50 Bab Ballads, vol 1 | Page 4

found him! I have found him!"
And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling, "'Tira,
lira!' stop him, stop him! 'Tra! la! la!' the soup's a shilling!"
But until I reached ELVIRA'S home, I never, never waited,
And
ELVIRA to her FERDINAND'S irrevocably mated!
Ballad: TO MY BRIDE--(WHOEVER SHE MAY BE.)
Oh! little maid!--(I do not know your name
Or who you are, so, as a

safe precaution
I'll add)--Oh, buxom widow! married dame!
(As
one of these must be your present portion)
Listen, while I unveil
prophetic lore for you,
And sing the fate that Fortune has in store for
you.
You'll marry soon--within a year or twain -
A bachelor of circa two
and thirty:
Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain,
And when you're
intimate, you'll call him "BERTIE."
Neat--dresses well; his temper
has been classified
As hasty; but he's very quickly pacified.
You'll find him working mildly at the Bar,
After a touch at two or
three professions,
From easy affluence extremely far,
A brief or two
on Circuit--"soup" at Sessions;
A pound or two from whist and
backing horses,
And, say three hundred from his own resources.
Quiet in harness; free from serious vice,
His faults are not particularly
shady,
You'll never find him "SHY"--for, once or twice
Already,
he's been driven by a lady,
Who parts with him--perhaps a poor
excuse for him -
Because she hasn't any further use for him.
Oh! bride of mine--tall, dumpy, dark, or fair!
Oh! widow--wife,
maybe, or blushing maiden,
I've told YOUR fortune; solved the
gravest care
With which your mind has hitherto been laden.
I've
prophesied correctly, never doubt it;
Now tell me mine--and please be
quick about it!
You--only you--can tell me, an' you will,
To whom I'm destined
shortly to be mated,
Will she run up a heavy modiste's bill?
If so, I
want to hear her income stated
(This is a point which interests me
greatly).
To quote the bard, "Oh! have I seen her lately?"
Say, must I wait till husband number one
Is comfortably stowed away
at Woking?
How is her hair most usually done?
And tell me, please,
will she object to smoking?
The colour of her eyes, too, you may

mention:
Come, Sibyl, prophesy--I'm all attention.
Ballad: SIR MACKLIN.
Of all the youths I ever saw
None were so wicked, vain, or silly,
So
lost to shame and Sabbath law,
As worldly TOM, and BOB, and
BILLY.
For every Sabbath day they walked
(Such was their gay and
thoughtless natur)
In parks or gardens, where they talked
From
three to six, or even later.
SIR MACKLIN was a priest severe
In conduct and in conversation,

It did a sinner good to hear
Him deal in ratiocination.
He could in every action show
Some sin, and nobody could doubt
him.
He argued high, he argued low,
He also argued round about
him.
He wept to think each thoughtless youth
Contained of wickedness a
skinful,
And burnt to teach the awful truth,
That walking out on
Sunday's sinful.
"Oh, youths," said he, "I grieve to find
The course of life you've been
and hit on -
Sit down," said he, "and never mind
The pennies for the
chairs you sit on.
"My opening head is 'Kensington,'
How walking there the sinner
hardens,
Which when I have enlarged upon,
I go to 'Secondly'--its
'Gardens.'
"My 'Thirdly' comprehendeth 'Hyde,'
Of Secresy the guilts and
shameses;
My 'Fourthly'--'Park'--its verdure wide -
My 'Fifthly'
comprehends 'St. James's.'
"That matter settled, I shall reach
The 'Sixthly' in my solemn tether,


And show that what is true of each,
Is also true of all, together.
"Then I shall demonstrate to you,
According to the rules of
WHATELY,
That what is true of all, is true
Of each, considered
separately."
In lavish stream his accents flow,
TOM, BOB, and BILLY dare not
flout him;
He argued high, he argued low,
He also argued round
about him.
"Ha, ha!" he said, "you loathe your ways,
You writhe at these my
words of warning,
In agony your hands you raise."
(And so they did,
for they were yawning.)
To "Twenty-firstly" on they go,
The lads do not attempt to scout him;

He argued high, he argued low,
He also argued round about him.
"Ho, ho!" he cries, "you bow your crests -
My eloquence has set you
weeping;
In shame you bend upon your breasts!"
(And so they did,
for they were sleeping.)
He proved them this--he proved them that -
This good but wearisome
ascetic;
He jumped and thumped upon his hat,
He was so very
energetic.
His Bishop at this moment chanced
To pass, and found the road
encumbered;
He noticed how the Churchman danced,
And how his
congregation slumbered.
The hundred and eleventh head
The priest completed of his stricture;

"Oh, bosh!" the worthy Bishop said,
And walked him off as in the
picture.
Ballad: THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL." {1}
'Twas on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Ramsgate span,


That I found alone on a piece of stone
An elderly naval man.
His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he,

And I heard this wight on the shore recite,
In a singular minor key:
"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy