"His name is HASH BAZ BEN,
And JEDEDIAH too,

And SOLOMON and ZABULON
This bus-directing Jew."

At first the busman smiled,
And rather liked the fun —
He merely smiled, that Hebrew child,
And said, "Eccentric one!"

And gay young

dogs would wait To see the bus go by (These gay young

dogs in striking togs), To hear the bishop

cry: :

"Observe his grisly beard,

His race it clearly shows,
He sticks no fork in ham or pork -
Observe, my friends, his nose.

"His name is HASH BAZ BEN,
And JEDEDIAH, too,

And SOLOMON and ZABULON

This bus-directing Jew."

But though at first amused,

Yet after seven years,

This Hebrew child got awful riled,

And busted into tears.

He really almost feared
To leave his poor abode,

His nose, and name, and beard became
A byword on that road.

At length he swore an oath,

The reason he would know
"I'll call and see why ever he
Does persecute me so."

The good old bishop sat
On his ancestral chair,

The busman came, sent up his
And laid his grievance bare.

"Indeed?” replied the Jew.

name,

"Shall I be freed?" "You will, indeed!' Then Done!" said he,

" with you!"

The organ which, in man,
Between the eyebrows grows,
Fell from his face, and in its place,
He found a Christian nose.

His tangled Hebrew beard,

Which to his waist came down, Was now a pair of whiskers fair His name, ADOLPHUS BROWN.

He wedded in a year

That prelate's daughter JANE ;

He's grown quite fair has auburn hairHis wife is far from plain.

Bab

THE TROUBADOUR

A

TROUBADOUR he played
Without a castle wall,

Within, a hapless maid

Responded to his call.

"Oh, willow, woe is me! Alack and well-a-day!

If I were only free

I'd hie me far away!"

Unknown her face and

name,

But this he knew right well, The maiden's wailing came From out a dungeon cell.

A hapless woman lay

Within that dungeon grim That fact, I've heard him say, Was quite enough for him.

"I will not sit or lie,

Or eat or drink, I vow,

Till thou art free as I,

Or I as pent as thou."

Her tears then ceased to flow,

Her wails no longer rang,

And tuneful in her woe

The prisoned maiden sang:

"Oh, stranger, as you play I recognize your touch; And all that I can say

Is, thank you very much."

He seized his clarion straight,
And blew thereat, until

A warden oped the gate,

66

Oh, what might be your will?"

"I've come, sir knave, to see The master of these halls : A maid unwillingly

Lies prisoned in their walls."

With barely stifled sigh

That porter drooped his head,

With teardrops in his eye,
"A many, sir," he said.

He stayed to hear no more,
But pushed that porter by,
And shortly stood before

SIR HUGH DE PECKHAM RYE.