I’m very sad at heart, doctor, To think you hate me so; And why you call me names, doctor, I really do not know. You shouldn’t use such naughty words About your once dear friend; Oh! why not, for dear Tichborne’s sake, Let this sad difference end? _Chorus._ Won’t you tell me why, doctor, &c., &c. We’ve both pressed Roger’s hand, doctor, More times than I can tell; We both have loved that man, doctor, Not wisely, but too well. And now the _Englishman_ declares I’m more than three-parts mad; I did not think you’d do it, Vaughan, It really is too bad! _Chorus._ Won’t you tell me why, doctor, &c., &c. From _Finis_. ―――― THE COOK’S LAMENT. A Pathetic Ballad of a Policeman’s Perfidy. Oh, won’t you tell me why, Bobby, Won’t you tell me why? You never speaks when’er we meets, You always pass me by! You never takes me for a walk, As was the case afore; You never comes to have a talk, Nor see me to the door! Oh, won’t you tell me why, Bobby, Policeman X Y Zad? Why pass my airey by, Bobby? Your cookey’s awful sad? Oh, won’t you tell me why, Bobby, Won’t you tell me why? When on your beat, you beats retreat, If o’er the gate I spy? The mutton cold and taties hot, As oft I’ve give to you! Likewise “cold fourp’ny” in a pot, And now you are not true. Oh, please to tell me why, Bobby? My heart’s a-breaking fast; My bosom’s one big sigh, Bobby―― My figure, long, can’t last! Oh, won’t you tell me why, Bobby, Won’t you tell me why? The reason now, you’ve broke your vow, To your own Sophy-i? The “public” we was going to take Is fading from my view; And sadly from my dreams I wake―― Deceitful wretch in blue! Oh, will you tell me why, Bobby, You’ve gone and broke your word? And left your love to die, Bobby―― The facts shall all be heard! I’ve learnt the reason why, Bobby, I knows the reason why! I see ’tis plain that Mary Jane Is lurking in your eye―― The wicked slut! perfidious man! I’ll go to law, of course! I’d sooner wed the buttons, Dan, Than all the blessed Force! You need not tell me why, Bobby, Policeman X Y Zad; For I shall never cry, Bobby―― In fact I’m rather glad! S. J. A. F. There was a political parody of the same song in _They are Five_, published by David Bogue. It is out of date now, and of no general interest. ――――:o:―――― PARODIES OF ROBERT HERRICK. (ROBERT HERRICK was born in Cheapside in 1591. Died October, 1674.) ――――