The Bab Ballads, with Which Are Included Songs of a SavoyardGilbert, W. S. (William Schwenck)
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The Bab Ballads, with Which Are Included Songs of a Savoyard
Gilbert, W. S. (William Schwenck)
English wit and humor; Humorous poetry, English; Songs, English -- Texts
HE. PRITHEE, pretty maiden--prithee, tell me true
(Hey, but I'm doleful, willow, willow waly!)
Have you e'er a lover a-dangling after you?
Hey, willow waly O!
I would fain discover
If you have a lover?
Hey, willow waly O!
SHE. Gentle sir, my heart is frolicsome and free--
(Hey, but he's doleful, willow, willow waly!)
Nobody I care for comes a-courting me--
Hey, willow waly O!
Nobody I care for
Comes a-courting--therefore,
Hey, willow waly O!
HE. Prithee, pretty maiden, will you marry me?
(Hey, but I'm hopeful, willow, willow waly!)
I may say, at once, I'm a man of propertee--
Hey, willow waly O!
Money, I despise it,
But many people prize it,
Hey, willow waly O!
SHE. Gentle sir, although to marry I design--
(Hey, but he's hopeful, willow, willow waly!)
As yet I do not know you, and so I must decline.
Hey, willow waly O!
To other maidens go you--
As yet I do not know you,
Hey, willow waly O!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE TWO MAJORS
An excellent soldier who's worthy the name,
Loves officers dashing and strict:
When good, he's content with escaping all blame,
When naughty, he likes to be licked.
He likes for a fault to be bullied and stormed,
Or imprisoned for several days;
And hates, for a duty correctly performed,
To be slavered with sickening praise.
No officer sickened with praises his corps
So little as MAJOR LA GUERRE--
No officers swore at his warriors more
Than MAJOR MAKREDI PREPERE.
Their soldiers adored them, and every grade
Delighted to hear them abuse;
Though whenever these officers came on parade,
They shivered and shook in their shoes.
"No doubt we deserve it--no mercy we crave--
Go on--you're conferring a boon;
We would rather be slanged by a warrior brave
Than praised by a wretched poltroon!"
MAKREDI would say that in battle's fierce rage
True happiness only was met:
Poor MAJOR MAKREDI, though fifty his age,
Had never known happiness yet!
LA GUERRE would declare, "With the blood of a foe
No tipple is worthy to clink."
Poor fellow! he hadn't, though sixty or so,
Yet tasted his favourite drink!
They agreed at their mess--they agreed in the glass--
They agreed in the choice of their "set,"
And they also agreed in adoring, alas!
The Vivandière, pretty FILLETTE.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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