Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. I

Parodies

VI.

    How he had wasted his time and his tin
      By keeping and driving a team.
    The care and the cash he had spent on his weeds,
      All this he saw in his dream.
    And, as his thoughts sped, the blood in his head
      Curdled up like so much cream.

VII.

    He thought of the good he might have done
      For love and charity;
    And with anguish bowed, he cried out aloud
      A word that began with a "d!"
    He started and woke--and exceedingly riled,
      Rang the bell for a Soda and B.

VIII.

    How did he feel as he took out his watch,
      And consulted the time of day?
    Had he learnt a lesson from the Land of Sleep?
      I hope for my sake he may!
    And I think the moral _did_ reach its goal,
      For he's got quite stingy they say.

From _Cribblings from the Poets_ (Jones and Piggott, Cambridge, 1883).

       *       *       *       *       *


SONG OF THE SILENT LAND.

    Into the Silent Land!
    Ah! who shall lead us thither?
    Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,
    And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand.
    Who leads us with a gentle hand
    Thither, O thither,
    Into the Silent Land?

    LONGFELLOW.

       *       *       *       *       *


SONG OF THE IRISH LAND!

(_After Longfellow and Salis._)

    Into the Irish Land!
    Ah! who shall lead us thither?
    Clouds in the Western sky less darkly gather,
    And household wrecks less thickly dot the strand.
    Who leads us with a friendly hand,
    Thither, oh thither,
    Into the Irish Land?

    O Land! O Land!
    For which poor Pat hath plotted,
    GLADSTONE, mild herald by kind fate allotted,
    Beckons, and with his blessed Bill doth stand,
    To lead us with a friendly hand
    Into the Land whence we've long been parted,
    Into the Irish Land!

    _Punch_, August 13, 1881.

In _Punch_ of October 21, 1882, there was another parody of this poem,
entitled "Song of the Oyster Land," by a _Longing Fellow_, commencing--

    "Into the Oyster Land!
    Ah! Who shall lead us thither?"

       *       *       *       *       *


THE NORMAN BARON.

    In his chamber, weak and dying,
    Was the Norman baron lying;
    Loud without the tempest thundered,
        And the castle-turret shook.
    In this fight was Death the gainer,
    Spite of vassal and retainer,
    And the lands his sires had plundered,
        Written in the Doomsday Book.

           *       *       *       *       *

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

General

Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. I

Parodies

VI.

    How he had wasted his time and his tin
      By keeping and driving a team.
    The care and the cash he had spent on his weeds,
      All this he saw in his dream.
    And, as his thoughts sped, the blood in his head
      Curdled up like so much cream.

VII.

    He thought of the good he might have done
      For love and charity;
    And with anguish bowed, he cried out aloud
      A word that began with a "d!"
    He started and woke--and exceedingly riled,
      Rang the bell for a Soda and B.

VIII.

    How did he feel as he took out his watch,
      And consulted the time of day?
    Had he learnt a lesson from the Land of Sleep?
      I hope for my sake he may!
    And I think the moral _did_ reach its goal,
      For he's got quite stingy they say.

From _Cribblings from the Poets_ (Jones and Piggott, Cambridge, 1883).

       *       *       *       *       *


SONG OF THE SILENT LAND.

    Into the Silent Land!
    Ah! who shall lead us thither?
    Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,
    And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand.
    Who leads us with a gentle hand
    Thither, O thither,
    Into the Silent Land?

    LONGFELLOW.

       *       *       *       *       *


SONG OF THE IRISH LAND!

(_After Longfellow and Salis._)

    Into the Irish Land!
    Ah! who shall lead us thither?
    Clouds in the Western sky less darkly gather,
    And household wrecks less thickly dot the strand.
    Who leads us with a friendly hand,
    Thither, oh thither,
    Into the Irish Land?

    O Land! O Land!
    For which poor Pat hath plotted,
    GLADSTONE, mild herald by kind fate allotted,
    Beckons, and with his blessed Bill doth stand,
    To lead us with a friendly hand
    Into the Land whence we've long been parted,
    Into the Irish Land!

    _Punch_, August 13, 1881.

In _Punch_ of October 21, 1882, there was another parody of this poem,
entitled "Song of the Oyster Land," by a _Longing Fellow_, commencing--

    "Into the Oyster Land!
    Ah! Who shall lead us thither?"

       *       *       *       *       *


THE NORMAN BARON.

    In his chamber, weak and dying,
    Was the Norman baron lying;
    Loud without the tempest thundered,
        And the castle-turret shook.
    In this fight was Death the gainer,
    Spite of vassal and retainer,
    And the lands his sires had plundered,
        Written in the Doomsday Book.

           *       *       *       *       *

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. I

Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. I

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