The Book of Humorous Verse Part 129

The hounds sped down, a spotted line, The bulls in tall, abundant gra.s.s, Shook back their horns from bloom and vine, And trumpeted to see them pa.s.s-- They loved so good, they loved so true, These brothers scarce knew what to do.

They sought the kind schoolmaster out As swift as sweeps the light of morn; They could but love, they could not doubt This man so gentle, "in a horn,"

They cried, "Now whose the lily hand-- That lady's of this webfoot land?"

They bowed before that big-nosed man, That long-nosed man from Boston town; They talked as only lovers can, They talked, but he could only frown; And still they talked, and still they plead; It was as pleading with the dead.

At last this Boston man did speak-- "Her father has a thousand ceows, An hundred bulls, all fat and sleek; He also had this ample heouse."

The brothers' eyes stuck out thereat, So far you might have hung your hat.

"I liked the looks of this big heouse-- My lovely boys, won't you come in?

Her father has a thousand ceows, He also had a heap of tin.

The guirl? Oh yes, the guirl, you see-- The guirl, just neow she married me."

_Joaquin Miller._

THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL"

'Twas on the sh.o.r.es that round our coast From Deal to Ramsgate span, That I found alone on a piece of stone An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long, And weedy and long was he, And I heard this wight on the sh.o.r.e recite, In a singular minor key:

"Oh, I am a cook and the 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."

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair, Till I really felt afraid, For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said:

"Oh, elderly man, it's little I know Of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand How you can possibly be

"At once 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."

Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which Is a trick all seamen larn, And having got rid of a thumping quid, He spun this painful yarn:

"'Twas in the good s.h.i.+p _Nancy Bell_ That we sailed to the Indian Sea, And there on a reef we come to grief, Which has often occurred to me.

"And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned (There was seventy-seven o' soul), And only ten of the _Nancy's_ men Said 'here' to the muster-roll.

"There was me and the cook and the captain bold, And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, And the bo'sun tight, and a mids.h.i.+pmite, And the crew of the captain's gig.

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, Till a-hungry we did feel, So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot The captain for our meal.

"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 bos'un 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, ''Twill 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 vessel in sight I see.

"And I never larf, and I never smile, And I never lark or 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 bos'un tight, and a mids.h.i.+pmite, And the crew of the captain's gig."

_W. S. Gilbert._

FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA

OR, THE GENTLE PIEMAN

PART I

At a pleasant evening party I had taken down to supper One whom I will call Elvira, and we talked of love and Tupper.

Mr. Tupper and the Poets, very lightly with them dealing, For I've always been distinguished for a strong poetic feeling.

Then we let off paper crackers, each of which contained a motto, And she listened while I read them, till her mother told her not to.

Then she whispered, "To the ballroom we had better, dear, be walking; If we stop down here much longer, really people will be talking."

There were n.o.blemen in coronets, and military cousins, There were captains by the hundred, there were baronets by dozens.

Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed them with a blessing; Then she let down all her back hair, which had taken long in dressing.

Then she had convulsive sobbings in her agitated throttle, Then she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her pretty smelling bottle.

So I whispered, "Dear Elvira, say,--what can the matter be with you?

Does anything you've eaten, darling Popsy, disagree with you?"