TRUE TO POLL

I'll sing you a song, not very long,
But the story somewhat new,
Of William Kidd, who, whatever he did,
To his Poll was always true.
He sailed away in a galliant ship
From the port of old Bristol,

And the last words he uttered,
As his hankercher he fluttered,
Were, "My heart is true to Poll."

His heart was true to Poll,
His heart was true to Poll.

It's no matter what you do

If your heart be only true:

And his heart was true to Poll.

'Twas a wreck. William, on shore he swam,

And looked about for an inn;

When a noble savage lady, of a color rather shady,

Came up with a kind of grin:

"Oh, marry me, and a king you'll be,

And in a palace loll;

Or we'll eat you willy-nilly."

So he gave his hand, did Billy,

But his heart was true to Poll.

Away a twelvemonth sped, and a happy life he led

As the King of the Kikeryboos;

His paint was red and yellar, and he used a big umbrella,

And he wore a pair of over-shoes;

He'd corals and knives, and twenty-six wives,
Whose beauties I cannot here extol;

One day they all revolted,
So he back to Bristol bolted,
For his heart was true to Poll.

His heart was true to Poll,
His heart was true to Poll,
It's no matter what you do
If your heart be only true:
And his heart was true to Poll.

Frank C. Burnand

THE WIDOW MALONE

Did you hear of the Widow Malone

O hone!

Who lived in the town of Athlone

Alone?

O, she melted the hearts
Of the swains in them parts;
So lovely the Widow Malone,
O hone!

So lovely the Widow Malone.

Of lovers she had a full score
Or more;
And fortunes they all had galore
In store;

From the minister down

To the clerk of the Crown,

All were courting the Widow Malone

O hone!

All were courting the Widow Malone.

But so modest was Mrs. Malone,

'Twas known,

That no one could see her alone,

O hone!

Let them ogle and sigh,
They could ne'er catch her eye;
So bashful the Widow Malone,
O hone!

So bashful the Widow Malone.

Till one Mister O'Brien from Clare,
How quare!

'Tis little for blushing they care

Down there;

Put his arm round her waist,

Gave ten kisses at laste,

And says he, "You're my Molly Malone,

My own."

Says he, "You're my Molly Malone."

-

And the widow they all thought so shy —

My eye!

Never thought of a simper or sigh;

"O Lucius," said she,

For why?

Since you've now made so free,
You may marry your Mary Malone,
Your own;

You may marry your Mary Malone."

There's a moral contained in my song,
Not wrong;

And one comfort it's not very long,
But strong:

If for widows you die,

Learn to kiss-not to sigh,

For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone!

O hone!

O they're all like sweet Mistress Malone!

Charles Lever

AN INVITATION TO THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS

BY A STUTTERING LOVER

I have found out a gig-gig-gift for my fuf-fuf-fair,

I have found where the rattlesnakes bub-bub-breed; Will you co-co-come, and I'll show you the bub-bub-bear, And the lions and tit-tit-tigers at fuf-fuf-feed.

I know where the co-co-cockatoo's song

Makes mum-mum-melody through the sweet vale; Where the mum-monkeys gig-gig-grin all the day long, Or gracefully swing by the tit-tit-tit-tail.

You shall pip-play, dear, some did-did-delicate joke

With the bub-bub-bear on the tit-tit-top of his pip-pip-pippole;

But observe, 'tis forbidden to pip-pip-poke

At the bub-bub-bear with your pip-pip-pink pip-pip-pippip-parasol!

You shall see the huge elephant pip-pip-play,

You shall gig-gig-gaze on the stit-stit-stately raccoon; And then, did-did-dear, together we'll stray

To the cage of the bub-bub-blue-faced bab-bab-boon.

You wished (I r-r-remember it well,

And I lul-lul-loved you the m-m-more for the wish) To witness the bub-bub-beautiful pip-pip-pelican swallow the 1-1-live little fuf-fuf-fish!

Punch

EARLY RISING

God bless the man who first invented sleep!”
So Sancho Panza said, and so say I:
And bless him, also, that he didn't keep

His great discovery to himself; nor try
To make it as the lucky fellow might
A close monopoly by patent-right!

Yes-bless the man who first invented sleep,
(I really can't avoid the iteration;)
But blast the man, with curses loud and deep,
Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station,
Who first invented, and went round advising,
That artificial cut-off - Early Rising!

"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed,"
Observes some solemn, sentimental owl;
Maxims like these are very cheaply said;
But, ere you make yourself a fool or fowl,
Pray just inquire about his rise and fall,
And whether larks have any beds at all!

The time for honest folks to be a-bed

Is in the morning, if I reason right;