The Bab Ballads Part 16

The phantom said, "You'll have all this, You'll know no kind of huffiness, Your life will be one chubby bliss, One long unruffled puffiness!"

"Be off!" said irritated BOB.

"Why come you here to bother one?

You pharisaical old sn.o.b, You're wuss almost than t'other one!

"I takes my pipe--I takes my pot, And drunk I'm never seen to be: I'm no teetotaller or sot, And as I am I mean to be!"

The Story Of Prince Agib

Strike the concertina's melancholy string!

Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything!

Let the piano's martial blast Rouse the Echoes of the Past, For of AGIB, PRINCE OF TARTARY, I sing!

Of AGIB, who, amid Tartaric scenes, Wrote a lot of ballet music in his teens: His gentle spirit rolls In the melody of souls-- Which is pretty, but I don't know what it means.

Of AGIB, who could readily, at sight, Strum a march upon the loud Theodolite.

He would diligently play On the Zoetrope all day, And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night.

One winter--I am shaky in my dates-- Came two starving Tartar minstrels to his gates; Oh, ALLAH be obeyed, How infernally they played!

I remember that they called themselves the "Ouaits."

Oh! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage, I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, Photographically lined On the tablet of my mind, When a yesterday has faded from its page!

Alas! PRINCE AGIB went and asked them in; Gave them beer, and eggs, and sweets, and scent, and tin.

And when (as sn.o.bs would say) They had "put it all away,"

He requested them to tune up and begin.

Though its icy horror chill you to the core, I will tell you what I never told before,-- The consequences true Of that awful interview, FOR I LISTENED AT THE KEYHOLE IN THE DOOR!

They played him a sonata--let me see!

"Medulla oblongata"--key of G.

Then they began to sing That extremely lovely thing, Scherzando! ma non troppo, ppp."

He gave them money, more than they could count, Scent from a most ingenious little fount, More beer, in little kegs, Many dozen hard-boiled eggs, And goodies to a fabulous amount.

Now follows the dim horror of my tale, And I feel I'm growing gradually pale, For, even at this day, Though its sting has pa.s.sed away, When I venture to remember it, I quail!

The elder of the brothers gave a squeal, All-overish it made me for to feel; "Oh, PRINCE," he says, says he, "IF A PRINCE INDEED YOU BE, I've a mystery I'm going to reveal!

"Oh, listen, if you'd shun a horrid death, To what the gent who's speaking to you saith: No 'Ouaits' in truth are we, As you fancy that we be, For (ter-remble!) I am ALECK--this is BETH!"

Said AGIB, "Oh! accursed of your kind, I have heard that ye are men of evil mind!"

BETH gave a dreadful shriek-- But before he'd time to speak I was mercilessly collared from behind.

In number ten or twelve, or even more, They fastened me full length upon the floor.

On my face extended flat, I was walloped with a cat For listening at the keyhole of a door.

Oh! the horror of that agonizing thrill!

(I can feel the place in frosty weather still).

For a week from ten to four I was fastened to the floor, While a mercenary wopped me with a will

They branded me and broke me on a wheel, And they left me in an hospital to heal; And, upon my solemn word, I have never never heard What those Tartars had determined to reveal.

But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage, I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, Photographically lined On the tablet of my mind, When a yesterday has faded from its page

Ellen McJones Aberdeen

MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS McCLAN Was the son of an elderly labouring man; You've guessed him a Scotchman, shrewd reader, at sight, And p'r'aps altogether, shrewd reader, you're right.

From the bonnie blue Forth to the lovely Deeside, Round by Dingwall and Wrath to the mouth of the Clyde, There wasn't a child or a woman or man Who could pipe with CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS McCLAN.

No other could wake such detestable groans, With reed and with chaunter--with bag and with drones: All day and ill night he delighted the chiels With sn.i.g.g.e.ring pibrochs and jiggety reels.

He'd clamber a mountain and squat on the ground, And the neighbouring maidens would gather around To list to the pipes and to gaze in his een, Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN.

All loved their McCLAN, save a Sa.s.senach brute, Who came to the Highlands to fish and to shoot; He dressed himself up in a Highlander way, Tho' his name it was PATTISON CORBY TORBAY.

TORBAY had incurred a good deal of expense To make him a Scotchman in every sense; But this is a matter, you'll readily own, That isn't a question of tailors alone.

A Sa.s.senach chief may be bonily built, He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, and kilt; Stick a skean in his hose--wear an acre of stripes-- But he cannot a.s.sume an affection for pipes.

CLONGLOCKETY'S pipings all night and all day Quite frenzied poor PATTISON CORBY TORBAY; The girls were amused at his singular spleen, Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN,

"MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS, my lad, With pibrochs and reels you are driving me mad.

If you really must play on that cursed affair, My goodness! play something resembling an air."

Boiled over the blood of MACPHAIRSON McCLAN-- The Clan of Clonglocketty rose as one man; For all were enraged at the insult, I ween-- Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN.

"Let's show," said McCLAN, "to this Sa.s.senach loon That the bagpipes CAN play him a regular tune.

Let's see," said McCLAN, as he thoughtfully sat, "'IN MY COTTAGE' is easy--I'll practise at that."

He blew at his "Cottage," and blew with a will, For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until (You'll hardly believe it) McCLAN, I declare, Elicited something resembling an air.

It was wild--it was fitful--as wild as the breeze-- It wandered about into several keys; It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I'm aware; But still it distinctly suggested an air.

The Sa.s.senach screamed, and the Sa.s.senach danced; He shrieked in his agony--bellowed and pranced; And the maidens who gathered rejoiced at the scene-- Especially ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN.

"Hech gather, hech gather, hech gather around; And fill a' ye lugs wi' the exquisite sound.

An air fra' the bagpipes--beat that if ye can!

Hurrah for CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS McCLAN!"