Fifty Bab Ballads Part 4

"The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate, And a delicate dish he made; Then our appet.i.te with the mids.h.i.+pmite We seven survivors stayed.

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, And he much resembled pig; Then we wittled free, did the cook and me, On the crew of the captain's gig.

"Then only the cook and me was left, And the delicate question, 'Which Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, And we argued it out as sich.

"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, And the cook he wors.h.i.+pped me; But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see.

"'I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says TOM; 'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be, - 'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I; And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.

"Says he, 'Dear JAMES, to murder me Were a foolish thing to do, For don't you see that you can't cook ME, While I can--and will--cook YOU!'

"So he boils the water, and takes the salt And the pepper in portions true (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot.

And some sage and parsley too.

"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride, Which his smiling features tell, ''T will soothing be if I let you see How extremely nice you'll smell.'

"And he stirred it round and round and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth; When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the sc.u.m of the boiling broth.

"And I eat that cook in a week or less, And--as I eating be The last of his chops, why, I almost drops, For a wessel in sight I see!

"And I never larf, and I never smile, And I never lark nor play, But sit and croak, and a single joke I have--which is to say:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a mids.h.i.+pmite, And the crew of the captain's gig!'"

Ballad: THE BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO.

From east and south the holy clan Of Bishops gathered to a man; To Synod, called Pan-Anglican, In flocking crowds they came.

Among them was a Bishop, who Had lately been appointed to The balmy isle of Rum-ti-Foo, And PETER was his name.

His people--twenty-three in sum - They played the eloquent tum-tum, And lived on scalps served up, in rum - The only sauce they knew.

When first good BISHOP PETER came (For PETER was that Bishop's name), To humour them, he did the same As they of Rum-ti-Foo.

His flock, I've often heard him tell, (His name was PETER) loved him well, And, summoned by the sound of bell, In crowds together came.

"Oh, ma.s.sa, why you go away?

Oh, Ma.s.sA PETER, please to stay."

(They called him PETER, people say, Because it was his name.)

He told them all good boys to be, And sailed away across the sea, At London Bridge that Bishop he Arrived one Tuesday night; And as that night he homeward strode To his Pan-Anglican abode, He pa.s.sed along the Borough Road, And saw a gruesome sight.

He saw a crowd a.s.sembled round A person dancing on the ground, Who straight began to leap and bound With all his might and main.

To see that dancing man he stopped, Who twirled and wriggled, skipped and hopped, Then down incontinently dropped, And then sprang up again.

The Bishop chuckled at the sight.

"This style of dancing would delight A simple Rum-ti-Foozleite.

I'll learn it if I can, To please the tribe when I get back."

He begged the man to teach his knack.

"Right Reverend Sir, in half a crack!

Replied that dancing man.

The dancing man he worked away, And taught the Bishop every day - The dancer skipped like any fay - Good PETER did the same.

The Bishop buckled to his task, With battements, and pas de basque.

(I'll tell you, if you care to ask, That PETER was his name.)

"Come, walk like this," the dancer said, "Stick out your toes--stick in your head, Stalk on with quick, galvanic tread - Your fingers thus extend; The att.i.tude's considered quaint."

The weary Bishop, feeling faint, Replied, "I do not say it ain't, But 'Time!' my Christian friend!"

"We now proceed to something new - Dance as the PAYNES and LAURIS do, Like this--one, two--one, two--one, two."

The Bishop, never proud, But in an overwhelming heat (His name was PETER, I repeat) Performed the PAYNE and LAURI feat, And puffed his thanks aloud.

Another game the dancer planned - "Just take your ankle in your hand, And try, my lord, if you can stand - Your body stiff and stark.

If, when revisiting your see, You learnt to hop on sh.o.r.e--like me - The novelty would striking be, And must attract remark."

"No," said the worthy Bishop, "no; That is a length to which, I trow, Colonial Bishops cannot go.

You may express surprise At finding Bishops deal in pride - But if that trick I ever tried, I should appear undignified In Rum-ti-Foozle's eyes.

"The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo Are well-conducted persons, who Approve a joke as much as you, And laugh at it as such; But if they saw their Bishop land, His leg supported in his hand, The joke they wouldn't understand - 'T would pain them very much!"

Ballad: THE PRECOCIOUS BABY. A VERY TRUE TALE.

(To be sung to the Air of the "Whistling Oyster.")

An elderly person--a prophet by trade - With his quips and tips On withered old lips, He married a young and a beautiful maid; The cunning old blade!

Though rather decayed, He married a beautiful, beautiful maid.

She was only eighteen, and as fair as could be, With her tempting smiles And maidenly wiles, And he was a trifle past seventy-three: Now what she could see Is a puzzle to me, In a prophet of seventy--seventy-three!

Of all their acquaintances bidden (or bad) With their loud high jinks And underbred winks, None thought they'd a family have--but they had; A dear little lad Who drove 'em half mad, For he turned out a horribly fast little cad.

For when he was born he astonished all by, With their "Law, dear me!"

"Did ever you see?"

He'd a pipe in his mouth and a gla.s.s in his eye, A hat all awry - An octagon tie - And a miniature--miniature gla.s.s in his eye.

He grumbled at wearing a frock and a cap, With his "Oh, dear, oh!"

And his "Hang it! 'oo know!"

And he turned up his nose at his excellent pap - "My friends, it's a tap Dat is not worf a rap."

(Now this was remarkably excellent pap.)

He'd chuck his nurse under the chin, and he'd say, With his "Fal, lal, lal" - "'Oo doosed fine gal!"

This shocking precocity drove 'em away: "A month from to-day Is as long as I'll stay - Then I'd wish, if you please, for to toddle away."