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He, resuming
Fairy pluming
(That’s not English, is it?)
Oft would fly up,
To the sky up,
Pay mamma a visit.
* * * * * * * *
Time progressing,
GEORGIE’S blessing
Grew more Ritualistic—
Popish scandals,
Tonsures—sandals—
Genuflections mystic;
Gushing meetings—
Bosom-beatings—
Heavenly ecstatics—
Broidered spencers—
Copes and censers—
Rochets and dalmatics.
This quandary
Vexed the fairy—
Flew she down to Ealing.
“GEORGIE, stop it!
Pray you, drop it;
Hark to my appealing:
To this foolish
Papal rule-ish
Twaddle put an ending;
This a swerve is
From our Service
Plain and unpretending.”
He, replying,
Answered, sighing,
Hawing, hemming, humming,
“It’s a pity—
They’re so pritty;
Yet in mode becoming,
Mother tender,
I’ll surrender—
I’ll be unaffected—”
But his Bishop
Into his shop
Entered unexpected!
“Who is this, sir,—
Ballet miss, sir?”
Said the Bishop coldly.
“’T is my mother,
And no other,”
GEORGIE answered boldly.
“Go along, sir!
You are wrong, sir;
You have years in plenty,
While this hussy
(Gracious mussy!)
Isn’t two and twenty!”
(Fairies clever
Never, never
Grow in visage older;
And the fairy,
All unwary,
Leant upon his shoulder!)
Bishop grieved him,
Disbelieved him;
GEORGE the point grew warm on;
Changed religion,
Like a pigeon,[12 - “Like a bird.”—Slang expression.]
And became a Mormon!
Ballad: The Way Of Wooing
A maiden sat at her window wide,
Pretty enough for a Prince’s bride,
Yet nobody came to claim her.
She sat like a beautiful picture there,
With pretty bluebells and roses fair,
And jasmine-leaves to frame her.
And why she sat there nobody knows;
But this she sang as she plucked a rose,
The leaves around her strewing:
“I’ve time to lose and power to choose;
’T is not so much the gallant who woos,
But the gallant’s way of wooing!”
A lover came riding by awhile,
A wealthy lover was he, whose smile
Some maids would value greatly—
A formal lover, who bowed and bent,
With many a high-flown compliment,
And cold demeanour stately,
“You’ve still,” said she to her suitor stern,
“The ’prentice-work of your craft to learn,
If thus you come a-cooing.
I’ve time to lose and power to choose;
’T is not so much the gallant who woos,
Fairy pluming
(That’s not English, is it?)
Oft would fly up,
To the sky up,
Pay mamma a visit.
* * * * * * * *
Time progressing,
GEORGIE’S blessing
Grew more Ritualistic—
Popish scandals,
Tonsures—sandals—
Genuflections mystic;
Gushing meetings—
Bosom-beatings—
Heavenly ecstatics—
Broidered spencers—
Copes and censers—
Rochets and dalmatics.
This quandary
Vexed the fairy—
Flew she down to Ealing.
“GEORGIE, stop it!
Pray you, drop it;
Hark to my appealing:
To this foolish
Papal rule-ish
Twaddle put an ending;
This a swerve is
From our Service
Plain and unpretending.”
He, replying,
Answered, sighing,
Hawing, hemming, humming,
“It’s a pity—
They’re so pritty;
Yet in mode becoming,
Mother tender,
I’ll surrender—
I’ll be unaffected—”
But his Bishop
Into his shop
Entered unexpected!
“Who is this, sir,—
Ballet miss, sir?”
Said the Bishop coldly.
“’T is my mother,
And no other,”
GEORGIE answered boldly.
“Go along, sir!
You are wrong, sir;
You have years in plenty,
While this hussy
(Gracious mussy!)
Isn’t two and twenty!”
(Fairies clever
Never, never
Grow in visage older;
And the fairy,
All unwary,
Leant upon his shoulder!)
Bishop grieved him,
Disbelieved him;
GEORGE the point grew warm on;
Changed religion,
Like a pigeon,[12 - “Like a bird.”—Slang expression.]
And became a Mormon!
Ballad: The Way Of Wooing
A maiden sat at her window wide,
Pretty enough for a Prince’s bride,
Yet nobody came to claim her.
She sat like a beautiful picture there,
With pretty bluebells and roses fair,
And jasmine-leaves to frame her.
And why she sat there nobody knows;
But this she sang as she plucked a rose,
The leaves around her strewing:
“I’ve time to lose and power to choose;
’T is not so much the gallant who woos,
But the gallant’s way of wooing!”
A lover came riding by awhile,
A wealthy lover was he, whose smile
Some maids would value greatly—
A formal lover, who bowed and bent,
With many a high-flown compliment,
And cold demeanour stately,
“You’ve still,” said she to her suitor stern,
“The ’prentice-work of your craft to learn,
If thus you come a-cooing.
I’ve time to lose and power to choose;
’T is not so much the gallant who woos,
Другие электронные книги автора William Schwenck Gilbert
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