The Bab Ballads, vol 3 | Page 7

and
pity so,
Go to the parish church only on Sunday morning and
afternoon and occasionally on a week-day, and spend their evenings in
connubial fondlings and affectionate reciprocities,
And I should like
to know where in the world (or rather, out of it) they expect to go!
Ballad: The Baby's Vengeance
Weary at heart and extremely ill
Was PALEY VOLLAIRE of
Bromptonville,
In a dirty lodging, with fever down,
Close to the
Polygon, Somers Town.
PALEY VOLLAIRE was an only son
(For why? His mother had had
but one),
And PALEY inherited gold and grounds
Worth several
hundred thousand pounds.
But he, like many a rich young man,
Through this magnificent
fortune ran,
And nothing was left for his daily needs
But duplicate
copies of mortgage-deeds.
Shabby and sorry and sorely sick,
He slept, and dreamt that the
clock's "tick, tick,"
Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife,

Snicking off bits of his shortened life.
He woke and counted the pips on the walls,
The outdoor passengers'
loud footfalls,
And reckoned all over, and reckoned again,
The little
white tufts on his counterpane.
A medical man to his bedside came.
(I can't remember that doctor's

name),
And said, "You'll die in a very short while
If you don't set
sail for Madeira's isle."
"Go to Madeira? goodness me!
I haven't the money to pay your fee!"

"Then, PALEY VOLLAIRE," said the leech, "good bye;
I'll come
no more, for your're sure to die."
He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast;
"Oh, send," said he,
"for FREDERICK WEST,
Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim:

I've a terrible tale to whisper him!"
Poor was FREDERICK'S lot in life,--
A dustman he with a fair young
wife,
A worthy man with a hard-earned store,
A hundred and
seventy pounds--or more.
FREDERICK came, and he said, "Maybe
You'll say what you
happened to want with me?"
"Wronged boy," said PALEY
VOLLAIRE, "I will,
But don't you fidget yourself--sit still."
THE TERRIBLE TALE.
"'Tis now some thirty-seven years ago
Since first began the plot that
I'm revealing,
A fine young woman, whom you ought to know,

Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing.
Herself by
means of mangling reimbursing,
And now and then (at intervals)
wet-nursing.
"Two little babes dwelt in their humble cot:
One was her own--the
other only lent to her:
HER OWN SHE SLIGHTED. Tempted by a
lot
Of gold and silver regularly sent to her,
She ministered unto the
little other
In the capacity of foster-mother.
"I WAS HER OWN. Oh! how I lay and sobbed
In my poor
cradle--deeply, deeply cursing
The rich man's pampered bantling,
who had robbed
My only birthright--an attentive nursing!


Sometimes in hatred of my foster-brother,
I gnashed my gums--which
terrified my mother.
"One day--it was quite early in the week--
I IN MY CRADLE
HAVING PLACED THE BANTLING--
Crept into his! He had not
learnt to speak,
But I could see his face with anger mantling.
It was
imprudent--well, disgraceful maybe,
For, oh! I was a bad,
blackhearted baby!
"So great a luxury was food, I think
No wickedness but I was game to
try for it.
NOW if I wanted anything to drink
At any time, I only
had to cry for it!
ONCE, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking,
My
blubbering involved a serious smacking!
"We grew up in the usual way--my friend,
My foster-brother, daily
growing thinner,
While gradually I began to mend,
And thrived
amazingly on double dinner.
And every one, besides my
foster-mother,
Believed that either of us was the other.
"I came into HIS wealth--I bore HIS name,
I bear it still--HIS
property I squandered--
I mortgaged everything--and now (oh,
shame!)
Into a Somers Town shake-down I've wandered!
I am no
PALEY--no, VOLLAIRE--it's true, my boy!
The only rightful
PALEY V. is YOU, my boy!
"And all I have is yours--and yours is mine.
I still may place you in
your true position:
Give me the pounds you've saved, and I'll resign

My noble name, my rank, and my condition.
So far my wickedness in
falsely owning
Your vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!"

FREDERICK he was a simple soul,
He pulled from his pocket a
bulky roll,
And gave to PALEY his hard-earned store,
A hundred
and seventy pounds or more.

PALEY VOLLAIRE, with many a groan,
Gave FREDERICK all that
he called his own,--
Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean,
A
Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.
And FRED (entitled to all things there)
He took the fever from MR.
VOLLAIRE,
Which killed poor FREDERICK WEST. Meanwhile

VOLLAIRE sailed off to Madeira's isle.
Ballad: The Captain And The Mermaids
I sing a legend of the sea,
So hard-a-port upon your lee!
A ship on
starboard tack!
She's bound upon a private cruise--
(This is the kind
of spice I use
To give a salt-sea smack).
Behold, on every afternoon
(Save in a gale or strong Monsoon)

Great CAPTAIN CAPEL CLEGGS
(Great morally, though rather
short)
Sat at an open weather-port
And aired his shapely legs.
And Mermaids hung around in flocks,
On cable chains and distant
rocks,
To gaze upon those limbs;
For legs like those, of flesh and
bone,
Are things "not generally known"
To any Merman TIMBS.
But Mermen didn't seem to care
Much time (as