The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

THE BAB BALLADS

The Bab Ballads

WITH WHICH ARE INCLUDED

SONGS OF A SAVOYARD

BY

W. S. GILBERT

WITH 350 ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR

LONDON
MACMILLAN & CO LTD
NEW YORK. ST MARTIN'S PRESS

This book is copyright in all countries which
are signatories to the Berne Convention
Transferred to Macmillan and Co. Ltd., 1904
Sixth Edition 1904
Reprinted 1906, 1908, 1910, 1912, 1914, 1917, 1919
1920, 1922, 1924, 1926, 1932, 1953, 1960
MACMILLAN AND COMPANY LIMITED
London Bombay Calcutta Madras Melbourne
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA LIMITED
Toronto
ST MARTIN'S PRESS INC
New York
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN

AUTHOR'S NOTE

About thirty years since, several of "The Bab Ballads" (most of which had appeared, from time to time, in the pages of Fun) were collected by me, and published by Messrs. George Routledge and Sons. This volume passed through several editions, and, in due course, was followed by a second series under the title of "More Bab Ballads," which achieved a popularity equal to that of its predecessor. Subsequently, excerpts were made from these two volumes, and, under the title of "Fifty Bab Ballads," had a very considerable sale; but I soon discovered that in making the selection for this volume I had discarded certain Ballads that were greater favourites with my readers than with me. Nevertheless this issue was followed by many editions, English and American, of "Bab Ballads," "More Bab Ballads," and "Fifty Bab Ballads," to the no little bewilderment of such of the public as had been good enough to concern themselves with my verses. So it became desirable (for our own private ends) that this confusion should be definitely cleared up; and thus it came to pass that a reissue of the two earlier collections, in one volume, was decided upon.

Some seven years since, I collected the most popular of the songs and ballads which I had written for the series of light operas with which my name is associated, and published them under the title of "Songs of a Savoyard." It recently occurred to me that these songs had so much in common with "The Bab Ballads" that it might be advisable to weld the two books into one. This is, briefly, the history of the present volume.

I have always felt that many of the original illustrations to "The Bab Ballads" erred gravely in the direction of unnecessary extravagance. This defect I have endeavoured to correct through the medium of the two hundred new drawings which I have designed for this volume. I am afraid I cannot claim for them any other recommendation,

W. S. GILBERT.

Grim's Dyke, Harrow Weald, 4th December 1897.

CONTENTS.

THE BAB BALLADS

[CAPTAIN REECE]

Of all the ships upon the blue

No ship contained a better crew

Than that of worthy Captain Reece,

Commanding of The Mantelpiece.

He was adored by all his men,

For worthy Captain Reece, R.N.,

Did all that lay within him to

Promote the comfort of his crew.

If ever they were dull or sad,

Their captain danced to them like mad,

Or told, to make the time pass by.

Droll legends of his infancy.

A feather bed had every man,

Warm slippers and hot-water can,

Brown Windsor from the captain's store,

A valet, too, to every four.

Did they with thirst in summer burn?

Lo, seltzogenes at every turn,

And on all very sultry days

Cream ices handed round on trays.

Then currant wine and ginger pops

Stood handily on all the "tops";

And, also, with amusement rife,

A "Zoetrope, or Wheel of Life."

New volumes came across the sea

From Mister Mudie's libraree;

The Times and Saturday Review

Beguiled the leisure of the crew.

Kind-hearted Captain Reece, R.N.,

Was quite devoted to his men;

In point of fact, good Captain Reece

Beatified The Mantelpiece.

One summer eve, at half-past ten,

He said (addressing all his men):

"Come, tell me, please, what I can do

To please and gratify my crew?

"By any reasonable plan

I'll make you happy, if I can;

My own convenience count as nil;

It is my duty, and I will."

Then up and answered William Lee

(The kindly captain's coxswain he,

A nervous, shy, low-spoken man),

He cleared his throat and thus began:

"You have a daughter, Captain Reece,

Ten female cousins and a niece,

A ma, if what I'm told is true,

Six sisters, and an aunt or two.

"Now, somehow, sir, it seems to me,

More friendly-like we all should be

If you united of 'em to

Unmarried members of the crew.

"If you'd ameliorate our life,

Let each select from them a wife;

And as for nervous me, old pal,

Give me your own enchanting gal!"

Good Captain Reece, that worthy man,

Debated on his coxswain's plan:

"I quite agree," he said, "O Bill;

It is my duty, and I will.

"My daughter, that enchanting gurl,

Has just been promised to an earl,

And all my other familee,

To peers of various degree.

"But what are dukes and viscounts to

The happiness of all my crew?

The word I gave you I'll fulfil;

It is my duty, and I will.

"As you desire it shall befall,

I'll settle thousands on you all,

And I shall be, despite my hoard,

The only bachelor on board."

The boatswain of The Mantelpiece,

He blushed and spoke to Captain Reece.

"I beg your honour's leave," he said,

"If you would wish to go and wed,

"I have a widowed mother who

Would be the very thing for you—

She long has loved you from afar,

She washes for you, Captain R."

The captain saw the dame that day—

Addressed her in his playful way—

"And did it want a wedding ring?

It was a tempting ickle sing!

"Well, well, the chaplain I will seek,

We'll all be married this day week—

At yonder church upon the hill;

It is my duty, and I will!"

The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece,

And widowed ma of Captain Reece,

Attended there as they were bid;

It was their duty, and they did.

[THE DARNED MOUNSEER]

I shipped, d'ye see, in a Revenue sloop,

And, off Cape Finisteere,

A merchantman we see,

A Frenchman, going free,

So we made for the bold Mounseer,

D'ye see?

We made for the bold Mounseer!

But she proved to be a Frigate—and she up with her ports,

And fires with a thirty-two!

It come uncommon near,

But we answered with a cheer,

Which paralysed the Parley-voo,

D'ye see?

Which paralysed the Parley-voo!

Then our Captain he up and he says, says he,

"That chap we need not fear,—

We can take her, if we like,

She is sartin for to strike,

For she's only a darned Mounseer,

D'ye see?

She's only a darned Mounseer!

But to fight a French fal-lal—it's like hittin' of a gal—

It's a lubberly thing for to do;

For we, with all our faults,

Why, we're sturdy British salts,

While she's but a Parley-voo,

D'ye see?

A miserable Parley-voo!"

So we up with our helm, and we scuds before the breeze,

As we gives a compassionating cheer;

Froggee answers with a shout

As he sees us go about,

Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer,

D'ye see?

Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer!

And I'll wager in their joy they kissed each other's cheek

(Which is what them furriners do),

And they blessed their lucky stars

We were hardy British tars

Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo,

D'ye see?

Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo!

[THE RIVAL CURATES]

List while the poet trolls

Of Mr. Clayton Hooper,

Who had a cure of souls

At Spiffton-extra-Sooper.

He lived on curds and whey,

And daily sang their praises,

And then he'd go and play

With buttercups and daisies.

Wild croquet Hooper banned,

And all the sports of Mammon,

He warred with cribbage, and

He exorcised backgammon.

His helmet was a glance

That spoke of holy gladness;

A saintly smile his lance,

His shield a tear of sadness.

His Vicar smiled to see

This armour on him buckled;

With pardonable glee

He blessed himself and chuckled:

"In mildness to abound

My curate's sole design is,

In all the country round

There's none so mild as mine is!"

And Hooper, disinclined

His trumpet to be blowing.

Yet didn't think you'd find

A milder curate going.

A friend arrived one day

At Spiffton-extra-Sooper,

And in this shameful way

He spoke to Mr. Hooper:

"You think your famous name

For mildness can't be shaken.

That none can blot your fame—

But, Hooper, you're mistaken!

"Your mind is not as blank

As that of Hopley Porter,

Who holds a curate's rank

At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.

"He plays the airy flute,

And looks depressed and blighted,

Doves round about him 'toot,'

And lambkins dance delighted.

"He labours more than you

At worsted work, and frames it;

In old maids' albums, too,

Sticks seaweed—yes, and names it!"

The tempter said his say,

Which pierced him like a needle—

He summoned straight away

His sexton and his beadle.

These men were men who could

Hold liberal opinions:

On Sundays they were good—

On week-days they were minions.

"To Hopley Porter go,

Your fare I will afford you—

Deal him a deadly blow,

And blessings shall reward you.

"But stay—I do not like

Undue assassination,

And so, before you strike,

Make this communication:

"I'll give him this one chance—

If he'll more gaily bear him,

Play croquet, smoke, and dance,

I willingly will spare him."

They went, those minions true,

To Assesmilk-cum-Worter,

And told their errand to

The Reverend Hopley Porter.

"What?" said that reverend gent,

"Dance through my hours of leisure?

Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?—

Play croquet? Oh, with pleasure!

"Wear all my hair in curl?

Stand at my door, and wink—so—

At every passing girl?

My brothers, I should think so!

"For years I've longed for some

Excuse for this revulsion:

Now that excuse has come—

I do it on compulsion!!!"

He smoked and winked away—

This Reverend Hopley Porter—

The deuce there was to pay

At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.

And Hooper holds his ground,

In mildness daily growing—

They think him, all around,

The mildest curate going.

[THE ENGLISHMAN]

He is an Englishman!

For he himself has said it,

And it's greatly to his credit,

That he is an Englishman!

For he might have been a Roosian,

A French, or Turk, or Proosian,

Or perhaps Itali-an!

But in spite of all temptations,

To belong to other nations,

He remains an Englishman!

Hurrah!

For the true-born Englishman!