THE ENGLISHMAN

Listwhile the poet trollsOfMr. Clayton Hooper,Who had a cure of soulsAt Spiffton-extra-Sooper.He lived on curds and whey,And daily sang their praises,And then he'd go and playWith buttercups and daisies.Wild croquetHooperbanned,And all the sports of Mammon,He warred with cribbage, andHe exorcised backgammon.His helmet was a glanceThat spoke of holy gladness;A saintly smile his lance,His shield a tear of sadness.His Vicar smiled to seeThis armour on him buckled;With pardonable gleeHe blessed himself and chuckled:"In mildness to aboundMy curate's sole design is,In all the country roundThere's none so mild as mine is!"AndHooper, disinclinedHis trumpet to be blowing.Yet didn't think you'd findA milder curate going.A friend arrived one dayAt Spiffton-extra-Sooper,And in this shameful wayHe spoke toMr. Hooper:"You think your famous nameFor mildness can't be shaken.That none can blot your fame—But,Hooper, you're mistaken!"Your mind is not as blankAs that ofHopley Porter,Who holds a curate's rankAt Assesmilk-cum-Worter."Heplays the airy flute,And looks depressed and blighted,Doves round about him 'toot,'And lambkins dance delighted."Helabours more than youAt worsted work, and frames it;In old maids' albums, too,Sticks seaweed—yes, and names it!"The tempter said his say,Which pierced him like a needle—He summoned straight awayHis sexton and his beadle.These men were men who couldHold liberal opinions:On Sundays they were good—On week-days they were minions."ToHopley Portergo,Your fare I will afford you—Deal him a deadly blow,And blessings shall reward you."But stay—I do not likeUndue assassination,And so, before you strike,Make this communication:"I'll give him this one chance—If he'll more gaily bear him,Play croquet, smoke, and dance,I willingly will spare him."They went, those minions true,To Assesmilk-cum-Worter,And told their errand toTheReverend Hopley Porter."What?" said that reverend gent,"Dance through my hours of leisure?Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?—Play croquet? Oh, with pleasure!"Wear all my hair in curl?Stand at my door, and wink—so—At every passing girl?My brothers, I should think so!"For years I've longed for someExcuse for this revulsion:Now that excuse has come—I do it on compulsion!!!"He smoked and winked away—ThisReverend Hopley Porter—The deuce there was to payAt Assesmilk-cum-Worter.AndHooperholds his ground,In mildness daily growing—They think him, all around,The mildest curate going.THE ENGLISHMANHeis an Englishman!For he himself has said it,And it's greatly to his credit,That he is an Englishman!For he might have been a Roosian,A French, or Turk, or Proosian,Or perhaps Itali-an!But in spite of all temptations,To belong to other nations,He remains an Englishman!Hurrah!For the true-born Englishman!ONLY A DANCING GIRLOnlya dancing girl,With an unromantic style,With borrowed colour and curl,With fixed mechanical smile,With many a hackneyed wile,With ungrammatical lips,And corns that mar her trips!Hung from the "flies" in air,She acts a palpable lie;She's as little a fairy thereAs unpoetical I!I hear you asking, Why—Why in the world I singThis tawdry, tinselled thing?No airy fairy she,As she hangs in arsenic green,From a highly impossible tree,In a highly impossible scene(Herself not over clean).For fays don't suffer, I'm told,From bunions, coughs, or cold.And stately dames that bringTheir daughters there to see,Pronounce the "dancing thing"No better than she should be.With her skirt at her shameful knee,And her painted, tainted phiz:Ah, matron, which of us is?(And, in sooth, it oft occursThat while these matrons sigh,Their dresses are lower than hers,And sometimes half as high;And their hair is hair they buy.And they use their glasses, too,In a way she'd blush to do.)But change her gold and greenFor a coarse merino gown,And see her upon the sceneOf her home, when coaxing downHer drunken father's frown,In his squalid cheerless den:She's a fairy truly, then!THE DISAGREEABLE MANIfyou give me your attention, I will tell you what I am:I'm a genuine philanthropist—all other kinds are sham.Each little fault of temper and each social defectIn my erring fellow-creatures, I endeavour to correct.To all their little weaknesses I open people's eyes,And little plans to snub the self-sufficient I devise;I love my fellow-creatures—I do all the good I can—Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!And I can't think why!To compliments inflated I've a withering reply,And vanity I always do my best to mortify;A charitable action I can skilfully dissect;And interested motives I'm delighted to detect.I know everybody's income and what everybody earns,And I carefully compare it with the income-tax returns;But to benefit humanity however much I plan,Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!And I can't think why!I'm sure I'm no ascetic; I'm as pleasant as can be;You'll always find me ready with a crushing repartee;I've an irritating chuckle, I've a celebrated sneer,I've an entertaining snigger, I've a fascinating leer;To everybody's prejudice I know a thing or two;I can tell a woman's age in half a minute—and I do—But although I try to make myself as pleasant as I can.Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!And I can't think why!GENERAL JOHNThebravest names for fire and flamesAnd all that mortal durst,WereGeneral JohnandPrivate James,Of the Sixty-seventy-first.General Johnwas a soldier tried,A chief of warlike dons;A haughty stride and a withering prideWereMajor-General John's.A sneer would play on his martial phiz,Superior birth to show;"Pish!" was a favourite word of his,And he often said "Ho! ho!"Full-Private Jamesdescribed might beAs a man of a mournful mind;No characteristic trait had heOf any distinctive kind.From the ranks, one day, criedPrivate James,"Oh!Major-General John,I've doubts of our respective namesMy mournful mind upon."A glimmering thought occurs to me(Its source I can't unearth),But I've a kind of a notion weWere cruelly changed at birth."I've a strange idea that each other's namesWe've each of us here got on.Such things have been," saidPrivate James."They have!" sneeredGeneral John."MyGeneral John, I swear uponMy oath I think 'tis so——""Pish!" proudly sneered hisGeneral JohnAnd he also said "Ho! ho!""MyGeneral John! myGeneral John!MyGeneral John!" quoth he,"This aristocratical sneer uponYour face I blush to see!"No truly great or generous coveDeserving of them namesWould sneer at a fixed idea that's droveIn the mind of aPrivate James!"SaidGeneral John, "Upon your claimsNo need your breath to waste;If this is a joke,Full-Private James,It's a joke of doubtful taste."But, being a man of doubtless worth,If you feel certain quiteThat we were probably changed at birth,I'll venture to say you're right."SoGeneral JohnasPrivate JamesFell in, parade upon;AndPrivate James, by change of names,WasMajor-General John.THE COMING BY-AND-BYSadis that woman's lot who, year by year,Sees, one by one, her beauties disappear;As Time, grown weary of her heart-drawn sighs,Impatiently begins to "dim her eyes "!—Herself compelled, in life's uncertain gloamings,To wreathe her wrinkled brow with well-saved "combings"—Reduced, with rouge, lipsalve, and pearly grey,To "make up" for lost time, as best she may!Silvered is the raven hair,Spreading is the parting straight,Mottled the complexion fair,Halting is the youthful gait,Hollow is the laughter free,Spectacled the limpid eye,Little will be left of me,In the coming by-and-by!Fading is the taper waist—Shapeless grows the shapely limb,And although securely laced,Spreading is the figure trim!Stouter than I used to be,Still more corpulent grow I—There will be too much of meIn the coming by-and-by!TO A LITTLE MAIDBY A POLICEMANComewith me, little maid!Nay, shrink not, thus afraid—I'll harm thee not!Fly not, my love, from me—I have a home for thee—A fairy grot,Where mortal eyeCan rarely pry,There shall thy dwelling be!List to me, while I tellThe pleasures of that cell,Oh, little maid!What though its couch be rude—Homely the only foodWithin its shade?No thought of careCan enter there,No vulgar swain intrude!Come with me, little maid,Come to the rocky shadeI love to sing;Live with us, maiden rare—Come, for we "want" thee there,Thou elfin thing,To work thy spell,In some cool cellIn stately Pentonville!THE HIGHLY RESPECTABLE GONDOLIERI stolethe Prince, and I brought him here,And left him, gaily prattlingWith a highly respectable Gondolier,Who promised the Royal babe to rear,And teach him the trade of a timoneerWith his own beloved bratling.Both of the babes were strong and stout,And, considering all things, clever.Of that there is no manner of doubt—No probable, possible shadow of doubt—No possible doubt whatever.Time sped, and when at the end of a yearI sought that infant cherished,That highly respectable GondolierWas lying a corpse on his humble bier—I dropped a Grand Inquisitor's tear—That Gondolier had perished!A taste for drink, combined with gout,Had doubled him up for ever.Ofthatthere is no manner of doubt—No probable, possible shadow of doubt—No possible doubt whatever.But owing, I'm much disposed to fear,To his terrible taste for tippling,That highly respectable GondolierCould never declare with a mind sincereWhich of the two was his offspring dear,And which the Royal stripling!Which was which he could never make out,Despite his best endeavour.Ofthatthere is no manner of doubt—No probable, possible shadow of doubt—No possible doubt whatever.The children followed his old career—(This statement can't be parried)Of a highly respectable Gondolier:Well, one of the two (who will soon be here)—Butwhichof the two is not quite clear—Is the Royal Prince you married!Search in and out and round aboutAnd you'll discover neverA tale so free from every doubt—All probable, possible shadow of doubt—All possible doubt whatever!JOHN AND FREDDYJohncourted lovelyMary Ann,So likewise did his brother,Freddy.Fredwas a very soft young man,WhileJohn, though quick, was most unsteadyFredwas a graceful kind of youth,ButJohnwas very much the strongest."Oh, dance away," said she, "in truth,I'll marry him who dances longest."Johntries the maiden's taste to strikeWith gay, grotesque, outrageous dresses,And dances comically, likeClodoche and Co., at the Princess's.ButFreddytries another style,He knows some graceful steps and does 'em—A breathing Poem—Woman's smile—A man all poesy and buzzem.NowFreddy'soperaticpas—NowJohnny'shornpipe seems entrapping:NowFreddy'sgracefulentrechats—NowJohnny'sskilful "cellar-flapping."For many hours—for many days—For many weeks performed each brother,For each was active in his ways,And neither would give in to t'other.After a month of this, they say(The maid was getting bored and moody)A wandering curate passed that wayAnd talked a lot of goody-goody."Oh my," said he, with solemn frown,"I tremble for each dancingfrater,Like unregenerated clownAnd harlequin at some the-ayter."He showed that men, in dancing, doBoth impiously and absurdly,And proved his proposition true,With Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly.For months bothJohnandFreddydanced,The curate's protests little heeding;For months the curate's words enhancedThe sinfulness of their proceedingAt length they bowed to Nature's rule—Their steps grew feeble and unsteady,TillFreddyfainted on a stool,AndJohnnyon the top ofFreddy."Decide!" quoth they, "let him be named,Who henceforth as his wife may rank you.""I've changed my views," the maiden said,"I only marry curates, thank you!"SaysFreddy, "Here is goings on!To bust myself with rage I'm ready.""I'll be a curate!" whispersJohn—"And I," exclaimed poeticFreddy.But while they read for it, these chaps,The curate booked the maiden bonny—And when she's buried him, perhaps,She'll marryFrederickorJohnny.THE FAIRY QUEEN'S SONGOh, foolish fay,Think you becauseMan's brave arrayMy bosom thawsI'd disobeyOur fairy laws?Because I flyIn realms above,In tendencyTo fall in loveResemble IThe amorous dove?Oh, amorous dove!Type of Ovidius Naso!This heart of mineIs soft as thine,Although I dare not say so!On fire that glowsWith heat intenseI turn the hoseOf Common Sense,And out it goesAt small expense!We must maintainOur fairy law;That is the mainOn which to draw—In that we gainA Captain Shaw.Oh, Captain Shaw!Type of true love kept under!Could thy BrigadeWith cold cascadeQuench my great love, I wonder!SIR GUY THE CRUSADERSir Guywas a doughty crusader,A muscular knight,Ever ready to fight,A very determined invader,AndDickey de Lion'sdelight.Lenorewas a Saracen maiden,Brunette, statuesque,The reverse of grotesque,Her pa was a bagman from Aden,Her mother she played in burlesque.Acoryphée, pretty and loyal,In amber and redThe ballet she led;Her mother performed at the Royal,Lenoreat the Saracen's Head.Of face and of figure majestic,She dazzled the cits—Ecstaticised pits;—Her troubles were only domestic,But drove her half out of her wits.Her father incessantly lashed her,On water and breadShe was grudgingly fed;Whenever her father he thrashed herHer mother sat down on her head.Guysaw her, and loved her, with reason,For beauty so brightSent him mad with delight;He purchased a stall for the season,And sat in it every night.His views were exceedingly proper,He wanted to wed,So he called at her shedAnd saw her progenitor whop her—Her mother sit down on her head."So pretty," said he, "and so trusting!You brute of a dad,You unprincipled cad,Your conduct is really disgusting,Come, come, now admit it's too bad!"You're a turbaned old Turk, and malignant—Your daughterLenoreI intensely adore,And I cannot help feeling indignant.A fact that I hinted before;"To see a fond father employingA deuce of a knoutFor to bang her about,To a sensitive lover's annoying."Said the bagman, "Crusader, get out."SaysGuy, "Shall a warrior ladenWith a big spiky knob,Sit in peace on his cobWhile a beautiful Saracen maidenIs whipped by a Saracen snob?"To London I'll go from my charmer."Which he did, with his loot(Seven hats and a flute),And was nabbed for his Sydenham armourAtMr. Ben-Samuel'ssuit.Sir Guyhe was lodged in the Compter,Her pa, in a rage,Died (don't know his age),His daughter, she married the prompter,Grew bulky and quitted the stage.IS LIFE A BOONIslife a boon?If so, it must befallThat Death, whene'er he call,Must call too soon.Though fourscore years he give,Yet one would pray to liveAnother moon!What kind of plaint have I,Who perish in July?I might have had to diePerchance in June!Is life a thorn?Then count it not a whit!Man is well done with it:Soon as he's bornHe should all means essayTo put the plague away;And I, war-worn,Poor captured fugitive,My life most gladly give—I might have had to liveAnother morn!HAUNTEDHaunted? Ay, in a social way,By a body of ghosts in a dread array:But no conventional spectres they—Appalling, grim, and tricky;I quail at mine as I'd never quailAt a fine traditional spectre pale,With a turnip head and a ghostly wail,And a splash of blood on the dicky!Mine are horrible social ghosts,Speeches and women and guests and hosts,Weddings and morning calls and toasts,In every bad variety:Ghosts that hover about the graveOf all that's manly, free, and brave:You'll find their names on the architraveOf that charnel-house, Society.Black Monday—black as its schoolroom ink—With its dismal boys that snivel and thinkOf nauseous messes to eat and drink,And a frozen tank to wash in.That was the first that brought me griefAnd made me weep, till I sought reliefIn an emblematical handkerchief,To choke such baby bosh in.First and worst in the grim array—Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way,Which I wouldn't revive for a single dayFor all the wealth ofPlutus—Are the horrible ghosts that schooldays scaredIf the classical ghost thatBrutusdaredWas the ghost of his "Cæsar" unprepared,I'm sure I pityBrutus.I pass to critical seventeen:The ghost of that terrible wedding scene,When an elderly colonel stole my queen,And woke my dream of heaven:No school-girl decked in her nursery curlsWas my gushing innocent queen of pearls;If she wasn't a girl of a thousand girls.She was one of forty-seven!I see the ghost of my first cigar—Of the thence-arising family jar—Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar),When I called the judge "Your wushup"!Of reckless days and reckless nights,With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights,Unholy songs, and tipsy fights,Which I strove in vain to hush up.Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks,Ghosts of copy, "declined with thanks,"Of novels returned in endless ranks,And thousands more, I suffer.The only line to fitly graceMy humble tomb, when I've run my race,Is "Reader, this is the resting-placeOf an unsuccessful duffer."I've fought them all, these ghosts of mine,But the weapons I've used are sighs and brine,And now that I'm nearly forty-nine,Old age is my only bogy;For my hair is thinning away at the crown,And the silver fights with the worn-out brown;And a general verdict sets me downAs an irreclaimable fogy.THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERALI amthe very pattern of a modern Major-Gineral,I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral;I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical,From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical;I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical,I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical;About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news,With interesting facts about the square of the hypotenuse.I'm very good at integral and differential calculus,I know the scientific names of beings animalculous.In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.I know our mythic history—King Arthur'sandSir Caradoc's,I answer hard acrostics, I've a pretty taste for paradox;I quote in elegiacs all the crimes ofHeliogabalus,In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous.I tell undoubtedRaphaelsfromGerard DowsandZoffanies,I know the croaking chorus from the "Frogs" ofAristophanes;Then I can hum a fugue, of which I've heard the music's din afore,And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense "Pinafore."Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform,And tell you every detail ofCaractacus'suniform.In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.In fact, when I know what is meant by "mamelon" and "ravelin,"When I can tell at sight a Chassepot rifle from a javelin,When such affairs assortiesand surprises I'm more wary at,And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat,When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery,When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery,In short, when I've a smattering of elementary strategy,You'll say a better Major-Generalhas neversata gee—For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury,Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century.But still in learning vegetable, animal, and mineral,I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral!THE BISHOP AND THE 'BUSMAN

Listwhile the poet trollsOfMr. Clayton Hooper,Who had a cure of soulsAt Spiffton-extra-Sooper.

Listwhile the poet trolls

OfMr. Clayton Hooper,

Who had a cure of souls

At Spiffton-extra-Sooper.

He lived on curds and whey,And daily sang their praises,And then he'd go and playWith buttercups and daisies.

He lived on curds and whey,

And daily sang their praises,

And then he'd go and play

With buttercups and daisies.

Wild croquetHooperbanned,And all the sports of Mammon,He warred with cribbage, andHe exorcised backgammon.

Wild croquetHooperbanned,

And all the sports of Mammon,

He warred with cribbage, and

He exorcised backgammon.

His helmet was a glanceThat spoke of holy gladness;A saintly smile his lance,His shield a tear of sadness.

His helmet was a glance

That spoke of holy gladness;

A saintly smile his lance,

His shield a tear of sadness.

His Vicar smiled to seeThis armour on him buckled;With pardonable gleeHe blessed himself and chuckled:

His Vicar smiled to see

This armour on him buckled;

With pardonable glee

He blessed himself and chuckled:

"In mildness to aboundMy curate's sole design is,In all the country roundThere's none so mild as mine is!"

"In mildness to abound

My curate's sole design is,

In all the country round

There's none so mild as mine is!"

AndHooper, disinclinedHis trumpet to be blowing.Yet didn't think you'd findA milder curate going.

AndHooper, disinclined

His trumpet to be blowing.

Yet didn't think you'd find

A milder curate going.

A friend arrived one dayAt Spiffton-extra-Sooper,And in this shameful wayHe spoke toMr. Hooper:

A friend arrived one day

At Spiffton-extra-Sooper,

And in this shameful way

He spoke toMr. Hooper:

"You think your famous nameFor mildness can't be shaken.That none can blot your fame—But,Hooper, you're mistaken!

"You think your famous name

For mildness can't be shaken.

That none can blot your fame—

But,Hooper, you're mistaken!

"Your mind is not as blankAs that ofHopley Porter,Who holds a curate's rankAt Assesmilk-cum-Worter.

"Your mind is not as blank

As that ofHopley Porter,

Who holds a curate's rank

At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.

"Heplays the airy flute,And looks depressed and blighted,Doves round about him 'toot,'And lambkins dance delighted.

"Heplays the airy flute,

And looks depressed and blighted,

Doves round about him 'toot,'

And lambkins dance delighted.

"Helabours more than youAt worsted work, and frames it;In old maids' albums, too,Sticks seaweed—yes, and names it!"

"Helabours more than you

At worsted work, and frames it;

In old maids' albums, too,

Sticks seaweed—yes, and names it!"

The tempter said his say,Which pierced him like a needle—He summoned straight awayHis sexton and his beadle.

The tempter said his say,

Which pierced him like a needle—

He summoned straight away

His sexton and his beadle.

These men were men who couldHold liberal opinions:On Sundays they were good—On week-days they were minions.

These men were men who could

Hold liberal opinions:

On Sundays they were good—

On week-days they were minions.

"ToHopley Portergo,Your fare I will afford you—Deal him a deadly blow,And blessings shall reward you.

"ToHopley Portergo,

Your fare I will afford you—

Deal him a deadly blow,

And blessings shall reward you.

"But stay—I do not likeUndue assassination,And so, before you strike,Make this communication:"I'll give him this one chance—If he'll more gaily bear him,Play croquet, smoke, and dance,I willingly will spare him."They went, those minions true,To Assesmilk-cum-Worter,And told their errand toTheReverend Hopley Porter."What?" said that reverend gent,"Dance through my hours of leisure?Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?—Play croquet? Oh, with pleasure!"Wear all my hair in curl?Stand at my door, and wink—so—At every passing girl?My brothers, I should think so!"For years I've longed for someExcuse for this revulsion:Now that excuse has come—I do it on compulsion!!!"He smoked and winked away—ThisReverend Hopley Porter—The deuce there was to payAt Assesmilk-cum-Worter.AndHooperholds his ground,In mildness daily growing—They think him, all around,The mildest curate going.

"But stay—I do not likeUndue assassination,And so, before you strike,Make this communication:

"But stay—I do not like

Undue assassination,

And so, before you strike,

Make this communication:

"I'll give him this one chance—If he'll more gaily bear him,Play croquet, smoke, and dance,I willingly will spare him."

"I'll give him this one chance—

If he'll more gaily bear him,

Play croquet, smoke, and dance,

I willingly will spare him."

They went, those minions true,To Assesmilk-cum-Worter,And told their errand toTheReverend Hopley Porter.

They went, those minions true,

To Assesmilk-cum-Worter,

And told their errand to

TheReverend Hopley Porter.

"What?" said that reverend gent,"Dance through my hours of leisure?Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?—Play croquet? Oh, with pleasure!

"What?" said that reverend gent,

"Dance through my hours of leisure?

Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?—

Play croquet? Oh, with pleasure!

"Wear all my hair in curl?Stand at my door, and wink—so—At every passing girl?My brothers, I should think so!

"Wear all my hair in curl?

Stand at my door, and wink—so—

At every passing girl?

My brothers, I should think so!

"For years I've longed for someExcuse for this revulsion:Now that excuse has come—I do it on compulsion!!!"

"For years I've longed for some

Excuse for this revulsion:

Now that excuse has come—

I do it on compulsion!!!"

He smoked and winked away—ThisReverend Hopley Porter—The deuce there was to payAt Assesmilk-cum-Worter.

He smoked and winked away—

ThisReverend Hopley Porter—

The deuce there was to pay

At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.

AndHooperholds his ground,In mildness daily growing—They think him, all around,The mildest curate going.

AndHooperholds his ground,

In mildness daily growing—

They think him, all around,

The mildest curate going.

Heis an Englishman!For he himself has said it,And it's greatly to his credit,That he is an Englishman!For he might have been a Roosian,A French, or Turk, or Proosian,Or perhaps Itali-an!But in spite of all temptations,To belong to other nations,He remains an Englishman!Hurrah!For the true-born Englishman!

Heis an Englishman!

For he himself has said it,

And it's greatly to his credit,

That he is an Englishman!

For he might have been a Roosian,

A French, or Turk, or Proosian,

Or perhaps Itali-an!

But in spite of all temptations,

To belong to other nations,

He remains an Englishman!

Hurrah!

For the true-born Englishman!

Onlya dancing girl,With an unromantic style,With borrowed colour and curl,With fixed mechanical smile,With many a hackneyed wile,With ungrammatical lips,And corns that mar her trips!Hung from the "flies" in air,She acts a palpable lie;She's as little a fairy thereAs unpoetical I!I hear you asking, Why—Why in the world I singThis tawdry, tinselled thing?No airy fairy she,As she hangs in arsenic green,From a highly impossible tree,In a highly impossible scene(Herself not over clean).For fays don't suffer, I'm told,From bunions, coughs, or cold.And stately dames that bringTheir daughters there to see,Pronounce the "dancing thing"No better than she should be.With her skirt at her shameful knee,And her painted, tainted phiz:Ah, matron, which of us is?(And, in sooth, it oft occursThat while these matrons sigh,Their dresses are lower than hers,And sometimes half as high;And their hair is hair they buy.And they use their glasses, too,In a way she'd blush to do.)But change her gold and greenFor a coarse merino gown,And see her upon the sceneOf her home, when coaxing downHer drunken father's frown,In his squalid cheerless den:She's a fairy truly, then!

Onlya dancing girl,With an unromantic style,With borrowed colour and curl,With fixed mechanical smile,With many a hackneyed wile,With ungrammatical lips,And corns that mar her trips!

Onlya dancing girl,

With an unromantic style,

With borrowed colour and curl,

With fixed mechanical smile,

With many a hackneyed wile,

With ungrammatical lips,

And corns that mar her trips!

Hung from the "flies" in air,She acts a palpable lie;She's as little a fairy thereAs unpoetical I!I hear you asking, Why—Why in the world I singThis tawdry, tinselled thing?

Hung from the "flies" in air,

She acts a palpable lie;

She's as little a fairy there

As unpoetical I!

I hear you asking, Why—

Why in the world I sing

This tawdry, tinselled thing?

No airy fairy she,As she hangs in arsenic green,From a highly impossible tree,In a highly impossible scene(Herself not over clean).For fays don't suffer, I'm told,From bunions, coughs, or cold.

No airy fairy she,

As she hangs in arsenic green,

From a highly impossible tree,

In a highly impossible scene

(Herself not over clean).

For fays don't suffer, I'm told,

From bunions, coughs, or cold.

And stately dames that bringTheir daughters there to see,Pronounce the "dancing thing"No better than she should be.With her skirt at her shameful knee,And her painted, tainted phiz:Ah, matron, which of us is?

And stately dames that bring

Their daughters there to see,

Pronounce the "dancing thing"

No better than she should be.

With her skirt at her shameful knee,

And her painted, tainted phiz:

Ah, matron, which of us is?

(And, in sooth, it oft occursThat while these matrons sigh,Their dresses are lower than hers,And sometimes half as high;And their hair is hair they buy.And they use their glasses, too,In a way she'd blush to do.)

(And, in sooth, it oft occurs

That while these matrons sigh,

Their dresses are lower than hers,

And sometimes half as high;

And their hair is hair they buy.

And they use their glasses, too,

In a way she'd blush to do.)

But change her gold and greenFor a coarse merino gown,And see her upon the sceneOf her home, when coaxing downHer drunken father's frown,In his squalid cheerless den:She's a fairy truly, then!

But change her gold and green

For a coarse merino gown,

And see her upon the scene

Of her home, when coaxing down

Her drunken father's frown,

In his squalid cheerless den:

She's a fairy truly, then!

Ifyou give me your attention, I will tell you what I am:I'm a genuine philanthropist—all other kinds are sham.Each little fault of temper and each social defectIn my erring fellow-creatures, I endeavour to correct.To all their little weaknesses I open people's eyes,And little plans to snub the self-sufficient I devise;I love my fellow-creatures—I do all the good I can—Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!And I can't think why!To compliments inflated I've a withering reply,And vanity I always do my best to mortify;A charitable action I can skilfully dissect;And interested motives I'm delighted to detect.I know everybody's income and what everybody earns,And I carefully compare it with the income-tax returns;But to benefit humanity however much I plan,Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!And I can't think why!I'm sure I'm no ascetic; I'm as pleasant as can be;You'll always find me ready with a crushing repartee;I've an irritating chuckle, I've a celebrated sneer,I've an entertaining snigger, I've a fascinating leer;To everybody's prejudice I know a thing or two;I can tell a woman's age in half a minute—and I do—But although I try to make myself as pleasant as I can.Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!And I can't think why!

Ifyou give me your attention, I will tell you what I am:

I'm a genuine philanthropist—all other kinds are sham.

Each little fault of temper and each social defect

In my erring fellow-creatures, I endeavour to correct.

To all their little weaknesses I open people's eyes,

And little plans to snub the self-sufficient I devise;

I love my fellow-creatures—I do all the good I can—

Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!

And I can't think why!

To compliments inflated I've a withering reply,And vanity I always do my best to mortify;A charitable action I can skilfully dissect;And interested motives I'm delighted to detect.I know everybody's income and what everybody earns,And I carefully compare it with the income-tax returns;But to benefit humanity however much I plan,Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!And I can't think why!

To compliments inflated I've a withering reply,

And vanity I always do my best to mortify;

A charitable action I can skilfully dissect;

And interested motives I'm delighted to detect.

I know everybody's income and what everybody earns,

And I carefully compare it with the income-tax returns;

But to benefit humanity however much I plan,

Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!

And I can't think why!

I'm sure I'm no ascetic; I'm as pleasant as can be;You'll always find me ready with a crushing repartee;I've an irritating chuckle, I've a celebrated sneer,I've an entertaining snigger, I've a fascinating leer;To everybody's prejudice I know a thing or two;I can tell a woman's age in half a minute—and I do—But although I try to make myself as pleasant as I can.Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!And I can't think why!

I'm sure I'm no ascetic; I'm as pleasant as can be;

You'll always find me ready with a crushing repartee;

I've an irritating chuckle, I've a celebrated sneer,

I've an entertaining snigger, I've a fascinating leer;

To everybody's prejudice I know a thing or two;

I can tell a woman's age in half a minute—and I do—

But although I try to make myself as pleasant as I can.

Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man!

And I can't think why!

Thebravest names for fire and flamesAnd all that mortal durst,WereGeneral JohnandPrivate James,Of the Sixty-seventy-first.General Johnwas a soldier tried,A chief of warlike dons;A haughty stride and a withering prideWereMajor-General John's.A sneer would play on his martial phiz,Superior birth to show;"Pish!" was a favourite word of his,And he often said "Ho! ho!"Full-Private Jamesdescribed might beAs a man of a mournful mind;No characteristic trait had heOf any distinctive kind.From the ranks, one day, criedPrivate James,"Oh!Major-General John,I've doubts of our respective namesMy mournful mind upon."A glimmering thought occurs to me(Its source I can't unearth),But I've a kind of a notion weWere cruelly changed at birth."I've a strange idea that each other's namesWe've each of us here got on.Such things have been," saidPrivate James."They have!" sneeredGeneral John."MyGeneral John, I swear uponMy oath I think 'tis so——""Pish!" proudly sneered hisGeneral JohnAnd he also said "Ho! ho!""MyGeneral John! myGeneral John!MyGeneral John!" quoth he,"This aristocratical sneer uponYour face I blush to see!"No truly great or generous coveDeserving of them namesWould sneer at a fixed idea that's droveIn the mind of aPrivate James!"SaidGeneral John, "Upon your claimsNo need your breath to waste;If this is a joke,Full-Private James,It's a joke of doubtful taste."But, being a man of doubtless worth,If you feel certain quiteThat we were probably changed at birth,I'll venture to say you're right."SoGeneral JohnasPrivate JamesFell in, parade upon;AndPrivate James, by change of names,WasMajor-General John.

Thebravest names for fire and flamesAnd all that mortal durst,WereGeneral JohnandPrivate James,Of the Sixty-seventy-first.

Thebravest names for fire and flames

And all that mortal durst,

WereGeneral JohnandPrivate James,

Of the Sixty-seventy-first.

General Johnwas a soldier tried,A chief of warlike dons;A haughty stride and a withering prideWereMajor-General John's.

General Johnwas a soldier tried,

A chief of warlike dons;

A haughty stride and a withering pride

WereMajor-General John's.

A sneer would play on his martial phiz,Superior birth to show;"Pish!" was a favourite word of his,And he often said "Ho! ho!"

A sneer would play on his martial phiz,

Superior birth to show;

"Pish!" was a favourite word of his,

And he often said "Ho! ho!"

Full-Private Jamesdescribed might beAs a man of a mournful mind;No characteristic trait had heOf any distinctive kind.

Full-Private Jamesdescribed might be

As a man of a mournful mind;

No characteristic trait had he

Of any distinctive kind.

From the ranks, one day, criedPrivate James,"Oh!Major-General John,I've doubts of our respective namesMy mournful mind upon.

From the ranks, one day, criedPrivate James,

"Oh!Major-General John,

I've doubts of our respective names

My mournful mind upon.

"A glimmering thought occurs to me(Its source I can't unearth),But I've a kind of a notion weWere cruelly changed at birth.

"A glimmering thought occurs to me

(Its source I can't unearth),

But I've a kind of a notion we

Were cruelly changed at birth.

"I've a strange idea that each other's namesWe've each of us here got on.Such things have been," saidPrivate James."They have!" sneeredGeneral John.

"I've a strange idea that each other's names

We've each of us here got on.

Such things have been," saidPrivate James.

"They have!" sneeredGeneral John.

"MyGeneral John, I swear uponMy oath I think 'tis so——""Pish!" proudly sneered hisGeneral JohnAnd he also said "Ho! ho!"

"MyGeneral John, I swear upon

My oath I think 'tis so——"

"Pish!" proudly sneered hisGeneral John

And he also said "Ho! ho!"

"MyGeneral John! myGeneral John!MyGeneral John!" quoth he,"This aristocratical sneer uponYour face I blush to see!

"MyGeneral John! myGeneral John!

MyGeneral John!" quoth he,

"This aristocratical sneer upon

Your face I blush to see!

"No truly great or generous coveDeserving of them namesWould sneer at a fixed idea that's droveIn the mind of aPrivate James!"

"No truly great or generous cove

Deserving of them names

Would sneer at a fixed idea that's drove

In the mind of aPrivate James!"

SaidGeneral John, "Upon your claimsNo need your breath to waste;If this is a joke,Full-Private James,It's a joke of doubtful taste.

SaidGeneral John, "Upon your claims

No need your breath to waste;

If this is a joke,Full-Private James,

It's a joke of doubtful taste.

"But, being a man of doubtless worth,If you feel certain quiteThat we were probably changed at birth,I'll venture to say you're right."

"But, being a man of doubtless worth,

If you feel certain quite

That we were probably changed at birth,

I'll venture to say you're right."

SoGeneral JohnasPrivate JamesFell in, parade upon;AndPrivate James, by change of names,WasMajor-General John.

SoGeneral JohnasPrivate James

Fell in, parade upon;

AndPrivate James, by change of names,

WasMajor-General John.

Sadis that woman's lot who, year by year,Sees, one by one, her beauties disappear;As Time, grown weary of her heart-drawn sighs,Impatiently begins to "dim her eyes "!—Herself compelled, in life's uncertain gloamings,To wreathe her wrinkled brow with well-saved "combings"—Reduced, with rouge, lipsalve, and pearly grey,To "make up" for lost time, as best she may!Silvered is the raven hair,Spreading is the parting straight,Mottled the complexion fair,Halting is the youthful gait,Hollow is the laughter free,Spectacled the limpid eye,Little will be left of me,In the coming by-and-by!Fading is the taper waist—Shapeless grows the shapely limb,And although securely laced,Spreading is the figure trim!Stouter than I used to be,Still more corpulent grow I—There will be too much of meIn the coming by-and-by!

Sadis that woman's lot who, year by year,

Sees, one by one, her beauties disappear;

As Time, grown weary of her heart-drawn sighs,

Impatiently begins to "dim her eyes "!—

Herself compelled, in life's uncertain gloamings,

To wreathe her wrinkled brow with well-saved "combings"—

Reduced, with rouge, lipsalve, and pearly grey,

To "make up" for lost time, as best she may!

Silvered is the raven hair,Spreading is the parting straight,Mottled the complexion fair,Halting is the youthful gait,

Silvered is the raven hair,

Spreading is the parting straight,

Mottled the complexion fair,

Halting is the youthful gait,

Hollow is the laughter free,Spectacled the limpid eye,Little will be left of me,In the coming by-and-by!

Hollow is the laughter free,

Spectacled the limpid eye,

Little will be left of me,

In the coming by-and-by!

Fading is the taper waist—Shapeless grows the shapely limb,And although securely laced,Spreading is the figure trim!Stouter than I used to be,Still more corpulent grow I—There will be too much of meIn the coming by-and-by!

Fading is the taper waist—

Shapeless grows the shapely limb,

And although securely laced,

Spreading is the figure trim!

Stouter than I used to be,

Still more corpulent grow I—

There will be too much of me

In the coming by-and-by!

Comewith me, little maid!Nay, shrink not, thus afraid—I'll harm thee not!Fly not, my love, from me—I have a home for thee—A fairy grot,Where mortal eyeCan rarely pry,There shall thy dwelling be!List to me, while I tellThe pleasures of that cell,Oh, little maid!What though its couch be rude—Homely the only foodWithin its shade?No thought of careCan enter there,No vulgar swain intrude!Come with me, little maid,Come to the rocky shadeI love to sing;Live with us, maiden rare—Come, for we "want" thee there,Thou elfin thing,To work thy spell,In some cool cellIn stately Pentonville!

Comewith me, little maid!

Nay, shrink not, thus afraid—

I'll harm thee not!

Fly not, my love, from me—

I have a home for thee—

A fairy grot,

Where mortal eye

Can rarely pry,

There shall thy dwelling be!

List to me, while I tellThe pleasures of that cell,Oh, little maid!What though its couch be rude—Homely the only foodWithin its shade?No thought of careCan enter there,No vulgar swain intrude!

List to me, while I tell

The pleasures of that cell,

Oh, little maid!

What though its couch be rude—

Homely the only food

Within its shade?

No thought of care

Can enter there,

No vulgar swain intrude!

Come with me, little maid,Come to the rocky shadeI love to sing;Live with us, maiden rare—Come, for we "want" thee there,Thou elfin thing,To work thy spell,In some cool cellIn stately Pentonville!

Come with me, little maid,

Come to the rocky shade

I love to sing;

Live with us, maiden rare—

Come, for we "want" thee there,

Thou elfin thing,

To work thy spell,

In some cool cell

In stately Pentonville!

I stolethe Prince, and I brought him here,And left him, gaily prattlingWith a highly respectable Gondolier,Who promised the Royal babe to rear,And teach him the trade of a timoneerWith his own beloved bratling.Both of the babes were strong and stout,And, considering all things, clever.Of that there is no manner of doubt—No probable, possible shadow of doubt—No possible doubt whatever.Time sped, and when at the end of a yearI sought that infant cherished,That highly respectable GondolierWas lying a corpse on his humble bier—I dropped a Grand Inquisitor's tear—That Gondolier had perished!A taste for drink, combined with gout,Had doubled him up for ever.Ofthatthere is no manner of doubt—No probable, possible shadow of doubt—No possible doubt whatever.But owing, I'm much disposed to fear,To his terrible taste for tippling,That highly respectable GondolierCould never declare with a mind sincereWhich of the two was his offspring dear,And which the Royal stripling!Which was which he could never make out,Despite his best endeavour.Ofthatthere is no manner of doubt—No probable, possible shadow of doubt—No possible doubt whatever.The children followed his old career—(This statement can't be parried)Of a highly respectable Gondolier:Well, one of the two (who will soon be here)—Butwhichof the two is not quite clear—Is the Royal Prince you married!Search in and out and round aboutAnd you'll discover neverA tale so free from every doubt—All probable, possible shadow of doubt—All possible doubt whatever!

I stolethe Prince, and I brought him here,

And left him, gaily prattling

With a highly respectable Gondolier,

Who promised the Royal babe to rear,

And teach him the trade of a timoneer

With his own beloved bratling.

Both of the babes were strong and stout,And, considering all things, clever.Of that there is no manner of doubt—No probable, possible shadow of doubt—No possible doubt whatever.

Both of the babes were strong and stout,

And, considering all things, clever.

Of that there is no manner of doubt—

No probable, possible shadow of doubt—

No possible doubt whatever.

Time sped, and when at the end of a yearI sought that infant cherished,That highly respectable Gondolier

Time sped, and when at the end of a year

I sought that infant cherished,

That highly respectable Gondolier

Was lying a corpse on his humble bier—I dropped a Grand Inquisitor's tear—That Gondolier had perished!

Was lying a corpse on his humble bier—

I dropped a Grand Inquisitor's tear—

That Gondolier had perished!

A taste for drink, combined with gout,Had doubled him up for ever.Ofthatthere is no manner of doubt—No probable, possible shadow of doubt—No possible doubt whatever.

A taste for drink, combined with gout,

Had doubled him up for ever.

Ofthatthere is no manner of doubt—

No probable, possible shadow of doubt—

No possible doubt whatever.

But owing, I'm much disposed to fear,To his terrible taste for tippling,That highly respectable GondolierCould never declare with a mind sincereWhich of the two was his offspring dear,And which the Royal stripling!

But owing, I'm much disposed to fear,

To his terrible taste for tippling,

That highly respectable Gondolier

Could never declare with a mind sincere

Which of the two was his offspring dear,

And which the Royal stripling!

Which was which he could never make out,Despite his best endeavour.Ofthatthere is no manner of doubt—No probable, possible shadow of doubt—No possible doubt whatever.

Which was which he could never make out,

Despite his best endeavour.

Ofthatthere is no manner of doubt—

No probable, possible shadow of doubt—

No possible doubt whatever.

The children followed his old career—(This statement can't be parried)Of a highly respectable Gondolier:Well, one of the two (who will soon be here)—Butwhichof the two is not quite clear—Is the Royal Prince you married!

The children followed his old career—

(This statement can't be parried)

Of a highly respectable Gondolier:

Well, one of the two (who will soon be here)—

Butwhichof the two is not quite clear—

Is the Royal Prince you married!

Search in and out and round aboutAnd you'll discover neverA tale so free from every doubt—All probable, possible shadow of doubt—All possible doubt whatever!

Search in and out and round about

And you'll discover never

A tale so free from every doubt—

All probable, possible shadow of doubt—

All possible doubt whatever!

Johncourted lovelyMary Ann,So likewise did his brother,Freddy.Fredwas a very soft young man,WhileJohn, though quick, was most unsteadyFredwas a graceful kind of youth,ButJohnwas very much the strongest."Oh, dance away," said she, "in truth,I'll marry him who dances longest."Johntries the maiden's taste to strikeWith gay, grotesque, outrageous dresses,And dances comically, likeClodoche and Co., at the Princess's.ButFreddytries another style,He knows some graceful steps and does 'em—A breathing Poem—Woman's smile—A man all poesy and buzzem.NowFreddy'soperaticpas—NowJohnny'shornpipe seems entrapping:NowFreddy'sgracefulentrechats—NowJohnny'sskilful "cellar-flapping."For many hours—for many days—For many weeks performed each brother,For each was active in his ways,And neither would give in to t'other.After a month of this, they say(The maid was getting bored and moody)A wandering curate passed that wayAnd talked a lot of goody-goody."Oh my," said he, with solemn frown,"I tremble for each dancingfrater,Like unregenerated clownAnd harlequin at some the-ayter."He showed that men, in dancing, doBoth impiously and absurdly,And proved his proposition true,With Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly.For months bothJohnandFreddydanced,The curate's protests little heeding;For months the curate's words enhancedThe sinfulness of their proceedingAt length they bowed to Nature's rule—Their steps grew feeble and unsteady,TillFreddyfainted on a stool,AndJohnnyon the top ofFreddy."Decide!" quoth they, "let him be named,Who henceforth as his wife may rank you.""I've changed my views," the maiden said,"I only marry curates, thank you!"SaysFreddy, "Here is goings on!To bust myself with rage I'm ready.""I'll be a curate!" whispersJohn—"And I," exclaimed poeticFreddy.But while they read for it, these chaps,The curate booked the maiden bonny—And when she's buried him, perhaps,She'll marryFrederickorJohnny.

Johncourted lovelyMary Ann,So likewise did his brother,Freddy.Fredwas a very soft young man,WhileJohn, though quick, was most unsteady

Johncourted lovelyMary Ann,

So likewise did his brother,Freddy.

Fredwas a very soft young man,

WhileJohn, though quick, was most unsteady

Fredwas a graceful kind of youth,ButJohnwas very much the strongest."Oh, dance away," said she, "in truth,I'll marry him who dances longest."

Fredwas a graceful kind of youth,

ButJohnwas very much the strongest.

"Oh, dance away," said she, "in truth,

I'll marry him who dances longest."

Johntries the maiden's taste to strikeWith gay, grotesque, outrageous dresses,And dances comically, likeClodoche and Co., at the Princess's.

Johntries the maiden's taste to strike

With gay, grotesque, outrageous dresses,

And dances comically, like

Clodoche and Co., at the Princess's.

ButFreddytries another style,He knows some graceful steps and does 'em—A breathing Poem—Woman's smile—A man all poesy and buzzem.

ButFreddytries another style,

He knows some graceful steps and does 'em—

A breathing Poem—Woman's smile—

A man all poesy and buzzem.

NowFreddy'soperaticpas—NowJohnny'shornpipe seems entrapping:NowFreddy'sgracefulentrechats—NowJohnny'sskilful "cellar-flapping."

NowFreddy'soperaticpas—

NowJohnny'shornpipe seems entrapping:

NowFreddy'sgracefulentrechats—

NowJohnny'sskilful "cellar-flapping."

For many hours—for many days—For many weeks performed each brother,For each was active in his ways,And neither would give in to t'other.

For many hours—for many days—

For many weeks performed each brother,

For each was active in his ways,

And neither would give in to t'other.

After a month of this, they say(The maid was getting bored and moody)A wandering curate passed that wayAnd talked a lot of goody-goody.

After a month of this, they say

(The maid was getting bored and moody)

A wandering curate passed that way

And talked a lot of goody-goody.

"Oh my," said he, with solemn frown,"I tremble for each dancingfrater,Like unregenerated clownAnd harlequin at some the-ayter."

"Oh my," said he, with solemn frown,

"I tremble for each dancingfrater,

Like unregenerated clown

And harlequin at some the-ayter."

He showed that men, in dancing, doBoth impiously and absurdly,And proved his proposition true,With Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly.

He showed that men, in dancing, do

Both impiously and absurdly,

And proved his proposition true,

With Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly.

For months bothJohnandFreddydanced,The curate's protests little heeding;For months the curate's words enhancedThe sinfulness of their proceeding

For months bothJohnandFreddydanced,

The curate's protests little heeding;

For months the curate's words enhanced

The sinfulness of their proceeding

At length they bowed to Nature's rule—Their steps grew feeble and unsteady,TillFreddyfainted on a stool,AndJohnnyon the top ofFreddy.

At length they bowed to Nature's rule—

Their steps grew feeble and unsteady,

TillFreddyfainted on a stool,

AndJohnnyon the top ofFreddy.

"Decide!" quoth they, "let him be named,Who henceforth as his wife may rank you.""I've changed my views," the maiden said,"I only marry curates, thank you!"

"Decide!" quoth they, "let him be named,

Who henceforth as his wife may rank you."

"I've changed my views," the maiden said,

"I only marry curates, thank you!"

SaysFreddy, "Here is goings on!To bust myself with rage I'm ready.""I'll be a curate!" whispersJohn—"And I," exclaimed poeticFreddy.

SaysFreddy, "Here is goings on!

To bust myself with rage I'm ready."

"I'll be a curate!" whispersJohn—

"And I," exclaimed poeticFreddy.

But while they read for it, these chaps,The curate booked the maiden bonny—And when she's buried him, perhaps,She'll marryFrederickorJohnny.

But while they read for it, these chaps,

The curate booked the maiden bonny—

And when she's buried him, perhaps,

She'll marryFrederickorJohnny.

Oh, foolish fay,Think you becauseMan's brave arrayMy bosom thawsI'd disobeyOur fairy laws?Because I flyIn realms above,In tendencyTo fall in loveResemble IThe amorous dove?Oh, amorous dove!Type of Ovidius Naso!This heart of mineIs soft as thine,Although I dare not say so!On fire that glowsWith heat intenseI turn the hoseOf Common Sense,And out it goesAt small expense!We must maintainOur fairy law;That is the mainOn which to draw—In that we gainA Captain Shaw.Oh, Captain Shaw!Type of true love kept under!Could thy BrigadeWith cold cascadeQuench my great love, I wonder!

Oh, foolish fay,Think you becauseMan's brave arrayMy bosom thawsI'd disobeyOur fairy laws?Because I flyIn realms above,In tendencyTo fall in loveResemble IThe amorous dove?

Oh, foolish fay,

Think you because

Man's brave array

My bosom thaws

I'd disobey

Our fairy laws?

Because I fly

In realms above,

In tendency

To fall in love

Resemble I

The amorous dove?

Oh, amorous dove!Type of Ovidius Naso!This heart of mineIs soft as thine,Although I dare not say so!

Oh, amorous dove!

Type of Ovidius Naso!

This heart of mine

Is soft as thine,

Although I dare not say so!

On fire that glowsWith heat intenseI turn the hoseOf Common Sense,And out it goesAt small expense!We must maintainOur fairy law;That is the mainOn which to draw—In that we gainA Captain Shaw.

On fire that glows

With heat intense

I turn the hose

Of Common Sense,

And out it goes

At small expense!

We must maintain

Our fairy law;

That is the main

On which to draw—

In that we gain

A Captain Shaw.

Oh, Captain Shaw!Type of true love kept under!Could thy BrigadeWith cold cascadeQuench my great love, I wonder!

Oh, Captain Shaw!

Type of true love kept under!

Could thy Brigade

With cold cascade

Quench my great love, I wonder!

Sir Guywas a doughty crusader,A muscular knight,Ever ready to fight,A very determined invader,AndDickey de Lion'sdelight.Lenorewas a Saracen maiden,Brunette, statuesque,The reverse of grotesque,Her pa was a bagman from Aden,Her mother she played in burlesque.Acoryphée, pretty and loyal,In amber and redThe ballet she led;Her mother performed at the Royal,Lenoreat the Saracen's Head.Of face and of figure majestic,She dazzled the cits—Ecstaticised pits;—Her troubles were only domestic,But drove her half out of her wits.Her father incessantly lashed her,On water and breadShe was grudgingly fed;Whenever her father he thrashed herHer mother sat down on her head.Guysaw her, and loved her, with reason,For beauty so brightSent him mad with delight;He purchased a stall for the season,And sat in it every night.His views were exceedingly proper,He wanted to wed,So he called at her shedAnd saw her progenitor whop her—Her mother sit down on her head."So pretty," said he, "and so trusting!You brute of a dad,You unprincipled cad,Your conduct is really disgusting,Come, come, now admit it's too bad!"You're a turbaned old Turk, and malignant—Your daughterLenoreI intensely adore,And I cannot help feeling indignant.A fact that I hinted before;"To see a fond father employingA deuce of a knoutFor to bang her about,To a sensitive lover's annoying."Said the bagman, "Crusader, get out."SaysGuy, "Shall a warrior ladenWith a big spiky knob,Sit in peace on his cobWhile a beautiful Saracen maidenIs whipped by a Saracen snob?"To London I'll go from my charmer."Which he did, with his loot(Seven hats and a flute),And was nabbed for his Sydenham armourAtMr. Ben-Samuel'ssuit.Sir Guyhe was lodged in the Compter,Her pa, in a rage,Died (don't know his age),His daughter, she married the prompter,Grew bulky and quitted the stage.

Sir Guywas a doughty crusader,A muscular knight,Ever ready to fight,A very determined invader,AndDickey de Lion'sdelight.

Sir Guywas a doughty crusader,

A muscular knight,

Ever ready to fight,

A very determined invader,

AndDickey de Lion'sdelight.

Lenorewas a Saracen maiden,Brunette, statuesque,The reverse of grotesque,Her pa was a bagman from Aden,Her mother she played in burlesque.

Lenorewas a Saracen maiden,

Brunette, statuesque,

The reverse of grotesque,

Her pa was a bagman from Aden,

Her mother she played in burlesque.

Acoryphée, pretty and loyal,In amber and redThe ballet she led;Her mother performed at the Royal,Lenoreat the Saracen's Head.

Acoryphée, pretty and loyal,

In amber and red

The ballet she led;

Her mother performed at the Royal,

Lenoreat the Saracen's Head.

Of face and of figure majestic,She dazzled the cits—Ecstaticised pits;—Her troubles were only domestic,But drove her half out of her wits.

Of face and of figure majestic,

She dazzled the cits—

Ecstaticised pits;—

Her troubles were only domestic,

But drove her half out of her wits.

Her father incessantly lashed her,On water and breadShe was grudgingly fed;Whenever her father he thrashed herHer mother sat down on her head.

Her father incessantly lashed her,

On water and bread

She was grudgingly fed;

Whenever her father he thrashed her

Her mother sat down on her head.

Guysaw her, and loved her, with reason,For beauty so brightSent him mad with delight;He purchased a stall for the season,And sat in it every night.

Guysaw her, and loved her, with reason,

For beauty so bright

Sent him mad with delight;

He purchased a stall for the season,

And sat in it every night.

His views were exceedingly proper,He wanted to wed,So he called at her shedAnd saw her progenitor whop her—Her mother sit down on her head.

His views were exceedingly proper,

He wanted to wed,

So he called at her shed

And saw her progenitor whop her—

Her mother sit down on her head.

"So pretty," said he, "and so trusting!You brute of a dad,You unprincipled cad,Your conduct is really disgusting,Come, come, now admit it's too bad!

"So pretty," said he, "and so trusting!

You brute of a dad,

You unprincipled cad,

Your conduct is really disgusting,

Come, come, now admit it's too bad!

"You're a turbaned old Turk, and malignant—Your daughterLenoreI intensely adore,And I cannot help feeling indignant.A fact that I hinted before;

"You're a turbaned old Turk, and malignant—

Your daughterLenore

I intensely adore,

And I cannot help feeling indignant.

A fact that I hinted before;

"To see a fond father employingA deuce of a knoutFor to bang her about,To a sensitive lover's annoying."Said the bagman, "Crusader, get out."

"To see a fond father employing

A deuce of a knout

For to bang her about,

To a sensitive lover's annoying."

Said the bagman, "Crusader, get out."

SaysGuy, "Shall a warrior ladenWith a big spiky knob,Sit in peace on his cobWhile a beautiful Saracen maidenIs whipped by a Saracen snob?

SaysGuy, "Shall a warrior laden

With a big spiky knob,

Sit in peace on his cob

While a beautiful Saracen maiden

Is whipped by a Saracen snob?

"To London I'll go from my charmer."Which he did, with his loot(Seven hats and a flute),And was nabbed for his Sydenham armourAtMr. Ben-Samuel'ssuit.

"To London I'll go from my charmer."

Which he did, with his loot

(Seven hats and a flute),

And was nabbed for his Sydenham armour

AtMr. Ben-Samuel'ssuit.

Sir Guyhe was lodged in the Compter,Her pa, in a rage,Died (don't know his age),His daughter, she married the prompter,Grew bulky and quitted the stage.

Sir Guyhe was lodged in the Compter,

Her pa, in a rage,

Died (don't know his age),

His daughter, she married the prompter,

Grew bulky and quitted the stage.

Islife a boon?If so, it must befallThat Death, whene'er he call,Must call too soon.Though fourscore years he give,Yet one would pray to liveAnother moon!What kind of plaint have I,Who perish in July?I might have had to diePerchance in June!Is life a thorn?Then count it not a whit!Man is well done with it:Soon as he's bornHe should all means essayTo put the plague away;And I, war-worn,Poor captured fugitive,My life most gladly give—I might have had to liveAnother morn!

Islife a boon?

If so, it must befall

That Death, whene'er he call,

Must call too soon.

Though fourscore years he give,

Yet one would pray to live

Another moon!

What kind of plaint have I,

Who perish in July?

I might have had to die

Perchance in June!

Is life a thorn?Then count it not a whit!Man is well done with it:Soon as he's bornHe should all means essayTo put the plague away;And I, war-worn,Poor captured fugitive,My life most gladly give—I might have had to liveAnother morn!

Is life a thorn?

Then count it not a whit!

Man is well done with it:

Soon as he's born

He should all means essay

To put the plague away;

And I, war-worn,

Poor captured fugitive,

My life most gladly give—

I might have had to live

Another morn!

Haunted? Ay, in a social way,By a body of ghosts in a dread array:But no conventional spectres they—Appalling, grim, and tricky;I quail at mine as I'd never quailAt a fine traditional spectre pale,With a turnip head and a ghostly wail,And a splash of blood on the dicky!Mine are horrible social ghosts,Speeches and women and guests and hosts,Weddings and morning calls and toasts,In every bad variety:Ghosts that hover about the graveOf all that's manly, free, and brave:You'll find their names on the architraveOf that charnel-house, Society.Black Monday—black as its schoolroom ink—With its dismal boys that snivel and thinkOf nauseous messes to eat and drink,And a frozen tank to wash in.That was the first that brought me griefAnd made me weep, till I sought reliefIn an emblematical handkerchief,To choke such baby bosh in.First and worst in the grim array—Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way,Which I wouldn't revive for a single dayFor all the wealth ofPlutus—Are the horrible ghosts that schooldays scaredIf the classical ghost thatBrutusdaredWas the ghost of his "Cæsar" unprepared,I'm sure I pityBrutus.I pass to critical seventeen:The ghost of that terrible wedding scene,When an elderly colonel stole my queen,And woke my dream of heaven:No school-girl decked in her nursery curlsWas my gushing innocent queen of pearls;If she wasn't a girl of a thousand girls.She was one of forty-seven!I see the ghost of my first cigar—Of the thence-arising family jar—Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar),When I called the judge "Your wushup"!Of reckless days and reckless nights,With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights,Unholy songs, and tipsy fights,Which I strove in vain to hush up.Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks,Ghosts of copy, "declined with thanks,"Of novels returned in endless ranks,And thousands more, I suffer.The only line to fitly graceMy humble tomb, when I've run my race,Is "Reader, this is the resting-placeOf an unsuccessful duffer."I've fought them all, these ghosts of mine,But the weapons I've used are sighs and brine,And now that I'm nearly forty-nine,Old age is my only bogy;For my hair is thinning away at the crown,And the silver fights with the worn-out brown;And a general verdict sets me downAs an irreclaimable fogy.

Haunted? Ay, in a social way,

By a body of ghosts in a dread array:

But no conventional spectres they—

Appalling, grim, and tricky;

I quail at mine as I'd never quail

At a fine traditional spectre pale,

With a turnip head and a ghostly wail,

And a splash of blood on the dicky!

Mine are horrible social ghosts,Speeches and women and guests and hosts,Weddings and morning calls and toasts,In every bad variety:Ghosts that hover about the graveOf all that's manly, free, and brave:You'll find their names on the architraveOf that charnel-house, Society.

Mine are horrible social ghosts,

Speeches and women and guests and hosts,

Weddings and morning calls and toasts,

In every bad variety:

Ghosts that hover about the grave

Of all that's manly, free, and brave:

You'll find their names on the architrave

Of that charnel-house, Society.

Black Monday—black as its schoolroom ink—With its dismal boys that snivel and thinkOf nauseous messes to eat and drink,And a frozen tank to wash in.That was the first that brought me griefAnd made me weep, till I sought reliefIn an emblematical handkerchief,To choke such baby bosh in.

Black Monday—black as its schoolroom ink—

With its dismal boys that snivel and think

Of nauseous messes to eat and drink,

And a frozen tank to wash in.

That was the first that brought me grief

And made me weep, till I sought relief

In an emblematical handkerchief,

To choke such baby bosh in.

First and worst in the grim array—Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way,Which I wouldn't revive for a single dayFor all the wealth ofPlutus—Are the horrible ghosts that schooldays scaredIf the classical ghost thatBrutusdaredWas the ghost of his "Cæsar" unprepared,I'm sure I pityBrutus.

First and worst in the grim array—

Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way,

Which I wouldn't revive for a single day

For all the wealth ofPlutus—

Are the horrible ghosts that schooldays scared

If the classical ghost thatBrutusdared

Was the ghost of his "Cæsar" unprepared,

I'm sure I pityBrutus.

I pass to critical seventeen:The ghost of that terrible wedding scene,When an elderly colonel stole my queen,And woke my dream of heaven:No school-girl decked in her nursery curlsWas my gushing innocent queen of pearls;If she wasn't a girl of a thousand girls.She was one of forty-seven!

I pass to critical seventeen:

The ghost of that terrible wedding scene,

When an elderly colonel stole my queen,

And woke my dream of heaven:

No school-girl decked in her nursery curls

Was my gushing innocent queen of pearls;

If she wasn't a girl of a thousand girls.

She was one of forty-seven!

I see the ghost of my first cigar—Of the thence-arising family jar—Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar),When I called the judge "Your wushup"!Of reckless days and reckless nights,With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights,Unholy songs, and tipsy fights,Which I strove in vain to hush up.

I see the ghost of my first cigar—

Of the thence-arising family jar—

Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar),

When I called the judge "Your wushup"!

Of reckless days and reckless nights,

With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights,

Unholy songs, and tipsy fights,

Which I strove in vain to hush up.

Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks,Ghosts of copy, "declined with thanks,"Of novels returned in endless ranks,And thousands more, I suffer.The only line to fitly graceMy humble tomb, when I've run my race,Is "Reader, this is the resting-placeOf an unsuccessful duffer."

Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks,

Ghosts of copy, "declined with thanks,"

Of novels returned in endless ranks,

And thousands more, I suffer.

The only line to fitly grace

My humble tomb, when I've run my race,

Is "Reader, this is the resting-place

Of an unsuccessful duffer."

I've fought them all, these ghosts of mine,But the weapons I've used are sighs and brine,And now that I'm nearly forty-nine,Old age is my only bogy;For my hair is thinning away at the crown,And the silver fights with the worn-out brown;And a general verdict sets me downAs an irreclaimable fogy.

I've fought them all, these ghosts of mine,

But the weapons I've used are sighs and brine,

And now that I'm nearly forty-nine,

Old age is my only bogy;

For my hair is thinning away at the crown,

And the silver fights with the worn-out brown;

And a general verdict sets me down

As an irreclaimable fogy.

I amthe very pattern of a modern Major-Gineral,I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral;I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical,From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical;I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical,I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical;About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news,With interesting facts about the square of the hypotenuse.I'm very good at integral and differential calculus,I know the scientific names of beings animalculous.In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.I know our mythic history—King Arthur'sandSir Caradoc's,I answer hard acrostics, I've a pretty taste for paradox;I quote in elegiacs all the crimes ofHeliogabalus,In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous.I tell undoubtedRaphaelsfromGerard DowsandZoffanies,I know the croaking chorus from the "Frogs" ofAristophanes;Then I can hum a fugue, of which I've heard the music's din afore,And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense "Pinafore."Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform,And tell you every detail ofCaractacus'suniform.In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.In fact, when I know what is meant by "mamelon" and "ravelin,"When I can tell at sight a Chassepot rifle from a javelin,When such affairs assortiesand surprises I'm more wary at,And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat,When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery,When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery,In short, when I've a smattering of elementary strategy,You'll say a better Major-Generalhas neversata gee—For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury,Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century.But still in learning vegetable, animal, and mineral,I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral!

I amthe very pattern of a modern Major-Gineral,

I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral;

I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical,

From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical;

I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical,

I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical;

About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news,

With interesting facts about the square of the hypotenuse.

I'm very good at integral and differential calculus,

I know the scientific names of beings animalculous.

In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,

I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.

I know our mythic history—King Arthur'sandSir Caradoc's,I answer hard acrostics, I've a pretty taste for paradox;I quote in elegiacs all the crimes ofHeliogabalus,In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous.I tell undoubtedRaphaelsfromGerard DowsandZoffanies,I know the croaking chorus from the "Frogs" ofAristophanes;Then I can hum a fugue, of which I've heard the music's din afore,And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense "Pinafore."Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform,And tell you every detail ofCaractacus'suniform.In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.

I know our mythic history—King Arthur'sandSir Caradoc's,

I answer hard acrostics, I've a pretty taste for paradox;

I quote in elegiacs all the crimes ofHeliogabalus,

In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous.

I tell undoubtedRaphaelsfromGerard DowsandZoffanies,

I know the croaking chorus from the "Frogs" ofAristophanes;

Then I can hum a fugue, of which I've heard the music's din afore,

And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense "Pinafore."

Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform,

And tell you every detail ofCaractacus'suniform.

In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,

I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.

In fact, when I know what is meant by "mamelon" and "ravelin,"When I can tell at sight a Chassepot rifle from a javelin,When such affairs assortiesand surprises I'm more wary at,And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat,When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery,When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery,In short, when I've a smattering of elementary strategy,You'll say a better Major-Generalhas neversata gee—For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury,Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century.But still in learning vegetable, animal, and mineral,I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral!

In fact, when I know what is meant by "mamelon" and "ravelin,"

When I can tell at sight a Chassepot rifle from a javelin,

When such affairs assortiesand surprises I'm more wary at,

And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat,

When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery,

When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery,

In short, when I've a smattering of elementary strategy,

You'll say a better Major-Generalhas neversata gee—

For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury,

Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century.

But still in learning vegetable, animal, and mineral,

I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral!

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