London lyrics by Frederick Locker Lampson: With introduction and notes by Austin Dobson |
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THE MUSIC PALACE |
 | London lyrics |  |
111
THE MUSIC PALACE
Shall you go? I don't ask you to seek it or shun it;
I went on an impulse: I've been and I've done it.
I went on an impulse: I've been and I've done it.
So this is a Music-hall, easy and free,
A temple for singing, and dancing, and spree;
The band is at Faust, and the benches are filling,
And all that I have can be had for a shilling.
A temple for singing, and dancing, and spree;
The band is at Faust, and the benches are filling,
And all that I have can be had for a shilling.
The senses are charm'd by the sights and the sounds;
A spirit of affable gladness abounds:
With zest we applaud, and as madly recall
The singer, the cellar-flap-dancer, and all.
A spirit of affable gladness abounds:
With zest we applaud, and as madly recall
The singer, the cellar-flap-dancer, and all.
A clown sings a song, and a fay cuts a caper,
And soon disappears in a rose-colour'd vapour:
Then an imp on a rope is a painfully-pleasant
Sensation for all the mammas that are present.
And soon disappears in a rose-colour'd vapour:
112
Sensation for all the mammas that are present.
But who is the Damsel that smiles to me there
With so reckless, indeed, so defiant an air?
She is bright—that she's pretty is more than I'll say.
Is she happy? At least she's exceedingly gay.
With so reckless, indeed, so defiant an air?
She is bright—that she's pretty is more than I'll say.
Is she happy? At least she's exceedingly gay.
It seems to me now, as we pass up the street,
Is Nell worse than I, or the worthies we meet?
She is reckless, her conduct's exceedingly sad—
A coin may be light, but it need not be bad.
Is Nell worse than I, or the worthies we meet?
She is reckless, her conduct's exceedingly sad—
A coin may be light, but it need not be bad.
Heaven help thee, poor Child: now a graceless and gay Thing,
You once were your Mother's, her pet and her plaything:
Where was your home? Are the stars that look down
On that home, the cold stars of this pitiless Town?
You once were your Mother's, her pet and her plaything:
113
On that home, the cold stars of this pitiless Town?
The stars are a riddle we never may read,
I prest her poor hand, and I bade her Godspeed!
She left me a heart overladen with sorrow—
You may hear Nelly's laugh at the palace tomorrow!
I prest her poor hand, and I bade her Godspeed!
She left me a heart overladen with sorrow—
You may hear Nelly's laugh at the palace tomorrow!
Ah! some go to revel, and some go to rue,
For some go to ruin. There's Paul's tolling two.
For some go to ruin. There's Paul's tolling two.
| London lyrics | |