Fifty Bab Ballads
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William S. Gilbert >> Fifty Bab Ballads
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Yet, though they were all well-bred, you could scarcely call them
slick:
Whenever a sea was on, they were all extremely sick;
And whenever the weather was calm, and the wind was light and fair,
They spent more time than a sailor should on his back back hair.
They certainly shivered and shook when ordered aloft to run,
And they screamed when LIEUTENANT BELAYE discharged his only gun.
And as he was proud of his gun--such pride is hardly wrong -
The Lieutenant was blazing away at intervals all day long.
They all agreed very well, though at times you heard it said
That BILL had a way of his own of making his lips look red -
That JOE looked quite his age--or somebody might declare
That BARNACLE'S long pig-tail was never his own own hair.
BELAYE would admit that his men were of no great use to him,
"But, then," he would say, "there is little to do on a gunboat trim
I can hand, and reef, and steer, and fire my big gun too -
And it IS such a treat to sail with a gentle well-bred crew."
I saw him every day. How the happy moments sped!
Reef topsails! Make all taut! There's dirty weather ahead!
(I do not mean that tempests threatened the Hot Cross Bun:
In THAT case, I don't know whatever we SHOULD have done!)
After a fortnight's cruise, we put into port one day,
And off on leave for a week went kind LIEUTENANT BELAYE,
And after a long long week had passed (and it seemed like a life),
LIEUTENANT BELAYE returned to his ship with a fair young wife!
He up, and he says, says he, "O crew of the Hot Cross Bun,
Here is the wife of my heart, for the Church has made us one!"
And as he uttered the word, the crew went out of their wits,
And all fell down in so many separate fainting-fits.
And then their hair came down, or off, as the case might be,
And lo! the rest of the crew were simple girls, like me,
Who all had fled from their homes in a sailor's blue array,
To follow the shifting fate of kind LIEUTENANT BELAYE.
* * * * * * * *
It's strange to think that _I_ should ever have loved young men,
But I'm speaking of ten years past--I was barely sixty then,
And now my cheeks are furrowed with grief and age, I trow!
And poor POLL PINEAPPLE'S eyes have lost their lustre now!
Ballad: LOST MR. BLAKE.
MR. BLAKE was a regular out-and-out hardened sinner,
Who was quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to speak,
He was in the habit of smoking a long pipe and drinking a glass of
grog on a Sunday after dinner,
And seldom thought of going to church more than twice or--if Good
Friday or Christmas Day happened to come in it--three times a week.
He was quite indifferent as to the particular kinds of dresses
That the clergyman wore at church where he used to go to pray,
And whatever he did in the way of relieving a chap's distresses,
He always did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, hole-and-corner
sort of way.
I have known him indulge in profane, ungentlemanly emphatics,
When the Protestant Church has been divided on the subject of the
proper width of a chasuble's hem;
I have even known him to sneer at albs--and as for dalmatics,
Words can't convey an idea of the contempt he expressed for THEM.
He didn't believe in persons who, not being well off themselves,
are obliged to confine their charitable exertions to collecting
money from wealthier people,
And looked upon individuals of the former class as ecclesiastical
hawks;
He used to say that he would no more think of interfering with his
priest's robes than with his church or his steeple,
And that he did not consider his soul imperilled because somebody
over whom he had no influence whatever, chose to dress himself up
like an exaggerated GUY FAWKES.
This shocking old vagabond was so unutterably shameless
That he actually went a-courting a very respectable and pious
middle-aged sister, by the name of BIGGS.
She was a rather attractive widow, whose life as such had always
been particularly blameless;
Her first husband had left her a secure but moderate competence,
owing to some fortunate speculations in the matter of figs.
She was an excellent person in every way--and won the respect even
of MRS. GRUNDY,
She was a good housewife, too, and wouldn't have wasted a penny if
she had owned the Koh-i-noor.
She was just as strict as he was lax in her observance of Sunday,
And being a good economist, and charitable besides, she took all
the bones and cold potatoes and broken pie-crusts and candle-ends
(when she had quite done with them), and made them into an
excellent soup for the deserving poor.
I am sorry to say that she rather took to BLAKE--that outcast of
society,
And when respectable brothers who were fond of her began to look
dubious and to cough,
She would say, "Oh, my friends, it's because I hope to bring this
poor benighted soul back to virtue and propriety,
And besides, the poor benighted soul, with all his faults, was
uncommonly well off.
And when MR. BLAKE'S dissipated friends called his attention to the
frown or the pout of her,
Whenever he did anything which appeared to her to savour of an
unmentionable place,
He would say that "she would be a very decent old girl when all
that nonsense was knocked out of her,"
And his method of knocking it out of her is one that covered him
with disgrace.
She was fond of going to church services four times every Sunday,
and, four or five times in the week, and never seemed to pall of
them,
So he hunted out all the churches within a convenient distance that
had services at different hours, so to speak;
And when he had married her he positively insisted upon their going
to all of them,
So they contrived to do about twelve churches every Sunday, and, if
they had luck, from twenty-two to twenty-three in the course of the
week.
She was fond of dropping his sovereigns ostentatiously into the
plate, and she liked to see them stand out rather conspicuously
against the commonplace half-crowns and shillings,
So he took her to all the charity sermons, and if by any
extraordinary chance there wasn't a charity sermon anywhere, he
would drop a couple of sovereigns (one for him and one for her)
into the poor-box at the door;
And as he always deducted the sums thus given in charity from the
housekeeping money, and the money he allowed her for her bonnets
and frillings,
She soon began to find that even charity, if you allow it to
interfere with your personal luxuries, becomes an intolerable bore.
On Sundays she was always melancholy and anything but good society,
For that day in her household was a day of sighings and sobbings
and wringing of hands and shaking of heads:
She wouldn't hear of a button being sewn on a glove, because it was
a work neither of necessity nor of piety,
And strictly prohibited her servants from amusing themselves, or
indeed doing anything at all except dusting the drawing-rooms,
cleaning the boots and shoes, cooking the parlour dinner, waiting
generally on the family, and making the beds.
But BLAKE even went further than that, and said that people should
do their own works of necessity, and not delegate them to persons
in a menial situation,
So he wouldn't allow his servants to do so much as even answer a
bell.
Here he is making his wife carry up the water for her bath to the
second floor, much against her inclination, -
And why in the world the gentleman who illustrates these ballads
has put him in a cocked hat is more than I can tell.
After about three months of this sort of thing, taking the smooth
with the rough of it,
(Blacking her own boots and peeling her own potatoes was not her
notion of connubial bliss),
MRS. BLAKE began to find that she had pretty nearly had enough of
it,
And came, in course of time, to think that BLAKE'S own original
line of conduct wasn't so much amiss.
And now that wicked person--that detestable sinner ("BELIAL BLAKE"
his friends and well-wishers call him for his atrocities),
And his poor deluded victim, whom all her Christian brothers
dislike and pity so,
Go to the parish church only on Sunday morning and afternoon and
occasionally on a week-day, and spend their evenings in connubial
fondlings and affectionate reciprocities,
And I should like to know where in the world (or rather, out of it)
they expect to go!
Ballad: THE BABY'S VENGEANCE.
Weary at heart and extremely ill
Was PALEY VOLLAIRE of Bromptonville,
In a dirty lodging, with fever down,
Close to the Polygon, Somers Town.
PALEY VOLLAIRE was an only son
(For why? His mother had had but one),
And PALEY inherited gold and grounds
Worth several hundred thousand pounds.
But he, like many a rich young man,
Through this magnificent fortune ran,
And nothing was left for his daily needs
But duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds.
Shabby and sorry and sorely sick,
He slept, and dreamt that the clock's "tick, tick,"
Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife,
Snicking off bits of his shortened life.
He woke and counted the pips on the walls,
The outdoor passengers' loud footfalls,
And reckoned all over, and reckoned again,
The little white tufts on his counterpane.
A medical man to his bedside came.
(I can't remember that doctor's name),
And said, "You'll die in a very short while
If you don't set sail for Madeira's isle."
"Go to Madeira? goodness me!
I haven't the money to pay your fee!"
"Then, PALEY VOLLAIRE," said the leech, "good bye;
I'll come no more, for your're sure to die."
He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast;
"Oh, send," said he, "for FREDERICK WEST,
Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim:
I've a terrible tale to whisper him!"
Poor was FREDERICK'S lot in life, -
A dustman he with a fair young wife,
A worthy man with a hard-earned store,
A hundred and seventy pounds--or more.
FREDERICK came, and he said, "Maybe
You'll say what you happened to want with me?"
"Wronged boy," said PALEY VOLLAIRE, "I will,
But don't you fidget yourself--sit still."
THE TERRIBLE TALE.
"'Tis now some thirty-seven years ago
Since first began the plot that I'm revealing,
A fine young woman, whom you ought to know,
Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing.
Herself by means of mangling reimbursing,
And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing.
"Two little babes dwelt in their humble cot:
One was her own--the other only lent to her:
HER OWN SHE SLIGHTED. Tempted by a lot
Of gold and silver regularly sent to her,
She ministered unto the little other
In the capacity of foster-mother.
"I WAS HER OWN. Oh! how I lay and sobbed
In my poor cradle--deeply, deeply cursing
The rich man's pampered bantling, who had robbed
My only birthright--an attentive nursing!
Sometimes in hatred of my foster-brother,
I gnashed my gums--which terrified my mother.
"One day--it was quite early in the week -
I IN MY CRADLE HAVING PLACED THE BANTLING -
Crept into his! He had not learnt to speak,
But I could see his face with anger mantling.
It was imprudent--well, disgraceful maybe,
For, oh! I was a bad, blackhearted baby!
"So great a luxury was food, I think
No wickedness but I was game to try for it.
NOW if I wanted anything to drink
At any time, I only had to cry for it!
ONCE, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking,
My blubbering involved a serious smacking!
"We grew up in the usual way--my friend,
My foster-brother, daily growing thinner,
While gradually I began to mend,
And thrived amazingly on double dinner.
And every one, besides my foster-mother,
Believed that either of us was the other.
"I came into HIS wealth--I bore HIS name,
I bear it still--HIS property I squandered -
I mortgaged everything--and now (oh, shame!)
Into a Somers Town shake-down I've wandered!
I am no PALEY--no, VOLLAIRE--it's true, my boy!
The only rightful PALEY V. is YOU, my boy!
"And all I have is yours--and yours is mine.
I still may place you in your true position:
Give me the pounds you've saved, and I'll resign
My noble name, my rank, and my condition.
So far my wickedness in falsely owning
Your vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!"
* * * * * * *
FREDERICK he was a simple soul,
He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll,
And gave to PALEY his hard-earned store,
A hundred and seventy pounds or more.
PALEY VOLLAIRE, with many a groan,
Gave FREDERICK all that he called his own, -
Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean,
A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.
And FRED (entitled to all things there)
He took the fever from MR. VOLLAIRE,
Which killed poor FREDERICK WEST. Meanwhile
VOLLAIRE sailed off to Madeira's isle.
Ballad: THE CAPTAIN AND THE MERMAIDS.
I sing a legend of the sea,
So hard-a-port upon your lee!
A ship on starboard tack!
She's bound upon a private cruise -
(This is the kind of spice I use
To give a salt-sea smack).
Behold, on every afternoon
(Save in a gale or strong Monsoon)
Great CAPTAIN CAPEL CLEGGS
(Great morally, though rather short)
Sat at an open weather-port
And aired his shapely legs.
And Mermaids hung around in flocks,
On cable chains and distant rocks,
To gaze upon those limbs;
For legs like those, of flesh and bone,
Are things "not generally known"
To any Merman TIMBS.
But Mermen didn't seem to care
Much time (as far as I'm aware)
With CLEGGS'S legs to spend;
Though Mermaids swam around all day
And gazed, exclaiming, "THAT'S the way
A gentleman should end!
"A pair of legs with well-cut knees,
And calves and ankles such as these
Which we in rapture hail,
Are far more eloquent, it's clear
(When clothed in silk and kerseymere),
Than any nasty tail."
And CLEGGS--a worthy kind old boy -
Rejoiced to add to others' joy,
And, when the day was dry,
Because it pleased the lookers-on,
He sat from morn till night--though con-
Stitutionally shy.
At first the Mermen laughed, "Pooh! pooh!"
But finally they jealous grew,
And sounded loud recalls;
But vainly. So these fishy males
Declared they too would clothe their tails
In silken hose and smalls.
They set to work, these water-men,
And made their nether robes--but when
They drew with dainty touch
The kerseymere upon their tails,
They found it scraped against their scales,
And hurt them very much.
The silk, besides, with which they chose
To deck their tails by way of hose
(They never thought of shoon),
For such a use was much too thin, -
It tore against the caudal fin,
And "went in ladders" soon.
So they designed another plan:
They sent their most seductive man
This note to him to show -
"Our Monarch sends to CAPTAIN CLEGGS
His humble compliments, and begs
He'll join him down below;
"We've pleasant homes below the sea -
Besides, if CAPTAIN CLEGGS should be
(As our advices say)
A judge of Mermaids, he will find
Our lady-fish of every kind
Inspection will repay."
Good CAPEL sent a kind reply,
For CAPEL thought he could descry
An admirable plan
To study all their ways and laws -
(But not their lady-fish, because
He was a married man).
The Merman sank--the Captain too
Jumped overboard, and dropped from view
Like stone from catapult;
And when he reached the Merman's lair,
He certainly was welcomed there,
But, ah! with what result?
They didn't let him learn their law,
Or make a note of what he saw,
Or interesting mem.:
The lady-fish he couldn't find,
But that, of course, he didn't mind -
He didn't come for them.
For though, when CAPTAIN CAPEL sank,
The Mermen drawn in double rank
Gave him a hearty hail,
Yet when secure of CAPTAIN CLEGGS,
They cut off both his lovely legs,
And gave him SUCH a tail!
When CAPTAIN CLEGGS returned aboard,
His blithesome crew convulsive roar'd,
To see him altered so.
The Admiralty did insist
That he upon the Half-pay List
Immediately should go.
In vain declared the poor old salt,
"It's my misfortune--not my fault,"
With tear and trembling lip -
In vain poor CAPEL begged and begged.
"A man must be completely legged
Who rules a British ship."
So spake the stern First Lord aloud -
He was a wag, though very proud,
And much rejoiced to say,
"You're only half a captain now -
And so, my worthy friend, I vow
You'll only get half-pay!"
Ballad: ANNIE PROTHEROE. A LEGEND OF STRATFORD-LE-BOW.
Oh! listen to the tale of little ANNIE PROTHEROE.
She kept a small post-office in the neighbourhood of BOW;
She loved a skilled mechanic, who was famous in his day -
A gentle executioner whose name was GILBERT CLAY.
I think I hear you say, "A dreadful subject for your rhymes!"
O reader, do not shrink--he didn't live in modern times!
He lived so long ago (the sketch will show it at a glance)
That all his actions glitter with the lime-light of Romance.
In busy times he laboured at his gentle craft all day -
"No doubt you mean his Cal-craft," you amusingly will say -
But, no--he didn't operate with common bits of string,
He was a Public Headsman, which is quite another thing.
And when his work was over, they would ramble o'er the lea,
And sit beneath the frondage of an elderberry tree,
And ANNIE'S simple prattle entertained him on his walk,
For public executions formed the subject of her talk.
And sometimes he'd explain to her, which charmed her very much,
How famous operators vary very much in touch,
And then, perhaps, he'd show how he himself performed the trick,
And illustrate his meaning with a poppy and a stick.
Or, if it rained, the little maid would stop at home, and look
At his favourable notices, all pasted in a book,
And then her cheek would flush--her swimming eyes would dance with
joy
In a glow of admiration at the prowess of her boy.
One summer eve, at supper-time, the gentle GILBERT said
(As he helped his pretty ANNIE to a slice of collared head),
"This reminds me I must settle on the next ensuing day
The hash of that unmitigated villain PETER GRAY."
He saw his ANNIE tremble and he saw his ANNIE start,
Her changing colour trumpeted the flutter at her heart;
Young GILBERT'S manly bosom rose and sank with jealous fear,
And he said, "O gentle ANNIE, what's the meaning of this here?"
And ANNIE answered, blushing in an interesting way,
"You think, no doubt, I'm sighing for that felon PETER GRAY:
That I was his young woman is unquestionably true,
But not since I began a-keeping company with you."
Then GILBERT, who was irritable, rose and loudly swore
He'd know the reason why if she refused to tell him more;
And she answered (all the woman in her flashing from her eyes)
"You mustn't ask no questions, and you won't be told no lies!
"Few lovers have the privilege enjoyed, my dear, by you,
Of chopping off a rival's head and quartering him too!
Of vengeance, dear, to-morrow you will surely take your fill!"
And GILBERT ground his molars as he answered her, "I will!"
Young GILBERT rose from table with a stern determined look,
And, frowning, took an inexpensive hatchet from its hook;
And ANNIE watched his movements with an interested air -
For the morrow--for the morrow he was going to prepare!
He chipped it with a hammer and he chopped it with a bill,
He poured sulphuric acid on the edge of it, until
This terrible Avenger of the Majesty of Law
Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw.
And ANNIE said, "O GILBERT, dear, I do not understand
Why ever you are injuring that hatchet in your hand?'
He said, "It is intended for to lacerate and flay
The neck of that unmitigated villain PETER GRAY!"
"Now, GILBERT," ANNIE answered, "wicked headsman, just beware -
I won't have PETER tortured with that horrible affair;
If you appear with that, you may depend you'll rue the day."
But GILBERT said, "Oh, shall I?" which was just his nasty way.
He saw a look of anger from her eyes distinctly dart,
For ANNIE was a woman, and had pity in her heart!
She wished him a good evening--he answered with a glare;
She only said, "Remember, for your ANNIE will be there!"
* * * * * * * *
The morrow GILBERT boldly on the scaffold took his stand,
With a vizor on his face and with a hatchet in his hand,
And all the people noticed that the Engine of the Law
Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw.
The felon very coolly loosed his collar and his stock,
And placed his wicked head upon the handy little block.
The hatchet was uplifted for to settle PETER GRAY,
When GILBERT plainly heard a woman's voice exclaiming, "Stay!"
'Twas ANNIE, gentle ANNIE, as you'll easily believe.
"O GILBERT, you must spare him, for I bring him a reprieve,
It came from our Home Secretary many weeks ago,
And passed through that post-office which I used to keep at Bow.
"I loved you, loved you madly, and you know it, GILBERT CLAY,
And as I'd quite surrendered all idea of PETER GRAY,
I quietly suppressed it, as you'll clearly understand,
For I thought it might be awkward if he came and claimed my hand.
"In anger at my secret (which I could not tell before),
To lacerate poor PETER GRAY vindictively you swore;
I told you if you used that blunted axe you'd rue the day,
And so you will, young GILBERT, for I'll marry PETER GRAY!"
[AND SO SHE DID.
Ballad: AN UNFORTUNATE LIKENESS.
I've painted SHAKESPEARE all my life -
"An infant" (even then at "play"!)
"A boy," with stage-ambition rife,
Then "Married to ANN HATHAWAY."
"The bard's first ticket night" (or "ben."),
His "First appearance on the stage,"
His "Call before the curtain"--then
"Rejoicings when he came of age."
The bard play-writing in his room,
The bard a humble lawyer's clerk.
The bard a lawyer {3}--parson {4}--groom {5} -
The bard deer-stealing, after dark.
The bard a tradesman {6}--and a Jew {7} -
The bard a botanist {8}--a beak {9} -
The bard a skilled musician {10} too -
A sheriff {11} and a surgeon {12} eke!
Yet critics say (a friendly stock)
That, though it's evident I try,
Yet even _I_ can barely mock
The glimmer of his wondrous eye!
One morning as a work I framed,
There passed a person, walking hard:
"My gracious goodness," I exclaimed,
"How very like my dear old bard!
"Oh, what a model he would make!"
I rushed outside--impulsive me! -
"Forgive the liberty I take,
But you're so very"--"Stop!" said he.
"You needn't waste your breath or time, -
I know what you are going to say, -
That you're an artist, and that I'm
Remarkably like SHAKESPEARE. Eh?
"You wish that I would sit to you?"
I clasped him madly round the waist,
And breathlessly replied, "I do!"
"All right," said he, "but please make haste."
I led him by his hallowed sleeve,
And worked away at him apace,
I painted him till dewy eve, -
There never was a nobler face!
"Oh, sir," I said, "a fortune grand
Is yours, by dint of merest chance, -
To sport HIS brow at second-hand,
To wear HIS cast-off countenance!
"To rub HIS eyes whene'er they ache -
To wear HIS baldness ere you're old -
To clean HIS teeth when you awake -
To blow HIS nose when you've a cold!"
His eyeballs glistened in his eyes -
I sat and watched and smoked my pipe;
"Bravo!" I said, "I recognize
The phrensy of your prototype!"
His scanty hair he wildly tore:
"That's right," said I, "it shows your breed."
He danced--he stamped--he wildly swore -
"Bless me, that's very fine indeed!"
"Sir," said the grand Shakesperian boy
(Continuing to blaze away),
"You think my face a source of joy;
That shows you know not what you say.
"Forgive these yells and cellar-flaps:
I'm always thrown in some such state
When on his face well-meaning chaps
This wretched man congratulate.
"For, oh! this face--this pointed chin -
This nose--this brow--these eyeballs too,
Have always been the origin
Of all the woes I ever knew!
"If to the play my way I find,
To see a grand Shakesperian piece,
I have no rest, no ease of mind
Until the author's puppets cease.
"Men nudge each other--thus--and say,
'This certainly is SHAKESPEARE'S son,'
And merry wags (of course in play)
Cry 'Author!' when the piece is done.
"In church the people stare at me,
Their soul the sermon never binds;
I catch them looking round to see,
And thoughts of SHAKESPEARE fill their minds.
"And sculptors, fraught with cunning wile,
Who find it difficult to crown
A bust with BROWN'S insipid smile,
Or TOMKINS'S unmannered frown,
"Yet boldly make my face their own,
When (oh, presumption!) they require
To animate a paving-stone
With SHAKESPEARE'S intellectual fire.
"At parties where young ladies gaze,
And I attempt to speak my joy,
'Hush, pray,' some lovely creature says,
'The fond illusion don't destroy!'
"Whene'er I speak, my soul is wrung
With these or some such whisperings:
''Tis pity that a SHAKESPEARE'S tongue
Should say such un-Shakesperian things!'
"I should not thus be criticised
Had I a face of common wont:
Don't envy me--now, be advised!"
And, now I think of it, I don't!
Ballad: THE KING OF CANOODLE-DUM.
The story of FREDERICK GOWLER,
A mariner of the sea,
Who quitted his ship, the Howler,
A-sailing in Caribbee.
For many a day he wandered,
Till he met in a state of rum
CALAMITY POP VON PEPPERMINT DROP,
The King of Canoodle-Dum.
That monarch addressed him gaily,
"Hum! Golly de do to-day?
Hum! Lily-white Buckra Sailee" -
(You notice his playful way?) -
"What dickens you doin' here, sar?
Why debbil you want to come?
Hum! Picaninnee, dere isn't no sea
In City Canoodle-Dum!"
And GOWLER he answered sadly,
"Oh, mine is a doleful tale!
They've treated me werry badly
In Lunnon, from where I hail.
I'm one of the Family Royal -
No common Jack Tar you see;
I'm WILLIAM THE FOURTH, far up in the North,
A King in my own countree!"
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