THE NATIONAL ANTHEM

THE NATIONAL ANTHEMA monarchis pestered with cares,Though, no doubt, he can often trepan them;But one comes in a shape he can never escape—The implacable National Anthem!Though for quiet and rest he may yearn,It pursues him at every turn—No chance of forsakingItsrococonumbers;They haunt him when waking—They poison his slumbers—Like the Banbury Lady, whom every one knows,He's cursed with its music wherever he goes!Though its words but imperfectly rhyme,And the devil himself couldn't scan them;With composure polite he endures day and nightThat illiterate National Anthem!It serves a good purpose, I own:Its strains are devout and impressive—Its heart-stirring notes raise a lump in our throatsAs we burn with devotion excessive:But the King, who's been bored by that songFrom his cradle—each day—all day long—Who's heard it loud-shoutedBy throats operatic,And loyally spoutedBy courtiers emphatic—By soldier—by sailor—by drum and by fife—Small blame if he thinks it the plague of his life!While his subjects sing loudly and long,Their King—who would willingly ban them—Sits, worry disguising, anathematisingThat Bogie, the National Anthem!JOE GOLIGHTLYOR, THE FIRST LORD'S DAUGHTERA tar, but poorly prized,Long, shambling, and unsightly,Thrashed, bullied, and despised,Was wretchedJoe Golightly.He bore a workhouse brand;No Pa or Ma had claimed him,The Beadle found him, andThe Board of Guardians named him.P'r'aps some Princess's son—A beggar p'r'aps his mother.Herather thought the one,Irather think the other.He liked his ship at sea,He loved the salt sea-water,He worshipped junk, and heAdored the First Lord's daughter.The First Lord's daughter, proud,Snubbed Earls and Viscounts nightly;She sneered at Barts, aloud,And spurned poor Joe Golightly.Whene'er he sailed afarUpon a Channel cruise, heUnpacked his light guitarAnd sang this ballad (Boosey):BalladThe moon is on the sea,Willow!The wind blows towards the lee,Willow!But though I sigh and sob and cry,No Lady Jane for me,Willow!She says, "'Twere folly quite,Willow!For me to wed a wight,Willow!Whose lot is cast before the mast";And possibly she's right,Willow!His skipper (Captain Joyce),He gave him many a rating,And almost lost his voiceFrom thus expostulating:"Lay aft, you lubber, do!What's come to that young man,Joe?Belay!—'vast heaving! you!Do kindly stop that banjo!"I wish, I do—O lor'!—You'd shipped aboard a trader:Areyou a sailor orA negro serenader?"But still the stricken lad,Aloft or on his pillow,Howled forth in accents sadHis aggravating "Willow!"Stern love of duty hadBeenJoyce'schiefest beauty;Says he, "I love that lad,But duty, damme! duty!"Twelve months' black-hole, I say,Where daylight never flashes;And always twice a dayA good six dozen lashes!"ButJosephhad a mate,A sailor stout and lusty,A man of low estate,But singularly trusty.Says he, "Cheer hup, youngJoe!I'll tell you what I'm arter—To that Fust Lord I'll goAnd ax him for his darter."To that Fust Lord I'll goAnd say you love her dearly."AndJoesaid (weeping low),"I wish you would, sincerely!"That sailor to that LordWent, soon as he had landed,And of his own accordAn interview demanded.Says he, with seaman's roll,"My Captain (wot's a Tartar)GuvJoetwelve months' black-hole,For lovering your darter."He lovesMiss Lady Jane(I own she is his betters),But if you'll jine them twain,They'll free him from his fetters."And if so be as howYou'll let her come aboard ship,I'll take her with me now.""Get out!" remarked his Lordship.That honest tar repairedToJoeupon the billow,And told him how he'd fared.Joeonly whispered, "Willow!"And for that dreadful crime(Young sailors, learn to shun it)He's working out his time;In six months he'll have done it.HER TERMSMywedded lifeMust every pleasure bringOn scale extensive!If I'm your wifeI must have everythingThat's most expensive—A lady's-maid—(My hair alone to doI am not able)—And I'm afraidI've been accustomed toA first-rate table.These things one must consider when one marries—And everything I wear must come from Paris!Oh, think of that!Oh, think of that!I can't wear anything that's not from Paris!From top to toesQuite Frenchified I am,If you examine.And then—who knows?—Perhaps some day a fam—Perhaps a famine!My argument's correct, if you examine,What should we do, if there should come a f-famine!Though in green peaYourself you needn't stintIn July sunny,In JanuareeIt really costs a mint—A mint of money!No lamb for us—House lamb at Christmas sellsAt prices handsome:Asparagus,In winter, parallelsA Monarch's ransom:When purse to bread and butter barely reaches,What is your wife to do for hot-house peaches?Ah! tell me that!Ah! tell me that!Whatisyour wife to do for hot-house peaches?Your heart and handThough at my feet you lay,All others scorning!As matters stand,There's nothing now to sayExcept—good morning!Though virtue be a husband's best adorning,That won't pay rates and taxes—so, good morning!THE INDEPENDENT BEEA hiveof bees, as I've heard say,Said to their Queen one sultry day,"Please your Majesty's high position,The hive is full and the weather is warm,We rather think, with a due submission,The time has come when we ought to swarm."Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Up spake their Queen and thus spake she—"This is a matter that rests with me,Who dares opinions thus to form?I'lltell you when it is time to swarm!"Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Her Majesty wore an angry frown,In fact, her Majesty's foot was down—Her Majesty sulked—declined to sup—In short, her Majesty's back was up.Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Her foot was down and her back was up!That hive contained one obstinate bee(His name was Peter), and thus spake he—"Though every bee has shown white feather,To bow to tyranny I'm not prone—Why should a hive swarm all together?Surely a bee can swarm alone?"Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Upside down and inside out,Backwards, forwards, round about,Twirling here and twisting there,Topsy-turvily everywhere—Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Pitiful sight it was to seeRespectable elderly high-class bee,Who kicked the beam at sixteen stone,Trying his best to swarm alone!Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Trying his best to swarm alone!The hive were shocked to see their chum(A strict teetotaller) teetotum—The Queen exclaimed, "How terrible, very!It's perfectly clear to all the throngPeter's been at the old brown sherry.Old brown sherry is much too strong—Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Of all who thus themselves degrade,A stern example must be made,To Coventry go, you tipsy bee!"So off to Coventry town went he.Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.There, classed with all who misbehave,Both plausible rogue and noisome knave.In dismal dumps he lived to ownThe folly of trying to swarm alone!Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.All came of trying to swarm alone.TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBEBY A MISERABLE WRETCHRollon, thou ball, roll on!Through pathless realms of SpaceRoll on!What though I'm in a sorry case?What though I cannot meet my bills?What though I suffer toothache's ills?What though I swallow countless pills?Neveryoumind!Roll on!Roll on, thou ball, roll on!Through seas of inky airRoll on!It's true I have no shirts to wear;It's true my butcher's bill is due;It's true my prospects all look blue—But don't let that unsettle you:Neveryoumind!Roll on![It rolls on.ETIQUETTE[12]TheBallyshannonfoundered off the coast of Cariboo,And down in fathoms many went the captain and the crew;Down went the owners—greedy men whom hope of gain allured:Oh, dry the starting tear, for they were heavily insured.Besides the captain and the mate, the owners and the crew,The passengers were also drowned excepting only two:YoungPeter Gray, who tasted teas forBaker, Croop, and Co.,AndSomers, who from Eastern shores imported indigo.[12]Reprinted from theGraphic, by permission of the proprietors.These passengers, by reason of their clinging to a mast,Upon a desert island were eventually cast.They hunted for their meals, asAlexander Selkirkused,But they couldn't chat together—they had not been introduced.ForPeter Gray, andSomerstoo, though certainly in trade,Were properly particular about the friends they made;And somehow thus they settled it without a word of mouth—ThatGrayshould take the northern half, whileSomerstook the south.OnPeter'sportion oysters grew—a delicacy rare,But oysters were a delicacyPetercouldn't bear.OnSomers'side was turtle, on the shingle lying thick,WhichSomerscouldn't eat, because it always made him sick.Graygnashed his teeth with envy as he saw a mighty storeOf turtle unmolested on his fellow-creature's shore:The oysters at his feet aside impatiently he shoved,For turtle and his mother were the only things he loved.AndSomerssighed in sorrow as he settled in the south,For the thought ofPeter'soysters brought the water to his mouth.He longed to lay him down upon the shelly bed, and stuff:He had often eaten oysters, but had never had enough.How they wished an introduction to each other they had hadWhen on board theBallyshannon! And it drove them nearly madTo think how very friendly with each other they might get,If it wasn't for the arbitrary rule of etiquette!One day, when out a-hunting for themus ridiculus,Grayoverheard his fellow-man soliloquising thus:"I wonder how the playmates of my youth are getting on,M'Connell,S. B. Walters,Paddy Byles, andRobinson?"These simple words madePeteras delighted as could be,Old chummies at the Charterhouse wereRobinsonand he!He walked straight up toSomers, then he turned extremely red,Hesitated, hummed and hawed a bit, then cleared his throat, and said:"I beg your pardon—pray forgive me if I seem too bold,But you have breathed a name I knew familiarly of old.You spoke aloud ofRobinson—I happened to be by—You know him?" "Yes, extremely well." "Allow me—so do I!"It was enough: they felt they could more sociably get on,For (ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knewRobinson!AndMr. Somers'turtle was atPeter'sservice quite,AndMr. SomerspunishedPeter'soyster-beds all night.They soon became like brothers from community of wrongs:They wrote each other little odes and sang each other songs;They told each other anecdotes disparaging their wives;On several occasions, too, they saved each other's lives.They felt quite melancholy when they parted for the night,And got up in the morning soon as ever it was light;Each other's pleasant company they reckoned so upon,And all because it happened that they both knewRobinson!They lived for many years on that inhospitable shore,And day by day they learned to love each other more and more.At last, to their astonishment, on getting up one day,They saw a vessel anchored in the offing of the bay!ToPeteran idea occurred. "Suppose we cross the main?So good an opportunity may not occur again."AndSomersthought a minute, then ejaculated, "Done!I wonder how my business in the City's getting on?""But stay," saidMr. Peter: "when in England, as you know,I earned a living tasting teas forBaker, Croop, and Co.,I may be superseded—my employers think me dead!""Then come with me," saidSomers, "and taste indigo instead."But all their plans were scattered in a moment when they foundThe vessel was a convict ship from Portland, outward bound!When a boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very kind,To go on board they firmly but respectfully declined.As both the happy settlers roared with laughter at the joke,They recognised an unattractive fellow pulling stroke:'TwasRobinson—a convict, in an unbecoming frock!Condemned to seven years for misappropriating stock!!!They laughed no more, forSomersthought he had been rather rashIn knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash;AndPeterthought a foolish tack he must have gone uponIn making the acquaintance of a friend ofRobinson.At first they didn't quarrel very openly, I've heard;They nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word:The word grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head,And when they meet each other now, they cut each other dead.To allocate the island they agreed by word of mouth,AndPetertakes the north again, andSomerstakes the south;AndPeterhas the oysters, which he loathes with horror grim,AndSomershas the turtle—turtle disagrees with him.THE DISCONCERTED TENORA tenor, all singers above(This doesn't admit of a question),Should keep himself quiet,Attend to his diet,And carefully nurse his digestion.But when he is madly in love,It's certain to tell on his singing—You can't do chromaticsWith proper emphaticsWhen anguish your bosom is wringing!When distracted with worries in plenty,And his pulse is a hundred and twenty,And his fluttering bosom the slave of mistrust is,A tenor can't do himself justice.Now observe—(sings a high note)—You see, I can't do myself justice!I could sing, if my fervour were mock,It's easy enough if you're acting;But when one's emotionIs born of devotion,You mustn't be over-exacting.One ought to be firm as a rockTo venture a shake invibrato;When fervour's expected,Keep cool and collected,Or never attemptagitato.But, of course, when his tongue is of leather.And his lips appear pasted together,And his sensitive palate as dry as a crust is,A tenor can't do himself justice.Now observe—(sings a cadence)—It's no use—I can't do myself justice!BEN ALLAH ACHMET;OR, THE FATAL TUMI oncedid know a Turkish manWhom I upon a two-pair-back met,His name it wasEffendi KhanBacksheesh Pasha Ben Allah Achmet.ADoctor BrownI also knew—I've often eaten of his bounty;The Turk and he they lived at Hooe,In Sussex, that delightful county!I knew a nice young lady there,Her name wasEmily Macpherson,And though she wore another's hair,She was an interesting person.The Turk adored the maid of Hooe(Although his harem would have shocked her).ButBrownadored that maiden too:He was a most seductive doctor.They'd follow her where'er she'd go—A course of action most improper;She neither knew by sight, and soFor neither of them cared a copper.Browndid not know that Turkish male,He might have been his sainted mother:The people in this simple taleAre total strangers to each other.One day that Turk he sickened sore,And suffered agonies oppressive;He threw himself upon the floorAnd rolled about in pain excessive.It made him moan, it made him groan,And almost wore him to a mummy.Why should I hesitate to ownThat pain was in his little tummy?At length a doctor came, and rung(AsAllah Achmethad desired),Who felt his pulse, looked up his tongue,And hemmed and hawed, and then inquired:"Where is the pain that long has preyedUpon you in so sad a way, sir?"The Turk he giggled, blushed, and said:"I don't exactly like to say, sir.""Come, nonsense!" said goodDoctor Brown."So this is Turkish coyness, is it?You must contrive to fight it down—Come, come, sir, please to be explicit."The Turk he shyly bit his thumb,And coyly blushed like one half-witted,"The pain is in my little tum,"He, whispering, at length admitted."Then take you this, and take you that—Your blood flows sluggish in its channel—You must get rid of all this fat,And wear my medicated flannel."You'll send for me when you're in need—My name isBrown—your life I've saved it."My rival!" shrieked the invalid,And drew a mighty sword and waved it:"This to thy weazand, Christian pest!"Aloud the Turk in frenzy yelled it,And drove right through the doctor's chestThe sabre and the hand that held it.The blow was a decisive one,AndDoctor Browngrew deadly pasty,"Now see the mischief that you've done—You Turks are so extremely hasty."There are twoDoctor Brownsin Hooe—He'sshort and stout,I'mtall and wizen;You've been and run the wrong one through,That's how the error has arisen."The accident was thus explained,Apologies were only heard now:"At my mistake I'm really pained—I am, indeed—upon my word now."With me, sir, you shall be interred,A mausoleum grand awaits me.""Oh, pray don't say another word,I'm sure that more than compensates me."But p'r'aps, kind Turk, you're full inside?""There's room," said he, "for any number,"And so they laid them down and died.In proud Stamboul they sleep their slumber.THE PLAYED-OUT HUMORISTQuixoticis his enterprise, and hopeless his adventure is,Who seeks for jocularities that haven't yet been said.The world has joked incessantly for over fifty centuries,And every joke that's possible has long ago been made.I started as a humorist with lots of mental fizziness,But humour is a drug which it's the fashion to abuse;For my stock-in-trade, my fixtures, and the goodwill of the businessNo reasonable offer I am likely to refuse.And if anybody chooseHe may circulate the newsThat no reasonable offer I'm likely to refuse.Oh happy was that humorist—the first that made a pun at all—Who when a joke occurred to him, however poor and mean,Was absolutely certain that it never had been done at all—How popular at dinners must that humorist have been!Oh the days when some stepfather for the query held a handle out,The door-mat from the scraper, is it distant very far?And when no one knew where Moses was when Aaron blew the candle out,And no one had discovered that a door could be a-jar!But your modern hearers areIn their tastes particular,And they sneer if you inform them that a door can be a-jar!In search of quip and quiddity, I've sat all day, alone, apart—And all that I could hit on as a problem was—to findAnalogy between a scrag of mutton and a Bony-part,Which offers slight employment to the speculative mind:For you cannot call it very good, however great your charity—It's not the sort of humour that is greeted with a shout—And I've come to the conclusion that my mine of jocularity.In present Anno Domini, is worked completely out!Though the notion you may scout,I can prove beyond a doubtThat my mine of jocularity is utterly worked out!INDEX TO FIRST LINES

A monarchis pestered with cares,Though, no doubt, he can often trepan them;But one comes in a shape he can never escape—The implacable National Anthem!Though for quiet and rest he may yearn,It pursues him at every turn—No chance of forsakingItsrococonumbers;They haunt him when waking—They poison his slumbers—Like the Banbury Lady, whom every one knows,He's cursed with its music wherever he goes!Though its words but imperfectly rhyme,And the devil himself couldn't scan them;With composure polite he endures day and nightThat illiterate National Anthem!It serves a good purpose, I own:Its strains are devout and impressive—Its heart-stirring notes raise a lump in our throatsAs we burn with devotion excessive:But the King, who's been bored by that songFrom his cradle—each day—all day long—Who's heard it loud-shoutedBy throats operatic,And loyally spoutedBy courtiers emphatic—By soldier—by sailor—by drum and by fife—Small blame if he thinks it the plague of his life!While his subjects sing loudly and long,Their King—who would willingly ban them—Sits, worry disguising, anathematisingThat Bogie, the National Anthem!

A monarchis pestered with cares,

Though, no doubt, he can often trepan them;

But one comes in a shape he can never escape—

The implacable National Anthem!

Though for quiet and rest he may yearn,

It pursues him at every turn—

No chance of forsaking

Itsrococonumbers;

They haunt him when waking—

They poison his slumbers—

Like the Banbury Lady, whom every one knows,

He's cursed with its music wherever he goes!

Though its words but imperfectly rhyme,

And the devil himself couldn't scan them;

With composure polite he endures day and night

That illiterate National Anthem!

It serves a good purpose, I own:Its strains are devout and impressive—Its heart-stirring notes raise a lump in our throatsAs we burn with devotion excessive:But the King, who's been bored by that songFrom his cradle—each day—all day long—Who's heard it loud-shoutedBy throats operatic,And loyally spoutedBy courtiers emphatic—By soldier—by sailor—by drum and by fife—Small blame if he thinks it the plague of his life!While his subjects sing loudly and long,Their King—who would willingly ban them—Sits, worry disguising, anathematisingThat Bogie, the National Anthem!

It serves a good purpose, I own:

Its strains are devout and impressive—

Its heart-stirring notes raise a lump in our throats

As we burn with devotion excessive:

But the King, who's been bored by that song

From his cradle—each day—all day long—

Who's heard it loud-shouted

By throats operatic,

And loyally spouted

By courtiers emphatic—

By soldier—by sailor—by drum and by fife—

Small blame if he thinks it the plague of his life!

While his subjects sing loudly and long,

Their King—who would willingly ban them—

Sits, worry disguising, anathematising

That Bogie, the National Anthem!

A tar, but poorly prized,Long, shambling, and unsightly,Thrashed, bullied, and despised,Was wretchedJoe Golightly.He bore a workhouse brand;No Pa or Ma had claimed him,The Beadle found him, andThe Board of Guardians named him.P'r'aps some Princess's son—A beggar p'r'aps his mother.Herather thought the one,Irather think the other.He liked his ship at sea,He loved the salt sea-water,He worshipped junk, and heAdored the First Lord's daughter.The First Lord's daughter, proud,Snubbed Earls and Viscounts nightly;She sneered at Barts, aloud,And spurned poor Joe Golightly.Whene'er he sailed afarUpon a Channel cruise, heUnpacked his light guitarAnd sang this ballad (Boosey):BalladThe moon is on the sea,Willow!The wind blows towards the lee,Willow!But though I sigh and sob and cry,No Lady Jane for me,Willow!She says, "'Twere folly quite,Willow!For me to wed a wight,Willow!Whose lot is cast before the mast";And possibly she's right,Willow!His skipper (Captain Joyce),He gave him many a rating,And almost lost his voiceFrom thus expostulating:"Lay aft, you lubber, do!What's come to that young man,Joe?Belay!—'vast heaving! you!Do kindly stop that banjo!"I wish, I do—O lor'!—You'd shipped aboard a trader:Areyou a sailor orA negro serenader?"But still the stricken lad,Aloft or on his pillow,Howled forth in accents sadHis aggravating "Willow!"Stern love of duty hadBeenJoyce'schiefest beauty;Says he, "I love that lad,But duty, damme! duty!"Twelve months' black-hole, I say,Where daylight never flashes;And always twice a dayA good six dozen lashes!"ButJosephhad a mate,A sailor stout and lusty,A man of low estate,But singularly trusty.Says he, "Cheer hup, youngJoe!I'll tell you what I'm arter—To that Fust Lord I'll goAnd ax him for his darter."To that Fust Lord I'll goAnd say you love her dearly."AndJoesaid (weeping low),"I wish you would, sincerely!"That sailor to that LordWent, soon as he had landed,And of his own accordAn interview demanded.Says he, with seaman's roll,"My Captain (wot's a Tartar)GuvJoetwelve months' black-hole,For lovering your darter."He lovesMiss Lady Jane(I own she is his betters),But if you'll jine them twain,They'll free him from his fetters."And if so be as howYou'll let her come aboard ship,I'll take her with me now.""Get out!" remarked his Lordship.That honest tar repairedToJoeupon the billow,And told him how he'd fared.Joeonly whispered, "Willow!"And for that dreadful crime(Young sailors, learn to shun it)He's working out his time;In six months he'll have done it.

A tar, but poorly prized,Long, shambling, and unsightly,Thrashed, bullied, and despised,Was wretchedJoe Golightly.

A tar, but poorly prized,

Long, shambling, and unsightly,

Thrashed, bullied, and despised,

Was wretchedJoe Golightly.

He bore a workhouse brand;No Pa or Ma had claimed him,The Beadle found him, andThe Board of Guardians named him.

He bore a workhouse brand;

No Pa or Ma had claimed him,

The Beadle found him, and

The Board of Guardians named him.

P'r'aps some Princess's son—A beggar p'r'aps his mother.Herather thought the one,Irather think the other.

P'r'aps some Princess's son—

A beggar p'r'aps his mother.

Herather thought the one,

Irather think the other.

He liked his ship at sea,He loved the salt sea-water,He worshipped junk, and heAdored the First Lord's daughter.

He liked his ship at sea,

He loved the salt sea-water,

He worshipped junk, and he

Adored the First Lord's daughter.

The First Lord's daughter, proud,Snubbed Earls and Viscounts nightly;She sneered at Barts, aloud,And spurned poor Joe Golightly.

The First Lord's daughter, proud,

Snubbed Earls and Viscounts nightly;

She sneered at Barts, aloud,

And spurned poor Joe Golightly.

Whene'er he sailed afarUpon a Channel cruise, heUnpacked his light guitarAnd sang this ballad (Boosey):

Whene'er he sailed afar

Upon a Channel cruise, he

Unpacked his light guitar

And sang this ballad (Boosey):

Ballad

The moon is on the sea,Willow!The wind blows towards the lee,Willow!But though I sigh and sob and cry,No Lady Jane for me,Willow!

The moon is on the sea,

Willow!

The wind blows towards the lee,

Willow!

But though I sigh and sob and cry,

No Lady Jane for me,

Willow!

She says, "'Twere folly quite,Willow!For me to wed a wight,Willow!Whose lot is cast before the mast";And possibly she's right,Willow!

She says, "'Twere folly quite,

Willow!

For me to wed a wight,

Willow!

Whose lot is cast before the mast";

And possibly she's right,

Willow!

His skipper (Captain Joyce),He gave him many a rating,And almost lost his voiceFrom thus expostulating:

His skipper (Captain Joyce),

He gave him many a rating,

And almost lost his voice

From thus expostulating:

"Lay aft, you lubber, do!What's come to that young man,Joe?Belay!—'vast heaving! you!Do kindly stop that banjo!

"Lay aft, you lubber, do!

What's come to that young man,Joe?

Belay!—'vast heaving! you!

Do kindly stop that banjo!

"I wish, I do—O lor'!—You'd shipped aboard a trader:Areyou a sailor orA negro serenader?"

"I wish, I do—O lor'!—

You'd shipped aboard a trader:

Areyou a sailor or

A negro serenader?"

But still the stricken lad,Aloft or on his pillow,Howled forth in accents sadHis aggravating "Willow!"

But still the stricken lad,

Aloft or on his pillow,

Howled forth in accents sad

His aggravating "Willow!"

Stern love of duty hadBeenJoyce'schiefest beauty;Says he, "I love that lad,But duty, damme! duty!

Stern love of duty had

BeenJoyce'schiefest beauty;

Says he, "I love that lad,

But duty, damme! duty!

"Twelve months' black-hole, I say,Where daylight never flashes;And always twice a dayA good six dozen lashes!"

"Twelve months' black-hole, I say,

Where daylight never flashes;

And always twice a day

A good six dozen lashes!"

ButJosephhad a mate,A sailor stout and lusty,A man of low estate,But singularly trusty.

ButJosephhad a mate,

A sailor stout and lusty,

A man of low estate,

But singularly trusty.

Says he, "Cheer hup, youngJoe!I'll tell you what I'm arter—To that Fust Lord I'll goAnd ax him for his darter.

Says he, "Cheer hup, youngJoe!

I'll tell you what I'm arter—

To that Fust Lord I'll go

And ax him for his darter.

"To that Fust Lord I'll goAnd say you love her dearly."AndJoesaid (weeping low),"I wish you would, sincerely!"

"To that Fust Lord I'll go

And say you love her dearly."

AndJoesaid (weeping low),

"I wish you would, sincerely!"

That sailor to that LordWent, soon as he had landed,And of his own accordAn interview demanded.

That sailor to that Lord

Went, soon as he had landed,

And of his own accord

An interview demanded.

Says he, with seaman's roll,"My Captain (wot's a Tartar)GuvJoetwelve months' black-hole,For lovering your darter.

Says he, with seaman's roll,

"My Captain (wot's a Tartar)

GuvJoetwelve months' black-hole,

For lovering your darter.

"He lovesMiss Lady Jane(I own she is his betters),But if you'll jine them twain,They'll free him from his fetters.

"He lovesMiss Lady Jane

(I own she is his betters),

But if you'll jine them twain,

They'll free him from his fetters.

"And if so be as howYou'll let her come aboard ship,I'll take her with me now.""Get out!" remarked his Lordship.

"And if so be as how

You'll let her come aboard ship,

I'll take her with me now."

"Get out!" remarked his Lordship.

That honest tar repairedToJoeupon the billow,And told him how he'd fared.Joeonly whispered, "Willow!"

That honest tar repaired

ToJoeupon the billow,

And told him how he'd fared.

Joeonly whispered, "Willow!"

And for that dreadful crime(Young sailors, learn to shun it)He's working out his time;In six months he'll have done it.

And for that dreadful crime

(Young sailors, learn to shun it)

He's working out his time;

In six months he'll have done it.

Mywedded lifeMust every pleasure bringOn scale extensive!If I'm your wifeI must have everythingThat's most expensive—A lady's-maid—(My hair alone to doI am not able)—And I'm afraidI've been accustomed toA first-rate table.These things one must consider when one marries—And everything I wear must come from Paris!Oh, think of that!Oh, think of that!I can't wear anything that's not from Paris!From top to toesQuite Frenchified I am,If you examine.And then—who knows?—Perhaps some day a fam—Perhaps a famine!My argument's correct, if you examine,What should we do, if there should come a f-famine!Though in green peaYourself you needn't stintIn July sunny,In JanuareeIt really costs a mint—A mint of money!No lamb for us—House lamb at Christmas sellsAt prices handsome:Asparagus,In winter, parallelsA Monarch's ransom:When purse to bread and butter barely reaches,What is your wife to do for hot-house peaches?Ah! tell me that!Ah! tell me that!Whatisyour wife to do for hot-house peaches?Your heart and handThough at my feet you lay,All others scorning!As matters stand,There's nothing now to sayExcept—good morning!Though virtue be a husband's best adorning,That won't pay rates and taxes—so, good morning!

Mywedded life

Must every pleasure bring

On scale extensive!

If I'm your wife

I must have everything

That's most expensive—

A lady's-maid—

(My hair alone to do

I am not able)—

And I'm afraid

I've been accustomed to

A first-rate table.

These things one must consider when one marries—

And everything I wear must come from Paris!

Oh, think of that!

I can't wear anything that's not from Paris!

From top to toes

Quite Frenchified I am,

If you examine.

And then—who knows?—

Perhaps some day a fam—

Perhaps a famine!

My argument's correct, if you examine,

What should we do, if there should come a f-famine!

Though in green peaYourself you needn't stintIn July sunny,In JanuareeIt really costs a mint—A mint of money!

Though in green pea

Yourself you needn't stint

In July sunny,

In Januaree

It really costs a mint—

A mint of money!

No lamb for us—House lamb at Christmas sellsAt prices handsome:Asparagus,In winter, parallelsA Monarch's ransom:When purse to bread and butter barely reaches,What is your wife to do for hot-house peaches?Ah! tell me that!Ah! tell me that!Whatisyour wife to do for hot-house peaches?Your heart and handThough at my feet you lay,All others scorning!As matters stand,There's nothing now to sayExcept—good morning!Though virtue be a husband's best adorning,That won't pay rates and taxes—so, good morning!

No lamb for us—

House lamb at Christmas sells

At prices handsome:

Asparagus,

In winter, parallels

A Monarch's ransom:

When purse to bread and butter barely reaches,

What is your wife to do for hot-house peaches?

Ah! tell me that!

Whatisyour wife to do for hot-house peaches?

Your heart and hand

Though at my feet you lay,

All others scorning!

As matters stand,

There's nothing now to say

Except—good morning!

Though virtue be a husband's best adorning,

That won't pay rates and taxes—so, good morning!

A hiveof bees, as I've heard say,Said to their Queen one sultry day,"Please your Majesty's high position,The hive is full and the weather is warm,We rather think, with a due submission,The time has come when we ought to swarm."Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Up spake their Queen and thus spake she—"This is a matter that rests with me,Who dares opinions thus to form?I'lltell you when it is time to swarm!"Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Her Majesty wore an angry frown,In fact, her Majesty's foot was down—Her Majesty sulked—declined to sup—In short, her Majesty's back was up.Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Her foot was down and her back was up!That hive contained one obstinate bee(His name was Peter), and thus spake he—"Though every bee has shown white feather,To bow to tyranny I'm not prone—Why should a hive swarm all together?Surely a bee can swarm alone?"Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Upside down and inside out,Backwards, forwards, round about,Twirling here and twisting there,Topsy-turvily everywhere—Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Pitiful sight it was to seeRespectable elderly high-class bee,Who kicked the beam at sixteen stone,Trying his best to swarm alone!Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Trying his best to swarm alone!The hive were shocked to see their chum(A strict teetotaller) teetotum—The Queen exclaimed, "How terrible, very!It's perfectly clear to all the throngPeter's been at the old brown sherry.Old brown sherry is much too strong—Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Of all who thus themselves degrade,A stern example must be made,To Coventry go, you tipsy bee!"So off to Coventry town went he.Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.There, classed with all who misbehave,Both plausible rogue and noisome knave.In dismal dumps he lived to ownThe folly of trying to swarm alone!Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.All came of trying to swarm alone.

A hiveof bees, as I've heard say,

Said to their Queen one sultry day,

"Please your Majesty's high position,

The hive is full and the weather is warm,

We rather think, with a due submission,

The time has come when we ought to swarm."

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Up spake their Queen and thus spake she—

"This is a matter that rests with me,

Who dares opinions thus to form?

I'lltell you when it is time to swarm!"

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Her Majesty wore an angry frown,In fact, her Majesty's foot was down—Her Majesty sulked—declined to sup—In short, her Majesty's back was up.Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Her foot was down and her back was up!

Her Majesty wore an angry frown,

In fact, her Majesty's foot was down—

Her Majesty sulked—declined to sup—

In short, her Majesty's back was up.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Her foot was down and her back was up!

That hive contained one obstinate bee(His name was Peter), and thus spake he—"Though every bee has shown white feather,To bow to tyranny I'm not prone—Why should a hive swarm all together?Surely a bee can swarm alone?"Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Upside down and inside out,Backwards, forwards, round about,Twirling here and twisting there,Topsy-turvily everywhere—Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Pitiful sight it was to seeRespectable elderly high-class bee,Who kicked the beam at sixteen stone,Trying his best to swarm alone!Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Trying his best to swarm alone!

That hive contained one obstinate bee

(His name was Peter), and thus spake he—

"Though every bee has shown white feather,

To bow to tyranny I'm not prone—

Why should a hive swarm all together?

Surely a bee can swarm alone?"

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Upside down and inside out,

Backwards, forwards, round about,

Twirling here and twisting there,

Topsy-turvily everywhere—

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Pitiful sight it was to see

Respectable elderly high-class bee,

Who kicked the beam at sixteen stone,

Trying his best to swarm alone!

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Trying his best to swarm alone!

The hive were shocked to see their chum(A strict teetotaller) teetotum—The Queen exclaimed, "How terrible, very!It's perfectly clear to all the throngPeter's been at the old brown sherry.Old brown sherry is much too strong—Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.Of all who thus themselves degrade,A stern example must be made,

The hive were shocked to see their chum

(A strict teetotaller) teetotum—

The Queen exclaimed, "How terrible, very!

It's perfectly clear to all the throng

Peter's been at the old brown sherry.

Old brown sherry is much too strong—

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Of all who thus themselves degrade,

A stern example must be made,

To Coventry go, you tipsy bee!"So off to Coventry town went he.Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.There, classed with all who misbehave,Both plausible rogue and noisome knave.In dismal dumps he lived to ownThe folly of trying to swarm alone!Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.All came of trying to swarm alone.

To Coventry go, you tipsy bee!"

So off to Coventry town went he.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

There, classed with all who misbehave,

Both plausible rogue and noisome knave.

In dismal dumps he lived to own

The folly of trying to swarm alone!

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

All came of trying to swarm alone.

Rollon, thou ball, roll on!Through pathless realms of SpaceRoll on!What though I'm in a sorry case?What though I cannot meet my bills?What though I suffer toothache's ills?What though I swallow countless pills?Neveryoumind!Roll on!Roll on, thou ball, roll on!Through seas of inky airRoll on!It's true I have no shirts to wear;It's true my butcher's bill is due;It's true my prospects all look blue—But don't let that unsettle you:Neveryoumind!Roll on![It rolls on.

Rollon, thou ball, roll on!

Through pathless realms of Space

Roll on!

What though I'm in a sorry case?

What though I cannot meet my bills?

What though I suffer toothache's ills?

What though I swallow countless pills?

Neveryoumind!

Roll on!

Roll on, thou ball, roll on!Through seas of inky airRoll on!It's true I have no shirts to wear;

Roll on, thou ball, roll on!

Through seas of inky air

Roll on!

It's true I have no shirts to wear;

It's true my butcher's bill is due;It's true my prospects all look blue—But don't let that unsettle you:Neveryoumind!Roll on![It rolls on.

It's true my butcher's bill is due;

It's true my prospects all look blue—

But don't let that unsettle you:

Neveryoumind!

Roll on!

[It rolls on.

TheBallyshannonfoundered off the coast of Cariboo,And down in fathoms many went the captain and the crew;Down went the owners—greedy men whom hope of gain allured:Oh, dry the starting tear, for they were heavily insured.Besides the captain and the mate, the owners and the crew,The passengers were also drowned excepting only two:YoungPeter Gray, who tasted teas forBaker, Croop, and Co.,AndSomers, who from Eastern shores imported indigo.[12]Reprinted from theGraphic, by permission of the proprietors.These passengers, by reason of their clinging to a mast,Upon a desert island were eventually cast.They hunted for their meals, asAlexander Selkirkused,But they couldn't chat together—they had not been introduced.ForPeter Gray, andSomerstoo, though certainly in trade,Were properly particular about the friends they made;And somehow thus they settled it without a word of mouth—ThatGrayshould take the northern half, whileSomerstook the south.OnPeter'sportion oysters grew—a delicacy rare,But oysters were a delicacyPetercouldn't bear.OnSomers'side was turtle, on the shingle lying thick,WhichSomerscouldn't eat, because it always made him sick.Graygnashed his teeth with envy as he saw a mighty storeOf turtle unmolested on his fellow-creature's shore:The oysters at his feet aside impatiently he shoved,For turtle and his mother were the only things he loved.AndSomerssighed in sorrow as he settled in the south,For the thought ofPeter'soysters brought the water to his mouth.He longed to lay him down upon the shelly bed, and stuff:He had often eaten oysters, but had never had enough.How they wished an introduction to each other they had hadWhen on board theBallyshannon! And it drove them nearly madTo think how very friendly with each other they might get,If it wasn't for the arbitrary rule of etiquette!One day, when out a-hunting for themus ridiculus,Grayoverheard his fellow-man soliloquising thus:"I wonder how the playmates of my youth are getting on,M'Connell,S. B. Walters,Paddy Byles, andRobinson?"These simple words madePeteras delighted as could be,Old chummies at the Charterhouse wereRobinsonand he!He walked straight up toSomers, then he turned extremely red,Hesitated, hummed and hawed a bit, then cleared his throat, and said:"I beg your pardon—pray forgive me if I seem too bold,But you have breathed a name I knew familiarly of old.You spoke aloud ofRobinson—I happened to be by—You know him?" "Yes, extremely well." "Allow me—so do I!"It was enough: they felt they could more sociably get on,For (ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knewRobinson!AndMr. Somers'turtle was atPeter'sservice quite,AndMr. SomerspunishedPeter'soyster-beds all night.They soon became like brothers from community of wrongs:They wrote each other little odes and sang each other songs;They told each other anecdotes disparaging their wives;On several occasions, too, they saved each other's lives.They felt quite melancholy when they parted for the night,And got up in the morning soon as ever it was light;Each other's pleasant company they reckoned so upon,And all because it happened that they both knewRobinson!They lived for many years on that inhospitable shore,And day by day they learned to love each other more and more.At last, to their astonishment, on getting up one day,They saw a vessel anchored in the offing of the bay!ToPeteran idea occurred. "Suppose we cross the main?So good an opportunity may not occur again."AndSomersthought a minute, then ejaculated, "Done!I wonder how my business in the City's getting on?""But stay," saidMr. Peter: "when in England, as you know,I earned a living tasting teas forBaker, Croop, and Co.,I may be superseded—my employers think me dead!""Then come with me," saidSomers, "and taste indigo instead."But all their plans were scattered in a moment when they foundThe vessel was a convict ship from Portland, outward bound!When a boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very kind,To go on board they firmly but respectfully declined.As both the happy settlers roared with laughter at the joke,They recognised an unattractive fellow pulling stroke:'TwasRobinson—a convict, in an unbecoming frock!Condemned to seven years for misappropriating stock!!!They laughed no more, forSomersthought he had been rather rashIn knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash;AndPeterthought a foolish tack he must have gone uponIn making the acquaintance of a friend ofRobinson.At first they didn't quarrel very openly, I've heard;They nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word:The word grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head,And when they meet each other now, they cut each other dead.To allocate the island they agreed by word of mouth,AndPetertakes the north again, andSomerstakes the south;AndPeterhas the oysters, which he loathes with horror grim,AndSomershas the turtle—turtle disagrees with him.

TheBallyshannonfoundered off the coast of Cariboo,

And down in fathoms many went the captain and the crew;

Down went the owners—greedy men whom hope of gain allured:

Oh, dry the starting tear, for they were heavily insured.

Besides the captain and the mate, the owners and the crew,The passengers were also drowned excepting only two:YoungPeter Gray, who tasted teas forBaker, Croop, and Co.,AndSomers, who from Eastern shores imported indigo.

Besides the captain and the mate, the owners and the crew,

The passengers were also drowned excepting only two:

YoungPeter Gray, who tasted teas forBaker, Croop, and Co.,

AndSomers, who from Eastern shores imported indigo.

[12]Reprinted from theGraphic, by permission of the proprietors.

These passengers, by reason of their clinging to a mast,Upon a desert island were eventually cast.They hunted for their meals, asAlexander Selkirkused,But they couldn't chat together—they had not been introduced.

These passengers, by reason of their clinging to a mast,

Upon a desert island were eventually cast.

They hunted for their meals, asAlexander Selkirkused,

But they couldn't chat together—they had not been introduced.

ForPeter Gray, andSomerstoo, though certainly in trade,Were properly particular about the friends they made;And somehow thus they settled it without a word of mouth—ThatGrayshould take the northern half, whileSomerstook the south.

ForPeter Gray, andSomerstoo, though certainly in trade,

Were properly particular about the friends they made;

And somehow thus they settled it without a word of mouth—

ThatGrayshould take the northern half, whileSomerstook the south.

OnPeter'sportion oysters grew—a delicacy rare,But oysters were a delicacyPetercouldn't bear.OnSomers'side was turtle, on the shingle lying thick,WhichSomerscouldn't eat, because it always made him sick.

OnPeter'sportion oysters grew—a delicacy rare,

But oysters were a delicacyPetercouldn't bear.

OnSomers'side was turtle, on the shingle lying thick,

WhichSomerscouldn't eat, because it always made him sick.

Graygnashed his teeth with envy as he saw a mighty storeOf turtle unmolested on his fellow-creature's shore:The oysters at his feet aside impatiently he shoved,For turtle and his mother were the only things he loved.

Graygnashed his teeth with envy as he saw a mighty store

Of turtle unmolested on his fellow-creature's shore:

The oysters at his feet aside impatiently he shoved,

For turtle and his mother were the only things he loved.

AndSomerssighed in sorrow as he settled in the south,For the thought ofPeter'soysters brought the water to his mouth.He longed to lay him down upon the shelly bed, and stuff:He had often eaten oysters, but had never had enough.

AndSomerssighed in sorrow as he settled in the south,

For the thought ofPeter'soysters brought the water to his mouth.

He longed to lay him down upon the shelly bed, and stuff:

He had often eaten oysters, but had never had enough.

How they wished an introduction to each other they had hadWhen on board theBallyshannon! And it drove them nearly madTo think how very friendly with each other they might get,If it wasn't for the arbitrary rule of etiquette!

How they wished an introduction to each other they had had

When on board theBallyshannon! And it drove them nearly mad

To think how very friendly with each other they might get,

If it wasn't for the arbitrary rule of etiquette!

One day, when out a-hunting for themus ridiculus,Grayoverheard his fellow-man soliloquising thus:"I wonder how the playmates of my youth are getting on,M'Connell,S. B. Walters,Paddy Byles, andRobinson?"

One day, when out a-hunting for themus ridiculus,

Grayoverheard his fellow-man soliloquising thus:

"I wonder how the playmates of my youth are getting on,

M'Connell,S. B. Walters,Paddy Byles, andRobinson?"

These simple words madePeteras delighted as could be,Old chummies at the Charterhouse wereRobinsonand he!He walked straight up toSomers, then he turned extremely red,Hesitated, hummed and hawed a bit, then cleared his throat, and said:

These simple words madePeteras delighted as could be,

Old chummies at the Charterhouse wereRobinsonand he!

He walked straight up toSomers, then he turned extremely red,

Hesitated, hummed and hawed a bit, then cleared his throat, and said:

"I beg your pardon—pray forgive me if I seem too bold,But you have breathed a name I knew familiarly of old.You spoke aloud ofRobinson—I happened to be by—You know him?" "Yes, extremely well." "Allow me—so do I!"

"I beg your pardon—pray forgive me if I seem too bold,

But you have breathed a name I knew familiarly of old.

You spoke aloud ofRobinson—I happened to be by—

You know him?" "Yes, extremely well." "Allow me—so do I!"

It was enough: they felt they could more sociably get on,For (ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knewRobinson!AndMr. Somers'turtle was atPeter'sservice quite,AndMr. SomerspunishedPeter'soyster-beds all night.

It was enough: they felt they could more sociably get on,

For (ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knewRobinson!

AndMr. Somers'turtle was atPeter'sservice quite,

AndMr. SomerspunishedPeter'soyster-beds all night.

They soon became like brothers from community of wrongs:They wrote each other little odes and sang each other songs;They told each other anecdotes disparaging their wives;On several occasions, too, they saved each other's lives.

They soon became like brothers from community of wrongs:

They wrote each other little odes and sang each other songs;

They told each other anecdotes disparaging their wives;

On several occasions, too, they saved each other's lives.

They felt quite melancholy when they parted for the night,And got up in the morning soon as ever it was light;Each other's pleasant company they reckoned so upon,And all because it happened that they both knewRobinson!

They felt quite melancholy when they parted for the night,

And got up in the morning soon as ever it was light;

Each other's pleasant company they reckoned so upon,

And all because it happened that they both knewRobinson!

They lived for many years on that inhospitable shore,And day by day they learned to love each other more and more.At last, to their astonishment, on getting up one day,They saw a vessel anchored in the offing of the bay!

They lived for many years on that inhospitable shore,

And day by day they learned to love each other more and more.

At last, to their astonishment, on getting up one day,

They saw a vessel anchored in the offing of the bay!

ToPeteran idea occurred. "Suppose we cross the main?So good an opportunity may not occur again."AndSomersthought a minute, then ejaculated, "Done!I wonder how my business in the City's getting on?"

ToPeteran idea occurred. "Suppose we cross the main?

So good an opportunity may not occur again."

AndSomersthought a minute, then ejaculated, "Done!

I wonder how my business in the City's getting on?"

"But stay," saidMr. Peter: "when in England, as you know,I earned a living tasting teas forBaker, Croop, and Co.,I may be superseded—my employers think me dead!""Then come with me," saidSomers, "and taste indigo instead."

"But stay," saidMr. Peter: "when in England, as you know,

I earned a living tasting teas forBaker, Croop, and Co.,

I may be superseded—my employers think me dead!"

"Then come with me," saidSomers, "and taste indigo instead."

But all their plans were scattered in a moment when they foundThe vessel was a convict ship from Portland, outward bound!When a boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very kind,To go on board they firmly but respectfully declined.

But all their plans were scattered in a moment when they found

The vessel was a convict ship from Portland, outward bound!

When a boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very kind,

To go on board they firmly but respectfully declined.

As both the happy settlers roared with laughter at the joke,They recognised an unattractive fellow pulling stroke:

As both the happy settlers roared with laughter at the joke,

They recognised an unattractive fellow pulling stroke:

'TwasRobinson—a convict, in an unbecoming frock!Condemned to seven years for misappropriating stock!!!

'TwasRobinson—a convict, in an unbecoming frock!

Condemned to seven years for misappropriating stock!!!

They laughed no more, forSomersthought he had been rather rashIn knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash;AndPeterthought a foolish tack he must have gone uponIn making the acquaintance of a friend ofRobinson.

They laughed no more, forSomersthought he had been rather rash

In knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash;

AndPeterthought a foolish tack he must have gone upon

In making the acquaintance of a friend ofRobinson.

At first they didn't quarrel very openly, I've heard;They nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word:The word grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head,And when they meet each other now, they cut each other dead.

At first they didn't quarrel very openly, I've heard;

They nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word:

The word grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head,

And when they meet each other now, they cut each other dead.

To allocate the island they agreed by word of mouth,AndPetertakes the north again, andSomerstakes the south;AndPeterhas the oysters, which he loathes with horror grim,AndSomershas the turtle—turtle disagrees with him.

To allocate the island they agreed by word of mouth,

AndPetertakes the north again, andSomerstakes the south;

AndPeterhas the oysters, which he loathes with horror grim,

AndSomershas the turtle—turtle disagrees with him.

A tenor, all singers above(This doesn't admit of a question),Should keep himself quiet,Attend to his diet,And carefully nurse his digestion.But when he is madly in love,It's certain to tell on his singing—You can't do chromaticsWith proper emphaticsWhen anguish your bosom is wringing!When distracted with worries in plenty,And his pulse is a hundred and twenty,And his fluttering bosom the slave of mistrust is,A tenor can't do himself justice.Now observe—(sings a high note)—You see, I can't do myself justice!I could sing, if my fervour were mock,It's easy enough if you're acting;But when one's emotionIs born of devotion,You mustn't be over-exacting.One ought to be firm as a rockTo venture a shake invibrato;When fervour's expected,Keep cool and collected,Or never attemptagitato.But, of course, when his tongue is of leather.And his lips appear pasted together,And his sensitive palate as dry as a crust is,A tenor can't do himself justice.Now observe—(sings a cadence)—It's no use—I can't do myself justice!

A tenor, all singers above

(This doesn't admit of a question),

Should keep himself quiet,

Attend to his diet,

And carefully nurse his digestion.

But when he is madly in love,

It's certain to tell on his singing—

You can't do chromatics

With proper emphatics

When anguish your bosom is wringing!

When distracted with worries in plenty,

And his pulse is a hundred and twenty,

And his fluttering bosom the slave of mistrust is,

A tenor can't do himself justice.

Now observe—(sings a high note)—

You see, I can't do myself justice!

I could sing, if my fervour were mock,It's easy enough if you're acting;But when one's emotionIs born of devotion,You mustn't be over-exacting.One ought to be firm as a rockTo venture a shake invibrato;When fervour's expected,Keep cool and collected,Or never attemptagitato.But, of course, when his tongue is of leather.And his lips appear pasted together,And his sensitive palate as dry as a crust is,A tenor can't do himself justice.Now observe—(sings a cadence)—It's no use—I can't do myself justice!

I could sing, if my fervour were mock,

It's easy enough if you're acting;

But when one's emotion

Is born of devotion,

You mustn't be over-exacting.

One ought to be firm as a rock

To venture a shake invibrato;

When fervour's expected,

Keep cool and collected,

Or never attemptagitato.

But, of course, when his tongue is of leather.

And his lips appear pasted together,

And his sensitive palate as dry as a crust is,

A tenor can't do himself justice.

Now observe—(sings a cadence)—

It's no use—I can't do myself justice!

I oncedid know a Turkish manWhom I upon a two-pair-back met,His name it wasEffendi KhanBacksheesh Pasha Ben Allah Achmet.ADoctor BrownI also knew—I've often eaten of his bounty;The Turk and he they lived at Hooe,In Sussex, that delightful county!I knew a nice young lady there,Her name wasEmily Macpherson,And though she wore another's hair,She was an interesting person.The Turk adored the maid of Hooe(Although his harem would have shocked her).ButBrownadored that maiden too:He was a most seductive doctor.They'd follow her where'er she'd go—A course of action most improper;She neither knew by sight, and soFor neither of them cared a copper.Browndid not know that Turkish male,He might have been his sainted mother:The people in this simple taleAre total strangers to each other.One day that Turk he sickened sore,And suffered agonies oppressive;He threw himself upon the floorAnd rolled about in pain excessive.It made him moan, it made him groan,And almost wore him to a mummy.Why should I hesitate to ownThat pain was in his little tummy?At length a doctor came, and rung(AsAllah Achmethad desired),Who felt his pulse, looked up his tongue,And hemmed and hawed, and then inquired:"Where is the pain that long has preyedUpon you in so sad a way, sir?"The Turk he giggled, blushed, and said:"I don't exactly like to say, sir.""Come, nonsense!" said goodDoctor Brown."So this is Turkish coyness, is it?You must contrive to fight it down—Come, come, sir, please to be explicit."The Turk he shyly bit his thumb,And coyly blushed like one half-witted,"The pain is in my little tum,"He, whispering, at length admitted."Then take you this, and take you that—Your blood flows sluggish in its channel—You must get rid of all this fat,And wear my medicated flannel."You'll send for me when you're in need—My name isBrown—your life I've saved it."My rival!" shrieked the invalid,And drew a mighty sword and waved it:"This to thy weazand, Christian pest!"Aloud the Turk in frenzy yelled it,And drove right through the doctor's chestThe sabre and the hand that held it.The blow was a decisive one,AndDoctor Browngrew deadly pasty,"Now see the mischief that you've done—You Turks are so extremely hasty."There are twoDoctor Brownsin Hooe—He'sshort and stout,I'mtall and wizen;You've been and run the wrong one through,That's how the error has arisen."The accident was thus explained,Apologies were only heard now:"At my mistake I'm really pained—I am, indeed—upon my word now."With me, sir, you shall be interred,A mausoleum grand awaits me.""Oh, pray don't say another word,I'm sure that more than compensates me."But p'r'aps, kind Turk, you're full inside?""There's room," said he, "for any number,"And so they laid them down and died.In proud Stamboul they sleep their slumber.

I oncedid know a Turkish manWhom I upon a two-pair-back met,His name it wasEffendi KhanBacksheesh Pasha Ben Allah Achmet.

I oncedid know a Turkish man

Whom I upon a two-pair-back met,

His name it wasEffendi Khan

Backsheesh Pasha Ben Allah Achmet.

ADoctor BrownI also knew—I've often eaten of his bounty;The Turk and he they lived at Hooe,In Sussex, that delightful county!

ADoctor BrownI also knew—

I've often eaten of his bounty;

The Turk and he they lived at Hooe,

In Sussex, that delightful county!

I knew a nice young lady there,Her name wasEmily Macpherson,And though she wore another's hair,She was an interesting person.

I knew a nice young lady there,

Her name wasEmily Macpherson,

And though she wore another's hair,

She was an interesting person.

The Turk adored the maid of Hooe(Although his harem would have shocked her).ButBrownadored that maiden too:He was a most seductive doctor.

The Turk adored the maid of Hooe

(Although his harem would have shocked her).

ButBrownadored that maiden too:

He was a most seductive doctor.

They'd follow her where'er she'd go—A course of action most improper;She neither knew by sight, and soFor neither of them cared a copper.

They'd follow her where'er she'd go—

A course of action most improper;

She neither knew by sight, and so

For neither of them cared a copper.

Browndid not know that Turkish male,He might have been his sainted mother:The people in this simple taleAre total strangers to each other.

Browndid not know that Turkish male,

He might have been his sainted mother:

The people in this simple tale

Are total strangers to each other.

One day that Turk he sickened sore,And suffered agonies oppressive;He threw himself upon the floorAnd rolled about in pain excessive.

One day that Turk he sickened sore,

And suffered agonies oppressive;

He threw himself upon the floor

And rolled about in pain excessive.

It made him moan, it made him groan,And almost wore him to a mummy.Why should I hesitate to ownThat pain was in his little tummy?

It made him moan, it made him groan,

And almost wore him to a mummy.

Why should I hesitate to own

That pain was in his little tummy?

At length a doctor came, and rung(AsAllah Achmethad desired),Who felt his pulse, looked up his tongue,And hemmed and hawed, and then inquired:

At length a doctor came, and rung

(AsAllah Achmethad desired),

Who felt his pulse, looked up his tongue,

And hemmed and hawed, and then inquired:

"Where is the pain that long has preyedUpon you in so sad a way, sir?"The Turk he giggled, blushed, and said:"I don't exactly like to say, sir."

"Where is the pain that long has preyed

Upon you in so sad a way, sir?"

The Turk he giggled, blushed, and said:

"I don't exactly like to say, sir."

"Come, nonsense!" said goodDoctor Brown."So this is Turkish coyness, is it?You must contrive to fight it down—Come, come, sir, please to be explicit."

"Come, nonsense!" said goodDoctor Brown.

"So this is Turkish coyness, is it?

You must contrive to fight it down—

Come, come, sir, please to be explicit."

The Turk he shyly bit his thumb,And coyly blushed like one half-witted,"The pain is in my little tum,"He, whispering, at length admitted.

The Turk he shyly bit his thumb,

And coyly blushed like one half-witted,

"The pain is in my little tum,"

He, whispering, at length admitted.

"Then take you this, and take you that—Your blood flows sluggish in its channel—You must get rid of all this fat,And wear my medicated flannel.

"Then take you this, and take you that—

Your blood flows sluggish in its channel—

You must get rid of all this fat,

And wear my medicated flannel.

"You'll send for me when you're in need—My name isBrown—your life I've saved it."My rival!" shrieked the invalid,And drew a mighty sword and waved it:

"You'll send for me when you're in need—

My name isBrown—your life I've saved it.

"My rival!" shrieked the invalid,

And drew a mighty sword and waved it:

"This to thy weazand, Christian pest!"Aloud the Turk in frenzy yelled it,And drove right through the doctor's chestThe sabre and the hand that held it.

"This to thy weazand, Christian pest!"

Aloud the Turk in frenzy yelled it,

And drove right through the doctor's chest

The sabre and the hand that held it.

The blow was a decisive one,AndDoctor Browngrew deadly pasty,"Now see the mischief that you've done—You Turks are so extremely hasty.

The blow was a decisive one,

AndDoctor Browngrew deadly pasty,

"Now see the mischief that you've done—

You Turks are so extremely hasty.

"There are twoDoctor Brownsin Hooe—He'sshort and stout,I'mtall and wizen;You've been and run the wrong one through,That's how the error has arisen."

"There are twoDoctor Brownsin Hooe—

He'sshort and stout,I'mtall and wizen;

You've been and run the wrong one through,

That's how the error has arisen."

The accident was thus explained,Apologies were only heard now:"At my mistake I'm really pained—I am, indeed—upon my word now.

The accident was thus explained,

Apologies were only heard now:

"At my mistake I'm really pained—

I am, indeed—upon my word now.

"With me, sir, you shall be interred,A mausoleum grand awaits me.""Oh, pray don't say another word,I'm sure that more than compensates me.

"With me, sir, you shall be interred,

A mausoleum grand awaits me."

"Oh, pray don't say another word,

I'm sure that more than compensates me.

"But p'r'aps, kind Turk, you're full inside?""There's room," said he, "for any number,"And so they laid them down and died.In proud Stamboul they sleep their slumber.

"But p'r'aps, kind Turk, you're full inside?"

"There's room," said he, "for any number,"

And so they laid them down and died.

In proud Stamboul they sleep their slumber.

Quixoticis his enterprise, and hopeless his adventure is,Who seeks for jocularities that haven't yet been said.The world has joked incessantly for over fifty centuries,And every joke that's possible has long ago been made.I started as a humorist with lots of mental fizziness,But humour is a drug which it's the fashion to abuse;For my stock-in-trade, my fixtures, and the goodwill of the businessNo reasonable offer I am likely to refuse.And if anybody chooseHe may circulate the newsThat no reasonable offer I'm likely to refuse.Oh happy was that humorist—the first that made a pun at all—Who when a joke occurred to him, however poor and mean,Was absolutely certain that it never had been done at all—How popular at dinners must that humorist have been!Oh the days when some stepfather for the query held a handle out,The door-mat from the scraper, is it distant very far?And when no one knew where Moses was when Aaron blew the candle out,And no one had discovered that a door could be a-jar!But your modern hearers areIn their tastes particular,And they sneer if you inform them that a door can be a-jar!In search of quip and quiddity, I've sat all day, alone, apart—And all that I could hit on as a problem was—to findAnalogy between a scrag of mutton and a Bony-part,Which offers slight employment to the speculative mind:For you cannot call it very good, however great your charity—It's not the sort of humour that is greeted with a shout—And I've come to the conclusion that my mine of jocularity.In present Anno Domini, is worked completely out!Though the notion you may scout,I can prove beyond a doubtThat my mine of jocularity is utterly worked out!

Quixoticis his enterprise, and hopeless his adventure is,

Who seeks for jocularities that haven't yet been said.

The world has joked incessantly for over fifty centuries,

And every joke that's possible has long ago been made.

I started as a humorist with lots of mental fizziness,

But humour is a drug which it's the fashion to abuse;

For my stock-in-trade, my fixtures, and the goodwill of the business

No reasonable offer I am likely to refuse.

And if anybody choose

He may circulate the news

That no reasonable offer I'm likely to refuse.

Oh happy was that humorist—the first that made a pun at all—Who when a joke occurred to him, however poor and mean,Was absolutely certain that it never had been done at all—How popular at dinners must that humorist have been!

Oh happy was that humorist—the first that made a pun at all—

Who when a joke occurred to him, however poor and mean,

Was absolutely certain that it never had been done at all—

How popular at dinners must that humorist have been!

Oh the days when some stepfather for the query held a handle out,The door-mat from the scraper, is it distant very far?And when no one knew where Moses was when Aaron blew the candle out,And no one had discovered that a door could be a-jar!But your modern hearers areIn their tastes particular,And they sneer if you inform them that a door can be a-jar!

Oh the days when some stepfather for the query held a handle out,

The door-mat from the scraper, is it distant very far?

And when no one knew where Moses was when Aaron blew the candle out,

And no one had discovered that a door could be a-jar!

But your modern hearers are

In their tastes particular,

And they sneer if you inform them that a door can be a-jar!

In search of quip and quiddity, I've sat all day, alone, apart—And all that I could hit on as a problem was—to findAnalogy between a scrag of mutton and a Bony-part,Which offers slight employment to the speculative mind:For you cannot call it very good, however great your charity—It's not the sort of humour that is greeted with a shout—And I've come to the conclusion that my mine of jocularity.In present Anno Domini, is worked completely out!Though the notion you may scout,I can prove beyond a doubtThat my mine of jocularity is utterly worked out!

In search of quip and quiddity, I've sat all day, alone, apart—

And all that I could hit on as a problem was—to find

Analogy between a scrag of mutton and a Bony-part,

Which offers slight employment to the speculative mind:

For you cannot call it very good, however great your charity—

It's not the sort of humour that is greeted with a shout—

And I've come to the conclusion that my mine of jocularity.

In present Anno Domini, is worked completely out!

Though the notion you may scout,

I can prove beyond a doubt

That my mine of jocularity is utterly worked out!

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