Oblivion has fallen on the frequent _Ca. sa._, And Cursitor Street is untrod as of yore; We turn not the leaves of Les Termes de la Ley, Or these ancient Reports, ah, many a score, Of a dulness as deadly as dread hellibore, Of their Latin and law we are joyfully rid. Let them stand, as we peacefully slumber and snore, Forgotten for aye, like the wonderful Tidd. _Envoy._ How quickly the summers and winters are o’er! They linger not now as in childhood they did. Soon _we_ shall be treading yon shadowy shore, Forgotten for aye like the wonderful TIDD! The first verse of each of the other two ballades will suffice:―― BALLADE OF THE HONEST LAWYER. The “noble savage” of long ago Within a hundred tomes we find; The foreigner acute we know, And “general readers,” looks resigned; The “law of nature,” left behind By a simpler age, has ceased to be Aught but examination grind; “The honest lawyer,” where is he? * * * * * BALLADE OF LEADING CASES. When August crowns the legal year, When clients leave an hour for play, But――your examination near―― You’re doomed in London town to stay; When, tired of our prosaic day, You’d catch a glimpse of old-world faces, Put statutes, text-books, all, away―― Read, mark, and learn the Leading Cases. * * * * * ―――― BALLADE OF THE TIMID BARD. (_To Angelica, who bids him publish._) In Memory’s mystical hazes I see a vast Gander and grey, I see the small boy that he chases At the head of a hissing array: How I wept when they brought me to bay, How I pleaded in vain for a truce! Too frightened too shoo them away, I could never say Boh to a Goose! * * * * * _Punch_, October 22, 1887. ――――:o:―――― THE VILLANELLE. (_With Vexation._) I do not like the Villanelle, I think it somewhat of a bore―― This tinkle of a Muffin-bell! The reason why I cannot tell; Each day I fancy, more and more, I do not like the Villanelle! It makes me stamp and storm and yell, It makes me wildly rage and roar: This tinkle of a Muffin-bell! I look upon it as a sell, Its use I constantly deplore; I do not like the Villanelle! Poetic thoughts it must dispel, It very often tries me sore: This tinkle of a Muffin-bell! For this I know, and know full well―― Let me repeat it o’er and o’er―― I do not like the Villanelle, This tinkle of a Muffin-bell! Such was _Mr. Punch’s_ opinion of this delicious form of verse, which must be complete in nineteen lines, arranged as above. The accepted model is the following old French _Villanelle_ by Jean Passerat: _J’ay perdu ma tourterelle; Est-ce-point ells que i’oy?[2] Je veux aller après elle._