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

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Time progressing, GEORGIE'S blessing Grew more Ritualistic - Popish scandals, Tonsures--sandals - Genuflections mystic; Gushing meetings - Bosom-beatings - Heavenly ecstatics - Broidered spencers - Copes and censers - Rochets and dalmatics.

This quandary Vexed the fairy - Flew she down to Ealing. "GEORGIE, stop it! Pray you, drop it; Hark to my appealing: To this foolish Papal rule-ish Twaddle put an ending; This a swerve is From our Service Plain and unpretending."

He, replying, Answered, sighing, Hawing, hemming, humming, "It's a pity - They're so pritty; Yet in mode becoming, Mother tender, I'll surrender - I'll be unaffected--" But his Bishop Into HIS shop Entered unexpected!

"Who is this, sir, - Ballet miss, sir?" Said the Bishop coldly. "'T is my mother, And no other," GEORGIE answered boldly. "Go along, sir! You are wrong, sir; You have years in plenty, While this hussy (Gracious mussy!) Isn't two and twenty!"

(Fairies clever Never, never Grow in visage older; And the fairy, All unwary, Leant upon his shoulder!) Bishop grieved him, Disbelieved him; GEORGE the point grew warm on; Changed religion, Like a pigeon, {14} And became a Mormon!

Ballad: THE WAY OF WOOING.

A maiden sat at her window wide, Pretty enough for a Prince's bride, Yet nobody came to claim her. She sat like a beautiful picture there, With pretty bluebells and roses fair, And jasmine-leaves to frame her. And why she sat there nobody knows; But this she sang as she plucked a rose, The leaves around her strewing: "I've time to lose and power to choose; 'T is not so much the gallant who woos, But the gallant's WAY of wooing!"

A lover came riding by awhile, A wealthy lover was he, whose smile Some maids would value greatly - A formal lover, who bowed and bent, With many a high-flown compliment, And cold demeanour stately, "You've still," said she to her suitor stern, "The 'prentice-work of your craft to learn, If thus you come a-cooing. I've time to lose and power to choose; 'T is not so much the gallant who woos, As the gallant's WAY of wooing!"

A second lover came ambling by - A timid lad with a frightened eye And a colour mantling highly. He muttered the errand on which he'd come, Then only chuckled and bit his thumb, And simpered, simpered shyly. "No," said the maiden, "go your way; You dare but think what a man would say, Yet dare to come a-suing! I've time to lose and power to choose; 'T is not so much the gallant who woos, As the gallant's WAY of wooing!"

A third rode up at a startling pace - A suitor poor, with a homely face - No doubts appeared to bind him. He kissed her lips and he pressed her waist, And off he rode with the maiden, placed On a pillion safe behind him. And she heard the suitor bold confide This golden hint to the priest who tied The knot there's no undoing; With pretty young maidens who can choose, 'T is not so much the gallant who woos, As the gallant's WAY of wooing!"

Ballad: HONGREE AND MAHRY. A RECOLLECTION OF A SURREY MELODRAMA.