THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE N all the towns and cities fair IN On Merry England's broad expanse, On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick, His sabre sometimes he'd employ No bar of lead, however thick, Had terrors for the stalwart boy. At Dover daily he'd prepare To hew and slash, behind, before Which aggravated MONSIEUR PIERRE, Who watched him from the Calais shore. It caused good PIERRE to swear and dance, and vexed him so; He was the He said so, and he ought to know. donc, ce cochon Son sabre, son plomb, et ses gigots! Il sait que les foulards de soie Les gigots morts n'ont pas de quoi — But every day the headstrong lad Cut lead and mutton more and more; And every day, poor PIERRE, half mad, Shrieked loud defiance from his shore. HANCE had a mother, poor and old, She said, "I'll be upon the spot And walked to Dover in a day. PIERRE had a doting mother, who At HANCE's doings every morn, But HANCE's powers began to fail His constitution was not strong And PIERRE, who once was stout and hale, Grew thin from shouting all day long. Their mothers saw them pale and wan, tore each breast, And so they met to find a plan To set their offsprings' minds at rest. Said MRS. HANCE, "Of course I shrinks A sunny spot in sunny France Was hit upon for this affair; The ground was picked by MRS. HANCE, you see Said MRS. H., "Your work "En garde, mon fils!" said Madame P. on!" "En garde!" Loud sneered the doughty man of France, "Ho! ho! Ho! ho! Ha! ha! Ha! ha!" "The French for Pish!"" said THOMAS HANCE. Said PIERRE, L'Anglais, Monsieur, pour 'Bah.'"' Said MRS. H., "Come, one! two! three! "C'est Magnifique !" said Madame P., "Mais, parbleu! ce n'est pas la guerre !" |