The Bab Ballads [14]
people such as these!
Why was I an attorney? Well -
Go on to the SAEVITIA, please."
"Domestic bliss has proved my bane, -
A harder case you never heard,
My wife (in other matters sane)
Pretends that I'm a Dicky bird!
"She makes me sing, 'Too-whit, too-wee!'
And stand upon a rounded stick,
And always introduces me
To every one as 'Pretty Dick'!"
"Oh, dear," said weeping BAINES CAREW,
"This is the direst case I know."
"I'm grieved," said BAGG, "at paining you -
"To COBB and POLTHERTHWAITE I'll go -
"To COBB'S cold, calculating ear,
My gruesome sorrows I'll impart" -
"No; stop," said BAINES, "I'll dry my tear,
And steel my sympathetic heart."
"She makes me perch upon a tree,
Rewarding me with 'Sweety - nice!'
And threatens to exhibit me
With four or five performing mice."
"Restrain my tears I wish I could"
(Said BAINES), "I don't know what to do."
Said CAPTAIN BAGG, "You're very good."
"Oh, not at all," said BAINES CAREW.
"She makes me fire a gun," said BAGG;
"And, at a preconcerted word,
Climb up a ladder with a flag,
Like any street performing bird.
"She places sugar in my way -
In public places calls me 'Sweet!'
She gives me groundsel every day,
And hard canary-seed to eat."
"Oh, woe! oh, sad! oh, dire to tell!"
(Said BAINES). "Be good enough to stop."
And senseless on the floor he fell,
With unpremeditated flop!
Said CAPTAIN BAGG, "Well, really I
Am grieved to think it pains you so.
I thank you for your sympathy;
But, hang it! - come - I say, you know!"
But BAINES lay flat upon the floor,
Convulsed with sympathetic sob; -
The Captain toddled off next door,
And gave the case to MR. COBB.
Ballad: Thomas Winterbottom Hance
In all the towns and cities fair
On Merry England's broad expanse,
No swordsman ever could compare
With THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE.
The dauntless lad could fairly hew
A silken handkerchief in twain,
Divide a leg of mutton too -
And this without unwholesome strain.
On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick,
His sabre sometimes he'd employ -
No bar of lead, however thick,
Had terrors for the stalwart boy.
At Dover daily he'd prepare
To hew and slash, behind, before -
Which aggravated MONSIEUR PIERRE,
Who watched him from the Calais shore.
It caused good PIERRE to swear and dance,
The sight annoyed and vexed him so;
He was the bravest man in France -
He said so, and he ought to know.
"Regardez donc, ce cochon gros -
Ce polisson! Oh, sacre bleu!
Son sabre, son plomb, et ses gigots
Comme cela m'ennuye, enfin, mon Dieu!
"Il sait que les foulards de soie
Give no retaliating whack -
Les gigots morts n'ont pas de quoi -
Le plomb don't ever hit you back."
But every day the headstrong lad
Cut lead and mutton more and more;
And every day poor PIERRE, half mad,
Shrieked loud defiance from his shore.
HANCE had a mother, poor and old,
A simple, harmless village dame,
Who crowed and clapped as people told
Of WINTERBOTTOM'S rising fame.
She said, "I'll be upon the spot
To see my TOMMY'S sabre-play;"
And so she left her leafy cot,
And walked to Dover in a day.
PIERRE had a doating mother, who
Had heard of his defiant rage;
HIS Ma was nearly ninety-two,
And rather dressy for her age.
At HANCE'S doings every morn,
With sheer delight HIS mother cried;
And MONSIEUR PIERRE'S contemptuous scorn
Filled HIS mamma with proper pride.
But HANCE'S powers began to fail -
His constitution was not strong -
And PIERRE, who once was stout and hale,
Grew thin from shouting all day long.
Their mothers saw them pale and wan,
Maternal anguish tore each breast,
And so they met to find a plan
To set their offsprings' minds at rest.
Said MRS. HANCE, "Of course I shrinks
From bloodshed, ma'am, as you're aware,
But
Why was I an attorney? Well -
Go on to the SAEVITIA, please."
"Domestic bliss has proved my bane, -
A harder case you never heard,
My wife (in other matters sane)
Pretends that I'm a Dicky bird!
"She makes me sing, 'Too-whit, too-wee!'
And stand upon a rounded stick,
And always introduces me
To every one as 'Pretty Dick'!"
"Oh, dear," said weeping BAINES CAREW,
"This is the direst case I know."
"I'm grieved," said BAGG, "at paining you -
"To COBB and POLTHERTHWAITE I'll go -
"To COBB'S cold, calculating ear,
My gruesome sorrows I'll impart" -
"No; stop," said BAINES, "I'll dry my tear,
And steel my sympathetic heart."
"She makes me perch upon a tree,
Rewarding me with 'Sweety - nice!'
And threatens to exhibit me
With four or five performing mice."
"Restrain my tears I wish I could"
(Said BAINES), "I don't know what to do."
Said CAPTAIN BAGG, "You're very good."
"Oh, not at all," said BAINES CAREW.
"She makes me fire a gun," said BAGG;
"And, at a preconcerted word,
Climb up a ladder with a flag,
Like any street performing bird.
"She places sugar in my way -
In public places calls me 'Sweet!'
She gives me groundsel every day,
And hard canary-seed to eat."
"Oh, woe! oh, sad! oh, dire to tell!"
(Said BAINES). "Be good enough to stop."
And senseless on the floor he fell,
With unpremeditated flop!
Said CAPTAIN BAGG, "Well, really I
Am grieved to think it pains you so.
I thank you for your sympathy;
But, hang it! - come - I say, you know!"
But BAINES lay flat upon the floor,
Convulsed with sympathetic sob; -
The Captain toddled off next door,
And gave the case to MR. COBB.
Ballad: Thomas Winterbottom Hance
In all the towns and cities fair
On Merry England's broad expanse,
No swordsman ever could compare
With THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE.
The dauntless lad could fairly hew
A silken handkerchief in twain,
Divide a leg of mutton too -
And this without unwholesome strain.
On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick,
His sabre sometimes he'd employ -
No bar of lead, however thick,
Had terrors for the stalwart boy.
At Dover daily he'd prepare
To hew and slash, behind, before -
Which aggravated MONSIEUR PIERRE,
Who watched him from the Calais shore.
It caused good PIERRE to swear and dance,
The sight annoyed and vexed him so;
He was the bravest man in France -
He said so, and he ought to know.
"Regardez donc, ce cochon gros -
Ce polisson! Oh, sacre bleu!
Son sabre, son plomb, et ses gigots
Comme cela m'ennuye, enfin, mon Dieu!
"Il sait que les foulards de soie
Give no retaliating whack -
Les gigots morts n'ont pas de quoi -
Le plomb don't ever hit you back."
But every day the headstrong lad
Cut lead and mutton more and more;
And every day poor PIERRE, half mad,
Shrieked loud defiance from his shore.
HANCE had a mother, poor and old,
A simple, harmless village dame,
Who crowed and clapped as people told
Of WINTERBOTTOM'S rising fame.
She said, "I'll be upon the spot
To see my TOMMY'S sabre-play;"
And so she left her leafy cot,
And walked to Dover in a day.
PIERRE had a doating mother, who
Had heard of his defiant rage;
HIS Ma was nearly ninety-two,
And rather dressy for her age.
At HANCE'S doings every morn,
With sheer delight HIS mother cried;
And MONSIEUR PIERRE'S contemptuous scorn
Filled HIS mamma with proper pride.
But HANCE'S powers began to fail -
His constitution was not strong -
And PIERRE, who once was stout and hale,
Grew thin from shouting all day long.
Their mothers saw them pale and wan,
Maternal anguish tore each breast,
And so they met to find a plan
To set their offsprings' minds at rest.
Said MRS. HANCE, "Of course I shrinks
From bloodshed, ma'am, as you're aware,
But