'T is my wish precisely.
Do your duty,
There's a beauty;
You have chosen wisely.
Tell your father
I would rather
As a
churchman rank you.
You, in clover,
I'll watch over."
GEORGIE said, "Oh, thank you!"
GEORGIE scudded,
Went and studied,
Made all preparations,
And with credit
(Though he said it)
Passed examinations.
(Do not quarrel
With him, moral,
Scrupulous digestions -
'Twas his mother,
And no other,
Answered all the questions.)
Time proceeded;
Little needed
GEORGIE admonition:
He, elated,
Vindicated
Clergyman's position.
People round him
Always found him
Plain and unpretending;
Kindly teaching,
Plainly preaching,
All his money lending.
So the fairy,
Wise and wary,
Felt no sorrow rising -
No occasion
For persuasion,
Warning, or advising.
He, resuming
Fairy pluming
(That's not English, is it?)
Oft would fly up,
To the sky up,
Pay mamma a visit.
* * * * * * * *
Time progressing,
GEORGIE'S blessing
Grew more Ritualistic -
Popish scandals,
Tonsures - sandals -
Genuflections mystic;
Gushing meetings -
Bosom-beatings -
Heavenly ecstatics -
Broidered spencers -
Copes and censers -
Rochets and dalmatics.
This quandary
Vexed the fairy -
Flew she down to Ealing.
"GEORGIE, stop it!
Pray you, drop it;
Hark to my appealing:
To this foolish
Papal rule-ish
Twaddle put an ending;
This a
swerve is
From our Service
Plain and unpretending."
He, replying,
Answered, sighing,
Hawing, hemming, humming,
"It's a pity -
They're so pritty;
Yet in mode becoming,
Mother tender,
I'll
surrender -
I'll be unaffected - "
But his Bishop
Into HIS shop
Entered unexpected!
"Who is this, sir, -
Ballet miss, sir?"
Said the Bishop coldly.
"'T is my mother,
And no other,"
GEORGIE answered boldly.
"Go along, sir!
You are wrong, sir;
You have years in plenty,
While this hussy
(Gracious mussy!)
Isn't two and twenty!"
(Fairies clever
Never, never
Grow in
visage older;
And the fairy,
All unwary,
Leant upon his shoulder!)
Bishop grieved him,
Disbelieved him;
GEORGE the point grew warm on;
Changed religion,
Like a
pigeon, (12)
And became a Mormon!
Ballad: The Way Of Wooing
A
maiden sat at her window wide,
Pretty enough for a Prince's bride,
Yet nobody came to claim her.
She sat like a beautiful picture there,
With pretty bluebells and roses fair,
And jasmine-leaves to frame her.
And why she sat there nobody knows;
But this she sang as she plucked a rose,
The leaves around her strewing:
"I've time to lose and power to choose;
'T is not so much the
gallant who woos,
But the
gallant's WAY of wooing!"
A lover came riding by awhile,
A
wealthy lover was he, whose smile
Some maids would value greatly -
A
formal lover, who bowed and bent,
With many a high-flown compliment,
And cold
demeanour stately,
"You've still," said she to her
suitor stern,
"The 'prentice-work of your craft to learn,
If thus you come a-cooing.
I've time to lose and power to choose;
'T is not so much the
gallant who woos,
As the
gallant's WAY of wooing!"
A second lover came ambling by -
A timid lad with a frightened eye
And a colour mantling highly.
He muttered the
errand on which he'd come,
Then only chuckled and bit his thumb,
And simpered, simpered shyly.
"No," said the
maiden, "go your way;
You dare but think what a man would say,
Yet dare to come a-suing!
I've time to lose and power to choose;
'T is not so much the
gallant who woos,
As the
gallant's WAY of wooing!"
A third rode up at a
startling pace -
A
suitor poor, with a
homely face -
No doubts appeared to bind him.
He kissed her lips and he pressed her waist,
And off he rode with the
maiden, placed
On a pillion safe behind him.
And she heard the
suitor bold confide
This golden hint to the
priest who tied
The knot there's no undoing;
With pretty young
maidens who can choose,
'Tis not so much the
gallant who woos,
As the
gallant's WAY of wooing!"
Ballad: Hongree And Mahry. A Recollection Of A Surrey
Melodrama
The sun was
setting in its wonted west,
When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Met MAHRY DAUBIGNY, the Village Rose,
Under the Wizard's Oak - old trysting-place
Of those who loved in rosy Aquitaine.
They thought themselves unwatched, but they were not;
For HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Found in LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC
A rival,
envious and unscrupulous,
Who thought it not foul scorn to dodge his steps,
And listen, unperceived, to all that passed
Between the simple little Village Rose
And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.
A
clumsybarrack-bully was DUBOSC,
Quite
unfamiliar with the well-bred tact
That animates a proper gentleman
In
dealing with a girl of
humble rank.
You'll understand his coarseness when I say
He would have married MAHRY DAUBIGNY,
And dragged the unsophisticated girl
Into the whirl of
fashionable life,
For which her singularly
rustic ways,
Her
breeding (moral, but
extremely rude),
Her language (chaste, but ungrammatical),
Would
absolutely have unfitted her.
How different to this unreflecting boor
Was HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.
Contemporary with the incident
Related in our
opening paragraph,
Was that sad war 'twixt Gallia and ourselves
That followed on the treaty signed at Troyes;
And so LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC
(Brave soldier, he, with all his faults of style)
And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Were sent by CHARLES of France against the lines
Of our Sixth HENRY (Fourteen twenty-nine),
To drive his legions out of Aquitaine.
When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Returned, suspecting nothing, to his camp,
After his meeting with the Village Rose,
He found inside his
barrack letter-box
A note from the commanding officer,
Requiring his attendance at head-quarters.