WHEN all night long a chap remains On sentry-go, to chase monotony He exercises of his brains, That is, assuming that he’s got any. Though never nurtured in the lap Of luxury, yet I admonish you, I am an intellectual chap, And think of things that would astonish you. I often think it’s comical How Nature always does contrive That every boy and every gal, That’s born into the world alive, Is either a little Liberal, Or else a little Conservative! Fal lal la! When in that house M.P.’s divide, If they’ve a brain and cerebellum, too, They’ve got to leave that brain outside, And vote just as their leaders tell ’em to. But then the prospect of a lot Of statesmen, all in close proximity, A-thinking for themselves, is what No man can face with equanimity. Then let’s rejoice with loud Fal lal That Nature wisely does contrive That every boy and every gal, That’s born into the world alive, Is either a little Liberal, Or else a little Conservative! Fal lal la! THE PHILOSOPHIC PILL I’VE wisdom from the East and from the West, That’s subject to no academic rule; You may find it in the jeering of a jest, Or distil it from the folly of a fool. I can teach you with a quip, if I’ve a mind; I can trick you into learning with a laugh; Oh, winnow all my folly, and you’ll find A grain or two of truth among the chaff! I can set a braggart quailing with a quip, The upstart I can wither with a whim; He may wear a merry laugh upon his lip, But his laughter has an echo that is grim. When they’ve offered to the world in merry guise, Unpleasant truths are swallowed with a will— For he who’d make his fellow-creatures wise Should always gild the philosophic pill! BLUE BLOOD SPURN not the nobly born With love affected, Nor treat with virtuous scorn The well connected. High rank involves no shame— We boast an equal claim With him of humble name To be respected! Blue blood! Blue blood! When virtuous love is sought, Thy power is naught, Though dating from the Flood, Blue blood! Spare us the bitter pain Of stern denials, Nor with low-born disdain Augment our trials. Hearts just as pure and fair May beat in Belgrave Square As in the lowly air Of Seven Dials! Blue blood! Blue blood! Of what avail art thou To serve me now? Though dating from the Flood, Blue blood! THE JUDGE’S SONG