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
Now follows the dim horror of my tale,
And I feel I'm growing gradually pale;
For even at this day,
Though its sting has passed away,
When I venture to remember it, I quail!
The elder of the brothers gave a squeal,
All-overish it made me for to feel.
"O Prince," he says, says he,
"_If a Prince indeed you be_,
I've a mystery I'm going to reveal!
"Oh, listen, if you'd shun a horrid death,
To what the gent who's speaking to you saith:
No 'Oüaits' in truth are we,
As you fancy that we be,
For (ter-remble!) I am ALECK--this is BETH!"
[Illustration]
Said AGIB, "Oh! accursed of your kind,
I have heard that ye are men of evil mind!"
BETH gave a dreadful shriek--
But before he'd time to speak
I was mercilessly collared from behind.
In number ten or twelve, or even more,
They fastened me, full length, upon the floor.
On my face extended flat,
I was walloped with a cat,
For listening at the keyhole of a door.
Oh! the horror of that agonising thrill!
(I can feel the place in frosty weather still.)
For a week from ten to four
I was fastened to the floor,
While a mercenary wopped me with a will!
They branded me and broke me on a wheel,
And they left me in an hospital to heal;
And, upon my solemn word,
I have never, never heard
What those Tartars had determined to reveal.
But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage,
I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age,
Photographically lined
On the tablet of my mind,
When a yesterday has faded from its page!
[Illustration]
THE PRACTICAL JOKER
Oh what a fund of joy jocund lies hid in harmless hoaxes.
What keen enjoyment springs
From cheap and simple things!
What deep delight from sources trite inventive humour coaxes,
That pain and trouble brew
For every one but you!
Gunpowder placed inside its waist improves a mild Havanah,
Its unexpected flash
Burns eyebrows and moustache;
When people dine no kind of wine beats ipecacuanha,
But common sense suggests
You keep it for your guests--
Then naught annoys the organ boys like throwing red-hot coppers,
And much amusement bides
In common butter-slides:
And stringy snares across the stairs cause unexpected croppers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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