My favourite actor who, at will, With mimic woe my eyes could fill With unaccustomed brine: A being who appeared to me (Before I knew him well) to be A song incarnadine; I found a coarse unpleasant man With speckled chin--unhealthy, wan-- Of self-importance full: Existing in an atmosphere That reeked of gin and pipes and beer-- Conceited, fractious, dull. The warrior whose ennobled name Is woven with his country's fame, Triumphant over all, I found weak, palsied, bloated, blear; His province seemed to be, to leer At bonnets in Pall Mall. Would that ye always shone, who write, Bathed in your own innate limelight, And ye who battles wage, Or that in darkness I had died Before my soul had ever sighed To see you off the stage! [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HOUSE OF PEERS When Britain really ruled the waves-- (In good Queen Bess's time) The House of Peers made no pretence To intellectual eminence, Or scholarship sublime; Yet Britain won her proudest bays In good Queen Bess's glorious days! When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte, As every child can tell, The House of Peers, throughout the war, Did nothing in particular, And did it very well; Yet Britain set the world ablaze In good King George's glorious days! And while the House of Peers withholds Its legislative hand, And noble statesmen do not itch To interfere with matters which They do not understand, As bright will shine Great Britain's rays, As in King George's glorious days! [Illustration] [Illustration] BABETTE'S LOVE BABETTE she was a fisher gal, With jupon striped and cap in crimps. She passed her days inside the Halle, Or catching little nimble shrimps. Yet she was sweet as flowers in May, With no professional bouquet. JACOT was, of the Customs bold, An officer, at gay Boulogne, He loved BABETTE--his love he told, And sighed, "Oh, soyez vous my own!" But "Non!" said she, "JACOT, my pet, Vous êtes trop scraggy pour BABETTE. "Of one alone I nightly dream, An able mariner is he, And gaily serves the Gen'ral Steam- Boat Navigation Companee. I'll marry him, if he but will-- His name, I rather think, is BILL. "I see him when he's not aware, Upon our hospitable coast, Reclining with an easy air Upon the _Port_ against a post, A-thinking of, I'll dare to say, His native Chelsea far away!" "Oh, mon!" exclaimed the Customs bold, "Mes yeux!" he said (which means "my eye"). "Oh, chère!" he also cried, I'm told, "Par Jove," he added, with a sigh. "Oh, mon! oh, chère! mes yeux! par Jove! Je n'aime pas cet enticing cove!"