Bab Ballads and Savoy Songs Part 5

"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."

With 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.

"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 coa.r.s.e and brutal shout, "Come, step it, Forty-eight!"

And Forty-eight stepped out.

"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.

THE FORCE OF ARGUMENT.

Lord B. was a n.o.bleman bold, Who came of ill.u.s.trious stocks, He was thirty or forty years old, And several feet in his socks.

To Turniptopville-by-the-Sea This elegant n.o.bleman went, For that was a borough that he Was anxious to rep-per-re-sent.

At local a.s.semblies he danced Until he felt thoroughly ill-- He waltzed, and he galloped, and lanced, And threaded the mazy quadrille.

The maidens of Turniptopville Were simple--ingenuous--pure-- And they all worked away with a will The n.o.bleman's heart to secure.

Two maidens all others beyond Imagined their chances looked well-- The one was the lively Ann Pond, The other sad Mary Morell.

Ann Pond had determined to try And carry the Earl with a rush.

Her princ.i.p.al feature was eye, Her greatest accomplishment--gush.

And Mary chose this for her play, Whenever he looked in her eye She'd blush and turn quickly away, And flitter and flutter and sigh.

It was noticed he constantly sighed As she worked out the scheme she had planned-- A fact he endeavored to hide With his aristocratical hand.

Old Pond was a farmer, they say, And so was old Tommy Morell, In a humble and pottering way They were doing exceedingly well.

They both of them carried by vote The Earl was a dangerous man, So nervously clearing his throat, One morning old Tommy began:

"My darter's no pratty young doll-- I'm a plain-spoken Zommerzet man-- Now what do 'ee mean by my Poll, And what do 'ee mean by his Ann?"

Said B., "I will give you my bond I mean them uncommonly well, Believe me, my excellent Pond, And credit me, worthy Morell.

"It's quite indisputable, for I'll prove it with singular ease, You shall have it in 'Barbara' or 'Celarent'--whichever you please.

"You see, when an anchorite bows To the yoke of intentional sin-- If the state of the country allows, h.o.m.ogeny always steps in.

"It's a highly aesthetical bond, As any mere ploughboy can tell"-- "Of course," replied puzzled old Pond.

"I see," said old Tommy Morell.

"Very good then," continued the lord, "When its fooled to the top of its bent, With a sweep of a Damocles sword The web of intention is rent.

"That's patent to all of us here, As any mere schoolboy can tell."

Pond answered, "Of course it's quite clear;"

And so did that humbug Morell.

"It's tone esoteric in force-- I trust that I make myself clear?"-- Morell only answered "Of course,"-- While Pond slowly muttered, "Hear, hear."

"Volition--celestial prize, Pellucid as porphyry cell-- Is based on a principle wise."

"Quite so," exclaimed Pond and Morell.

"From what I have said, you will see That I couldn't wed either--in fine, By nature's unchanging decree _Your_ daughters could never be _mine_.

"Go home to your pigs and your ricks, My hands of the matter I've rinsed."

So they take up their hats and their sticks, And _exeunt ambo_, convinced.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

ONLY A DANCING GIRL.