Fifty "Bab" Ballads: Much Sound and Little Sense by Gilbert, W. S. (William Schwenck), Sir, 1836-1911

FREDERICK came, and he said, "Maybe You'll say what you happened to want with me?" "Wronged boy," said PALEY VOLLAIRE, "I will, But don't you fidget yourself--sit still."

THE TERRIBLE TALE.

"'Tis now some thirty-seven years ago Since first began the plot that I'm revealing, A fine young woman, whom you ought to know, Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing. Herself by means of mangling reimbursing, And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing.

"Two little babes dwelt in their humble cot: One was her own--the other only lent to her: HER OWN SHE SLIGHTED. Tempted by a lot Of gold and silver regularly sent to her, She ministered unto the little other In the capacity of foster-mother.

"I WAS HER OWN. Oh! how I lay and sobbed In my poor cradle--deeply, deeply cursing The rich man's pampered bantling, who had robbed My only birthright--an attentive nursing! Sometimes in hatred of my foster-brother, I gnashed my gums--which terrified my mother.

"One day--it was quite early in the week - I IN MY CRADLE HAVING PLACED THE BANTLING - Crept into his! He had not learnt to speak, But I could see his face with anger mantling. It was imprudent--well, disgraceful maybe, For, oh! I was a bad, blackhearted baby!

"So great a luxury was food, I think No wickedness but I was game to try for it. NOW if I wanted anything to drink At any time, I only had to cry for it! ONCE, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking, My blubbering involved a serious smacking!

"We grew up in the usual way--my friend, My foster-brother, daily growing thinner, While gradually I began to mend, And thrived amazingly on double dinner. And every one, besides my foster-mother, Believed that either of us was the other.

"I came into HIS wealth--I bore HIS name, I bear it still--HIS property I squandered - I mortgaged everything--and now (oh, shame!) Into a Somers Town shake-down I've wandered! I am no PALEY--no, VOLLAIRE--it's true, my boy! The only rightful PALEY V. is YOU, my boy!

"And all I have is yours--and yours is mine. I still may place you in your true position: Give me the pounds you've saved, and I'll resign My noble name, my rank, and my condition. So far my wickedness in falsely owning Your vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!"

* * * * * * *

FREDERICK he was a simple soul, He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll, And gave to PALEY his hard-earned store, A hundred and seventy pounds or more.

PALEY VOLLAIRE, with many a groan, Gave FREDERICK all that he called his own, - Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean, A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.

And FRED (entitled to all things there) He took the fever from MR. VOLLAIRE, Which killed poor FREDERICK WEST. Meanwhile VOLLAIRE sailed off to Madeira's isle.

Ballad: THE CAPTAIN AND THE MERMAIDS.

I sing a legend of the sea, So hard-a-port upon your lee! A ship on starboard tack! She's bound upon a private cruise - (This is the kind of spice I use To give a salt-sea smack).