50 Bab Ballads, vol 1 | Page 8

nineteen stone or twenty!?Henceforward I'll go in for air?And exercise in plenty."?Most people think that, should it come,?They can reduce a bulging tum?To measures fair?By taking air?And exercise in plenty.
In every weather, every day,?Dry, muddy, wet, or gritty,?He took to dancing all the way?From Brompton to the City.?You do not often get the chance?Of seeing sugar brokers dance?From their abode?In Fulham Road?Through Brompton to the City.
He braved the gay and guileless laugh?Of children with their nusses,?The loud uneducated chaff?Of clerks on omnibuses.?Against all minor things that rack?A nicely-balanced mind, I'll back?The noisy chaff?And ill-bred laugh?Of clerks on omnibuses.
His friends, who heard his money chink,?And saw the house he rented,?And knew his wife, could never think?What made him discontented.?It never entered their pure minds?That fads are of eccentric kinds,?Nor would they own?That fat alone?Could make one discontented.
"Your riches know no kind of pause,?Your trade is fast advancing;?You dance--but not for joy, because?You weep as you are dancing.?To dance implies that man is glad,?To weep implies that man is sad;?But here are you?Who do the two -?You weep as you are dancing!"
His mania soon got noised about?And into all the papers;?His size increased beyond a doubt?For all his reckless capers:?It may seem singular to you,?But all his friends admit it true -?The more he found?His figure round,?The more he cut his capers.
His bulk increased--no matter that -?He tried the more to toss it -?He never spoke of it as "fat,"?But "adipose deposit."?Upon my word, it seems to me?Unpardonable vanity?(And worse than that)?To call your fat?An "adipose deposit."
At length his brawny knees gave way,?And on the carpet sinking,?Upon his shapeless back he lay?And kicked away like winking.?Instead of seeing in his state?The finger of unswerving Fate,?He laboured still?To work his will,?And kicked away like winking.
His friends, disgusted with him now,?Away in silence wended -?I hardly like to tell you how?This dreadful story ended.?The shocking sequel to impart,?I must employ the limner's art -?If you would know,?This sketch will show?How his exertions ended.
MORAL.
I hate to preach--I hate to prate -?- I'm no fanatic croaker,?But learn contentment from the fate?Of this East India broker.?He'd everything a man of taste?Could ever want, except a waist;?And discontent?His size anent,?And bootless perseverance blind,?Completely wrecked the peace of mind?Of this East India broker.
Ballad: THE PANTOMIME "SUPER" TO HIS MASK.
Vast empty shell!?Impertinent, preposterous abortion!?With vacant stare,?And ragged hair,?And every feature out of all proportion!?Embodiment of echoing inanity!?Excellent type of simpering insanity!?Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity!?I ring thy knell!
To-night thou diest,?Beast that destroy'st my heaven-born identity!?Nine weeks of nights,?Before the lights,?Swamped in thine own preposterous nonentity,?I've been ill-treated, cursed, and thrashed diurnally,?Credited for the smile you wear externally -?I feel disposed to smash thy face, infernally,?As there thou liest!
I've been thy brain:?I'VE been the brain that lit thy dull concavity!?The human race?Invest MY face?With thine expression of unchecked depravity,?Invested with a ghastly reciprocity,?I'VE been responsible for thy monstrosity,?I, for thy wanton, blundering ferocity -?But not again!
'T is time to toll?Thy knell, and that of follies pantomimical:?A nine weeks' run,?And thou hast done?All thou canst do to make thyself inimical.?Adieu, embodiment of all inanity!?Excellent type of simpering insanity!?Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity!?Freed is thy soul!
(The Mask respondeth.)
Oh! master mine,?Look thou within thee, ere again ill-using me.?Art thou aware?Of nothing there?Which might abuse thee, as thou art abusing me??A brain that mourns THINE unredeemed rascality??A soul that weeps at THY threadbare morality??Both grieving that THEIR individuality?Is merged in thine?
Ballad: THE GHOST, THE GALLANT, THE GAEL, AND THE GOBLIN.
O'er unreclaimed suburban clays?Some years ago were hobblin'?An elderly ghost of easy ways,?And an influential goblin.?The ghost was a sombre spectral shape,?A fine old five-act fogy,?The goblin imp, a lithe young ape,?A fine low-comedy bogy.
And as they exercised their joints,?Promoting quick digestion,?They talked on several curious points,?And raised this delicate question:?"Which of us two is Number One -?The ghostie, or the goblin?"?And o'er the point they raised in fun?They fairly fell a-squabblin'.
They'd barely speak, and each, in fine,?Grew more and more reflective:?Each thought his own particular line?By chalks the more effective.?At length they settled some one should?By each of them be haunted,?And so arrange that either could?Exert his prowess vaunted.
"The Quaint against the Statuesque" -?By competition lawful -?The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque,?The ghost the Grandly Awful.?"Now," said the goblin, "here's my plan -?In attitude commanding,?I see a stalwart Englishman?By yonder tailor's standing.
"The very fittest man on earth?My influence to try on -?Of gentle, p'r'aps of noble birth,?And dauntless as a lion!?Now wrap yourself within your shroud -?Remain in easy hearing -?Observe--you'll hear him scream aloud?When I begin appearing!
The imp with yell unearthly--wild -?Threw off his dark enclosure:?His dauntless victim looked and smiled?With singular composure.?For hours he tried to daunt the youth,?For days, indeed, but vainly -?The stripling smiled!--to tell the truth,?The stripling smiled inanely.
For weeks the goblin weird and wild,?That noble stripling haunted;?For weeks the