London lyrics by Frederick Locker Lampson: With introduction and notes by Austin Dobson |
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THE OLD GOVERNMENT CLERK
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 | London lyrics |  |
117
THE OLD GOVERNMENT CLERK
(OLD STYLE)
We knew an old Scribe, it was “once on a time,”
An era to set sober datists despairing:
Then let them despair! Darby sat in a chair
Near the Cross that took name from the Village of Charing.
An era to set sober datists despairing:
Then let them despair! Darby sat in a chair
Near the Cross that took name from the Village of Charing.
Though silent and lean, Darby was not malign,
What hair he had left was more silver than sable;
He had also contracted a curve in the spine,
From bending too constantly over a table.
What hair he had left was more silver than sable;
He had also contracted a curve in the spine,
From bending too constantly over a table.
His pay and expenditure, quite in accord,
Were both on the strictest economy founded;
His rulers were known as the Sealing-wax Board,—
They ruled where red-tape and snug places abounded.
Were both on the strictest economy founded;
118
They ruled where red-tape and snug places abounded.
In his heart he look'd down on this dignified Knot;
And why? The forefather of one of these senators—
A rascal concern'd in the Gunpowder Plot—
Had been barber-surgeon to Darby's progenitors.
And why? The forefather of one of these senators—
A rascal concern'd in the Gunpowder Plot—
Had been barber-surgeon to Darby's progenitors.
Poor fool! is not life a vagary of luck?
For thirty long years of genteel destitution
He'd been writing despatches; which means he had stuck
Some heads and some tails to much circumlocution.
For thirty long years of genteel destitution
He'd been writing despatches; which means he had stuck
Some heads and some tails to much circumlocution.
This sounds rather weary and dreary; but, no!
Though strictly inglorious, his days were quiescent;
His red-tape was tied in a true-lover's bow
Every night when returning to Rosemary Crescent.
Though strictly inglorious, his days were quiescent;
His red-tape was tied in a true-lover's bow
Every night when returning to Rosemary Crescent.
119
There Joan meets him smiling, the Young Ones are there;
His coming is bliss to the half-dozen wee Things;
The dog and the cat have a greeting to spare,
And Phyllis, neat-handed, is laying the tea-things.
His coming is bliss to the half-dozen wee Things;
The dog and the cat have a greeting to spare,
And Phyllis, neat-handed, is laying the tea-things.
East wind, sob eerily! Sing, kettle, cheerily
Baby's abed, but its Father will rock it;—
His little ones boast their permission to toast
The cake that good fellow brings home in his pocket.
Baby's abed, but its Father will rock it;—
His little ones boast their permission to toast
The cake that good fellow brings home in his pocket.
This greeting the silent Old Clerk understands,
Now his friends he can love, had he foes he could mock them;
So met, so surrounded, his bosom expands,—
Some hearts have more need of such homes to unlock them.
Now his friends he can love, had he foes he could mock them;
So met, so surrounded, his bosom expands,—
Some hearts have more need of such homes to unlock them.
And Darby at least is resign'd to his lot;
And Joan, rather proud of the sphere he's adorning,
Has well-nigh forgotten that Gunpowder Plot,—
And he won't recall it till ten the next morning.
And Joan, rather proud of the sphere he's adorning,
120
And he won't recall it till ten the next morning.
A day must be near when, in pitiful case,
He will drop from his Branch, like a fruit more than mellow;
Is he yet to be found in his usual place?
Or is he already forgotten? Poor Fellow!
If still at his duty he soon will arrive;
He passes this turning because it is shorter;
He always is here as the clock's going five!—
Where is He? . . Ah, it is chiming the quarter!
He will drop from his Branch, like a fruit more than mellow;
Is he yet to be found in his usual place?
Or is he already forgotten? Poor Fellow!
If still at his duty he soon will arrive;
He passes this turning because it is shorter;
He always is here as the clock's going five!—
Where is He? . . Ah, it is chiming the quarter!
1856.
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