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Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs

By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others

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A Christmas Scene at Rome.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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127

A Christmas Scene at Rome.

THE RIVAL PIFFERARI.

I

Our Lady of Seven Sorrows—Hush!
(Paolo, man, why the deuce do you push?)
Seven poniards meet in her breast.
Queen of Angels, she's now at rest.
There are the sbirri spying about,
Ready to snap us, there's not a doubt,
If we or the Mattei draw a knife,
These Romans think so much of a life.

II

Mary, Mother! smile now and then
On us, the poor Abruzzi men.
Star of Heaven, shine graciously!—
Why, there's old Matteo's whelp I see,
Sneering at Beppo's peacock feather,
And the hole in his jacket of untann'd leather.
Th' impenitent thief had such a face—
I wish we were in a quieter place.

III

Holy Saint Simon! look at him now!
For half a paul I'd give him a blow.
See how he's tossing his rosary,
Cospetto! in gibe and in mockery.
And there are the devil's younger kin
Piping away through thick and thin
To out-play us—faster, louder:
I wish I'd my gun and a little powder.

IV

Shout out our hymn to Paul and Peter:
Never stop for the special metre.
Carlo, the beasts are looking this way;
Giacomo, didn't I tell you?—Pray!
Can't Onofrio people sing
As well as Matteo's underling?
Down to the image of Mary Mother!
Here come Luigi and his brother.

V

Now we are strong enough at last.
Filippo, the time for the Ave's past.
Snatch old Matteo's bagpipe, lad,
It's sure to make the whole lot mad.
Throw it to me. I stamp on it.—There!
Let them gibber, we none of us care.
Giacomo, now for a steady stab,—
I've got him down on the fountain slab.

VI

Matteo's grappling with Paolo yonder.
Holy Father! who'll beat, I wonder.
Saints be thanked, the old man groans!
That's right—dash him upon the stones.
Bene, bene! that is the dig
To let the heart's-blood out of the pig.
Slip off, fratelli! I hear a drum,
And quick, before the Zouaves come.