Последний отзыв
Очень интересная!
По всем вопросам обращайтесь на: info@litportal.ru
(©) 2003-2024.
✖
A Satire Anthology
Автор
Год написания книги
2017
Настройки чтения
Размер шрифта
Высота строк
Поля
Quite as helpless as they were born —
Naked souls, and very forlorn.
The Princess, then, must shift for herself,
And lay her royalty on the shelf;
She, and the beautiful empress yonder,
Whose robes are now the wide world’s wonder
And even ourselves, and our dear little wives,
Who calico wear each morn of their lives,
And the sewing-girls, and les chiffonniers,
In rags and hunger – a gaunt array —
And all the grooms of the caravan —
Aye, even the great Don Rataplan
Santa Claus de la Muscovado
Señor Grandissimo Bastinado —
That gold-encrusted, fortunate man —
All will land in naked equality;
The lord of a ribboned principality
Will mourn the loss of his cordon.
Nothing to eat and nothing to wear
Will certainly be the fashion there!
Ten to one, and I’ll go it alone,
Those most used to a rag and bone,
Though here on earth they labour and groan,
Will stand it best, as they wade abreast
To the other side of Jordan.
Edmund Clarence Stedman.
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 colour 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.
SLEEP ON
FEAR no unlicensed entry,
Heed no bombastic talk,
While guards the British sentry
Pall Mall and Birdcage Walk.
Let European thunders
Occasion no alarms,
Though diplomatic blunders
May cause a cry, “To arms!”
Sleep on, ye pale civilians;
All thunder-clouds defy;
On Europe’s countless millions
The sentry keeps his eye!
Should foreign-born rapscallions
In London dare to show
Their overgrown battalions,
Be sure I’ll let you know.
Should Russians or Norwegians
Pollute our favoured clime
With rough barbaric legions,
I’ll mention it in time.
So sleep in peace, civilians,
The Continent defy;
While on its countless millions
The sentry keeps his eye!
Naked souls, and very forlorn.
The Princess, then, must shift for herself,
And lay her royalty on the shelf;
She, and the beautiful empress yonder,
Whose robes are now the wide world’s wonder
And even ourselves, and our dear little wives,
Who calico wear each morn of their lives,
And the sewing-girls, and les chiffonniers,
In rags and hunger – a gaunt array —
And all the grooms of the caravan —
Aye, even the great Don Rataplan
Santa Claus de la Muscovado
Señor Grandissimo Bastinado —
That gold-encrusted, fortunate man —
All will land in naked equality;
The lord of a ribboned principality
Will mourn the loss of his cordon.
Nothing to eat and nothing to wear
Will certainly be the fashion there!
Ten to one, and I’ll go it alone,
Those most used to a rag and bone,
Though here on earth they labour and groan,
Will stand it best, as they wade abreast
To the other side of Jordan.
Edmund Clarence Stedman.
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 colour 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.
SLEEP ON
FEAR no unlicensed entry,
Heed no bombastic talk,
While guards the British sentry
Pall Mall and Birdcage Walk.
Let European thunders
Occasion no alarms,
Though diplomatic blunders
May cause a cry, “To arms!”
Sleep on, ye pale civilians;
All thunder-clouds defy;
On Europe’s countless millions
The sentry keeps his eye!
Should foreign-born rapscallions
In London dare to show
Their overgrown battalions,
Be sure I’ll let you know.
Should Russians or Norwegians
Pollute our favoured clime
With rough barbaric legions,
I’ll mention it in time.
So sleep in peace, civilians,
The Continent defy;
While on its countless millions
The sentry keeps his eye!
Другие электронные книги автора Carolyn Wells
Последний отзыв
Очень интересная!