THE law is the true embodiment Of everything that’s excellent. It has no kind of fault or flaw, And I, my lords, embody the Law. The constitutional guardian I Of pretty young Wards in Chancery, All very agreeable girls—and none Is over the age of twenty-one. A pleasant occupation for A rather susceptible Chancellor! But though the compliment implied Inflates me with legitimate pride, It nevertheless can’t be denied That it has its inconvenient side. For I’m not so old, and not so plain, And I’m quite prepared to marry again, But there’d be the deuce to pay in the Lords If I fell in love with one of my Wards: Which rather tries my temper, for I’m _such_ a susceptible Chancellor! And every one who’d marry a Ward Must come to me for my accord: So in my court I sit all day, Giving agreeable girls away, With one for him—and one for he— And one for you—and one for ye— And one for thou—and one for thee— But never, oh never a one for me! Which is exasperating, for A highly susceptible Chancellor! WHEN A MERRY MAIDEN MARRIES WHEN a merry maiden marries, Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries; Every sound becomes a song, All is right and nothing’s wrong! From to-day and ever after Let your tears be tears of laughter— Every sigh that finds a vent Be a sigh of sweet content! When you marry merry maiden, Then the air with love is laden; Every flower is a rose, Every goose becomes a swan, Every kind of trouble goes Where the last year’s snows have gone; Sunlight takes the place of shade When you marry merry maid! When a merry maiden marries Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries; Every sound becomes a song, All is right, and nothing’s wrong. Gnawing Care and aching Sorrow, Get ye gone until to-morrow; Jealousies in grim array, Ye are things of yesterday! When you marry merry maiden, Then the air with joy is laden; All the corners of the earth Ring with music sweetly played, Worry is melodious mirth, Grief is joy in masquerade; Sullen night is laughing day— All the year is merry May! THE BRITISH TAR A BRITISH tar is a soaring soul, As free as a mountain bird, His energetic fist should be ready to resist A dictatorial word. His nose should pant and his lip should curl, His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl, His bosom should heave and his heart should glow, And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow.