THE PILGRIM OF LOVE. Recitative. ORYNTHIA, my beloved, I call in vain! Air. A hermit who dwells in the solitudes cross'd me, And rushes fresh pulled for siesta are spread. Ah! nay, courteous masculine, the dear one replied, Yet stay, scrumptious maid, like a beautiful Queen, I'd rather keep single than amalgamate with a fool, So I'm the victim of love, I'm the victim of love, There's no cure for dislocation of the vertebræ, nor the victim of love. Angelina! said I, "put an end to my woes, My buzzum's a busting, nay, cut me not short," And wagging her tail she then waltz'd down the court. For I'd cast my infections on that there young gal, Written expressly for Mackney, the comic singer, by G. W. Hunt, and published by J. Bath, Berners Street, London. BLOWSABEL. Recitative. OH! Blowsabel! my detested, you call in vain, Air. A landlord who kept a snug liquor-shop pass'd me, No rest but the grave from the tongue of my spouse. Yet, tarry, my son, till your wife's fury passes, The "George and the Dragon" shall shelter thy head; No rest but the grave from the tongue of my spouse. From Wiseheart's Merry Songster, Dublin. (The same volume contains another parody, entitled Raw Lobsters, which is vulgar, and not funny.) THE VICTIM OF LOVE. Recitative. ANGELINA, my chickabiddy! I calls upon Angelina! Angelina ! A bobby hears, and says "Move on!" His comic voice repeats the name around, And with "Angelina" all the streets resound! Air. A damsel there dwells in a court down in Stepney, In disgraceful apparel she ever is drest, This fair one I lov'd and I asked her to have me, Oh! have me sweet gender, and I shall be blest! THE SONG OF the Seedy COMMON-COUNCILLOR A DOCTOR who dwells in my neighbourhood crossed me, And proffered advice that would give me some rest. PADDY FLINN! Recitative. ОCH, Judy, my sweet darling, I bawl in vain And with dear Judy' does each pig stye sound! Air. Tim Murphy, who dwells by the Cow and worsted stocking, I met near the bog at the end of the town; He swore by the powers, I desarved a dacent knocking, He was after knocking me up, but I knocked the varmint down. 'Och, now Patrick,' said he, what is it you'd be at? Faith said I, you would get round me, but ye see I've laid ye flat, And remember when to Judy's you betake yourself again, There's sure to be a bating for the foe of Paddy Flinn. A Hermit who dwells down at H-w-rd-n had crossed me, "Yet tarry, my Son, till my H. R. Bill passes; Let's bow to the League and Parnell, its great head. You'll not leave the Masses and vote with the Classes? Come in, take your seat. Reform's banquet is spread." "Ah! nay, Grand Old Hand, I'm not caught with that bait. No rest under you for the Pilgrim of Hate." Punch. April 30, 1887. :0: THE VICAR OF BRAY. Kings are by God appointed, Until my dying day, sir, When royal James obtain'd the crown, And read the Declaration : The Church of Rome I found would fit Full well my constitution; And had become a Jesuit But for the Revolution. When William was our king declared, Set conscience at a distance; When gracious Anne became our Queen, I damned their moderation, And this is law, &c. When George in pudding-time came o'er, I turn'd a cat-in-pan once more, From our new faith's defender; The Pope and the Pretender. Th' illustrious House of Hanover, While they can keep possession: I never more will falter, And George my lawful king shall be-Until the times do alter. And this is law, &c. "The Vicar of Bray, in Berkshire," says D'Israeli, in his "Curiosities of Literature, was a Papist under the reign of Henry the Eighth, and a Protestant under Edward the Sixth. He was a Papist again under Mary, and once more became a Protestant in the reign of Elizabeth. When reproached for his versatility of religious creeds, and taxed with being a turn-coat, and an inconstant changeling, as Fuller expresses it, he replied: "Not so, neither; for if I changed my religion, I am sure I kept true to my principle, which is to live and die the Vicar of Bray." In a note in Nichols' Select Poems, 1782, vol. viii., p. 234, it is stated that The song of the Vicar of Bray "is said to have been written by an officer in Colonel Fuller's regiment, in the reign of King George the First. It is founded on an historical fact; and though it reflects no great honour on the hero of the poem, is humourously expressive of the complexion of the times, in the successive reigns from Charles the Second to George the First. As to the name of this famous Vicar there are several theories. According to one authority, "Pendleton, the celebrated Vicar of Bray," became rector of St. Stephen's, Walbrook, in the City of London, in the reign of Edward VI. But in a letter from Mr. Brome, to Mr. Rawlins, dated June 14, 1735, he says, "I have had a long chase after the Vicar of Bray. Dr. Fuller, in his Worthies, takes no notice of him, I suppose he knew not his name. I am informed it was Simon Alleyn or Allen. who was Vicar of Bray about 1540, and died 1588, so was Vicar of Bray nearly fifty years. You now partake of the sport that has cost me some pains to take." Camden, in his Britannia, says of Alleyn: "This is he of whom is the proverb, The Vicar of Bray still.' " The song however, refers to an entirely different period, commencing in the reign of Charles II. and lasting until "the illustrious House of Hanover." There was a Vicar of Bray, unknown to fame, who was vicar during the exact period covered by the song. His tombstone is in the centre aisle of Bray Church, and its record is that his name was Francis Carswell, that he was chaplain to Charles II. and James II., Rector of Remenham and Vicar of Bray forty-two years, and that he died in 1709. POPULAR SONGS. WHO'S YOUR RATTER?* And glorify each action. We'll still on the strong side bray, sir! The People's William lost his place, Replaced the Liberals glorious. But still that did not matter. That whatsoever party reign, We'll still on the strong side bray, sir! And see how well our "ratting" pays, And from their table drop some scraps So this the law is we'll maintain, We'll still on the strong side bray, sir! Another fight will soon begin, And p'rhaps, as some allege, sir, For this the law is we'll maintain, That whatsoever party reign, We'll still on the strong side bray, sir! 1879. Truth Christmas Number. BRADLAUGH'S BRAY. IN good Victoria's palmy days, I joined the Democratic craze, And practised stump orating. For this is law, I will maintain, Or there'll be the devil to pay, sir. Alluding to the complete and sudden change in the political creed of The Daily Telegraph. (london.) When first my stump career began, Rank heresy I spouted, Belief in God as Lord of man, As lunacy I scouted. Disguised as great "Iconoclast," In wrangling I waxed foxy, Blew my own trumpet's brazen blast, For this is THE true faith, I swear, But finding Atheists weak and thin, And found much greater profit in The vending of sedition. Though mobs can't think, they shun a bore, Which proved to me my forte was more So this is law I do declare, In this my trying day, sir, That none shall judge me by my acts, So down with Kings and Queens and Priests, And up with Dilke's Republic, and My grand Freethought Conventions; Saints Malthus, Knowlton, Besant-these Are lights this dark world's needing, So up with population checks, And down with all good breeding. For if this had but been the law In my good father's day, sir, Sometimes a nation's destiny By cobbler's wax-end hangs, sir, I found myself an M. P. by M.P. rical harangues, sir, And though my "lay was strong and bold, Now to our Gracious Queen, her Heir, To each I will allegiance swear (While they can keep possession), So now, sweet Commons! hear my prayer, Please let me on that Bible swear By Him I don't believe in. And when I'm Lord Protector, sir, From Blasts from Bradlaugh's own Trumpet. By ION. London, Houlston & Sons. THE HOUSE OF LORDS. WHEN bluff King Hal grew tired of Kate, He cast about, and found in us His willing tools, of course, sir. What for her grief? We laughed at that, To hold a candle to Old Nick Two other queens that underwent For us no trick was e'er too base, When Mary came with fire and stake No single protest did we make, But let her work her will, sir; But when the Church reclaimed her lands, Thus did the Queen her error learn, Elizabeth, the mighty Queen, We quailed beneath her frown, sir, With nought but fear and hate for one So worthy of the crown, sir. As abject traitors round her throne Though more than half of us were known To her for ducal coronets We never were beholden; To us the days of "Good Queen Bess" When slobbering James of coin was short, And to creating lords for gold Right gladly he consented; A handsome "tip" was all he asked To be a peer, "your grace," POPULAR SONGS. His acts of tyranny and fraud To curb the tyrant of his will And merged in "Right Divine," sir. The Second Charles just suited us, And, as reward of services That history rarely mentions, You still enjoy the privilege Of paying us the pensions; And this we swear, by all that's blue, You'll never find us blush, sir. In James's Court we flourished still; To be a royal mistress formed Our daughters' highest pride, sir; For Whigs though tortures were devised, We ate and drank, and laughed and played, For mingled cruelty and wrong But when a paying chance came round, When William came, with righteous rule, Whilst on his part his Majesty Distrusted us with reason, And so against all righteous things In reign of Anne, 'twas one of us,* We aimed a warlike blow, sir; Betrayal of the State's designs What wonder now the lordlings praise With George the Third it was essayed *The Duke of Marlborough. And so poor wretches, one or more, Yet had the self-same laws been tried The peerage's extinction. While wicked prizes thus we claw, When Pitt the Irish Parliament He had to buy their peer's consent Were scattered through their tribe, sir, Besides a million pounds or more— Their stipulated bribe, sir. And by this opportunity They drove their dirty trade, sir, To show to all posterity How lords and dukes are made, sir. When Wesleyans and Baptists, too, For right of education, At public universities Did press their application, 'Twas we their just demand refusedDenied their common right, sir, And all our special powers abused To gratify our spite, sir. When Jews to sit in Parliament Had duly been elected, 'Twas we kept shut the Commons' door, On Railway Bills our conduct calls Like gorging vultures at the feast, Of pay-triotism we'll never tire, In reason's name or righteousness, For scorn, contempt, and threats possess Of this be sure, until that day The Weekly Dispatch. December 7, 1884. C. F. |