dance we to another tune!String the lyre and fill the cup,Lest on sorrow we should sup;Hop and skip to Fancy's fiddle,Hands across and down the middle—Life's perhaps the only riddleThat we shrink from giving up!

Trywe life-long, we can never

Straighten out life's tangled skein,

Why should we, in vain endeavour,

Guess and guess and guess again?

Life's a pudding full of plums,

Care's a canker that benumbs,

Wherefore waste our elocution

On impossible solution?

Life's a pleasant institution,

Let us take it as it comes!

Set aside the dull enigma,We shall guess it all too soon;Failure brings no kind of stigma—Dance we to another tune!String the lyre and fill the cup,Lest on sorrow we should sup;Hop and skip to Fancy's fiddle,Hands across and down the middle—Life's perhaps the only riddleThat we shrink from giving up!

Set aside the dull enigma,

We shall guess it all too soon;

Failure brings no kind of stigma—

Dance we to another tune!

String the lyre and fill the cup,

Lest on sorrow we should sup;

Hop and skip to Fancy's fiddle,

Hands across and down the middle—

Life's perhaps the only riddle

That we shrink from giving up!

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