Oh, gentlemen, listen, I pray;

Of nature the laws I obey,

The moon in her phases is found,

The months in succession come round,

You cannot eat breakfast all day,

When breakfast is taken away,

And it's not in the range of belief

Who, when he is tired of beef,

A gentleman of City fame

West India broking was his game,

He had a trusty wife and true,

A manager, a boy or two,

His knocker advertised no dun,

He had one sorrow—only one—

"This load," he'd say, "I cannot bear,

Henceforward I'll go in for air

In every weather, every day,

He took to dancing all the way

He braved the gay and guileless laugh

The loud uneducated chaff

His friends, who heard his money chink,

And knew his wife, could never think

"Your riches know no kind of pause,

You dance—but not for joy, because

His mania soon got noised about

His size increased beyond a doubt

His bulk increased—no matter that—

He never spoke of it as "fat"

At length his brawny knees gave way,

Upon his shapeless back he lay

His friends, disgusted with him now,

I hardly like to tell you how

I hate to preach—I hate to prate—

But learn contentment from the fate

And bootless perseverance blind,

Completely wrecked the peace of mind

Oh! is there not one maiden breast

Of making worldly interest

Who would not give up willingly

To rescue such a one as I

Oh, is there not one maiden here,

Have caused all hopes to disappear

To such a one, if such there be,

If you will cast your eyes on me,—-

Impertinent, preposterous abortion:

And every feature out of all proportion!

Embodiment of echoing inanity,

Excellent type of simpering insanity,

Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity,

Beast that destroy'st my heaven-born identity!

Swamped in thine own preposterous nonentity,

I've been ill-treated, cursed, and thrashed diurnally,

Credited for the smile you wear externally—

I feel disposed to smash thy face, infernally,

I've been the brain that lit thy dull concavity!

With thine expression of unchecked depravity:

Invested with a ghastly reciprocity,

I've been responsible for thy monstrosity,

I, for thy wanton, blundering ferocity—

Thy knell, and that of follies pantomimical:

All thou canst do to make thyself inimical.

Adieu, embodiment of all inanity!

Excellent type of simpering insanity!

Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity!

Look thou within thee, ere again ill-using me.

Which might abuse thee, as thou art abusing me?

A brain that mourns thine unredeemed rascality?

A soul that weeps at thy threadbare morality?

Both grieving that their individuality

Dr. Belville was regarded as the Crichton of his age:

His tragedies were reckoned much too thoughtful for the stage;

His poems held a noble rank, although it's very true

That, being very proper, they were read by very few.

He was a famous Painter, too, and shone upon the "line,"

And even Mr. Ruskin came and worshipped at his shrine;

But, alas, the school he followed was heroically high—

The kind of Art men rave about, but very seldom buy;

This very great—this very good—this very gifted man?"

But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan!

He was a great Inventor, and discovered, all alone,

A plan for making everybody's fortune but his own;

For, in business, an Inventor's little better than a fool,

And my highly-gifted friend was no exception to the rule.

His poems—people read them in the Quarterly Reviews—

His pictures—they engraved them in the Illustrated News—

His inventions—they, perhaps, might have enriched him by degrees,

But all his little income went in Patent Office fees;

This very great—this very good—this very gifted man?"

But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan!

At last the point was given up in absolute despair,

When a distant cousin died, and he became a millionaire,

With a county seat in Parliament, a moor or two of grouse,

And a taste for making inconvenient speeches in the House!

Then it flashed upon Britannia that the fittest of rewards

Was, to take him from the Commons and to put him in the Lords!

And who so fit to sit in it, deny it if you can,

As this very great—this very good—this very gifted man?

That we never should have revelled in that source of proper pride,

However great his merits—if his cousin hadn't died!)

O'er unreclaimed suburban clays

An elderly ghost of easy ways,

The ghost was a sombre spectral shape,

The goblin imp, a lithe young ape,

And as they exercised their joints,

They talked on several curious points,

"Which of us two is Number One—

And o'er the point they raised in fun

They'd barely speak, and each, in fine,

Each thought his own particular line

At length they settled some one should

And so arranged that either could

"The Quaint against the Statuesque"—

The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque,

"Now," said the goblin, "here's my plan—

I see a stalwart Englishman

"The very fittest man on earth

Of gentle, p'raps of noble birth,

Now wrap yourself within your shroud—

Observe—you'll hear him scream aloud

The imp with yell unearthly—wild—

His dauntless victim looked and smiled

For hours he tried to daunt the youth,

The stripling smiled!—to tell the truth,

For weeks the goblin weird and wild,

For weeks the stripling stood and smiled

The sombre ghost exclaimed, "Your plan

Now watch yon hardy Hieland man,

"These are the men who chase the roe,

Who bring with them where'er they go

Of such as he, the men sublime

Whose deeds go down to after-time,

"Of such as he the bard has said

Wi' thecht ta' croonie clapperhead

He'll faint away when I appear

Or p'raps he'll only scream with fear,

The spectre showed himself, alone,

With curdling groan and dismal moan

But no—the chiel's stout Gaelic stuff

His fingers closed upon the snuff

For days that ghost declined to stir,

For weeks that splendid officer

Just as the Englishman returned

Just so the Scotchman boldly spurned

For several years the ghostly twain

But all their efforts are in vain—

Unto this day the imp and ghost

Stand each at his allotted post—

A Magnet hung in a hardware shop,

And all around was a loving crop

Of scissors and needles, nails and knives,

Offering love for all their lives;

But for iron the Magnet felt no whim,

Though he charmed iron, it charmed not him,

From needles and nails and knives he'd turn,

For he'd set his love on a Silver Churn!

And Iron and Steel expressed surprise,

The needles opened their well-drilled eyes,

The pen-knives felt "shut up," no doubt,

The scissors declared themselves "cut out,"

The kettles they boiled with rage, 'tis said,

While every nail went off its head,

And hither and thither began to roam,

Till a hammer came up—and drove it home.

His sigh was a hullaballoo,

Four subjects, and all of them male,

They were once on a far larger scale,

There was haughty Pish-Tush-Pooh-Bah.

Despairing Alack-a-Dey-Ah,

One day there was grief in the crew,

And Borria Bungalee Boo

"Alack-a-Dey, famished I feel;

Where on earth shall I look for a meal?

"Dear Tootle-Tum, what shall we do?

If you don't we shall have to eat you,

And he answered, "Oh, Bungalee Boo,

"Tippy-Wippity Tol-the-Rol-Loo,

And her four pretty Amazons, too,

"There is neat little Titty-Fol-Leh,

There is jocular Waggety-Weh,

So the forces of Bungalee Boo

And the ladies who fought for Queen Loo

But they sharpened no weapons at all,

They made ready to conquer or fall

With a crimson and pearly-white dye

With black they encircled each eye,

The warriors met in the field:

"Amazonians, immediately yield!"

But jocular Waggety-Weh

And neat little Titty-Fol-Leh

And rollicking Tral-the-Ral-Lah

And musical Doh-Reh-Mi-Fah

And the Amazons simpered and sighed,

And they opened their pretty eyes wide,

But haughty Pish-Tush-Pooh-Bah

And despairing Alack-a-Dey-Ah

Even blundering Doodle-Dum-Deh

And said good little Tootle-Tum-Teh,

And the Queen of the Amazons fell

In a mouthful he gulped, with a yell,

And neat little Titty-Fol-Leh

And light-hearted Waggety-Weh

And rollicking Tral-the-Ral-Lah

And musical Doh-Reh-Mi-Fah

Oh! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon,

From morning to night he's so joyous and bright,

He's so quaint and so terse, both in prose and in verse;

There are one or two rules that all Family Fools

If you wish to succeed as a jester, you'll need

What is all right for B would quite scandalise C

And D may be dull, and E's very thick skull

While F is F sharp, and will cry with a carp,

If your master is surly, from getting up early

An inopportune joke is enough to provoke

Then if you refrain, he is at you again,

He'll ask then and there, with an insolent stare,

Comes a Bishop, maybe, or a solemn D.D.—

Better not pull his hair—don't stick pins in his chair;

If the jests that you crack have an orthodox smack,

But should it, by chance, be imported from France,

Though your head it may rack with a bilious attack,

And you're mopy and flat—they don't fine you for that

Though your wife ran away with a soldier that day,

Bless your heart, they don't mind—they're exceedingly kind—

I've often thought that headstrong youths

Determine all-important truths

The ever-ready victims they,

And in a self-assertive way

Now take my case: Ere sorrow could

I had determined that I should

"A winkle," I would oft advance

"Can seldom flirt, and never dance,

In short, I spurned the shelly joy,

Men pointed to me as a boy

But I was young—too young, by far—

I knew not then that winkles are

I had not watched her sunlight blithe

I've seen those winkles almost writhe

Of slighting all the winkly brood

If I had known they formed the food

Both high and low and great and small

They all were noblemen, and all

Dukes with the lovely maiden dealt,

Who ate her winkles till they felt

Duke Bailey greatest wealth computes,

He wears a pair of golden boots

Duke Humphy, as I understand,

His boots are only silver, and

A third adorer had the girl,

A miserable grov'ling Earl

This humble cad she did refuse

He wore a pair of leather shoes

"Ha! ha!" she cried. "Upon my word!

Oh, go along, it's too absurd!

"Two Dukes would Mary make a bride,

"Well, not exactly that," they cried,

"We do not offer marriage rite,

"Oh dear," said she, "that alters quite

The Earl he up and says, says he,

For I am game to marry thee

(He'd had, it happily befell,

His views would have befitted well

His sterling worth had worked a cure,

She saw his soul was good and pure,

Her views of earldoms and their lot,

Come, Virtue in an earldom's cot!