THE DREAM OF

THE BILIOUS BEADLE.

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So many subscribers have asked for a copy of this clever parody of Thomas Hood's Dream of Eugene Aram that it is given here, although it somewhat interferes with the arrangement of the Song Parodies. "The Bilious Beadle" is admirably adapted for public recitation. The author, Mr. Arthur Shirley, is a well-known dramatist.

T'was in the grimy winter time, an evening cold and damp,

And four and twenty work'us boys, all of one ill-fed stamp,

Were blowing on blue finger tips, bent double with the cramp;

And when the skilly poured out fell into each urchin's pan

They swallowed it at such a pace as only boyhood can. But the Beadle sat remote from all, a bilious-looking

All such tempting tasty things, tho' nice beyond all question,

Unless you wish like me to feel the pangs of indigestion!
One, who had ever made me long--a muffin man and old-
I watched into a public-hcuse, he called for whisky cold,
And for one moment left his stock within green baize
enrolled.

I crept up to them, thinking what an appetite I'd got,
I gloated o'er them lying there elastic and all hot;

I thought of butter laid on thick, and then I prigged the lot!

THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER.

THE subject of the following song is a comparison between the manners of the old gentry, as still subsisting in the times of Elizabeth, and the modern refinements affected by their sons in the reigns of her successors. It is given in Volume II. of Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, where it is stated that it was first printed in the reign of James the First. Bishop Percy says he found it among some poems and songs in a book entitled Le Prince d' Amour," dated 1660.

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It will at once be seen that it is the original of the more familiar song, The Fine Old English Gentleman, which immediately follows it, and which, has itself, been the subject of numerous imitations and parodies.

AN old song made by an aged old pate,

Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a greate estate,
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate;

Like an old courtier of the Queen's,
And the Queen's old courtier.

With an old lady, whose anger one word asswages;
They every quarter paid their old servants their wages,
And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, footmen, nor
pages,

But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges;
Like an old courtier, &c.

With an old study filled full of learned old books,
With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his
looks,

With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks,
And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks;
Like an old courtier, &c.

With an old hall hung about with pikes, guns, and bows, With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many shrewde blows,

And an old frize coat, to cover his worship's trunk hose.
And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose;

Like an old courtier, &c.

With a good old fashion, when Christmasse was come,
To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum,
With good cheer enough to furnish every old room,
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb;
Like an old courtier, &c.

With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds,
That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own grounds,
Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds,
And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good pounds;
Like an old courtier, &c.

But to his eldest son, his house and land he assign'd,
Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull mind,
To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind
But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclin'd;
Like a young courtier of the King's,
And the King's young courtier.

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land,
Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command,

And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's land,
And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither go nor stand;
Like a young courtier, &c.

With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and spare,
Who never knew what belong'd to good house-keeping, or

care,

Who buys gaudy-colour'd fans to play with wanton air,
And seven or eight different dressings of other women's hair;
Like a young courtier, &c,

With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one stood,
Hung round with new pictures, that do the poor no good,
With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor
wood,

And a new smooth shovel-board, whereon no victuals ne'er stood;

Like a young courtier, &c.

With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets, and plays,
And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays.
With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four or five

days;

And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws and toys;
Like a young courtier, &c.

With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on,
On a new journey to London straight we all must begone,
And leave none to keep house, but our new porter John,
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a

stone;

Like a young courtier, &c.

With a new gentleman usher, whose carriage is compleat, With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry up the meat,

With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat,
Who when her lady has dined, lets the servants not eat;
Like a young courtier, &c.

With new titles of honour* bought with his father's old gold,
For which sundry of his ancestors' old manors are sold;
And this is the course most of our new gallants hold,
Which makes that good housekeeping is now grown so cold,
Among the young courtiers of the King,
Or the King's young courtiers.

ANONYMOUS.

THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN.
I'LL sing you a good old song,

Made by a good old pate,
Of a fine old English gentleman,
Who had an old estate;
And who kept up his old mansion
At a bountiful old rate;
With a good old porter to relieve
The old poor at his gate.
Like a fine old English gentleman,

All of the olden time.
His hall, so old, was hung around

With pikes, and guns, and bows,
And swords, and good old bucklers,

That had stood against old foes;

*Alluding to the title of Baronet then newly instituted by James 1., who created the first Baronet, Sir Nicholas Bacon, May 22, 1611. King James, being in need of money to suppress a revolt in Ulster, sold this new title somewhat indiscriminately, and so raised a large

sum,

I'LL sing you a prime new song,

That was made by a young chap's pate,
Of a fine young English gentleman,
Who'd come to an estate;
Who kept his hunters and his hounds
At a d -d expensive rate.

With servants gay, to drive away
The poor folks from his gate;
Like a fine young English gentleman,
Born in the modern times.

His study it was strew'd around

With what?-Lord only knows! Foils, boxing-gloves, and pistols,

Which he us'd with friends and foes:

"Twas there" the squire" took his wine And cigar whene'er he chose ; Perusing the Court Journal,

Or Blackwood's tedious prose.
Like a fine, &c.

He was, when inerry winter came,

The gayest of them all

;

At five-and-twenty he was seen

At ev'ry fancy ball.

At each theatre-masquerade

This gentleman would call;

And while he feasted with the great, He quite forgot the small.

Like a fine, &c.

But cash, alas! too soon takes flight,
And sov'reigns roll away;
And creditors, who have long bills,
At last will call for "pay;
They came upon him tranquilly,
And caught him out one day;
"My cash is gone," he cried, "so I
Must in the Queen's Bench lay.'
Like a fine. &c.

Now this he thought was better far
Than all the old parade-
Of taking tea in peace at home,
Along with some old maid.
It must be economical,-

The bills were all unpaid;
You cannot show me one, I know,
Who does so much for trade

As a fine, &c,

ANONYMOUS.

THE FAST YOUNG UNDERGRADUATE.

I'LL sing you a modern song, that was writ by a man of late,

Of an independent gentleman who had a small estate, And kept up his rooms in Trinity at a d-d expensive rate,

And was always on the books of the porter at the gate, Like a fast young Undergraduate, all of the modern time. (Chorus)-Like a fast, &c,

These rooms so fine were hung about with boxing-gloves and sticks,

Wherewith when Town and Gown was cried, he floored the snobs like bricks;

And there he often used to sit, and his gin-and-water mix, For he was also partial to the flooring of his lips.

(Chorus)-Like a fast, &c.

At Donnybrook his custom was, to be at every fair,

For tho' he'd seen a threescore years, he still was young when there ;

And while the rich they feasted him, he oft among the poor,

Would sing, and dance, and hurl, and fight, and make the spalpeens roar,

Like a raal ould Irish Gintleman-the boy of the oulden time.

But och mavrone! once at a row, ould Barney got a knock,

And one that kilt him-'case he couldn't overget the shock; They laid him out so beautiful, and then set up a groan, Och! Barney, darlint, jewel dear, why did je die? och

hone !

Then they wak'd this Irish Gintleman, the boy of the oulden time.

Tho' all things in their course must change, and seasons pass away,

Yet frish hearts of oulden time, were just as at this day. Each Irish boy he took a pride to prove himself a man-To serve a friend, and bate a foe, it always was the plan Of a raal ould Irish Gintleman, the boy of the oulden time.

THE OLD AND NEW CANTAB.

THERE'S a fine old song for fine old gents, with fine old wine elate,

Of a fine old, etcetera-the rest I needn't state;

And Punch unto that fine old air new-fashioned words would mate,

Of the fine old Cantab as he was before this change of late

The fine old Cantab as he was, all in the olden time! His rooms their range of ballet-girls and running-horses showed,

And a fox-brush, meant to indicate that up to hounds he rode;

There at vingt-un or loo he'd sit, until the cocks they crowed,

Nor ever thought of how to pay the various ticks he owed

This fine old Cantab as he was, all in the olden time! From Eton or from Harrow he came cramm'd with longs and shorts,

An ambition to drive tandem, and a taste for fruity Ports; And his hardest work was playing, till he deafened half the Courts,

Concertos on the cornet, in keys of different sorts

This fine old Cantab as he was, all in the olden time.

As a Freshman he wore sober ties, and gave a Don the wall,

But came out, his second year, in short coat and farcy shawl,

And treated the authorities with no respect at all.
Was seldom seen at lectures, and never dined in Hall-

This fine old Cantab as he was, all in the olden time.

So he managed to forget the trifling all he once did know,
And by a very narrow shave got through his little-go,
And then he took "a coach" with cram what brains he'd
left to stow-

Arithmetic to the Rule of Three, and some Algebra, also

This fine old Cantab as he was, all in the olden time.

Thus, loo, larks, liquor, and late hours, made time and money fly,

Till when three years brought on the Poll, he was plucked disgracefully,

And his disgusted gov'rnor came and paid off, with a sigh, Ticks to a tune which nearly sucked the poor old pump quite dry,

For his fine old Cantab of a son, one of the olden time.

But times are changed henceforth, we know; for, from eighteen-forty-nine,

The sons of Alma Mater must choose a different line ; And if you try the Muses round, not a lady of the nine Out of whom he won't be qualified with ease to take the shine

Our fine young Cantab that's to be, all in the future time.

For reading and not racing he'll have to keep his book, He'll blush at his own pink, and hang his tops upon the

hook;

And if e'er he use a cue, 'twill be for motion's laws to look;

And for milk punch he'll drink his toast-and water from the brook

Our fine young Cantab that's to be, all in the future time.

He'll put off the old Adam for the new one-Adam Smith ; Political Economy will bring private, p'r'aps, therewith: At Ge- or else The-ology he'll spend his pluck and pith, Tea and Theorems ousting loo and lush, which will be all a myth

To our new Cantab that's to be, all in the future time. Save for studying the pendulum, he'll never try a tick; A novel definition he'll invent for the word "brick;" Not one who braves the Proctor, or bargee can slang or lick,

But who digs up Hebrew roots like beans, and knocks off Morals slick

Such our new Cantab is to be, all in the future time.

Old Dons will shake their heads, no doubt, and the good old days deplore,

When reading men were voted slow, and lectures all a bore;

But still let's hope that Cambridge will furnish, as of yore, All the wisdom of our ancestors, and perhaps a leetle more, To the fine new Cantab that's to be, all in the future time!

Punch. November 25, 1848.

THE FINE RICH JEWISH NOBLEMAN.

I'LL sing you a fine new song, that was penned by a Christian hand,

Of a fine new Jewish Baron with a foreign name so grand, Whose money heaped around him was as plentiful as sand,

So he said, "By the beard of my forefathers, for the City
I will stand,

Like a fine rich Jewish nobleman,
One of a wealthy kind."

The Common-hall was crowded then with all the Christian's foes,

And the Lord Mayor came forward there the Baron to propose,

Loud shouted many a Hebrew voice; and many a Hebrew

nose

It's hook up-raised and Rothschild praised, the man the
Hebrews chose.

He was such a fine Jewish autocrat,
One of a wealthy kind!

When Manners came (a man whose name we all have heard before)

And raised his voice, the Hebrew choice to negative once

more,

The Baron showed a wondrous zeal to help the voters poor,

None seeking his Committee-room unpitied left the door,
Of this fine rich Jewish millicnaire,
One of a wealthy kind.

But gold, tho' much, can't all things do, and money's power will fly—

An English House of Lords again the Baron's seat deny!
He won't resign quite tranquilly, and still again will try,
But tho' his City friends may howl, they know it's "all
my eye,"

About this fine rich Jewish nobleman,
One of a wealthy kind.

But tho' Free-trade our land may crush (to Cotton Lords the prey),

Still Christian is the Commons House that doth old
England sway;

Tho' Rome may thrive, and rank Dissent our Church
assail to-day,
Our Christian test no Jewish gold shall ever thrust away.*
Not for this fine rich Jewish nobleman,
One of a wealthy kind,

From Protectionist Parodies, by a Tory. Oxford: J. Vincent. 1850.

*These ancient political prophecies are amusing reading, but require some little explanation. In July, 1849, Baron Lionel de Rothschild was elected M.P. for the City of London, with 6,619 votes, whilst his opponent, Lord John Manners, only polled 3, 104. But Baron Rothschild was not then allowed to take his seat, nor was it until he had been thrice again elected M.P, that he was permitted to enter the House of Commons in July, 1858. Shortly afterwards a special act was passed permitting Jewish M.P.'s to omit from the oath the words, "on the faith of a Christian;" since then many eminent Jews have been elected to the House of Commons, where they have generally supported the party which formerly opposed, to the very utmost, the extension to them of civil rights and political equality.

Although one half is obsolete, and t'other make pretence; Exploded old four-posters, built in George the Second's reign,

Mock plate to serve mock-turtle in, sham ice-pails for champagne;

At this fine old English Innkeeper's, one of the
olden time.

The swipes he draws is sour enough to turn a navvy pale,
Tho' by a bitter raillery he calls it bitter ale;
And tho' perhaps you don't see half a waiter all the day,
For "attendance quite as much as for a lawyer's you
must pay

To this fine old English Innkeeper, one of the
olden time.

Then if to wine your tastes incline some home-made Cape you'll get,

Served up in a decanter like a vinegar-cruet,

As a "bottle of Madeira" this will in the bill be set,
And however nasty it may be a nice sum you're in debt,
To the fine old English Innkeeper, one of the
olden time.

And if your wife be with you, you must have a private room,

And use a pair "of wax-lights" (with a muttony perfume), For which you'll pay a crown a day, and 'tis a burning

shanie

That whether they be lit or not, they're charged for just the same,

By this rare old English Innkeeper, one of the olden time.

But soon these fine old Innkeepers will find their race is

run,

For men are up and doing, and no longer will be done :
And shortly we may hope to see a really good hotel
Where we may be admitted, and not taken in as well,
As we were by our old Innkeeper, one of the
fleecing time,

Punch. October 29, 1853.

THE FINE OLD STANDARD TRAGEDY.

I'LL sing you a fine new song, tho' it's subject's out of date,

Of a fine old standard tragedy that was once pronounced first-rate,

To which our great-great-grandmothers would go in all their state,

And drag their time out drearily, for 'twas "legitimate," Was this fine old standard tragedy, all of the olden time.

This play so old was writ throughout in blank verse 'stead of prose,