London lyrics by Frederick Locker Lampson: With introduction and notes by Austin Dobson |
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AN OLD BUFFER |
 | London lyrics |  |
136
AN OLD BUFFER
[_]
Buffer.—A cushion or apparatus, with strong springs, to deaden the buff or concussion between a moving body and one on which it strikes. —Webster's English Dictionary.
“If Blossom's a sceptic, or saucy, I'll search
And I'll find her a wholesome corrective—in church!”
Mamma loquitur.
And I'll find her a wholesome corrective—in church!”
Mamma loquitur.
“A knock-me-down sermon, and worthy of Birch,”
Says I to my wife, as we toddle from church;
“Convincing indeed!” is the lady's remark;
“How logical, too, on the size of the Ark!”
Then Blossom cut in, without begging our pardons,
“Pa, was it as big as the 'Logical Gardens?”
Says I to my wife, as we toddle from church;
“Convincing indeed!” is the lady's remark;
“How logical, too, on the size of the Ark!”
Then Blossom cut in, without begging our pardons,
“Pa, was it as big as the 'Logical Gardens?”
“Miss Blossom,” says I to my dearest of Dearies,
“Papa disapproves of nonsensical queries;
The Ark was an Ark, and had people to build it,
Enough that we're told Noah built it and fill'd it:
Mamma doesn't ask how he caught his opossums.”
—Said mamma, “That remark is as foolish as Blossom's!”
“Papa disapproves of nonsensical queries;
The Ark was an Ark, and had people to build it,
137
Mamma doesn't ask how he caught his opossums.”
—Said mamma, “That remark is as foolish as Blossom's!”
Thus talking and walking, the time is beguiled
By my orthodox Wife and my sceptical Child;
I act as their buffer, whenever I can,
And you see I'm of use as a family man.
I parry their blows, and I've plenty to do—
I think that the Child's are the worst of the two!
By my orthodox Wife and my sceptical Child;
I act as their buffer, whenever I can,
And you see I'm of use as a family man.
I parry their blows, and I've plenty to do—
I think that the Child's are the worst of the two!
My Wife has a healthy aversion for sceptics,
She vows they are bad—why, they're only dyspeptics!
May Blossom prove neither the one nor the other,
But do as she's bid by her excellent mother.
She think's I'm a Solon; perhaps, if I huff her,
She'll think I'm a . . . . something that's denser and tougher.
She vows they are bad—why, they're only dyspeptics!
May Blossom prove neither the one nor the other,
But do as she's bid by her excellent mother.
She think's I'm a Solon; perhaps, if I huff her,
She'll think I'm a . . . . something that's denser and tougher.
| London lyrics | |