Chapter 1
Transcribed from the 1920 Macmillan and Co edition of “The Bab Ballads”, also from “Fifty Bab Ballads” 1884 George Routledge and Sons edition by David Price, email [email protected]
[Picture: Public domain book cover]
Songs of a Savoyard
CONTENTS
PAGE THE DARNED MOUNSEER 6 THE ENGLISHMAN 13 THE DISAGREEABLE MAN 16 THE COMING BY-AND-BY 22 THE HIGHLY RESPECTABLE GONDOLIER 26 THE FAIRY QUEEN’S SONG 32 IS LIFE A BOON 38 THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL 42 THE HEAVY DRAGOON 49 PROPER PRIDE 56 THE POLICEMAN’S LOT 63 THE BAFFLED GRUMBLER 69 THE HOUSE OF PEERS 74 A MERRY MADRIGAL 81 THE DUKE AND THE DUCHESS 84 EHEU FUGACES—! 92 THEY’LL NONE OF ’EM BE MISSED 99 GIRL GRADUATES 106 BRAID THE RAVEN HAIR 113 THE WORKING MONARCH 119 THE APE AND THE LADY 123 ONLY ROSES 130 THE ROVER’S APOLOGY 136 AN APPEAL 143 THE REWARD OF MERIT 146 THE MAGNET AND THE CHURN 153 THE FAMILY FOOL 161 SANS SOUCI 169 A RECIPE 175 THE MERRYMAN AND HIS MAID 182 THE SUSCEPTIBLE CHANCELLOR 191 WHEN A MERRY MAIDEN MARRIES 198 THE BRITISH TAR 204 A MAN WHO WOULD WOO A FAIR MAID 209 THE SORCERER’S SONG 211 THE FICKLE BREEZE 219 THE FIRST LORD’S SONG 227 WOULD YOU KNOW? 240 SPECULATION 254 AH ME! 255 THE DUKE OF PLAZA-TORO 262 THE ÆSTHETE 271 SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I 278 SORRY HER LOT 286 THE CONTEMPLATIVE SENTRY 292 THE PHILOSOPHIC PILL 299 BLUE BLOOD 307 THE JUDGE’S SONG 315 WHEN I FIRST PUT THIS UNIFORM ON 322 SOLATIUM 329 A NIGHTMARE 335 DON’T FORGET! 345 THE SUICIDE’S GRAVE 354 HE AND SHE 361 THE MIGHTY MUST 367 A MIRAGE 374 THE GHOSTS’ HIGH NOON 381 THE HUMANE MIKADO 388 WILLOW WALY! 397 LIFE IS LOVELY ALL THE YEAR 403 THE USHER’S CHARGE 411 THE GREAT OAK TREE 418 KING GOODHEART 424 SLEEP ON! 431 THE LOVE-SICK BOY 439 POETRY EVERYWHERE 445 HE LOVES! 453 TRUE DIFFIDENCE 458 THE TANGLED SKEIN 466 MY LADY 471 ONE AGAINST THE WORLD 473 PUT A PENNY IN THE SLOT 480 GOOD LITTLE GIRLS 482 LIFE 487 LIMITED LIABILITY 490 ANGLICISED UTOPIA 497 AN ENGLISH GIRL 499 A MANAGER’S PERPLEXITIES 504 OUT OF SORTS 506 HOW IT’S DONE 512 A CLASSICAL REVIVAL 515 THE PRACTICAL JOKER 523 THE NATIONAL ANTHEM 526 HER TERMS 534 THE INDEPENDENT BEE 536 THE DISCONCERTED TENOR 547 THE PLAYED-OUT HUMORIST 553
THE DARNED MOUNSEER
I SHIPPED, d’ye see, in a Revenue sloop, And, off Cape Finisteere, A merchantman we see, A Frenchman, going free, So we made for the bold Mounseer, D’ye see? We made for the bold Mounseer! But she proved to be a Frigate—and she up with her ports, And fires with a thirty-two! It come uncommon near, But we answered with a cheer, Which paralysed the Parley-voo, D’ye see? Which paralysed the Parley-voo! Then our Captain he up and he says, says he, “That chap we need not fear,— We can take her, if we like, She is sartin for to strike, For she’s only a darned Mounseer, D’ye see? She’s only a darned Mounseer! But to fight a French fal-lal—it’s like hittin’ of a gal— It’s a lubberly thing for to do; For we, with all our faults, Why, we’re sturdy British salts, While she’s but a Parley-voo, D’ye see? A miserable Parley-voo!”
So we up with our helm, and we scuds before the breeze, As we gives a compassionating cheer; Froggee answers with a shout As he sees us go about, Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer, D’ye see? Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer! And I’ll wager in their joy they kissed each other’s cheek (Which is what them furriners do), And they blessed their lucky stars We were hardy British tars Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo, D’ye see? Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo!
THE ENGLISHMAN
HE is an Englishman! For he himself has said it, And it’s greatly to his credit, That he is an Englishman! For he might have been a Roosian, A French, or Turk, or Proosian, Or perhaps Itali-an! But in spite of all temptations, To belong to other nations, He remains an Englishman! Hurrah! For the true-born Englishman!
THE DISAGREEABLE MAN
IF you give me your attention, I will tell you what I am: I’m a genuine philanthropist—all other kinds are sham. Each little fault of temper and each social defect In my erring fellow-creatures, I endeavour to correct. To all their little weaknesses I open people’s eyes, And little plans to snub the self-sufficient I devise; I love my fellow-creatures—I do all the good I can— Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man! And I can’t think why!
To compliments inflated I’ve a withering reply, And vanity I always do my best to mortify; A charitable action I can skilfully dissect; And interested motives I’m delighted to detect. I know everybody’s income and what everybody earns, And I carefully compare it with the income-tax returns; But to benefit humanity, however much I plan, Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man! And I can’t think why!
I’m sure I’m no ascetic; I’m as pleasant as can be; You’ll always find me ready with a crushing repartee; I’ve an irritating chuckle, I’ve a celebrated sneer, I’ve an entertaining snigger, I’ve a fascinating leer; To everybody’s prejudice I know a thing or two; I can tell a woman’s age in half a minute—and I do— But although I try to make myself as pleasant as I can, Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man! And I can’t think why!
THE COMING BY-AND-BY
SAD is that woman’s lot who, year by year, Sees, one by one, her beauties disappear; As Time, grown weary of her heart-drawn sighs, Impatiently begins to “dim her eyes”!— Herself compelled, in life’s uncertain gloamings, To wreathe her wrinkled brow with well-saved “combings”— Reduced, with rouge, lipsalve, and pearly grey, To “make up” for lost time, as best she may!
Silvered is the raven hair, Spreading is the parting straight, Mottled the complexion fair, Halting is the youthful gait, Hollow is the laughter free, Spectacled the limpid eye, Little will be left of me, In the coming by-and-by!
Fading is the taper waist— Shapeless grows the shapely limb, And although securely laced, Spreading is the figure trim! Stouter than I used to be, Still more corpulent grow I— There will be too much of me In the coming by-and-by!
THE HIGHLY RESPECTABLE GONDOLIER
I STOLE the Prince, and I brought him here, And left him, gaily prattling With a highly respectable Gondolier, Who promised the Royal babe to rear, And teach him the trade of a timoneer With his own beloved bratling.
Both of the babes were strong and stout, And, considering all things, clever. Of that there is no manner of doubt— No probable, possible shadow of doubt— No possible doubt whatever.
Time sped, and when at the end of a year I sought that infant cherished, That highly respectable Gondolier Was lying a corpse on his humble bier— I dropped a Grand Inquisitor’s tear— That Gondolier had perished!
A taste for drink, combined with gout, Had doubled him up for ever. Of _that_ there is no manner of doubt— No probable, possible shadow of doubt— No possible doubt whatever.
But owing, I’m much disposed to fear, To his terrible taste for tippling, That highly respectable Gondolier Could never declare with a mind sincere Which of the two was his offspring dear, And which the Royal stripling!
Which was which he could never make out, Despite his best endeavour. Of _that_ there is no manner of doubt— No probable, possible shadow of doubt— No possible doubt whatever.
The children followed his old career— (This statement can’t be parried) Of a highly respectable Gondolier: Well, one of the two (who will soon be here)— But _which_ of the two is not quite clear— Is the Royal Prince you married!
Search in and out and round about And you’ll discover never A tale so free from every doubt— All probable, possible shadow of doubt— All possible doubt whatever!
THE FAIRY QUEEN’S SONG
OH, foolish fay, Think you because Man’s brave array My bosom thaws I’d disobey Our fairy laws? Because I fly In realms above, In tendency To fall in love Resemble I The amorous dove?
Oh, amorous dove! Type of Ovidius Naso! This heart of mine Is soft as thine, Although I dare not say so!
On fire that glows With heat intense I turn the hose Of Common Sense, And out it goes At small expense! We must maintain Our fairy law; That is the main On which to draw— In that we gain A Captain Shaw.
Oh, Captain Shaw! Type of true love kept under! Could thy Brigade With cold cascade Quench my great love, I wonder!
IS LIFE A BOON
IS life a boon? If so, it must befall That Death, whene’er he call, Must call too soon. Though fourscore years he give Yet one would pray to live Another moon! What kind of plaint have I, Who perish in July? I might have had to die Perchance in June!
Is life a thorn? Then count it not a whit! Man is well done with it; Soon as he’s born He should all means essay To put the plague away; And I, war-worn, Poor captured fugitive, My life most gladly give— I might have had to live Another morn!
THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL
I AM the very pattern of a modern Major-Gineral, I’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral; I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical, From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical; I’m very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical; About binomial theorem I’m teeming with a lot o’ news, With interesting facts about the square of the hypotenuse, I’m very good at integral and differential calculus, I know the scientific names of beings animalculous. In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.
I know our mythic history—KING ARTHUR’S and SIR CARADOC’S, I answer hard acrostics, I’ve a pretty taste for paradox; I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of HELIOGABALUS, In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous. I tell undoubted RAPHAELS from GERARD DOWS and ZOFFANIES, I know the croaking chorus from the “Frogs” of ARISTOPHANES; Then I can hum a fugue, of which I’ve heard the music’s din afore, And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense “Pinafore.” Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform, And tell you every detail of CARACTACUS’S uniform. In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.
In fact, when I know what is meant by “mamelon” and “ravelin,” When I can tell at sight a Chassepôt rifle from a javelin, When such affairs as _sorties_ and surprises I’m more wary at, And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat, When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery, When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery, In short, when I’ve a smattering of elementary strategy, You’ll say a better Major-Gener_al_ has never _sat_ a gee— For my military knowledge, though I’m plucky and adventury, Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century. But still in learning vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral!
THE HEAVY DRAGOON
IF you want a receipt for that popular mystery, Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon, Take all the remarkable people in history, Rattle them off to a popular tune! The pluck of LORD NELSON on board of the _Victory_— Genius of BISMARCK devising a plan; The humour of FIELDING (which sounds contradictory)— Coolness of PAGET about to trepan— The grace of MOZART, that unparalleled musico— Wit of MACAULAY, who wrote of QUEEN ANNE— The pathos of PADDY, as rendered by BOUCICAULT— Style of the BISHOP OF SODOR AND MAN— The dash of a D’ORSAY, divested of quackery— Narrative powers of DICKENS and THACKERAY— VICTOR EMMANUEL—peak-haunting PEVERIL— THOMAS AQUINAS, and DOCTOR SACHEVERELL— TUPPER and TENNYSON—DANIEL DEFOE— ANTHONY TROLLOPE and MISTER GUIZOT! Take of these elements all that is fusible, Melt ’em all down in a pipkin or crucible, Set ’em to simmer and take off the scum, And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!
If you want a receipt for this soldierlike paragon, Get at the wealth of the CZAR (if you can)— The family pride of a Spaniard from Arragon— Force of MEPHISTO pronouncing a ban— A smack of LORD WATERFORD, reckless and rollicky— Swagger of RODERICK, heading his clan— The keen penetration of PADDINGTON POLLAKY— Grace of an Odalisque on a divan— The genius strategic of CÆSAR or HANNIBAL— Skill of LORD WOLSELEY in thrashing a cannibal— Flavour of HAMLET—the STRANGER, a touch of him— Little of MANFRED (but not very much of him)— Beadle of Burlington—RICHARDSON’S show— MR. MICAWBER and MADAME TUSSAUD! Take of these elements all that is fusible— Melt ’em all down in a pipkin or crucible— Set ’em to simmer and take off the scum, And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!
PROPER PRIDE
THE Sun, whose rays Are all ablaze With ever-living glory, Will not deny His majesty— He scorns to tell a story: He won’t exclaim, “I blush for shame, So kindly be indulgent,” But, fierce and bold, In fiery gold, He glories all effulgent!
I mean to rule the earth, As he the sky— We really know our worth, The Sun and I!
Observe his flame, That placid dame, The Moon’s Celestial Highness; There’s not a trace Upon her face Of diffidence or shyness: She borrows light That, through the night, Mankind may all acclaim her! And, truth to tell, She lights up well, So I, for one, don’t blame her!
Ah, pray make no mistake, We are not shy; We’re very wide awake, The Moon and I!
THE POLICEMAN’S LOT
WHEN a felon’s not engaged in his employment, Or maturing his felonious little plans, His capacity for innocent enjoyment Is just as great as any honest man’s. Our feelings we with difficulty smother When constabulary duty’s to be done: Ah, take one consideration with another, A policeman’s lot is not a happy one!
When the enterprising burglar isn’t burgling, When the cut-throat isn’t occupied in crime, He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling, And listen to the merry village chime. When the coster’s finished jumping on his mother, He loves to lie a-basking in the sun: Ah, take one consideration with another, The policeman’s lot is not a happy one!
THE BAFFLED GRUMBLER
WHENE’ER I poke Sarcastic joke Replete with malice spiteful, The people vile Politely smile And vote me quite delightful! Now, when a wight Sits up all night Ill-natured jokes devising, And all his wiles Are met with smiles, It’s hard, there’s no disguising! Oh, don’t the days seem lank and long When all goes right and nothing goes wrong, And isn’t your life extremely flat With nothing whatever to grumble at!
When German bands, From music stands Play Wagner imper_fect_ly— I bid them go— They don’t say no, But off they trot directly! The organ boys They stop their noise With readiness surprising, And grinning herds Of hurdy-gurds Retire apologising! Oh, don’t the days seem lank and long When all goes right and nothing goes wrong, And isn’t your life extremely flat With nothing whatever to grumble at!
I’ve offered gold, In sums untold, To all who’d contradict me— I’ve said I’d pay A pound a day To any one who kicked me— I’ve bribed with toys Great vulgar boys To utter something spiteful, But, bless you, no! They _will_ be so Confoundedly politeful! In short, these aggravating lads, They tickle my tastes, they feed my fads, They give me this and they give me that, And I’ve nothing whatever to grumble at!
THE HOUSE OF PEERS
WHEN Britain really ruled the waves— (In good Queen Bess’s time) The House of Peers made no pretence To intellectual eminence, Or scholarship sublime; Yet Britain won her proudest bays In good Queen Bess’s glorious days!
When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte, As every child can tell, The House of Peers, throughout the war, Did nothing in particular, And did it very well; Yet Britain set the world ablaze In good King George’s glorious days!
And while the House of Peers withholds Its legislative hand, And noble statesmen do not itch To interfere with matters which They do not understand, As bright will shine Great Britain’s rays, As in King George’s glorious days!
A MERRY MADRIGAL
BRIGHTLY dawns our wedding day; Joyous hour, we give thee greeting! Whither, whither art thou fleeting? Fickle moment, prithee stay! What though mortal joys be hollow? Pleasures come, if sorrows follow. Though the tocsin sound, ere long, Ding dong! Ding dong! Yet until the shadows fall Over one and over all, Sing a merry madrigal— Fal la!
Let us dry the ready tear; Though the hours are surely creeping, Little need for woeful weeping Till the sad sundown is near. All must sip the cup of sorrow, I to-day and thou to-morrow: This the close of every song— Ding dong! Ding dong! What though solemn shadows fall, Sooner, later, over all? Sing a merry madrigal— Fal la!
THE DUKE AND THE DUCHESS
THE DUKE.
Small titles and orders For Mayors and Recorders I get—and they’re highly delighted. M.P.s baronetted, Sham Colonels gazetted, And second-rate Aldermen knighted. Foundation-stone laying I find very paying, It adds a large sum to my makings. At charity dinners The best of speech-spinners, I get ten per cent on the takings!
THE DUCHESS.
I present any lady Whose conduct is shady Or smacking of doubtful propriety; When Virtue would quash her I take and whitewash her And launch her in first-rate society. I recommend acres Of clumsy dressmakers— Their fit and their finishing touches; A sum in addition They pay for permission To say that they make for the Duchess!
THE DUKE.
Those pressing prevailers, The ready-made tailors, Quote me as their great double-barrel; I allow them to do so, Though ROBINSON CRUSOE Would jib at their wearing apparel! I sit, by selection, Upon the direction Of several Companies bubble; As soon as they’re floated I’m freely bank-noted— I’m pretty well paid for my trouble!
THE DUCHESS.
At middle-class party I play at _écarté_— And I’m by no means a beginner; To one of my station The remuneration— Five guineas a night and my dinner. I write letters blatant On medicines patent— And use any other you mustn’t; And vow my complexion Derives its perfection From somebody’s soap—which it doesn’t.
THE DUKE.
We’re ready as witness To any one’s fitness To fill any place or preferment; We’re often in waiting At junket _fêting_, And sometimes attend an interment. In short, if you’d kindle The spark of a swindle, Lure simpletons into your clutches, Or hoodwink a debtor, You cannot do better Than trot out a Duke or a Duchess!
EHEU FUGACES—!
THE air is charged with amatory numbers— Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers’ lays. Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers The aching memory of the old, old days?