 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
THE WOOER
In Ballybazoo the young men woo
With the irresistible hob-nail shoe;
But in Ghargharoo lived a maiden who
Was pleased to remark that it wouldn't do.
With the irresistible hob-nail shoe;
But in Ghargharoo lived a maiden who
Was pleased to remark that it wouldn't do.
From Ghargharoo to Ballybazoo
This sternly dissenting maiden (who,
Etc.) went to reside—a lass
With a cheek of steel and a brow of brass.
This sternly dissenting maiden (who,
Etc.) went to reside—a lass
With a cheek of steel and a brow of brass.
Then all the young men of Ballybazoo
Took turns in calling early to woo
(With the irresistible hob-nail shoe)
The beautiful maiden from Ghargharoo.
Took turns in calling early to woo
(With the irresistible hob-nail shoe)
The beautiful maiden from Ghargharoo.
As each fond lover with ardor threw
His heel in her upturned face there flew
A rain of sparks that consumed his eyes,
Affecting his mind with a great surprise.
His heel in her upturned face there flew
A rain of sparks that consumed his eyes,
Affecting his mind with a great surprise.
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When all the young men had renounced their sight,
The metal-faced maiden she sat upright,
Remarking: “There's nothing here to do—
A dull, dull village is Ballybazoo.”
The metal-faced maiden she sat upright,
Remarking: “There's nothing here to do—
A dull, dull village is Ballybazoo.”
From Ballybazoo to Ghargharoo
The cheek-whole maiden her armament drew,
And her playmate lovers raised a hurroo
That saddened the sightless in Ballybazoo.
The cheek-whole maiden her armament drew,
And her playmate lovers raised a hurroo
That saddened the sightless in Ballybazoo.
A stranger there was who cherished a heel
Of double-case-hardened, cold-rolled chrome steel!
And taking thought he decided to woo,
As 'twas his undoubted right to do.
Of double-case-hardened, cold-rolled chrome steel!
And taking thought he decided to woo,
As 'twas his undoubted right to do.
To display his charms he removed his shoe,
And boarding her visage, began to woo.
And there in the gloaming, and not in vain,
The old, old story was told again.
And boarding her visage, began to woo.
And there in the gloaming, and not in vain,
The old, old story was told again.
It was long ago in the sainted past,
But traits long latent crop out at last;
And I know a live newspaper fellow who
Has ancestors buried in Ghargharoo.
But traits long latent crop out at last;
And I know a live newspaper fellow who
Has ancestors buried in Ghargharoo.
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |