Songs of a Savoyard Part 4

Oh, is there not one maiden here, Whose homely face and bad complexion Have caused all hopes to disappear Of ever winning man's affection?

To such a one, if such there be, I swear by heaven's arch above you, If you will cast your eyes on me, - However plain you be - I'll love you!

Ballad: The Reward Of Merit

DR. BELVILLE was regarded as the CRICHTON of his age: His tragedies were reckoned much too thoughtful for the stage; His poems held a n.o.ble rank, although it's very true That, being very proper, they were read by very few.

He was a famous Painter, too, and shone upon the "line,"

And even MR. RUSKIN came and worshipped at his shrine; But, alas, the school he followed was heroically high - The kind of Art men rave about, but very seldom buy; And everybody said "How can he be repaid - This very great - this very good - this very gifted man?"

But n.o.body could hit upon a practicable plan!

He was a great Inventor, and discovered, all alone, A plan for making everybody's fortune but his own; For, in business, an Inventor's little better than a fool, And my highly-gifted friend was no exception to the rule.

His poems - people read them in the Quarterly Reviews - His pictures - they engraved them in the ILl.u.s.tRATED NEWS - His inventions - they, perhaps, might have enriched him by degrees, But all his little income went in Patent Office fees; And everybody said "How can he be repaid - This very great - this very good - this very gifted man?"

But n.o.body could hit upon a practicable plan!

At last the point was given up in absolute despair, When a distant cousin died, and he became a millionaire, With a county seat in Parliament, a moor or two of grouse, And a taste for making inconvenient speeches in the House!

THEN it flashed upon Britannia that the fittest of rewards Was, to take him from the Commons and to put him in the Lords!

And who so fit to sit in it, deny it if you can, As this very great - this very good - this very gifted man?

(Though I'm more than half afraid That it sometimes may be said That we never should have revelled in that source of proper pride, However great his merits - if his cousin hadn't died!)

Ballad: The Magnet And The Churn

A MAGNET hung in a hardware shop, And all around was a loving crop Of scissors and needles, nails and knives, Offering love for all their lives; But for iron the Magnet felt no whim, Though he charmed iron, it charmed not him, From needles and nails and knives he'd turn, For he'd set his love on a Silver Churn!

His most aesthetic, Very magnetic Fancy took this turn - "If I can wheedle A knife or needle, Why not a Silver Churn?"

And Iron and Steel expressed surprise, The needles opened their well-drilled eyes, The pen-knives felt "shut up," no doubt, The scissors declared themselves "cut out,"

The kettles they boiled with rage, 'tis said, While every nail went off its head, And hither and thither began to roam, Till a hammer came up - and drove it home, While this magnetic Peripatetic Lover he lived to learn, By no endeavour, Can Magnet ever Attract a Silver Churn!

Ballad: The Family Fool

Oh! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon, If you listen to popular rumour; From morning to night he's so joyous and bright, And he bubbles with wit and good humour!

He's so quaint and so terse, both in prose and in verse; Yet though people forgive his transgression, There are one or two rules that all Family Fools Must observe, if they love their profession.

There are one or two rules, Half-a-dozen, maybe, That all family fools, Of whatever degree, Must observe if they love their profession.

If you wish to succeed as a jester, you'll need To consider each person's auricular: What is all right for B would quite scandalise C (For C is so very particular); And D may be dull, and E's very thick skull Is as empty of brains as a ladle; While F is F sharp, and will cry with a carp, That he's known your best joke from his cradle!

When your humour they flout, You can't let yourself go; And it DOES put you out When a person says, "Oh!

I have known that old joke from my cradle!"

If your master is surly, from getting up early (And tempers are short in the morning), An inopportune joke is enough to provoke Him to give you, at once, a month's warning.

Then if you refrain, he is at you again, For he likes to get value for money: He'll ask then and there, with an insolent stare, "If you know that you're paid to be funny?"

It adds to the tasks Of a merryman's place, When your princ.i.p.al asks, With a scowl on his face, If you know that you're paid to be funny?

Comes a Bishop, maybe, or a solemn D.D. - Oh, beware of his anger provoking!

Better not pull his hair - don't stick pins in his chair; He won't understand practical joking.

If the jests that you crack have an orthodox smack, You may get a bland smile from these sages; But should it, by chance, be imported from France, Half-a-crown is stopped out of your wages!

It's a general rule, Though your zeal it may quench, If the Family Fool Makes a joke that's TOO French, Half-a-crown is stopped out of his wages!

Though your head it may rack with a bilious attack, And your senses with toothache you're losing, And you're mopy and flat - they don't fine you for that If you're properly quaint and amusing!

Though your wife ran away with a soldier that day, And took with her your trifle of money; Bless your heart, they don't mind - they're exceedingly kind - They don't blame you - as long as you're funny!

It's a comfort to feel If your partner should flit, Though YOU suffer a deal, THEY don't mind it a bit - They don't blame you - so long as you're funny!

Ballad: Sans Souci

I cannot tell what this love may be That cometh to all but not to me.

It cannot be kind as they'd imply, Or why do these gentle ladies sigh?

It cannot be joy and rapture deep, Or why do these gentle ladies weep?

It cannot be blissful, as 'tis said, Or why are their eyes so wondrous red?

If love is a thorn, they show no wit Who foolishly hug and foster it.

If love is a weed, how simple they Who gather and gather it, day by day!

If love is a nettle that makes you smart, Why do you wear it next your heart?

And if it be neither of these, say I, Why do you sit and sob and sigh?

Ballad: A Recipe

Take a pair of sparkling eyes, Hidden, ever and anon, In a merciful eclipse - Do not heed their mild surprise - Having pa.s.sed the Rubicon.

Take a pair of rosy lips; Take a figure trimly planned - Such as admiration whets (Be particular in this); Take a tender little hand, Fringed with dainty fingerettes, Press it - in parenthesis; - Take all these, you lucky man - Take and keep them, if you can.

Take a pretty little cot - Quite a miniature affair - Hung about with trellised vine, Furnish it upon the spot With the treasures rich and rare I've endeavoured to define.

Live to love and love to live - You will ripen at your ease, Growing on the sunny side - Fate has nothing more to give.

You're a dainty man to please If you are not satisfied.

Take my counsel, happy man: Act upon it, if you can!

Ballad: The Merryman And His Maid

[HE] I have a song to sing, O!