Lost Bab ballads :: :: University of Virginia Library

My children, once I knew a boy
(His name was Archibald Molloy),
Whose kind papa, one Christmas time,
Took him to see a pantomime.
He was a mild, delightful boy,
Who hated jokes that did annoy;
And none who knew him could complain
That Archie ever gave them pain.
But, don't suppose he was a sad,
Or serious, solemn kind of lad;
Indeed, he was a cheerful son,
Renowned for mild, respectful fun.

But, Oh, it was a rueful day
When he was taken to the play;
The Christmas Pantomime, that night
Destroyed his gentle nature, quite;
And as they walked along the road
That led to his papa's abode,
As on they trudged, through mud and mire,
He said, “Papa, if you desire
My fondest hopes and joys to crown
Allow me to become a Clown!”
I will not here attempt to show
The bitter agony and woe,
The sorrow and depression dire
Of Archie's old and feeble sire.
“Oh, Archibald,” said he, “my boy,
My darling Archibald Molloy!
Attention for one moment lend—
You cannot seriously intend
To spend a roving life in town,
As vulgar, base, dishonest clown.
And leave your father in the lurch,
Who always meant you for the Church,
And nightly dreams he sees his boy
The Reverend Archibald Molloy!”

That night, as Archie lay awake;
Thinking of all he'd take and break,
If he but had his heart's desire,
The room seemed filled with crimson fire;
The wall expanded by degrees,
Disclosing shells and golden trees,
Revolving round, and round, and round;
Red coral strewn upon the ground;
And on the trees, in tasty green,

The loveliest fairies ever seen;
But one more fair than all the rest,
Came from a lovely golden nest,
And said to the astonished boy,
“Oh, Master Archibald Molloy,
I know the object of your heart—
To-morrow morning, you shall start
Upon your rambles through the town
As merry, mischief-making clown.”