FIFTY “BAB” BALLADS Much Sound and Little Sense

BY W. S. GILBERT

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR [1]

LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL NEW YORK: 9 LAFAYETTE PLACE 1884

p. viiPREFACE.

The “Bab Ballads” appeared originally in the columns of “Fun,” when that periodical was under the editorship of the late Tom Hood. They were subsequently republished in two volumes, one called “The Bab Ballads,” the other “More Bab Ballads.” The period during which they were written extended over some three or four years; many, however, were composed hastily, and under the discomforting necessity of having to turn out a quantity of lively verse by a certain day in every week. As it seemed to me (and to others) that the volumes were disfigured by the presence of these hastily written impostors, I thought it better to withdraw from both volumes such Ballads as seemed to show evidence of carelessness or undue haste, and to publish the remainder in the compact form under which they are now presented to the reader.

It may interest some to know that the first of the series, “The Yarn of the Nancy Bell,” was originally offered to “Punch,”—to which I was, at that time, an occasional contributor. It was, however, declined by the then Editor, on the ground that it was “too cannibalistic for his readers’ tastes.”

W. S. GILBERT.

24 The Boltons, South Kensington, August, 1876.

p. ixCONTENTS.

PAGE

Captain Reece

13

The Rival Curates

18

Only a Dancing Girl

24

To a Little Maid

27

The Troubadour

28

Ferdinando and Elvira; or, the Gentle Pieman

33

To my Bride

37

Sir Macklin

39

The Yarn of the “Nancy Bell”

44

The Bishop of Rum-Ti-Foo

48

The Precocious Baby

54

To Phœbe

59

Baines Carew, Gentleman

60

Thomas Winterbottom Hance

66

A Discontented Sugar Broker

72

The Pantomime “Super” to his Mask

78

The Ghost, the Gallant, the Gael, and the Goblin

80

The Phantom Curate

85

King Borria Bungalee Boo

88

p. xBob Polter

93

The Story of Prince Agib

99

Ellen McJones Aberdeen

104

Peter the Wag

109

To the Terrestrial Globe

114

Gentle Alice Brown

115

Mister William

120

The Bumboat Woman’s Story

125

Lost Mr. Blake

131

The Baby’s Vengeance

137

The Captain and the Mermaids

143

Annie Protheroe. A Legend of Stratford-le-Bow

149

An Unfortunate Likeness

155

The King of Canoodle-dum

161

The Martinet

167

The Sailor Boy to his Lass

173

The Reverend Simon Magus

179

My Dream

184

The Bishop of Rum-Ti-Foo again

189

The Haughty Actor

194

The Two Majors

200

Emily, John, James, and I. A Derby Legend

205

The Perils of Invisibility

210

p. xiThe Mystic Selvagee

215

Phrenology

221

The Fairy Curate

226

The Way of Wooing

233

Hongree and Mahry. A Recollection of a Surrey Melodrama

237

Etiquette

243

At a Pantomime

249

Haunted

253

p. 13CAPTAIN REECE.

Of all the ships upon the blue, No ship contained a better crew Than that of worthy Captain Reece, Commanding of The Mantelpiece.

p. 14He was adored by all his men, For worthy Captain Reece, R.N., Did all that lay within him to Promote the comfort of his crew.

If ever they were dull or sad, Their captain danced to them like mad, Or told, to make the time pass by, Droll legends of his infancy.

A feather bed had every man, Warm slippers and hot-water can, Brown windsor from the captain’s store, A valet, too, to every four.

Did they with thirst in summer burn, Lo, seltzogenes at every turn, And on all very sultry days Cream ices handed round on trays.

Then currant wine and ginger pops Stood handily on all the “tops;” And also, with amusement rife, A “Zoetrope, or Wheel of Life.”

New volumes came across the sea From Mister Mudie’s libraree; The Times and Saturday Review Beguiled the leisure of the crew.

Kind-hearted Captain Reece, R.N., Was quite devoted to his men; In point of fact, good Captain Reece Beatified The Mantelpiece.

p. 15One summer eve, at half-past ten, He said (addressing all his men): “Come, tell me, please, what I can do To please and gratify my crew.

“By any reasonable plan I’ll make you happy if I can; My own convenience count as nil: It is my duty, and I will.”

Then up and answered William Lee (The kindly captain’s coxswain he, A nervous, shy, low-spoken man), He cleared his throat and thus began:

“You have a daughter, Captain Reece, Ten female cousins and a niece, A Ma, if what I’m told is true, Six sisters, and an aunt or two.

“Now, somehow, sir, it seems to me, More friendly-like we all should be, If you united of ’em to Unmarried members of the crew.

“If you’d ameliorate our life, Let each select from them a wife; And as for nervous me, old pal, Give me your own enchanting gal!”

Good Captain Reece, that worthy man, Debated on his coxswain’s plan: “I quite agree,” he said, “O Bill; It is my duty, and I will.

p. 16“My daughter, that enchanting gurl, Has just been promised to an Earl, And all my other familee To peers of various degree.

“But what are dukes and viscounts to The happiness of all my crew? The word I gave you I’ll fulfil; It is my duty, and I will.

“As you desire it shall befall, I’ll settle thousands on you all, And I shall be, despite my hoard, The only bachelor on board.”

The boatswain of The Mantelpiece, He blushed and spoke to Captain Reece: “I beg your honour’s leave,” he said; “If you would wish to go and wed,

p. 17“I have a widowed mother who Would be the very thing for you— She long has loved you from afar: She washes for you, Captain R.”

The Captain saw the dame that day— Addressed her in his playful way— “And did it want a wedding ring? It was a tempting ickle sing!

“Well, well, the chaplain I will seek, We’ll all be married this day week At yonder church upon the hill; It is my duty, and I will!”

The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece, And widowed Ma of Captain Reece, Attended there as they were bid; It was their duty, and they did.

p. 18THE RIVAL CURATES.

List while the poet trolls Of Mr. Clayton Hooper, Who had a cure of souls At Spiffton-extra-Sooper.

He lived on curds and whey, And daily sang their praises, And then he’d go and play With buttercups and daisies.

Wild croquêt Hooper banned, And all the sports of Mammon, He warred with cribbage, and He exorcised backgammon.

His helmet was a glance That spoke of holy gladness; A saintly smile his lance; His shield a tear of sadness.

His Vicar smiled to see This armour on him buckled: With pardonable glee He blessed himself and chuckled.

p. 19“In mildness to abound My curate’s sole design is; In all the country round There’s none so mild as mine is!”

And Hooper, disinclined His trumpet to be blowing, Yet didn’t think you’d find A milder curate going.

A friend arrived one day At Spiffton-extra-Sooper, And in this shameful way He spoke to Mr. Hooper:

“You think your famous name For mildness can’t be shaken, That none can blot your fame— But, Hooper, you’re mistaken!

p. 20“Your mind is not as blank As that of Hopley Porter, Who holds a curate’s rank At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.

“He plays the airy flute, And looks depressed and blighted, Doves round about him ‘toot,’ And lambkins dance delighted.

“He labours more than you At worsted work, and frames it; In old maids’ albums, too, Sticks seaweed—yes, and names it!”

The tempter said his say, Which pierced him like a needle— He summoned straight away His sexton and his beadle.

p. 21(These men were men who could Hold liberal opinions: On Sundays they were good— On week-days they were minions.)

“To Hopley Porter go, Your fare I will afford you— Deal him a deadly blow, And blessings shall reward you.

“But stay—I do not like Undue assassination, And so before you strike, Make this communication:

“I’ll give him this one chance— If he’ll more gaily bear him, Play croquêt, smoke, and dance, I willingly will spare him.”

p. 22They went, those minions true, To Assesmilk-cum-Worter, And told their errand to The Reverend Hopley Porter.

“What?” said that reverend gent, “Dance through my hours of leisure? Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?— Play croquêt? Oh, with pleasure!

“Wear all my hair in curl? Stand at my door and wink—so— At every passing girl? My brothers, I should think so!

“For years I’ve longed for some Excuse for this revulsion: Now that excuse has come— I do it on compulsion!!!”

p. 23He smoked and winked away— This Reverend Hopley Porter— The deuce there was to pay At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.

And Hooper holds his ground, In mildness daily growing— They think him, all around, The mildest curate going.

p. 24ONLY A DANCING GIRL.

Only a dancing girl, With an unromantic style, With borrowed colour and curl, With fixed mechanical smile, With many a hackneyed wile, With ungrammatical lips, And corns that mar her trips.

p. 25Hung from the “flies” in air, She acts a palpable lie, She’s as little a fairy there As unpoetical I! I hear you asking, Why— Why in the world I sing This tawdry, tinselled thing?

No airy fairy she, As she hangs in arsenic green From a highly impossible tree In a highly impossible scene (Herself not over-clean). For fays don’t suffer, I’m told, From bunions, coughs, or cold.

And stately dames that bring Their daughters there to see, Pronounce the “dancing thing” No better than she should be, With her skirt at her shameful knee, And her painted, tainted phiz: Ah, matron, which of us is?

(And, in sooth, it oft occurs That while these matrons sigh, Their dresses are lower than hers, And sometimes half as high; And their hair is hair they buy, And they use their glasses, too, In a way she’d blush to do.)

p. 26But change her gold and green For a coarse merino gown, And see her upon the scene Of her home, when coaxing down Her drunken father’s frown, In his squalid cheerless den: She’s a fairy truly, then!

p. 27TO A LITTLE MAID By a Policeman.

Come with me, little maid, Nay, shrink not, thus afraid— I’ll harm thee not! Fly not, my love, from me— I have a home for thee— A fairy grot, Where mortal eye Can rarely pry, There shall thy dwelling be!

List to me, while I tell The pleasures of that cell, Oh, little maid! What though its couch be rude, Homely the only food Within its shade? No thought of care Can enter there, No vulgar swain intrude!

Come with me, little maid, Come to the rocky shade I love to sing; Live with us, maiden rare— Come, for we “want” thee there, Thou elfin thing, To work thy spell, In some cool cell In stately Pentonville!

p. 28THE TROUBADOUR.

A troubadour he played Without a castle wall, Within, a hapless maid Responded to his call.

“Oh, willow, woe is me! Alack and well-a-day! If I were only free I’d hie me far away!”

p. 29Unknown her face and name, But this he knew right well, The maiden’s wailing came From out a dungeon cell.

A hapless woman lay Within that dungeon grim— That fact, I’ve heard him say, Was quite enough for him.

“I will not sit or lie, Or eat or drink, I vow, Till thou art free as I, Or I as pent as thou.”

Her tears then ceased to flow, Her wails no longer rang, And tuneful in her woe The prisoned maiden sang:

“Oh, stranger, as you play, I recognize your touch; And all that I can say Is, thank you very much.”

He seized his clarion straight, And blew thereat, until A warden oped the gate. “Oh, what might be your will?”

“I’ve come, Sir Knave, to see The master of these halls: A maid unwillingly Lies prisoned in their walls.”’

p. 30With barely stifled sigh That porter drooped his head, With teardrops in his eye, “A many, sir,” he said.

He stayed to hear no more, But pushed that porter by, And shortly stood before Sir Hugh de Peckham Rye.

Sir Hugh he darkly frowned, “What would you, sir, with me?” The troubadour he downed Upon his bended knee.

“I’ve come, de Peckham Rye, To do a Christian task; You ask me what would I? It is not much I ask.

“Release these maidens, sir, Whom you dominion o’er— Particularly her Upon the second floor.

p. 31“And if you don’t, my lord”— He here stood bolt upright, And tapped a tailor’s sword— “Come out, you cad, and fight!”

Sir Hugh he called—and ran The warden from the gate: “Go, show this gentleman The maid in Forty-eight.”

By many a cell they past, And stopped at length before A portal, bolted fast: The man unlocked the door.

He called inside the gate With coarse and brutal shout, “Come, step it, Forty-eight!” And Forty-eight stepped out.

p. 32“They gets it pretty hot, The maidens what we cotch— Two years this lady’s got For collaring a wotch.”

“Oh, ah!—indeed—I see,” The troubadour exclaimed— “If I may make so free, How is this castle named?”

The warden’s eyelids fill, And sighing, he replied, “Of gloomy Pentonville This is the female side!”

The minstrel did not wait The Warden stout to thank, But recollected straight He’d business at the Bank.

PART I.

At a pleasant evening party I had taken down to supper One whom I will call Elvira, and we talked of love and Tupper,

Mr. Tupper and the Poets, very lightly with them dealing, For I’ve always been distinguished for a strong poetic feeling.

Then we let off paper crackers, each of which contained a motto, And she listened while I read them, till her mother told her not to.

Then she whispered, “To the ball-room we had better, dear, be walking; If we stop down here much longer, really people will be talking.”

There were noblemen in coronets, and military cousins, There were captains by the hundred, there were baronets by dozens.

Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed them with a blessing, Then she let down all her back hair, which had taken long in dressing.

Then she had convulsive sobbings in her agitated throttle, Then she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her pretty smelling-bottle.

p. 34So I whispered, “Dear Elvira, say,—what can the matter be with you? Does anything you’ve eaten, darling Popsy, disagree with you?”

But spite of all I said, her sobs grew more and more distressing, And she tore her pretty back hair, which had taken long in dressing.

Then she gazed upon the carpet, at the ceiling, then above me, And she whispered, “Ferdinando, do you really, really love me?”

“Love you?” said I, then I sighed, and then I gazed upon her sweetly— For I think I do this sort of thing particularly neatly.

“Send me to the Arctic regions, or illimitable azure, On a scientific goose-chase, with my Coxwell or my Glaisher!

“Tell me whither I may hie me—tell me, dear one, that I may know— Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?”

But she said, “It isn’t polar bears, or hot volcanic grottoes: Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker mottoes!”

PART II.

“Tell me, Henry Wadsworth, Alfred Poet Close, or Mister Tupper, Do you write the bon bon mottoes my Elvira pulls at supper?”

But Henry Wadsworth smiled, and said he had not had that honour; And Alfred, too, disclaimed the words that told so much upon her.

p. 35“Mister Martin Tupper, Poet Close, I beg of you inform us;” But my question seemed to throw them both into a rage enormous.

Mister Close expressed a wish that he could only get anigh to me; And Mister Martin Tupper sent the following reply to me:

“A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men dread a bandit,”— Which I know was very clever; but I didn’t understand it.

Seven weary years I wandered—Patagonia, China, Norway, Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway.

There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle, So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle.

He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy, And his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy.

And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with laughter hearty— He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party.

And I said, “O gentle pieman, why so very, very merry? Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?”

But he answered, “I’m so happy—no profession could be dearer— If I am not humming ‘Tra! la! la!’ I’m singing ‘Tirer, lirer!’

“First I go and make the patties, and the puddings, and the jellies, Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell is;

“Then I polish all the silver, which a supper-table lacquers; Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the crackers.”—

p. 36“Found at last!” I madly shouted. “Gentle pieman, you astound me!” Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me.

And I shouted and I danced until he’d quite a crowd around him— And I rushed away exclaiming, “I have found him! I have found him!”

And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling, “‘Tira, lira!’ stop him, stop him! ‘Tra! la! la!’ the soup’s a shilling!”

But until I reached Elvira’s home, I never, never waited, And Elvira to her Ferdinand’s irrevocably mated!