There's many a black, black crime, mother, they charge against your lad; There's Boycotting and murder, and everything that's bad; And I'm bound to be convicted, though innocent, they say-- For I'm to be tried by Judge May, mother, I'm to be tried by Judge May. You know I wasn't there, mother, when all the row was made; I never made a wicked speech, or led a Land League raid; But the judge has made up his mind to put your boy away-- For I'm to be tried by Judge May, mother, I'm to be tried by Judge May. So wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, For at ten o'clock, before the Court, I'm summoned to appear. There's little chance of justice, he's a partisan they say-- This fierce and biassed judge, mother, this Lord Chief Justice May. * * * * * THE PLAY KING. (_Not included in Mr. Tennyson's New Volume_). You may take and bill me early, bill me early, HENRY dear; I'm going to make the biggest hit of all the coming year; Of all the coming year, HENRY, the safest spec to pay; For _I'm_ going to write you a play, HENRY, I'm going to write you a play. There's lots of blank, blank verse, you know, but none so neat as mine; There's GILBERT, and there's WILLS, and--well, some others in their line; But none of them are Laureates, though clever in their way; So _I'm_ going to write you a play, HENRY, I'm going to write you a play. 'Twill be all right at night, HENRY, on that my name I'll stake: I've got a good Egyptian plot, that's safe, I'm told, to take. You're poisoned in a temple, Miss TERRY dies at bay-- I _am_ writing you such a play, HENRY, I am writing you such a play. As I came towards the theatre, whom think ye I should see, But Messrs. HARE and KENDAL, looking sorrowful at me? They were thinking of _The Falcon_ I wrote but yesterday, And they didn't ask me for a play, HENRY, they didn't ask me for a play. I know your ghost draws well, HENRY, but don't be in a fright, My _forte_ isn't stage-effect: when I write plays, I _write_. You'll have five pages at a time,--as much as you can say; But a Poet is writing your play, HENRY, a Poet is writing your play. Some critics tell me that my place is not behind the scenes; That if I must descend I might stop short at magazines. But as _Queen Mary_ from the doors the money turned away, You must long for another big play, HENRY, you must long for another big play. For fads and fancies grow, HENRY, to wither like the grass,-- The latest, _culture;_--and for that, my name doth current pass. So that's why, though I can't construct, and you feel all astray, You've asked me to write you a play, HENRY, you've asked me to write you a play.