Cricket Songs and other trifling verses penned by one of the Authors of "Thistledown." [i.e. by N. R. Gale] |
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 | Cricket Songs |  |
My Dear Frisk,
To you I send the accompanying verses, lighter than the usual fruit of my pen, not because I deem their trifling character commensurate with your deserts, but because these Cricket Songs remind me of summer days when you and I blocked, bowled, hit and ran as partners in that great game which even now exercises its dominion over our stiffer backs and slower muscles.
Accept them, then, I pray you. And with them take something else—my thanks for an untarnished friendship which, I trust, despite its twelve years, is only in its infancy.
Truly (and what more need be said) yours,
NORMAN.
1
CHUCK HER UP!
Xerxes was mightily pleased when he saw
That vanguard of his with their trailing spears
Stand up from their stoop by a common law
And welcome the sea with a round of cheers!
No doubt that he laughed as he drank his fill
Of the rare red wine in his golden cup;
But he knew not joy like an English boy
With his summer-time shout—“Chuck her up!”
That vanguard of his with their trailing spears
Stand up from their stoop by a common law
And welcome the sea with a round of cheers!
No doubt that he laughed as he drank his fill
Of the rare red wine in his golden cup;
But he knew not joy like an English boy
With his summer-time shout—“Chuck her up!”
And doubtless Columbus by hope deferred,
Wan, weary and worn, was down in the dumps
Till they brought him news of a mainland bird,
And fished up a couple of floating “pumps.”
However polished the Portuguese phrase
That left his lips like a shot from a Krupp,
Allowing for dates I find it translates
By our cricketing shout—“Chuck her up!”
Wan, weary and worn, was down in the dumps
Till they brought him news of a mainland bird,
And fished up a couple of floating “pumps.”
However polished the Portuguese phrase
That left his lips like a shot from a Krupp,
Allowing for dates I find it translates
By our cricketing shout—“Chuck her up!”
7
How splendid when free of each Latin rule
To dash on your whites, and rush to the field
To do or die for the sake of your School
Where many have slogged and many appealed!
You feel in your heart like such chaps as Grace,
Or Surrey's old glory, the steadfast Jupp,
When you yell “How's that?” to the Umpire, Pratt,
And the oracle says—“Chuck her up!”
To dash on your whites, and rush to the field
To do or die for the sake of your School
Where many have slogged and many appealed!
You feel in your heart like such chaps as Grace,
Or Surrey's old glory, the steadfast Jupp,
When you yell “How's that?” to the Umpire, Pratt,
And the oracle says—“Chuck her up!”
'Twas a catch that dismissed the finest foe
And your Captain hastens to pat your back!
So you modestly call it a fluke, and show
The mark through the glove and the thumbnail's crack:
But Pater, watching the match from the tent,
Remembers your wish for a Bernard pup;
And makes up his mind to be extra kind
For the sake of the shout—“Chuck her up!”
And your Captain hastens to pat your back!
So you modestly call it a fluke, and show
The mark through the glove and the thumbnail's crack:
But Pater, watching the match from the tent,
Remembers your wish for a Bernard pup;
And makes up his mind to be extra kind
For the sake of the shout—“Chuck her up!”
Thus, too, when our Lion is great again,
And roars at the tramp of advancing foes,
You may purchase praise by a twinge of pain
In the midst of battle and giant blows!
And next when the English Flag's on the hill—
Though many are never again to sup—
For love of your land where the words were planned
Cry out to your men—“Chuck her up!”
And roars at the tramp of advancing foes,
You may purchase praise by a twinge of pain
In the midst of battle and giant blows!
And next when the English Flag's on the hill—
Though many are never again to sup—
For love of your land where the words were planned
Cry out to your men—“Chuck her up!”
8
H. FIBBS.
(WITH SINCERE APOLOGIES TO MR. BRET HARTE.)
Which I wish to remark,
And my language is plain,
That for ways that are dark
And for tricks that are vain,
A chap in the “Town” is peculiar,
Which the same I would rise to explain.
And my language is plain,
That for ways that are dark
And for tricks that are vain,
A chap in the “Town” is peculiar,
Which the same I would rise to explain.
H. Fibbs was his name;
And I shall not deny,
In regard to the same
What that name might imply;
But his method of scoring was faulty
As I frequent remarked to Jack Fry.
And I shall not deny,
In regard to the same
What that name might imply;
But his method of scoring was faulty
As I frequent remarked to Jack Fry.
11
It was August the third,
And quite soft were the skies;
Which it might be inferred
That H. Fibbs was likewise;
Yet he scored for the “Town” in a House Match
In a manner I wholly despise.
And quite soft were the skies;
Which it might be inferred
That H. Fibbs was likewise;
Yet he scored for the “Town” in a House Match
In a manner I wholly despise.
Which we had a stiff game,
And H. Fibbs worked the score:
It was Cricket. The same
We shall ever deplore;
But he grinned as he pointed his pencil,
And added a five or a four.
And H. Fibbs worked the score:
It was Cricket. The same
We shall ever deplore;
But he grinned as he pointed his pencil,
And added a five or a four.
Yet the runs were took down
In a way that I grieve,
And 'twas plain that the “Town”
Had a bit up their sleeve,
For he introduced sixes and sevens,
And the same with intent to deceive.
In a way that I grieve,
And 'twas plain that the “Town”
Had a bit up their sleeve,
For he introduced sixes and sevens,
And the same with intent to deceive.
When the innings was o'er
We raced in with glee
To examine the score—
But we said “Can this be?
We are ruined! Come, let us belabour
This Warwickshire ‘Heathen Chinee!’”
We raced in with glee
To examine the score—
But we said “Can this be?
We are ruined! Come, let us belabour
This Warwickshire ‘Heathen Chinee!’”
12
In the game that ensued
I did not take a hand,
But the grass it was strewed
Like the leaves on the strand
With the extras H. Fibbs had been giving
In a game we did not understand.
I did not take a hand,
But the grass it was strewed
Like the leaves on the strand
With the extras H. Fibbs had been giving
In a game we did not understand.
In the score, which was long,
There were eighty-four byes,—
Which is coming it strong,
Yet I write without lies;
And the total (six hundred and fifty)
Gave rise to no little surprise.
There were eighty-four byes,—
Which is coming it strong,
Yet I write without lies;
And the total (six hundred and fifty)
Gave rise to no little surprise.
Which is why I remark
And my language is plain
That for ways that are dark
And for tricks that are vain,
A chap in the “Town” is peculiar,—
Which the same I make bold to maintain.
And my language is plain
That for ways that are dark
And for tricks that are vain,
A chap in the “Town” is peculiar,—
Which the same I make bold to maintain.
13
TRIVIALITIES.
24
A DOG.
A dog I purchased in the Strand—
The vendor said he was a treasure,
But when I took the brute in hand
I found he was a doubtful pleasure.
The vendor said he was a treasure,
But when I took the brute in hand
I found he was a doubtful pleasure.
All dogs with stainless pedigrees,
Whose minds with honesty were glowing,
He greeted with a sort of sneeze,
As if they were not worth the knowing.
Whose minds with honesty were glowing,
He greeted with a sort of sneeze,
As if they were not worth the knowing.
And when Saint Bernard's noble pose
Gave little curs a thought of fleeing
The sneer upon my mongrel's nose
Was something really worth the seeing.
Gave little curs a thought of fleeing
The sneer upon my mongrel's nose
Was something really worth the seeing.
25
'Twas not as if he were the pick
Of barkers Franco—Scottish—Prussian;
He was an English—Arabic—
Germanic—Turko—Fiji—Russian—
Of barkers Franco—Scottish—Prussian;
He was an English—Arabic—
Germanic—Turko—Fiji—Russian—
Australian—Indo—Polyglot—
Malay—Canadian—Hanover—
Italian—Irish—Hottentot—
Siberian—Bechuana cur!
Malay—Canadian—Hanover—
Italian—Irish—Hottentot—
Siberian—Bechuana cur!
He bit three friends one afternoon
From pure desire to be offensive;
And all night long he howled the moon
With vocal range not unextensive.
From pure desire to be offensive;
And all night long he howled the moon
With vocal range not unextensive.
In vain expletives, boots and bricks;
In vain the air-guns of my neighbours!
That dog had yielded up his tricks
To neither cannonades nor sabres!
In vain the air-guns of my neighbours!
That dog had yielded up his tricks
To neither cannonades nor sabres!
The cats in envious silence sat
Upon my garden wall to listen;
And when he took the top A flat
You should have seen their eye-balls glisten!
Upon my garden wall to listen;
And when he took the top A flat
You should have seen their eye-balls glisten!
Perhaps because he was so lean,
So hopelessly and wholly knobby,
The reason was (O cur unclean!)
That bone-collecting was his hobby.
So hopelessly and wholly knobby,
The reason was (O cur unclean!)
That bone-collecting was his hobby.
26
And day by day, unduly fed,
Although his frame grew slowly thinner,
I watched him in my rhubarb bed
Inter the remnants of his dinner.
Although his frame grew slowly thinner,
I watched him in my rhubarb bed
Inter the remnants of his dinner.
Five cemeteries in a line
Bore witness to his undertaking:
There bones of sheep and pigs and kine
Reposed beyond the chance of aching.
Bore witness to his undertaking:
There bones of sheep and pigs and kine
Reposed beyond the chance of aching.
One day he started down the street
With jaunty gait, if somewhat jerky;
And later on, serenely fleet,
He brought me home an ample turkey!
With jaunty gait, if somewhat jerky;
And later on, serenely fleet,
He brought me home an ample turkey!
He also brought a yelling mob
Of urchins armed with sticks and pebbles,
Who, highly pleased to have the job,
Proclaimed his theft with husky trebles.
Of urchins armed with sticks and pebbles,
Who, highly pleased to have the job,
Proclaimed his theft with husky trebles.
When these were gone I looked around
To teach the brute the sin of prigging;
But not till sunset was he found
Amid the rhubarb softly digging.
To teach the brute the sin of prigging;
But not till sunset was he found
Amid the rhubarb softly digging.
But when I raised my stick to smite
He circled off to safer distance,
Not meaning to be impolite,
But hinting at a meek resistance.
He circled off to safer distance,
Not meaning to be impolite,
But hinting at a meek resistance.
27
Thrice did I strive to drown him. Thrice
He came home damp, but unrepentant;
All drugs that usually suffice
He swallowed with a grave contentment.
He came home damp, but unrepentant;
All drugs that usually suffice
He swallowed with a grave contentment.
At last I purchased dynamite
The imp to slay, to wholly ban it;
And if it bays the moon at night
It must be from another planet!
The imp to slay, to wholly ban it;
And if it bays the moon at night
It must be from another planet!
28
THE CONTENTED GOURMAND.
Bombs burst in St. Petersburgh Streets,
Republicans redden in Spain;
In Greece and Westphalia, in Wales and Australia
There's nothing but failure, that's plain!
But pass me the pepper, my love,
While princes and potentates pout;
Conspiracies clannish, French, English or Spanish,
Shan't banish my oysters and stout!
Republicans redden in Spain;
In Greece and Westphalia, in Wales and Australia
There's nothing but failure, that's plain!
But pass me the pepper, my love,
While princes and potentates pout;
Conspiracies clannish, French, English or Spanish,
Shan't banish my oysters and stout!
The Germans are drawing their maps,
The Froggies are croaking again:
The Eagle of Prussia and Turkey and Russia
Are coming a crusher, that's plain!
But put down my slippers to warm
While sextons and gravediggers shout;
Let cannonades punch at the palace Kings lunch at—
I munch at my oysters and stout!
The Froggies are croaking again:
The Eagle of Prussia and Turkey and Russia
Are coming a crusher, that's plain!
But put down my slippers to warm
While sextons and gravediggers shout;
Let cannonades punch at the palace Kings lunch at—
I munch at my oysters and stout!
29
They'll run against conical balls
And get most decidedly slain
By rifles repeating Death's appetite treating,
But I shall be eating, that's plain!
So fill me my meerschaum, my fair,
To puff while they storm a redoubt;
For bullets that shatter Hussars at the platter
Shan't scatter my oysters and stout!
And get most decidedly slain
By rifles repeating Death's appetite treating,
But I shall be eating, that's plain!
So fill me my meerschaum, my fair,
To puff while they storm a redoubt;
For bullets that shatter Hussars at the platter
Shan't scatter my oysters and stout!
Constituents grumbled and groaned,
And sighed that they gave me a rein;
They thought I should get up and make Gladstone “sit up,”
Till Randy's face lit up, that's plain!
But hand me my coffee, my dear;
Blest stars, I am free of that rout—
The Tories of Crozer who threatened exposure
And Closure on oysters and stout!
And sighed that they gave me a rein;
They thought I should get up and make Gladstone “sit up,”
Till Randy's face lit up, that's plain!
But hand me my coffee, my dear;
Blest stars, I am free of that rout—
The Tories of Crozer who threatened exposure
And Closure on oysters and stout!
30
THOSE DEAR OLD DAYS OF YORE!
With love and lays in ancient days
(At least so writers swear)
The doughty Knight in armour bright
Approached the Lady fair;
And sure enough in dungeon rough
A whiskered Baron slipped her,
Brandished a knife and threatened life,
Or mercilessly whipped her!
(At least so writers swear)
The doughty Knight in armour bright
Approached the Lady fair;
And sure enough in dungeon rough
A whiskered Baron slipped her,
Brandished a knife and threatened life,
Or mercilessly whipped her!
The doughty Knight in armour bright
Would blow a brazen bugle
As loudly snored the watchful ward
Denominated Dougal;
This guard would in with horrid din
To rouse his drunken master,
Who'd swear and rave, and call him “knave,”
And make him exit faster.
Would blow a brazen bugle
As loudly snored the watchful ward
Denominated Dougal;
This guard would in with horrid din
To rouse his drunken master,
Who'd swear and rave, and call him “knave,”
And make him exit faster.
31
With ponderous whacks of battle-axe
The Knight would then assail,
Early and late, the Postern Gate
And hail blows in the hail.
The Baron bold would curse and scold,
And topple in the moat
A man or two and quite pooh-pooh
The gurgle in each throat!
The Knight would then assail,
Early and late, the Postern Gate
And hail blows in the hail.
The Baron bold would curse and scold,
And topple in the moat
A man or two and quite pooh-pooh
The gurgle in each throat!
The doughty Knight in armour bright
Would now, without a doubt,
Mid fusillade break barricade
And put his foes to rout;
But logs o'erwhelm his crested helm
And many burly beams,
While loudly swell from dungeon cell
The baited maiden's screams.
Would now, without a doubt,
Mid fusillade break barricade
And put his foes to rout;
But logs o'erwhelm his crested helm
And many burly beams,
While loudly swell from dungeon cell
The baited maiden's screams.
About this time would rise the whine
Of some imprisoned Jew
Who'd not exhume the broad doubloon
Though made into a stew.
The Baron bold required the gold,
And far from feeling ruth,
The Jew would boil in linseed oil,
Or draw the daily tooth!
Of some imprisoned Jew
Who'd not exhume the broad doubloon
Though made into a stew.
The Baron bold required the gold,
And far from feeling ruth,
The Jew would boil in linseed oil,
Or draw the daily tooth!
32
Then from a tow'r of mighty pow'r
The Baron bold would bawl:—
“Now, what the deuce? Sir Knight, a truce
Till we can try a fall!”
Next on green plot with head in pot,
And trousers made of steel,
With iron waistcoats very hot
And rakes on either heel
The Baron bold would bawl:—
“Now, what the deuce? Sir Knight, a truce
Till we can try a fall!”
Next on green plot with head in pot,
And trousers made of steel,
With iron waistcoats very hot
And rakes on either heel
The Baron hight and noble Knight
Ride animals peculiar;
Encased in tin or some such thing
Each calls upon his Julia!
They bless their souls, take two long poles,
And take a lengthy oath;
Then caracol upon the whole
Prodigi-ously wroth.
Ride animals peculiar;
Encased in tin or some such thing
Each calls upon his Julia!
They bless their souls, take two long poles,
And take a lengthy oath;
Then caracol upon the whole
Prodigi-ously wroth.
Then some tin lump with horny trump
Would canter forth, and say
The Baron bold was very old
In ev'ry wicked way!
An ogre he continually
As his Lord would attest
By purpose pure and falchion sure
And good lance laid in rest.
Would canter forth, and say
The Baron bold was very old
In ev'ry wicked way!
An ogre he continually
As his Lord would attest
By purpose pure and falchion sure
And good lance laid in rest.
33
Then some fresh lump with horny trump
Would shamble forth, and vow
To earth and sky that such a lie
Was never heard till now!
The challenger was foulest cur,
Item, he was a knave,
Item, he'd soon receive his doom,
And rot in unknown grave!
Would shamble forth, and vow
To earth and sky that such a lie
Was never heard till now!
The challenger was foulest cur,
Item, he was a knave,
Item, he'd soon receive his doom,
And rot in unknown grave!
With fearful thump and sounding bump
The Baron and the Knight
Would fall, of course, from off each horse
While ladies felt no fright:
They'd hew and cut, would swear and strut,
And hammer at the head
Till down would drop the Baron, flop,
Effectually dead!
The Baron and the Knight
Would fall, of course, from off each horse
While ladies felt no fright:
They'd hew and cut, would swear and strut,
And hammer at the head
Till down would drop the Baron, flop,
Effectually dead!
The baited belle from dungeon cell
Next rushes to the lists
With marks of flags upon her rags
And cuffs upon her wrists!
“O doughty Knight in armour bright
I'll never wed another!”
The Heralds flock, and soon unlock
Her twenty-second brother!
Next rushes to the lists
With marks of flags upon her rags
And cuffs upon her wrists!
“O doughty Knight in armour bright
I'll never wed another!”
The Heralds flock, and soon unlock
Her twenty-second brother!
34
And then the Knight in armour bright
Would froth in foaming rage,
And at each stride from side to side
Decapitate a Page!
“The Baron's blows have broke my nose,
In pain from boot to beaver
I find the spoil for all my toil
A sisterly deceiver!”
Would froth in foaming rage,
And at each stride from side to side
Decapitate a Page!
“The Baron's blows have broke my nose,
In pain from boot to beaver
I find the spoil for all my toil
A sisterly deceiver!”
Then, Reader, read and take good heed,
And inwardly digest
This pretty page of bygone age
So vividly expressed!
For goodness sake make no mistake,
But loathe that time of gore,
And show this lay to those who pray
For dear old days of yore!
And inwardly digest
This pretty page of bygone age
So vividly expressed!
For goodness sake make no mistake,
But loathe that time of gore,
And show this lay to those who pray
For dear old days of yore!
35
CONSTABLE WILLIAM SPEAKS.
Miss Somebody is wery good to me
('Er name is blank for any 'im or she),
But for each cosy, tate-a-taty dinner,
My frame 'ud be considerably thinner;
An' wot rare tricks she knows for making toddy,
Miss Somebody!
('Er name is blank for any 'im or she),
But for each cosy, tate-a-taty dinner,
My frame 'ud be considerably thinner;
An' wot rare tricks she knows for making toddy,
Miss Somebody!
I am a stalwart guardian of the peace—
That is to say, I guide some Brixton geese—
If on my beat I find no serious beatin'
I slips away to 'av a little eatin'
An' take a pull at 'er sweet words, and toddy,
Miss Somebody!
That is to say, I guide some Brixton geese—
If on my beat I find no serious beatin'
I slips away to 'av a little eatin'
An' take a pull at 'er sweet words, and toddy,
Miss Somebody!
I bundle down to see 'er neck and crop,
I jist drops in to 'av a little drop:
If there is dooty, anythink precarious,
As suicides or rougher jobs burglarious,
'Ow can I go without your kiss, and toddy,
Miss Somebody?
I jist drops in to 'av a little drop:
If there is dooty, anythink precarious,
As suicides or rougher jobs burglarious,
'Ow can I go without your kiss, and toddy,
Miss Somebody?
36
I say, wot's that I 'ear about “too much,”
“Will lose your place,” an' “Courage that is Dutch”?
To spirit of that brand I don't aspire, sir;
I'm proud to say my Courage is Entire, sir—
Jist ask my lady of the tricky toddy,
Miss Somebody.
“Will lose your place,” an' “Courage that is Dutch”?
To spirit of that brand I don't aspire, sir;
I'm proud to say my Courage is Entire, sir—
Jist ask my lady of the tricky toddy,
Miss Somebody.
I'll interdooce you to 'er!—but beware!
This is Perliceman's pet an' private lair.
She is my dearest lass, an' much I prize her—
No, sir! 'Er first name never wos Eliza,
It is—Your 'ealth, sir, in this foaming toddy—
Miss—Somebody!
This is Perliceman's pet an' private lair.
She is my dearest lass, an' much I prize her—
No, sir! 'Er first name never wos Eliza,
It is—Your 'ealth, sir, in this foaming toddy—
Miss—Somebody!
Prime stuff it is. You wish you 'ad a cask?
I always wears this pritty little flask
'Cos if some Temp'rance chap should git run over
'E'd find hisself immejiately in clover,
An' sign the pledge again (excepting toddy),
Miss Somebody!
I always wears this pritty little flask
'Cos if some Temp'rance chap should git run over
'E'd find hisself immejiately in clover,
An' sign the pledge again (excepting toddy),
Miss Somebody!
In course if I feels chilly any night
I takes a nip myself, that's only right:
In nippin' winds it's time to drink a nip in,
An' 'av a drop when rain keeps on a drippin',
For bless ye, she don't grudge 'er man 'is toddy,
Miss Somebody.
I takes a nip myself, that's only right:
In nippin' winds it's time to drink a nip in,
An' 'av a drop when rain keeps on a drippin',
For bless ye, she don't grudge 'er man 'is toddy,
Miss Somebody.
37
Some nights, I tell you straight, it's fun down 'ere!
She don't treat me to any sour small beer;
For why? She's loved me since I wos in Putney,
'An I loves 'er as warm as Mango chutnee!
She jist brims over with affection's toddy,
Miss Somebody!
She don't treat me to any sour small beer;
For why? She's loved me since I wos in Putney,
'An I loves 'er as warm as Mango chutnee!
She jist brims over with affection's toddy,
Miss Somebody!
She's no mean cook. A day or so ago
She sprung a rattle to me in the snow!
So down I goes, an' I jist simply whistles,
To smell some round things wot she surnamed “rissles,”
For she's a scholard, down from French to toddy,
Miss Somebody.
She sprung a rattle to me in the snow!
So down I goes, an' I jist simply whistles,
To smell some round things wot she surnamed “rissles,”
For she's a scholard, down from French to toddy,
Miss Somebody.
They wos golopshous, that they wos, you bet,
An' when I talks of 'em I tastes 'em yet;
An' when I'd done, by all the powers 'oly,
She set the table with a roly-poly!
And was'nt there a bowl of steaming toddy,
Miss Somebody?
An' when I talks of 'em I tastes 'em yet;
An' when I'd done, by all the powers 'oly,
She set the table with a roly-poly!
And was'nt there a bowl of steaming toddy,
Miss Somebody?
So when I cotched a thief upon my beat,
Wot with the joyfulness of that there meat,
I let 'im go on 'is recognizances
To see the Covent Garding Cirkis dances!
'E owed it all to “rissles” an' your toddy,
Miss Somebody!
Wot with the joyfulness of that there meat,
I let 'im go on 'is recognizances
To see the Covent Garding Cirkis dances!
'E owed it all to “rissles” an' your toddy,
Miss Somebody!
38
Now, sir, you says you is a writing gent
Wot sits and scribbles in our Parleyment,
The 'ouse of friendly foes an' genteel curses;
But if you wants a subjec' for some verses
Take my young 'ooman an' her magic toddy,
Miss Somebody.
Wot sits and scribbles in our Parleyment,
The 'ouse of friendly foes an' genteel curses;
But if you wants a subjec' for some verses
Take my young 'ooman an' her magic toddy,
Miss Somebody.
Say she grows kinder to me day by day,
An' that I mean to run 'er in next May!
An' don't forgit to put this in the papers:—
“She 'as no sauce an' never cuts no capers,
But is my girl, without her tricky toddy,
Miss Somebody!”
An' that I mean to run 'er in next May!
An' don't forgit to put this in the papers:—
“She 'as no sauce an' never cuts no capers,
But is my girl, without her tricky toddy,
Miss Somebody!”
39
A MISTAKE.
Not twice the band of merry months
Has danced a circle round the world,
And into port the pilot steers
The grand old ship with sails all furled:
And here's a bird for Sister Jane,
And here a skin for Sweetheart Janet,
And eke a ring to make her change
Her name, if only I can plan it.
Has danced a circle round the world,
And into port the pilot steers
The grand old ship with sails all furled:
And here's a bird for Sister Jane,
And here a skin for Sweetheart Janet,
And eke a ring to make her change
Her name, if only I can plan it.
Goodbye, old ship, and many thanks
For weathering that last typhoon!
I'm bound to own it made me quail
And lose all hope of honeymoon:
You're quite content to sail alone,
I mean to try a fresh manœuvre,
And scud beside another boat—
A kind of human Calais-Douvres!
For weathering that last typhoon!
I'm bound to own it made me quail
And lose all hope of honeymoon:
You're quite content to sail alone,
I mean to try a fresh manœuvre,
And scud beside another boat—
A kind of human Calais-Douvres!
40
Sweet home at last! All taut, Mamma?
Well, Dad, I'm here before my time;
The wind has helped us all the week—
Great goodness, Bell, you're five foot nine!
Yes, here's the parrot, pretty Jane,
I wrote about in my last letter—
How's Janet? “Janet's very well;
Her darling boy is getting better.”
Well, Dad, I'm here before my time;
The wind has helped us all the week—
Great goodness, Bell, you're five foot nine!
Yes, here's the parrot, pretty Jane,
I wrote about in my last letter—
How's Janet? “Janet's very well;
Her darling boy is getting better.”
Mother! Ah, Mother, do not say
That Sweetheart Janet is not true!
Such news, forgive me, Mother dear,
Kills half the joy of seeing you!
Who's yonder by the cherry tree?
Why, as I live, it's Janet Marling—
Up anchor, man, to learn your fate
And have the truth about this darling!
That Sweetheart Janet is not true!
Such news, forgive me, Mother dear,
Kills half the joy of seeing you!
Who's yonder by the cherry tree?
Why, as I live, it's Janet Marling—
Up anchor, man, to learn your fate
And have the truth about this darling!
Miss—Mrs.—I can scarcely stop
To greet you wholly à la mode—
Ah, smile not in your olden way,
For not to me such smiles are owed!
Can no small spark of days gone by,
No old love's faintly-glowing ember
Light up the land of long ago
And thaw the snow of this December?
To greet you wholly à la mode—
Ah, smile not in your olden way,
For not to me such smiles are owed!
Can no small spark of days gone by,
No old love's faintly-glowing ember
Light up the land of long ago
And thaw the snow of this December?
41
The Sailor's heart is said to range,
And vary with his ev'ry port;
But mine has never been untrue
In jest or earnest, word or thought:
But now you have a mate and chick,
And I must sigh like Mr. Guppy—
Your baby—“O you goose—I see,
You mean my new St. Bernard Puppy!”
And vary with his ev'ry port;
But mine has never been untrue
In jest or earnest, word or thought:
But now you have a mate and chick,
And I must sigh like Mr. Guppy—
Your baby—“O you goose—I see,
You mean my new St. Bernard Puppy!”
“I christened him my ‘Baby Boy,’
And very ill the poor thing's been;
So this is all the cause you had
For making such a dreadful scene!”
Here's all my Christmas story told,
And here's a pearl for Sweetheart Janet,
And eke a ring to make her change
Her name as soon as I can plan it.
And very ill the poor thing's been;
So this is all the cause you had
For making such a dreadful scene!”
Here's all my Christmas story told,
And here's a pearl for Sweetheart Janet,
And eke a ring to make her change
Her name as soon as I can plan it.
42
THE BALLADE OF THE GLUTTON.
I'm greedy by nature, and often in vain
Have lingered too long o'er the succulent hare,
Accepting the jelly, ignoring the pain,
Intent on receiving far more than my share.
I worship the plover's egg, tasty and rare,
And idolize fanciful French fricassees;
But what, darling dainties, with you can compare,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas?
Have lingered too long o'er the succulent hare,
Accepting the jelly, ignoring the pain,
Intent on receiving far more than my share.
I worship the plover's egg, tasty and rare,
And idolize fanciful French fricassees;
But what, darling dainties, with you can compare,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas?
I ask for real turtle, again and again—
Observe the Lord Mayor's John Thomases stare!
For kitchen-recitals to Susan and Jane,
And powdered impertinence, what do I care?
I sit down to eat, and I vow and declare,
I'd honour a dish were it made of stewed bees,
Though loyal to you, should you chance to be there,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
Observe the Lord Mayor's John Thomases stare!
For kitchen-recitals to Susan and Jane,
And powdered impertinence, what do I care?
I sit down to eat, and I vow and declare,
I'd honour a dish were it made of stewed bees,
Though loyal to you, should you chance to be there,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
43
I cherish a chef, be he Grecian or Dane;
I even can relish a collop of bear;
I love ev'ry calf—if it boasts a fine brain—
And melt at a pullet, or even a pair.
Though gold's on the table and stately the fare,
I greet a grand entrée with almost a sneeze
If you, dearest dainties, are sweet on the air—
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
I even can relish a collop of bear;
I love ev'ry calf—if it boasts a fine brain—
And melt at a pullet, or even a pair.
Though gold's on the table and stately the fare,
I greet a grand entrée with almost a sneeze
If you, dearest dainties, are sweet on the air—
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
L'envoi.
O Redcoats of England, who struggle and dare,Your glory's a morsel no glutton can please;
My yearning is all for a soft-cushioned chair,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
44
THE DECIMAL POINT.
When first sent to School (now the Station was Rugby)
I fancied my masters and took to the boys;
I thought to myself—here 'tis plain I shall snug be
Revolving at last in an orbit of joys:
The Alphabet Grecian I quickly could stammer,
Nor ran any risk of a jaw out of joint;
I waddled sedately through Fatherland Grammar,
But own I was floored by the Decimal Point!
I fancied my masters and took to the boys;
I thought to myself—here 'tis plain I shall snug be
Revolving at last in an orbit of joys:
The Alphabet Grecian I quickly could stammer,
Nor ran any risk of a jaw out of joint;
I waddled sedately through Fatherland Grammar,
But own I was floored by the Decimal Point!
Le Roi de Montagnes was my Gallic translation,
And soon I was praised by my master, who said:—
I certainly deem that, with good education,
A Scholarship laurel should circle your head!
I revelled in idioms; I thrilled at the phrases;
I knew how to render “avaunt” and “aroint,”
But own that I shed many tears on the daisies
Of Rugby when stumped by the Decimal Point!
And soon I was praised by my master, who said:—
I certainly deem that, with good education,
A Scholarship laurel should circle your head!
I revelled in idioms; I thrilled at the phrases;
I knew how to render “avaunt” and “aroint,”
But own that I shed many tears on the daisies
Of Rugby when stumped by the Decimal Point!
45
I mastered the building proceedings of Balbus,
And rarely omitted a requisite cum;
I never remarked than an equa was albus,
And deftly supplied the subjunctive with quum!
No canis to me was a dog in the manger—
A classic by Fate I was clearly anoint!
I own, though, I ran into desperate danger
When fogged and be-fooled by the Decimal Point!
And rarely omitted a requisite cum;
I never remarked than an equa was albus,
And deftly supplied the subjunctive with quum!
No canis to me was a dog in the manger—
A classic by Fate I was clearly anoint!
I own, though, I ran into desperate danger
When fogged and be-fooled by the Decimal Point!
46
ANGLOPHOBIA.
Whenever I open my journals it seems
There's a column or so in the papers
Recording some shrill, inarticulate screams
Which are sauces for Frenchified capers:
These capers are cut at our false Angleterre,
And the Frenchman is coming to crack us;
Pardonnez, we say, as we bid him beware,
For we think he can never out-thwack us!
There's a column or so in the papers
Recording some shrill, inarticulate screams
Which are sauces for Frenchified capers:
These capers are cut at our false Angleterre,
And the Frenchman is coming to crack us;
Pardonnez, we say, as we bid him beware,
For we think he can never out-thwack us!
Now his vein is veneer and a delicate strut,
He's Republican, save in uprightness,
So let him take heed lest we venture to “cut”
A person whose pest is politeness!
And though our great statesmen he verbally flogs,
And threatens in Egypt to rack us,
Let him conquer instead with his fricasseed frogs
For as foeman he'll never out-thwack us!
He's Republican, save in uprightness,
So let him take heed lest we venture to “cut”
A person whose pest is politeness!
And though our great statesmen he verbally flogs,
And threatens in Egypt to rack us,
Let him conquer instead with his fricasseed frogs
For as foeman he'll never out-thwack us!
47
We will drink to his health in the Nile if he choose,
And cheer till we strain ev'ry rafter:
And then, if his temper the Frenchman should lose,
We'll toast him in Waterloo after!
Let him rave in his rags like a mad sans-culotte,
We have cartridges ready to back us,
And as for his rancour, we care not a jot,
Since we feel he can never out-thwack us!
And cheer till we strain ev'ry rafter:
And then, if his temper the Frenchman should lose,
We'll toast him in Waterloo after!
Let him rave in his rags like a mad sans-culotte,
We have cartridges ready to back us,
And as for his rancour, we care not a jot,
Since we feel he can never out-thwack us!
Let him bide in his valley, and stir at his soup,
And look to his cow and his acre;
Let him keep his fierce cock in its Catholic coop
Or England may make him a Quaker!
We wish him at peace and we give him our pledge
If he try not to hew at and hack us;
But woe, if the Lion leap over the hedge,
To the foe who shall never out-thwack us!
And look to his cow and his acre;
Let him keep his fierce cock in its Catholic coop
Or England may make him a Quaker!
We wish him at peace and we give him our pledge
If he try not to hew at and hack us;
But woe, if the Lion leap over the hedge,
To the foe who shall never out-thwack us!
For the flag of Old England shall sweep him at sea,
And the tramp of her infantry shake him
When the line of her redcoats comes over the lea,
To trounce and to thoroughly break him!
Hurrah for our homesteads! Hurrah for our guns!
Not a Frenchman shall harry and sack us,
For his sabre and shrapnel no Englishman shuns,
And we know he can never out-thwack us!
And the tramp of her infantry shake him
When the line of her redcoats comes over the lea,
To trounce and to thoroughly break him!
Hurrah for our homesteads! Hurrah for our guns!
Not a Frenchman shall harry and sack us,
For his sabre and shrapnel no Englishman shuns,
And we know he can never out-thwack us!
48
A BALLADE OF BROTHERLY LOVE.
In early years a long time dead,
When I was weak and you were strong,
You threw a flint against my head,
And made me always in the wrong;
You said my nose was far too long;
And gave it many a doleful screw;
You lashed me with a leathern thong—
Botany Bay's the place for you!
When I was weak and you were strong,
You threw a flint against my head,
And made me always in the wrong;
You said my nose was far too long;
And gave it many a doleful screw;
You lashed me with a leathern thong—
Botany Bay's the place for you!
At school you stole my shirts and studs
And trifles from the “Continong,”
My damsel-destined blooms and buds,
My boyhood's love, Miss Katie Hong:
For you she sang each dreamy song,
For you her robes (and teeth) were new;
She coyly sugared your Souchong—
Botany Bay's the place for you!
And trifles from the “Continong,”
My damsel-destined blooms and buds,
My boyhood's love, Miss Katie Hong:
For you she sang each dreamy song,
For you her robes (and teeth) were new;
She coyly sugared your Souchong—
Botany Bay's the place for you!
49
When you were tired you put her by
And strut for strut you aped “haut ton;”
You fingered other persons' pie,
And lured my new love, Miss de Jong!
You kissed her near the dinner-gong,
For kisses taught deceptive Loo,
And then eloped to far Hong Kong—
Botany Bay's the place for you!
And strut for strut you aped “haut ton;”
You fingered other persons' pie,
And lured my new love, Miss de Jong!
You kissed her near the dinner-gong,
For kisses taught deceptive Loo,
And then eloped to far Hong Kong—
Botany Bay's the place for you!
L'envoi.
O Brother, not the sharpest prongCould prick you as becomes your due!
Nor clubs your skull enough ding-dong—
Botany Bay's the place for you!
50
THE AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHER.
Beware of those who slyly pilch
In many cunning ways;
Beware of little lyres that filch
From undisputed bays!
Beware the tumbler's beaded brim,
The ass in fiercer fur;
But most of all beware of him
Who makes my pen to stir—
The Insecure
And Amateur
Implacable Photographer!
In many cunning ways;
Beware of little lyres that filch
From undisputed bays!
Beware the tumbler's beaded brim,
The ass in fiercer fur;
But most of all beware of him
Who makes my pen to stir—
The Insecure
And Amateur
Implacable Photographer!
Beware lest, thieving for your thirst,
An earwig's in the plum!
Beware of folly, gay at first,
That later makes you glum!
Beware of pits when stars are dim,
The tooth of vagrant cur;
But most of all beware of him
That makes my pen to stir—
The masterful
Disasterful
Implacable Photographer!
An earwig's in the plum!
Beware of folly, gay at first,
That later makes you glum!
Beware of pits when stars are dim,
The tooth of vagrant cur;
But most of all beware of him
That makes my pen to stir—
The masterful
Disasterful
Implacable Photographer!
51
Beware of angling in a stream
Whose trout are not for you;
Beware of trusting in a dream
That's gone before the dew!
Beware of truckling to a whim;
Of folks that always purr;
But most of all beware of him
That makes my pen to stir—
The premature
And Amateur
Implacable Photographer!
Whose trout are not for you;
Beware of trusting in a dream
That's gone before the dew!
Beware of truckling to a whim;
Of folks that always purr;
But most of all beware of him
That makes my pen to stir—
The premature
And Amateur
Implacable Photographer!
52
A SAILOR'S SONG.
Who's for a home and a bonny wife's face in it—
Who's for a kiss from a madcap wild?
Who's for a heart with a wonderful place in it,
Shrine of true love for a husband and child?
Cheeks are a-flush
With a woman-like blush
At the thought of the aproned and honest old lass,
With skirts to the leeward, who gazes out seaward
And waves her fond hand to the ships as they pass!
Who's for a kiss from a madcap wild?
Who's for a heart with a wonderful place in it,
Shrine of true love for a husband and child?
Cheeks are a-flush
With a woman-like blush
At the thought of the aproned and honest old lass,
With skirts to the leeward, who gazes out seaward
And waves her fond hand to the ships as they pass!
Who's for the timber that has a green leaf on it—
Freshwater fishes that lurk in sedge?
Who's for a table with English Roast Beef on it—
Who's for the tankard with froth at its edge?
After sea-salt
'Tis a pull at the malt
That brightens our beards in the firelight of home!
So tug at each oar, lads, and make for the shore, lads,
Where Poll, Sue and Mary are signalling—come!
Freshwater fishes that lurk in sedge?
Who's for a table with English Roast Beef on it—
Who's for the tankard with froth at its edge?
After sea-salt
'Tis a pull at the malt
That brightens our beards in the firelight of home!
So tug at each oar, lads, and make for the shore, lads,
Where Poll, Sue and Mary are signalling—come!
53
Who's for a heart and the magical dance of it,
Who's for a kiss like a pistol-crack?
Oh, for the rough and the ready romance of it!
Oh, the love-cruising of briny-beard Jack!
Soon shall we peep
At our babies asleep
While the wife quotes a list of the words they can say!
So pull to the arms, lads, the voices and charms, lads,
You sang of and dreamed of for many a day!
Who's for a kiss like a pistol-crack?
Oh, for the rough and the ready romance of it!
Oh, the love-cruising of briny-beard Jack!
Soon shall we peep
At our babies asleep
While the wife quotes a list of the words they can say!
So pull to the arms, lads, the voices and charms, lads,
You sang of and dreamed of for many a day!
54
“MOST ANGLERS ARE VERY HUMANE.”
Daily Paper.
The kind-hearted angler was sadly pursuing
His calling unhallowed of choking the fishes;
He bitterly wept, for of course he was doing
An action most strongly opposed to his wishes!
His calling unhallowed of choking the fishes;
He bitterly wept, for of course he was doing
An action most strongly opposed to his wishes!
His vertebra shook as he musingly planned
How kindly to threadle the worm he'd begun—it
Was plain had the reptile possessed a right hand
The penitent angler would gladly have wrung it!
How kindly to threadle the worm he'd begun—it
Was plain had the reptile possessed a right hand
The penitent angler would gladly have wrung it!
He cast in his float filled with tearful emotion
And murmured “How fearful, how terrible this is!”
And just at that moment, amid some commotion,
He jerked out a panting and rather small piscis!
And murmured “How fearful, how terrible this is!”
And just at that moment, amid some commotion,
He jerked out a panting and rather small piscis!
“Unfortunate fishlet, what dread impulse brought you
To meddle with bait which I carelessly threw in?
My dear little swimmer, I'm sorry I caught you,
So please don't blame me for contriving your ruin!”
To meddle with bait which I carelessly threw in?
My dear little swimmer, I'm sorry I caught you,
So please don't blame me for contriving your ruin!”
55
“O barbel and salmon-trout, tench, dace and gudgeon,
O ev'ry fat jack and each eel (not a conger)
Why, why will you grieve me and stir up my dudgeon?
Go, die on his hooks who has eyes that are stronger!”
O ev'ry fat jack and each eel (not a conger)
Why, why will you grieve me and stir up my dudgeon?
Go, die on his hooks who has eyes that are stronger!”
But, however, whilst moaning he pulled out a score,
And continued his wonderful luck till at last—it
Was plain that his soft heart could bear it no more,
Too deep were his groans, and—too full was his basket!
And continued his wonderful luck till at last—it
Was plain that his soft heart could bear it no more,
Too deep were his groans, and—too full was his basket!
| Cricket Songs | |