More Bab Ballads - William Schwenck Gilbert

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did not mean a boy in buttons,

      Although he fancied that she did.)

      Poor lad! convinced he thus would win her,

      He wore out many pairs of soles;

      He danced when taking down the dinner—

      He danced when bringing up the coals.

      He danced and sang (however laden)

      With his incessant “Tra! la! la!”

      Which much surprised the noble maiden,

      And puzzled even her Papa.

      He nourished now his flame and fanned it,

      He even danced at work below.

      The upper servants wouldn’t stand it,

      And BOWLES the butler told him so.

      At length on impulse acting blindly,

      His love he laid completely bare;

      The gentle Earl received him kindly

      And told the lad to take a chair.

      “Oh, sir,” the suitor uttered sadly,

      “Don’t give your indignation vent;

      I fear you think I’m acting madly,

      Perhaps you think me insolent?”

      The kindly Earl repelled the notion;

      His noble bosom heaved a sigh,

      His fingers trembled with emotion,

      A tear stood in his mild blue eye:

      For, oh! the scene recalled too plainly

      The half-forgotten time when he,

      A boy of nine, had worshipped vainly

      A governess of forty-three!

      “My boy,” he said, in tone consoling,

      “Give up this idle fancy—do—

      The song you heard my daughter trolling

      Did not, indeed, refer to you.

      “I feel for you, poor boy, acutely;

      I would not wish to give you pain;

      Your pangs I estimate minutely,—

      I, too, have loved, and loved in vain.

      “But still your humble rank and station

      For MINNIE surely are not meet”—

      He said much more in conversation

      Which it were needless to repeat.

      Now I’m prepared to bet a guinea,

      Were this a mere dramatic case,

      The page would have eloped with MINNIE,

      But, no—he only left his place.

      The simple Truth is my detective,

      With me Sensation can’t abide;

      The Likely beats the mere Effective,

      And Nature is my only guide.

      Ballad: Pasha Bailey Ben

      A proud Pasha was BAILEY BEN,

      His wives were three, his tails were ten;

      His form was dignified, but stout,

      Men called him “Little Roundabout.”

      His Importance

      Pale Pilgrims came from o’er the sea

      To wait on PASHA BAILEY B.,

      All bearing presents in a crowd,

      For B. was poor as well as proud.

      His Presents

      They brought him onions strung on ropes,

      And cold boiled beef, and telescopes,

      And balls of string, and shrimps, and guns,

      And chops, and tacks, and hats, and buns.

      More of them

      They brought him white kid gloves, and pails,

      And candlesticks, and potted quails,

      And capstan-bars, and scales and weights,

      And ornaments for empty grates.

      Why I mention these

      My tale is not of these—oh no!

      I only mention them to show

      The divers gifts that divers men

      Brought o’er the sea to BAILEY BEN.

      His Confidant

      A confidant had BAILEY B.,

      A gay Mongolian dog was he;

      I am not good at Turkish names,

      And so I call him SIMPLE JAMES.

      His Confidant’s Countenance

      A dreadful legend you might trace

      In SIMPLE JAMES’S honest face,

      For there you read, in Nature’s print,

      “A Scoundrel of the Deepest Tint.”

      His Character

      A deed of blood, or fire, or flames,

      Was meat and drink to SIMPLE JAMES:

      To hide his guilt he did not plan,

      But owned himself a bad young man.

      The Author to his Reader

      And why on earth good BAILEY BEN

      (The wisest, noblest, best of men)

      Made SIMPLE JAMES his right-hand man

      Is quite beyond my mental span.

      The same, continued

      But there—enough of gruesome deeds!

      My heart, in thinking of them, bleeds;

      And so let SIMPLE JAMES take wing,—

      ’Tis not of him I’m going to sing.

      The Pasha’s Clerk

      Good PASHA BAILEY kept a clerk

      (For BAILEY only made his mark),

      His name was MATTHEW WYCOMBE COO,

      A man of nearly forty-two.

      His Accomplishments

      No person that I ever knew

      Could “yödel” half as well as COO,

      And Highlanders exclaimed, “Eh, weel!”

      When COO began to dance a reel.

      His Kindness to the Pasha’s Wives

      He used to dance and sing and play

      In such an unaffected way,

      He cheered the unexciting lives

      Of PASHA BAILEY’S lovely wives.

      The Author to his Reader

      But why should I encumber you

      With histories of MATTHEW COO?

      Let MATTHEW COO at once take wing,—

      ’Tis not of COO I’m going to sing.

      The

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