Till one arose, and from the past’s great treasure Of hundred volumes drew, A scheme to tap the hoard untold of pleasure And bid it flow anew; And so the parodies unearthed grew vaster, Than ever one could tell, All mimicking some mighty poet Master, In many a sprightly “Sell.” Perhaps ’tis too fond fancy,――that the reader Should leave the weeklies all, Let _Punch_ go prosing, scorn the _D. T._ leader, And let _Police News_ pall; While ’mid these gambols of poetic shadows, Listening to bygone play, As each mad parody evokes the glad “Ohs!” (As Browning p’raps would say). See Tennyson, in mighty verse――o’ertaken, Mimicked in tripping line―― When jokes from Longfellow, so grave, are shaken Like gush in penny-a-line. To find in rush of their poetic fire, A comic theme told well, While stately verse, and song, and culture higher, Are used some joke to tell. Lost be that scamp, who would no funny story Tell in the rhyme that thrills Like farthing rushlight posing as the glory Of sun o’er ancient hills. If, in the crowd of puppets, some poor dolly Should ape a bard sublime, Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly―― To jest is not a crime. J. W. G. W. November, 1884. ―――――――― THAT HEBREW BEN D―――― _House of Lords, January_, 1878. Which I wish to remark―― And my language is plain―― That for ways that are dark, And for tricks that are vain, The Hebrew Ben D―――― is peculiar, Which the same I would like to explain. I have mentioned his name, And I shall not deny, In regard to the same He is wary and sly; And his smile it is mocking and ice-like And there isn’t no green in _his_ eye. Now, some rumours had spread, Which Ben D―――― could not burke, And every one said He’d been at his old work. (It was strange, you must know, how he doated Upon the “Unspeakable Turk.”) It was Gran-Vil who rose, And quite soft was his style; But you must not suppose That he hasn’t no guile; Yet D―――― played it that day upon Gran Vil In a way that made most of them smile. Which some questions he’d brought, And Ben rose――as ’twas planned―― To reply. What was sought He did well understand; But he smiled, as he stood at the table, With a smile that was artfully bland. How he trifled with sense, You would scarcely believe; And with cunning intense, Fancy statements did weave: Whilst he kept back his facts by the dozen, And the same, with intent to deceive. Yes, the tricks that were play’d By that Hebrew, Ben D――――, And the points that he made Were quite shocking to me; Till at last he sat down amid laughter, And chuckling himself, I could see.