And he without a groan,
Would take it from them meekly
And give them all his own!
Though not exactly knighted
As knights, of course, should be,
Yet no one so delighted
In
harmless chivalry.
If
peasant girl or ladye
Beneath misfortunes sank,
Whate'er distinctions made he,
They were not those of rank.
No
maiden young and comely
Who wanted good advice
(However poor or homely)
Need ask him for it twice.
He'd wipe away the blindness
That comes of teary dew;
His
sympathetic kindness
No sort of limit knew.
He always hated dealing
With men who schemed or planned;
A person harsh - unfeeling -
The Colonel could not stand.
He hated cold, suspecting,
Official men in blue,
Who pass their lives detecting
The crimes that others do.
For men who'd shoot a sparrow,
Or immolate a worm
Beneath a farmer's harrow,
He could not find a term.
Humanely, ay, and knightly
He dealt with such an one;
He took and tied him tightly,
And blew him from a gun.
The earth has armies plenty,
And semi-warlike bands,
I'm certain there are twenty
In European lands;
But, oh! in no direction
You'd find one to compare
In
brotherly affection
With that of COLONEL FLARE.
Ballad: Lost Mr. Blake
MR. BLAKE was a regular out-and-out hardened
sinner,
Who was quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to speak,
He was in the habit of smoking a long pipe and drinking a
glass of grog on a Sunday after dinner,
And seldom thought of going to church more than twice or - if
Good Friday or Christmas Day happened to come in it - three
times a week.
He was quite
indifferent as to the particular kinds of dresses
That the
clergyman wore at church where he used to go to pray,
And
whatever he did in the way of relieving a chap's
distresses,
He always did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, hole-and-
corner sort of way.
I have known him
indulge in
profane, ungentlemanly emphatics,
When the Protestant Church has been divided on the subject of
the proper width of a chasuble's hem;
I have even known him to sneer at albs - and as for dalmatics,
Words can't
convey an idea of the
contempt he expressed for
THEM.
He didn't believe in persons who, not being well off
themselves, are obliged to
confine their
charitable exertions
to collecting money from wealthier people,
And looked upon individuals of the former class as
ecclesiastical hawks;
He used to say that he would no more think of interfering with
his priest's robes than with his church or his steeple,
And that he did not consider his soul imperilled because
somebody over whom he had no influence
whatever, chose to
dress himself up like an exaggerated GUY FAWKES.
This
shocking old
vagabond was so unutterably shameless
That he
actually went a-courting a very
respectable and pious
middle-aged sister, by the name of BIGGS.
She was a rather
attractive widow, whose life as such had
always been particularly blameless;
Her first husband had left her a secure but moderate
competence, owing to some
fortunate speculations in the matter
of figs.
She was an excellent person in every way - and won the respect
even of MRS. GRUNDY,
She was a good
housewife, too, and wouldn't have wasted a
penny if she had owned the Koh-i-noor.
She was just as
strict as he was lax in her
observance of
Sunday,
And being a good
economist, and
charitable besides, she took
all the bones and cold potatoes and broken pie-crusts and
candle-ends (when she had quite done with them), and made them
into an excellent soup for the deserving poor.
I am sorry to say that she rather took to BLAKE - that outcast
of society,
And when
respectable brothers who were fond of her began to
look
dubious and to cough,
She would say, "Oh, my friends, it's because I hope to bring
this poor benighted soul back to
virtue and propriety,
And besides, the poor benighted soul, with all his faults, was
uncommonly well off.
And when MR. BLAKE'S dissipated friends called his attention
to the frown or the pout of her,
Whenever he did anything which appeared to her to
savour of an
unmentionable place,
He would say that "she would be a very
decent old girl when
all that
nonsense was knocked out of her,"
And his method of knocking it out of her is one that covered
him with disgrace.
She was fond of going to church services four times every
Sunday, and, four or five times in the week, and never seemed
to pall of them,
So he hunted out all the churches within a
convenient distance
that had services at different hours, so to speak;
And when he had married her he
positively insisted upon their
going to all of them,
So they contrived to do about twelve churches every Sunday,
and, if they had luck, from twenty-two to twenty-three in the
course of the week.
She was fond of dropping his sovereigns ostentatiously into
the plate, and she liked to see them stand out rather
conspicuously against the
commonplace half-crowns and
shillings,
So he took her to all the
charitysermons, and if by any
extraordinary chance there wasn't a
charitysermon anywhere,
he would drop a couple of sovereigns (one for him and one for
her) into the poor-box at the door;
And as he always deducted the sums thus given in
charity from
the
housekeeping money, and the money he allowed her for her
bonnets and frillings,
She soon began to find that even
charity, if you allow it to
interfere with your personal luxuries, becomes an intolerable
bore.
On Sundays she was always
melancholy and anything but good
society,
For that day in her household was a day of sighings and
sobbings and wringing of hands and shaking of heads:
She wouldn't hear of a
button being sewn on a glove, because
it was a work neither of necessity nor of piety,
And
strictly prohibited her servants from
amusing themselves,
or indeed doing anything at all except dusting the drawing-
rooms, cleaning the boots and shoes, cooking the parlour
dinner,
waiting generally on the family, and making the beds.
But BLAKE even went further than that, and said that people
should do their own works of necessity, and not
delegate them
to persons in a menial situation,
So he wouldn't allow his servants to do so much as even answer
a bell.
Here he is making his wife carry up the water for her bath to
the second floor, much against her
inclination, -
And why in the world the gentleman who illustrates these
ballads has put him in a cocked hat is more than I can tell.
After about three months of this sort of thing,
taking the
smooth with the rough of it,
(Blacking her own boots and peeling her own potatoes was not
her notion of connubial bliss),
MRS. BLAKE began to find that she had pretty nearly had enough
of it,
And came, in course of time, to think that BLAKE'S own
original line of conduct wasn't so much amiss.
And now that
wicked person - that detestable
sinner ("BELIAL
BLAKE" his friends and well-wishers call him for his
atrocities),
And his poor deluded
victim, whom all her Christian brothers
dislike and pity so,
Go to the
parish church only on Sunday morning and afternoon
and
occasionally on a week-day, and spend their evenings in
connubial fondlings and
affectionate reciprocities,
And I should like to know where in the world (or rather, out
of it) they expect to go!
Ballad: The Baby's Vengeance
Weary at heart and
extremely ill
Was PALEY VOLLAIRE of Bromptonville,
In a dirty
lodging, with fever down,
Close to the Polygon, Somers Town.
PALEY VOLLAIRE was an only son
(For why? His mother had had but one),
And PALEY inherited gold and grounds
Worth several hundred thousand pounds.
But he, like many a rich young man,
Through this
magnificent fortune ran,
And nothing was left for his daily needs
But
duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds.
Shabby and sorry and
sorely sick,
He slept, and dreamt that the clock's "tick, tick,"
Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife,
Snicking off bits of his shortened life.
He woke and counted the pips on the walls,
The outdoor passengers' loud footfalls,
And reckoned all over, and reckoned again,
The little white tufts on his counterpane.
A
medical man to his
bedside came.
(I can't remember that doctor's name),
And said, "You'll die in a very short while
If you don't set sail for Madeira's isle."
"Go to Madeira?
goodness me!
I haven't the money to pay your fee!"
"Then, PALEY VOLLAIRE," said the leech, "good bye;
I'll come no more, for your're sure to die."
He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast;
"Oh, send," said he, "for FREDERICK WEST,
Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim:
I've a terrible tale to
whisper him!"