The Bab Ballads, vol 3 | Page 9

in her flashing from her eyes) "You mustn't ask no
questions, and you won't be told no lies!
"Few lovers have the privilege enjoyed, my dear, by you,
Of
chopping off a rival's head and quartering him too!
Of vengeance,

dear, to-morrow you will surely take your fill!" And GILBERT ground
his molars as he answered her, "I will!"
Young GILBERT rose from table with a stern determined look, And,
frowning, took an inexpensive hatchet from its hook;
And ANNIE
watched his movements with an interested air--
For the morrow--for
the morrow he was going to prepare!
He chipped it with a hammer and he chopped it with a bill,
He poured
sulphuric acid on the edge of it, until
This terrible Avenger of the
Majesty of Law
Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw.
And ANNIE said, "O GILBERT, dear, I do not understand
Why ever
you are injuring that hatchet in your hand?'
He said, "It is intended for
to lacerate and flay
The neck of that unmitigated villain PETER
GRAY!"
"Now, GILBERT," ANNIE answered, "wicked headsman, just
beware-- I won't have PETER tortured with that horrible affair;
If you
appear with that, you may depend you'll rue the day." But GILBERT
said, "Oh, shall I?" which was just his nasty way.
He saw a look of anger from her eyes distinctly dart,
For ANNIE was
a woman, and had pity in her heart!
She wished him a good
evening--he answered with a glare;
She only said, "Remember, for
your ANNIE will be there!"

The morrow GILBERT boldly on the scaffold took his stand,
With a
vizor on his face and with a hatchet in his hand,
And all the people
noticed that the Engine of the Law
Was far less like a hatchet than a
dissipated saw.
The felon very coolly loosed his collar and his stock,
And placed his
wicked head upon the handy little block.
The hatchet was uplifted for

to settle PETER GRAY,
When GILBERT plainly heard a woman's
voice exclaiming, "Stay!"
'Twas ANNIE, gentle ANNIE, as you'll easily believe.
"O GILBERT,
you must spare him, for I bring him a reprieve, It came from our Home
Secretary many weeks ago,
And passed through that post-office
which I used to keep at Bow.
"I loved you, loved you madly, and you know it, GILBERT CLAY,
And as I'd quite surrendered all idea of PETER GRAY,
I quietly
suppressed it, as you'll clearly understand,
For I thought it might be
awkward if he came and claimed my hand.
"In anger at my secret (which I could not tell before),
To lacerate
poor PETER GRAY vindictively you swore;
I told you if you used
that blunted axe you'd rue the day,
And so you will, young GILBERT,
for I'll marry PETER GRAY!"
[And so she did.
Ballad: An Unfortunate Likeness
I've painted SHAKESPEARE all my life--
"An infant" (even then at
"play"!)
"A boy," with stage-ambition rife,
Then "Married to ANN
HATHAWAY."
"The bard's first ticket night" (or "ben."),
His "First appearance on the
stage,"
His "Call before the curtain"--then
"Rejoicings when he
came of age."
The bard play-writing in his room,
The bard a humble lawyer's clerk.

The bard a lawyer {1}--parson {2}--groom {3}--
The bard
deer-stealing, after dark.
The bard a tradesman {4}--and a Jew {5}--
The bard a botanist
{6}--a beak {7}--
The bard a skilled musician {8} too--
A sheriff

{9} and a surgeon {10} eke!
Yet critics say (a friendly stock)
That, though it's evident I try,
Yet
even _I_ can barely mock
The glimmer of his wondrous eye!
One morning as a work I framed,
There passed a person, walking
hard:
"My gracious goodness," I exclaimed,
"How very like my
dear old bard!
"Oh, what a model he would make!"
I rushed outside--impulsive
me!--
"Forgive the liberty I take,
But you're so very"--"Stop!" said
he.
"You needn't waste your breath or time,--
I know what you are going
to say,--
That you're an artist, and that I'm
Remarkably like
SHAKESPEARE. Eh?
"You wish that I would sit to you?"
I clasped him madly round the
waist,
And breathlessly replied, "I do!"
"All right," said he, "but
please make haste."
I led him by his hallowed sleeve,
And worked away at him apace,
I
painted him till dewy eve,--
There never was a nobler face!
"Oh, sir," I said, "a fortune grand
Is yours, by dint of merest chance,--

To sport HIS brow at second-hand,
To wear HIS cast-off
countenance!
"To rub HIS eyes whene'er they ache--
To wear HIS baldness ere
you're old--
To clean HIS teeth when you awake--
To blow HIS
nose when you've a cold!"
His eyeballs glistened in his eyes--
I sat and watched and smoked my
pipe;
"Bravo!" I said, "I recognize
The phrensy of your prototype!"
His scanty hair he wildly tore:
"That's right," said I, "it shows your

breed."
He danced--he stamped--he wildly swore--
"Bless me, that's
very fine indeed!"
"Sir," said the grand Shakesperian boy
(Continuing to blaze away),

"You think my face a source of joy;
That shows you know not what
you say.
"Forgive these yells and cellar-flaps:
I'm always thrown in some such
state
When on his face well-meaning chaps
This wretched man
congratulate.