The Bab Ballads, vol 2 | Page 7

dream,
An able mariner is he,
And gaily
serves the Gen'ral SteamBoat
Navigation Companee.
I'll marry him,
if he but will--

His name, I rather think, is BILL.

"I see him when he's not aware,
Upon our hospitable coast,

Reclining with an easy air
Upon the Port against a post,
A-thinking
of, I'll dare to say,
His native Chelsea far away!"
"Oh, mon!" exclaimed the Customs bold,
"Mes yeux!" he said (which
means "my eye")
"Oh, chere!" he also cried, I'm told,
"Par Jove," he
added, with a sigh.
"Oh, mon! oh, chere! mes yeux! par Jove!
Je
n'aime pas cet enticing cove!"
The Panther's captain stood hard by,
He was a man of morals strict

If e'er a sailor winked his eye,
Straightway he had that sailor licked,

Mast-headed all (such was his code)
Who dashed or jiggered,
blessed or blowed.
He wept to think a tar of his
Should lean so gracefully on posts,
He
sighed and sobbed to think of this,
On foreign, French, and friendly
coasts.
"It's human natur', p'raps--if so,
Oh, isn't human natur' low!"
He called his BILL, who pulled his curl,
He said, "My BILL, I
understand
You've captivated some young gurl
On this here French
and foreign land.
Her tender heart your beauties jog--
They do, you
know they do, you dog.
"You have a graceful way, I learn,
Of leaning airily on posts,
By
which you've been and caused to burn
A tender flame on these here
coasts.
A fisher gurl, I much regret,--
Her age, sixteen--her name,
BABETTE.
"You'll marry her, you gentle tar--
Your union I myself will bless,

And when you matrimonied are,
I will appoint her stewardess."
But
WILLIAM hitched himself and sighed,
And cleared his throat, and
thus replied:
"Not so: unless you're fond of strife,
You'd better mind your own
affairs,
I have an able-bodied wife
Awaiting me at Wapping Stairs;


If all this here to her I tell,
She'll larrup you and me as well.
"Skin-deep, and valued at a pin,
Is beauty such as VENUS owns--

HER beauty is beneath her skin,
And lies in layers on her bones.

The other sailors of the crew
They always calls her 'Whopping Sue!'"
"Oho!" the Captain said, "I see!
And is she then so very strong?"

"She'd take your honour's scruff," said he
"And pitch you over to
Bolong!"
"I pardon you," the Captain said,
"The fair BABETTE
you needn't wed."
Perhaps the Customs had his will,
And coaxed the scornful girl to
wed,
Perhaps the Captain and his BILL,
And WILLIAM'S little
wife are dead;
Or p'raps they're all alive and well:
I cannot, cannot,
cannot tell.
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.
The Folly Of Brown--By A General Agent
I knew a boor--a clownish card
(His only friends were pigs and cows
and
The poultry of a small farmyard),
Who came into two hundred
thousand.
Good fortune worked no change in BROWN,
Though she's a mighty
social chymist;
He was a clown--and by a clown
I do not mean a
pantomimist.
It left him quiet, calm, and cool,
Though hardly knowing what a
crown was--
You can't imagine what a fool
Poor rich uneducated
BROWN was!
He scouted all who wished to come
And give him monetary

schooling;
And I propose to give you some
Idea of his insensate
fooling.
I formed a company or two--
(Of course I don't know what the rest
meant,
I formed them solely with a view
To help him to a sound
investment).
Their objects were--their only cares--
To