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GILLOTT 
 
 GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY S. LEIGH, 
 
 Author of " Carols of Goelcayiie." 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 BRITISH AND COLONIAL PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
 
 81a, Fleet Street, E.G. 
 
 18 71. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 TRINTED BY JOHN B. DAY, SAVOY STREET, 
 
 STRAND. 
 
TO 
 GODFKEY W. TURNER, ESQ., 
 
 THESE RHYMES ARE 
 DEDICATED BY HIS ATTACHED FRIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ^i~- 
 
 j»r»-- 
 
 CAN find no excuse for the present 
 republication, unless I can find it in 
 Wi the fact that my previous attempt of 
 this kind met "with favourable treat- 
 ment. To the reader's probable ob- 
 jection that my verses mean very little, I 
 must reply (vnth all the modesty at my com- 
 mand) that I did not mean them to mean 
 much more. To a charge of sameness I must 
 plead guilty, with one extenuating circum- 
 stance ; — ^that these trifles were brought into 
 the world at intervals, and can hardly fail, 
 when thus put forward en masse, to present a 
 family likeness bordering on monotony. As a 
 tiny contribution to the railway reading of 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 the day, my little book may rescue an occa- 
 sional traveller from the necessity of observing 
 that " Steam is a Wonderful Invention." It 
 may also serve to assist the amateur songster 
 in providing material for entertainment at the 
 pianoforte. 
 
 My thanks are due, and hereby paid, to 
 those gentlemen who have given me leave to- 
 republish these ballads. 
 
 H. S. L. 
 
 November, 1871. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 An Invocation „ 
 
 Broken Toys ^ 
 
 SeH-Study g 
 
 Bachelor Dreams 
 
 8 
 
 9 
 
 10 
 
 11 
 
 13 
 
 15 
 
 16 
 
 Lukewarm ••• .- 
 
 My Sole Proprietor 
 
 Delicate Ground 
 
 SI 
 22 
 23 
 25 
 26 
 27 
 
 Meeting and Parting 
 Not Saying Much 
 Now and Then ... 
 "The Second Month 
 A City Garden 
 Things Worth Seeing 
 Furniture-Faces .. 
 
 It's No Afiair of Mine ■•• 
 
 The Jewel Song 
 
 Lost in London 
 
 Cause and Effect 
 
 A Wife with a "Will of Her Own 
 
 Advertisement 
 
 Barcarolle 27 
 
 29 
 30 
 
 •Circumstances 
 Not at Home 
 
 Grandpapa Jack ^^ 
 
 Only Wishing g2 
 
 Wanted, a Situation ... ■• •■ g^ 
 
 The Reason of It ••■ „„ 
 
 MyPartner 
 
Vlll INDEX. 
 
 At It Again! 37 
 
 To a Country Cousin ... ... ... ••■ ••• •■• 39 
 
 A Hue and Cry 41 
 
 A New and Original Incident ... 42 
 
 Donning the Motley ■■• 4-3 
 
 Tityrus in Urbe 44 
 
 Lanes without a Turning ... ... 46 
 
 The Cares of Childhood 47 
 
 My Life 49 
 
 Coloured and Plain 51 
 
 The Ballad Singer 52 
 
 Love and Rubbish 53 
 
 Little and Big 54 
 
 Has Anybody Lost a Dog 56 
 
 Yes and No „ ... 57 
 
 Not a Match 59- 
 
 A ViUanous Ambition 60 
 
 No Time to Spare 62 
 
 My After-dinner Cloud 6& 
 
 Orders 65 
 
 After Horace 66 
 
 My Love and My Heart 67 
 
 Young Hopeful 69 
 
 The Album Grievance ... 70 
 
 Ditto to Mr. Burke 72 
 
 A Desert Island ... ... ... ... ... ... 73 
 
 The Chamberlain's Charge ... ... ... ... ... 74 
 
 Single and Double 75 
 
 To My Dear Wife 77 
 
 London Souvenirs ... ... ... ... .. 73 
 
 Very Slightly 79 
 
 Les Adieux ... ... ... ... ... . gj^ 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQTJILL. 
 
 AN INVOCATION. 
 
 ' AKE me away witli you, Fancy dear, 
 Out of this pestilent atmosphere ; 
 Where people are wasting lives to see 
 J What can be spelt out of £ s. d. 
 Take me and hurry me leagues away— 
 Anywhere, anywhere, one brief day. 
 Carry me back into years gone by ; 
 Cycle or century, what care I ? 
 
 Let us elope to the tempting time 
 
 When the great Haroun was enthroned sublime 
 
 Over a region of fruits and flow'rs 
 
 Made by the Prophet for painless hours. 
 
 Let us imbibe, and imbibe full well, 
 
 The joy that Arab/s tales can tell ; 
 
 Just for a day let Bagdad be 
 
 The pearl of the cities on earth for me. 
 
I GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 Music beckons and we reply; 
 More than a century hence we fly. 
 Listen while plays Mozart once more, 
 Playing as no man play'd before ; 
 Handel, giant of Saxon mould, 
 Paints the Egyptian plagues of old ; 
 Orpheus calls, in Gliick's fond strain, 
 Lost Eurydice home again. 
 
 Come where beauty and worth and wit 
 To Vandyke, Kneller, and Lely sit. 
 Farther back into time we go ; 
 Raphael summons, and Angelo. 
 Take me where Shakespeare's ghost invites, 
 To meet "rare Ben" on the Mermaid nights. 
 Dante beckons, and holds unfurl' d 
 A leaf of the life of the under- world. 
 
 Fancy dear, you have spread your wings ; 
 But I seek for none of these bygone things. 
 Carry me only as far this day 
 As the spot where the feet of my true love stray. 
 Bear me along in your soundless flight — 
 Short is the journey, the task is light. 
 Once at the feet of my lady fair, 
 Fancy dear, you may leave me there ! 
 
GILLOTT AiifD GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 BROKEN TOYS. 
 
 , HENEVER in my tender years 
 
 I broke a toy of any sort, 
 I honour'd with a flood of tears 
 The damaged article of sport. 
 Folks told me I was very weak, 
 And very like a naughty boy. 
 To make a streak on either cheek 
 For nothing but a broken toy. 
 
 How oft the fleet and cruel years — 
 
 In bringing age and bringing care — 
 Have brought me fitter cause for tears 
 
 Than all my baby sorrows were. 
 How many hopes — ^how many dreams 
 
 'Twas theirs to give and then destroy ; 
 How many a past ambition seems 
 
 No better than a broken toy ! 
 
 The love that thrilled my latter teens 
 Appear'd no evanescent flame. 
 
 " Soon over 1" — Not by any means ; 
 At fifty 'twould be just the same. 
 
 Doth any glimmer yet survive 
 To lure, to dazzle, to decoy 1] 
 
 No ; Love appears at thirty-five 
 
 As brittle as a broken toy. 
 
 B 2 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 I look on Money as a snare, , 
 
 On Friendship as an empty name ; 
 Of Health I utterly despair, 
 
 And soon shall cease to follow Fame. 
 Ambition, once upon a time, 
 
 Was all my passion, aU my joy ; 
 And now — I scribble empty rhyme, 
 
 And dawdle o'er a. broken toy. 
 
 SELF-STUDY. 
 
 Though the growth of ahighlypoetical mind 
 Made a theme for the Thinker of Rydal, 
 , A second-rate bard will undoubtedly find 
 
 That self-study is most suicidal. 
 Just fancy the eye turning round ia its bed 
 (Not that either of mine ever tried it); 
 Just fancy the orb that looks out of one's head 
 Looking hard, for the future, inside it. 
 
 In vain did the restless and inly-tum'd eyes 
 
 Of my spirit essay to see double ; 
 I thought that my mind would in time prove a prize. 
 
 And I find it a blank for my trouble. 
 One certainty strikes me, now age is in siglit. 
 
 (How I wish it had struck me when younger !) 
 The mind that has fed on itself day and night 
 
 Has been perishing slowly of hunger. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 BACHELOR DREAMS. 
 
 ^'M a bachelor — blooming alone, 
 
 Like tbe last of the roses of summer ; 
 , Each passion and feeling has flown 
 |P That was lately so constant a comer, 
 StiU single at forty (ahem ! — 
 
 I confess rather over than under) ; 
 Left pining to death on my stem — 
 Shall I ever get married, I wonder ? 
 
 I was madly in love at fifteen, 
 
 And as madly as ever when twenty ; 
 While yet I was gushing and green 
 
 I could scribble my sonnets in plenty. 
 Can I now pen a lyric in rhyme. 
 
 Pretty fervid and free from a blunder ? 
 'Tis gone, the poetical time — 
 
 Shall I ever get married, I Avonder ? 
 
 Long ago I was learned in love, 
 
 (How I sigh at the vain recollection !) 
 And many a ringlet or glove 
 
 Has rewarded a week of affection. 
 Those dear ones are married or dead. 
 
 And their hearts and my own cut asunder : 
 My day for devotion has fled — 
 
 Shall I ever get married, I wonder ? 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 I am bald, and a martyr to gout, 
 
 And a host of the ills flesh is heir to : 
 To " pop ■' would be pleasant, no doubt, 
 
 But I feel that I scarcely shall dare to. 
 The girls would reply with a sneer, 
 
 Or a frown as terrific as thunder. 
 My chance is a poor one, I fear — 
 
 Shall I ever get married, I wonder ? 
 
 Shall I venture — or meekly remain 
 
 An old bachelor, brooding and lonely ? 
 Youth left but a heart and a brain 
 
 With a part of their furniture only. 
 No hope of retrieving the theft — 
 
 Not a chance of regaining the plunder ; 
 I should like, though, to share what is Uft- 
 
 Shall I ever get married, I wonder 1 
 
 MEETING AND PARTING. 
 
 N our mere little queer little dream of a life 
 
 It's a fact universally known 
 That, through hurries and worries and struggle and strife, 
 |^ We can scarce call a minute our own. 
 If one fortunate hour brings a pleasure to birth. 
 
 In the next it may droop and may die ; 
 So the most we can do for all joys upon earth 
 Is to say " How d'ye do ?" and " Good bye !" 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQXJILL. 7 
 
 In the springtime of life, as a general rule, 
 
 We were all of us good little boys : 
 Very fond of our lessons at home, or at school. 
 
 And a deal above toffee or toys. 
 But the season of spring, like a volatile thing. 
 
 Was too ready to leave us and fly : — 
 We had barely the leisure before it took wing 
 
 Just to say " How d'ye do 1" and " Good bye !" 
 
 When we came to our summer — the pride of our youth — 
 
 We were lovers, of course, in our teens ; — 
 And we swore to our constancy, swore to our truth, 
 
 Before knowing what constancy means. 
 If we now and then utter'd a fasehood or two — 
 
 (As we did, without quite knowing why) — 
 Pray remember that all of our summer we knew 
 
 Was to say " How d'ye do V and " Good bye !" 
 
 In the autumn of Hfe, when the leaf's getting sere, 
 
 And is ready to drop from the tree; 
 We have time to reflect that the winter is near, 
 
 And predict what the winter will be. 
 If we chance, when our seasons have come to the last. 
 
 To look back with a lingering eye — 
 We shall find that the most that we knew of the past 
 
 Was to say " How d'ye do ?" and " Good bye !" 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 NOT SAYING MUCH, 
 
 /ILL you kindly excuse me for giving 
 
 Advice to the juvenile bard, 
 '■ Who attempts to get fame and a living 
 
 By driving his quill pretty hard ? 
 If his reader gets wearied or dozy 
 The cause is as clear as the day ; 
 Even poets grow dreadfully prosy 
 When poets have nothing to say. 
 
 You may rival the ring and the metre 
 
 Of Shelley and Pope at their best, 
 And your lyre may be softer and sweeter 
 
 Than Coleridge or Keats have possest. 
 You may work till your eyes become weary 
 
 At polishing lyric or lay ! 
 But the best of all poems are dreary 
 
 When poets have nothing to say. 
 
 Little matters the tale or the topic, 
 
 Some topic or tale must be there ; 
 Be impassion'd, austere, misanthropic, 
 
 Or jauntily devil-may-care. 
 You can show off your style and your breeding — 
 
 Both excellent things in their way ; 
 But all poets are ponderous reading 
 
 When poets have nothing to say. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 Pen the praises of Night and her stilhiess, 
 
 The moon and the stars and the sky ; 
 Oive a hint that you suffer from illness, 
 
 Folks revel in rhymers who die. 
 But your sentiment palls in a minute, 
 
 However sublime the display; 
 People only ask " What is there in it ?" 
 
 When poets have nothing to say. 
 
 Little bards, be obliged for my lecture. 
 
 And buy my last book for your shelves, 
 'Though, to tell you the tnith, I conjecture 
 
 I row in the boat with yourselves. 
 If my Pegasus bolts like a filly. 
 
 And carries its rider astray, 
 You in turn may say verses are silly 
 
 When poets have nothing to say. 
 
 NOW AND THEN. 
 
 ^'VE known a faculty depart 
 
 Before the age of twenty-two ; 
 , Id est, the freshness of the heart 
 ^ That fell upon me like a dew. 
 The times unluckily have been. 
 Ere poetry grew utter prose ; 
 When hope was young and very green. 
 And life the colour of the rose, 
 
10 GILLOTT AND 600SEQUILL. 
 
 Oh, Time, you spoiler and you thief. 
 
 What compensation can you bring 
 For flying ofif with my belief 
 
 In everyone and everything ? 
 Experience and my silver hair 
 
 Are all the profit I can claim. 
 For finding Love to be a snare, 
 
 And Friendship little but a name. 
 
 But Love and Frendship fleetly pass ; — 
 
 Where's Robinson — and Mary Jones ? 
 They both are in their tombs, alas ! — 
 
 With no " Eesurgam " on the stones. 
 Ambitions die and hopes deceive ; 
 
 My faith has grown so very small 
 That now I scarcely can believe 
 
 How ever I believed at all. 
 
 oXKo 
 
 THE SECOND MONTH. 
 
 E are wedded — the honeymoon's over- 
 
 My wife is a model for wives ; 
 But the hopes of existing in clover 
 Are spoilt for one couple of lives. 
 It was once my ambition and glory 
 To bill or to coo like a dove ; 
 But I now tell a dififerent story — 
 One cannot be always in love. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 11 
 
 When I cast back a glance and remember 
 
 Six months of devotion intense 
 (From July, let me say, to December) 
 
 I feel that the change is immense. 
 All my life I was wiUing to barter 
 
 Just then for a ringlet or glove : 
 But one cannot be always a martyr — 
 
 One cannot be always in love. 
 
 I confess that my wife has her merits. 
 
 Is forty — is fair — and is fat : 
 From her darling Mamma she inherits 
 
 A temper — ^but never mind that ! 
 But this truth I begin to acknowledge ; 
 
 A truth which I place far above 
 All they teach us at school or at college ; — 
 
 One cannot be always in love ! 
 
 A CITY GARDEN. 
 
 LOSE to the temple of stocks and shares^ 
 
 With Finsbury somewhat nigh ; 
 One step from Babylon's million cares, 
 
 And its Mammonites crowding by ; 
 Parcel and part of our civic maze 
 Where lucre is all in all : 
 Yet out of the world and its worldly ways 
 Is the Garden of Drapers' Hall. 
 
12 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL, 
 
 Fairer and fresher in country parts 
 
 May blossoms and foliage be ; 
 But here, in my Cockney's heart of hearts, 
 
 They are fair and are fresh for me. 
 The herbage scanty, the statues worn, 
 
 The limits of grim brick wall, 
 Oive a touch of a charm in its days forlorn 
 
 To the Garden of Drapers' Hall. 
 
 Thither, aweary of drafts and bills, 
 
 Twin toils of the clerkly trade — 
 I fled from the labour of driving quills 
 
 To the quiet and friendly shade. 
 Little I cared though the Bank might break, 
 
 And the Funds might rise or fall ; 
 So long as I clung, for its own sweet sake, 
 
 To the Garden of Drapers' Hall. 
 
 Thither I carried my Pope and Lamb, 
 
 Or the rhymes of a social bard : 
 I was then — as I now very slightly am- 
 
 In the habit of reading hard. 
 Over my studies in verse or prose, 
 
 I was out of the whole world's call ; 
 Snatching my short half-hour's repose 
 
 In the Garden of Drapers' Hall. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 13 
 
 Few have they left of the quaint old nooks 
 
 That I knew in my earlier day : 
 Lone spots where lovers of strolls or hooks 
 
 Might quietly read or stray. 
 At the fatal beck of Improvement's hand 
 
 Their number has grown so small. 
 That I half dread hearing destruction plann'd 
 
 To the Garden of Drapers' Hall. 
 
 o:«o 
 
 THINGS WOETH SEEING. 
 
 ILL COWPER, though a solid bard. 
 
 Grows hvely now and then ; 
 I read his Johnny Gilpin hard, 
 
 When slightly under ten. 
 By heart I once could quote it all ;' 
 Yet now, at thirty-three, 
 One line alone can I recall : — 
 " May I be there to see." 
 
 From ten to three-and-thirty seems 
 
 Like lightning to have sped ; 
 I dream to day as empty dreams . 
 
 As filled my boyish head. 
 Despite the world's prosaic doubt, 
 
 Utopia lives for me ; — 
 When others find the country out 
 
 " May I be there to see." 
 
14 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 To dwell alone I hardly care 
 
 In such a lonely place ; 
 My terra nova let me share 
 
 With all the human race. 
 When men and women, girls and boys, 
 
 Through all the earth are free 
 To full enjoyment of its joys, 
 
 "May I be there to see." 
 
 We'll not have any fighting done 
 
 By others or ourselves ; 
 The chassepot and the needle-gon 
 
 Shall rust upon our shelves. 
 We'll have no Emperors nor Kings, 
 
 No difference of degree ; 
 Oh, such a happy state of things 
 
 " May I be there to see." 
 
 No mortal ills to call for pills, 
 
 No thieves and no police ; 
 No bigotry nor tailor's bills. 
 
 To break the common peace. 
 Ah, blest Utopia ! Looks it not 
 
 As fair as fair can be 1 
 My brothers, when you find the spot, 
 
 " May I be there to see." 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 15 
 
 FURNITURE-FACES. 
 
 HEN I'm sad and invalided in my solitary room — 
 ) When my frame is all a torture and my spirit all a gloom — 
 To a loftier ambition my imaginings aspire 
 Than romancing on the faces that one traces in the fire. 
 There are castles in the embers, butthey vanish and are past, 
 And their memoryoutlivesthem little longer than they last. 
 But the furniture has images that come to me and stay, 
 And they follow me and haunt me, and they never fade away. 
 
 On the marble of my mantelpiece for ever wiU abide 
 The resemblance of a demon that is fierce and cruel-eyed. 
 As he fixes them upon me they are cruel and are blue ; 
 Not the cobalt of the heavens, but sulphureous in hue. 
 There are wicked-looking faces in the paper on my wall ; 
 If I only look at one of them I seem to see them all. 
 For, before me and behind me, and whichever way I peep, 
 They are glaring out upon me from their orbs that never sleep. 
 
 In the crevice of my ceiling is a bearded Algerine, 
 
 With a scimetar uplifted,, and the scimetar is keen. 
 
 In my Kidderminster carpet there are crocodiles with wings. 
 
 And my hearthrug is a harbour for a host of horrid things ! 
 
 f the snakes upon my sofa-chintz would only go away, 
 I believe that I could manage to be lively for a day. 
 If the griffins on my curtains would avaunt and quit my sight, 
 I should never be so nervous when I go to bed at night. 
 
16 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 If a home should be a paradise instead of the reverse — 
 If a blessing lie in solitude, and not a bitter curse — 
 ni forget my fatal faculty, and give the gift away, 
 And the art of making faces shall be lost this very day. 
 For a lonely winter evening is an ugly time to pass ; 
 And I frequently discover, when I seek my looking-glass, 
 That I've gazed upon the faces till my own, beyond a doubt. 
 Looks as ghastly and as ghostly as the faces round about. 
 
 LUKEWAKM. 
 
 T is crack'd through and through oris broken,, 
 
 This heart that stiU tenants my breast ; 
 Since the words that may ne'er be unspoken 
 pi Were breathed by my brightest and best. 
 The most wretched of men you behold me, 
 With Hope newly torn from his clutch ; 
 For the lips of my Lucy have told me 
 She loves me " a little — not much." 
 
 It was cruelly kind to present me 
 
 This ringlet, her carte, and a glove : 
 It was not in such gifts to content me — 
 
 The gift that I sought was her love. 
 Yet I fear that my Lucy possesses 
 
 A heart that no passion can touch. 
 When she frankly and fairly confesses 
 
 She loves me, " a little — not much." 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 17 
 
 Shall I brood on my grief like a Rousseau, 
 
 Or find a new partner for life 1 
 Shall I imitate Robinson Crusoe, 
 
 Or Coelebs in search of a Wife ? 
 What an end for the hopes that supported 
 
 My steps through the world Hke a crutch, 
 To be told by the charmer I courted 
 
 She loves me '' a little — not much !" 
 
 MY SOLE PROPRIETOR. 
 
 HAT can she do but love me, 
 
 That little wife of mine 1 
 Her brains are far above me, 
 For brains are in her line. 
 I lack the airs of fashion, 
 The lordling's lofty tone ; 
 But she returns my passion 
 Because I'm all her own. 
 
 I speU and cypher badly, 
 
 My aspirates I drop : 
 My talk — I feel it sadly — 
 
 Is not at all tip-top. 
 I fear my faults distress her. 
 
 But she has never shown 
 The least annoyance, bless her ! 
 
 Because I'm aU her own. 
 
 
 
18 GILLOTT AifD GOOSEQTJILL. 
 
 My face is not Apollo's, 
 
 My nose is hardly straight. 
 My right eye rarely foUows 
 
 The movements of its mate. 
 My form presents unduly 
 
 A prominence of bone ; 
 And yet she loves me truly 
 
 Because I'm all her own. 
 
 The signs of youth diminish, 
 
 And on my bullet head 
 The curls get gray and thinnish 
 
 That once grew thick and red. 
 But why at age be snarling 
 
 When youth's for ever flown ? 
 She loves me still, the darUng, 
 
 Because I'm aU her own. 
 
 DELICATE GROUND. 
 
 ' N the course of a life you are likely to mix 
 
 Among folks of all possible kinds ; 
 ' And, in talking, it's highly unfitting to fix 
 K Upon any chance topic one finds. 
 
 You may long to exhibit your wisdom or fun. 
 You may try to be gay or profound ; 
 But you'll often discover when once you've begun 
 That you're treading on " delicate ground." 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQtJILL. 19 
 
 Now, suppose that a friend has induced you to lend 
 
 A respectable sum long ago ; 
 And the time for repayment has come to an end, 
 
 But repayment is dreadfully slow. 
 If you venture to hint at a trifling advance 
 
 Of a shilling or two in, the pound, 
 You can scarcely insist, when you see at a glance 
 
 That you're treading on " delicate ground." 
 
 If you tumble in love and are burning to " pop," 
 
 You should never lose time in despair ! 
 But at once on your knees you should gracefully drop, 
 
 And express what you have to declare. 
 If the nymph should have smiled on a happier swain 
 
 While on you she has constantly frown' d, 
 You may give up the case, for it's perfectly plain 
 
 That you're treading on " delicate ground." 
 
 It's a difficult thing to be always discreet, 
 
 Or talk in a frank sort of way, 
 When you think of the number of people you meet, 
 
 And the number of things that you say. 
 If you notice a sudden and absolute blank 
 
 In the whole of the faces around. 
 You have only yourself and your folly to thank 
 
 That you're treading on " delicate ground." 
 
 c 2 
 
20 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 IT'S NO AFFAIR OF MINE. 
 
 HATE that kind of thing, my dear ; 
 Indeed I'd rather walk 
 [' Ten miles the other way than hear 
 p-. Old Mrs. Grundy talk. 
 Whenever she begins to try 
 The scandalising line, 
 I says to her — I says, says I, 
 It's no affair of mine ! 
 
 If Emma Jane and Mary Anne, 
 
 The maids at Number Two, 
 Are partial to the baker's man — 
 
 What's that, says I, to you ? 
 Suppose the butcher-boy is fond 
 
 Of Number Twenty-Nine, 
 And she may happen to respond ; — 
 
 It's no affair of mine ! 
 
 If Mr. Lot, the auctioneer. 
 
 Has got a shrewish wife — 
 It's not for us, I says, my dear. 
 
 To pry at married life. 
 If Captain C comes back at night 
 
 A deal the worse for wine, 
 And kicks the children left and rights 
 
 It's no affair of miTie ! 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 2t 
 
 I'm sick of Mrs. Grundy's ways. 
 
 And Mrs. Grundy, too ; 
 No doubt she goes about and says 
 
 Queer tilings of me and you. 
 She's always dropping in to tea, 
 
 Or looking in to dine ; — 
 And yet the wretch — but then, you see, 
 
 It's no affair of mine ! 
 
 THE JEWEL SONG. 
 
 Y lover sends me diamonds and pearls. 
 Because he thinks me vain, like other girls, 
 '* And fond, like other girls, of dressing loudly. 
 To send my love his jewels back again 
 Without an hour's delay, by luggage train, 
 Were only acting properly and proudly. 
 
 To think mie worldly-minded — what a shame ! 
 I scorn the world, I hate its very name. 
 
 I fondly pine for solitude and cloisters ; 
 And, as for pearls, permit me to declare, 
 Rather than use the gaudy gems for wear, 
 
 I'd eat three dozen of their native oysters. 
 
22 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 LOST IN LONDON. 
 
 , AR, far away my friends and foes 
 
 Have been and gone and flown ; 
 i So I, like summer's latest rose, 
 
 Am left to bloom alone. 
 In street, or square, or anywhere, 
 I maunder up and down : 
 But squares are empty, streets are bare — 
 The world is out of town. 
 
 Yes, many are upon the Rhine, 
 
 And some upon the Spree, 
 Who late were by the Serpentine, 
 
 Or else beside the Lea. 
 Upon my presence row by row 
 
 Of blind and shutter frown ; 
 They only tell me what I know — 
 
 The world is out of town. 
 
 Afflicted by the bitter truth, 
 
 I murmur in despair ; 
 " Ah, where are all the friends of youth ? 
 
 And echo answers "Where 1" 
 I ask for Smith — I ask for Jones, 
 
 And Robinson and Brown. 
 The breeze repeats in hollow tones — 
 
 The world is out of town. 
 
GILLOTT ANB GOOSEQUILL. 23 
 
 No hand that gives a kindly grip, 
 
 Or waves a " How d'ye do V 
 No hand that rises to the lip 
 
 To blow a kiss or two ; 
 No hand to do a little bill, 
 
 To lend me half-a-crown, 
 Or soothe me if I tumble ill ; — 
 
 The world is out of town. 
 
 No remedy and no relief! 
 
 This weary weight of care — 
 This burden of a lonely grief 
 
 Is more than I can bear. 
 Were I to die in London here. 
 
 To starve, or hang, or drown — 
 What eye is near to drop a tear ? 
 
 The world is out of town. 
 
 CAUSE AND EFFECT. 
 
 ES, you may tell me my temper is bad ; 
 
 Say, if you choose, it is quite unendurable. 
 Say I am hypochondriacal, mad, 
 L Thoroughly out of my mind and incurable. 
 Blighted while yet in the bloom of my age, 
 Firmly believing in Life's inutility, ' 
 Is it a wonder I fly in a rage ? 
 Yet people talk of my irritability. 
 
24 GItLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 Memory still, upon torture intent, 
 
 Pictures each early and gloomy vicissitude; 
 Still she reminds me how Destiny sent 
 
 Beauty and Love to enlist my solicitude. 
 Beauty and Love did I sigh for in vain, 
 
 Hope disappear d with its bubble fragility ; 
 Earth grew a prison, and Life was a chain ; 
 
 Yet people talk of my irritability, 
 
 Cross'd in affection, I struggled for fame ; 
 
 Little I thought what thy service, Apollo, cost. 
 Verses I wrote which a Shelley might claim — 
 
 Rhymes that are long ago burnt as a holocaust. 
 Snubbed by the dregs of the publishing crew. 
 
 Not even treated with common civility. 
 Fame to the winds in a fury I threw ; 
 
 Yet people talk of my irritability. 
 
 Though I inherited cash at my birth. 
 
 Somehow I lost it in banks that were shady ones. 
 Have I — oh ! have I — a friend upon earth ? 
 
 Nothing but one or two elderly lady ones. 
 Failing in health and a martyr to gout, 
 
 Plunged in a state that is half imbecility, 
 Sick of the world and in hopes to get out — 
 
 Can you complain of my irritability ?_ 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 25 
 
 A WIFE WITH A WILL OF HER OWN. 
 
 ONG ago (in the days of my bachelor life) 
 
 When I suffer'd few sorrows or cares, 
 I became a young Coelebs, in search of a wife 
 
 With a turn for domestic affairs. 
 People told me that women were thoughtless and weak, 
 "* And unfit to be trusted alone ; 
 
 So I made up my mind that the treasure Td seek 
 Was a wife with a will of her own. 
 
 For decision and firmness I hunted about, 
 
 Among spinsters of ev'ry degree : 
 Tin I singled a strong-minded ladylove out 
 
 As exactly the treasure for me. 
 I prepared for refusal, but gain'd the reverse, 
 
 And felt proud as a king on his throne. 
 When I found myself wedded for better or worse 
 
 To a wife with a will of her own. 
 
 But the honeymoon scarcely was over and past, 
 
 When I slowly began to suspect 
 That I'd made my decision a little too fast. 
 
 Without taking my time to reflect". 
 I was bullied and snubb'd till I said with a sigh, 
 
 " How I wish I could only have known 
 What it is to be bound, till you happen to die, 
 
 To a wife with a will of her own !" 
 
26 GILLOTT AST) GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 I'm dull as an owl and as meek as a mouse, 
 
 While my wife lias her will and her way : 
 Of an evening I cannot stir out of the house, 
 
 Though I'm awfuUy fond of the play. 
 There's a moral, no doubt, in our cat and dog life ; 
 
 And that moral I've carefully shown : 
 You should never look out, if in want of a wife, 
 
 For a wife with a will of her own ! 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 'VE a skuU to let, unfurnish'd. 
 
 When the owner's lease is up : 
 Set in pearls and brightly burnish' d- 
 liV It would make a drinking-cup. 
 Little has the present writer 
 Gain'd from liquor in his head ; 
 May be it will foam the brighter 
 When the present writer's dead. 
 
 When you dip your nose within it 
 
 (Let it be by night or day). 
 Meditate for half a minute 
 
 In a sober, solemn way. 
 Rarely did the advertiser 
 
 Get a thought within his head ; 
 Let it be a thought the wiser 
 
 When the advertiser's dead. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 27' 
 
 BARCAROLLE. 
 
 FOB AN EIGHT-OARED OUTRIGGER. 
 S we dart through the waves in the midsummer weather- 
 Look out, number five, you're a little too slow ! — 
 With a long pull, a strong pull, a pull altogether, 
 
 What bliss more ecstatic has life to bestow 1 
 I have brought my guitar, and can play it while steering- 
 I've also provided an %t de poitrine ; 
 So your coxswain will chant you a baUad worth hearing — 
 A crab, number two ! What on earth can you mean ? 
 
 Luraliety, ho ! I'll dispense with a chorus. 
 
 I've twisted the ropes, and we're getting aground — 
 With the waters beneath and the sky beaming o'er us — 
 
 Pull easy ! Thank goodness, I've got them unwound; 
 Luraliety, ho ! As we glide o'er the ripples — 
 
 By Jove, number six, what a duffer you are ! 
 Here's a barge running into us ; go it, you cripples ! 
 
 Too late, it's all over. Save, save my guitar ! 
 
 CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 j^MITH, who gets an invitation 
 
 For a party or a baU 
 ■ Given by a rich relation. 
 Wishes to escape it all. 
 As he neither sings nor dances, 
 And is neither deep nor droll, 
 He declines — " from circumstances 
 Over which he's no control." 
 
■28 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 Brown conceives a warm affection, 
 
 But its object is consign'd 
 To lier maiden aunt's protection ; 
 
 And her aunt lias got a mind. 
 Beown, as true in his advances 
 
 As the needle to the pole, 
 Knds that aunts are " circumstances 
 
 Over which he's no control." 
 
 TOMKINS owes a mint of money. 
 
 And, with LUhputian purse, 
 Feels the present far from suimy, 
 
 And the future worse and worse. 
 What is left him (now the chances 
 
 Are against him on the whole), 
 But to talk of " circumstances 
 
 Over which he's no control 1" 
 
 Nineteen cases out of twenty 
 
 May be met with this excuse ; 
 So you see that there are plenty 
 
 More examples to adduce. 
 But the present writer fancies 
 
 (He is not a wit, poor soul !) 
 Double rhymes are " circumstances 
 
 Over which he's no control." 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 20^ 
 
 NOT AT HOME. 
 
 1 AREWELL, to paper, pen and ink ;, 
 
 I drop the weary quill, 
 ^To pass a week without a drink 
 ; At Aganippe's rill. 
 My Muse — if Robinson should call,. 
 Or Jones, or Smith, or Brown — 
 Be kind enough to tell them all. 
 The bard is out of town. 
 
 My Muse, I leave my second floor, 
 
 In confidence to you, 
 And paste a paper on the door 
 
 With just a word or two. 
 So people trotting up the stairs. 
 
 And people trotting down. 
 May read a notice which declares' 
 
 The bard is out of town. 
 
 Then let my printer's devil knock. 
 
 And ring the rusty bell ; 
 And let my tailor try the lock, 
 
 That guards my lonely cell. 
 Go, printer, let some other play 
 
 The cynic or the clown. 
 Go, Snip. Return some other day ;. 
 
 The bard is out of town. 
 
so GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 It pains me to desert my Muse, 
 
 And leave her here alone ; 
 'Twill vex her very much to lose 
 
 A genius like my own. 
 She rarely lets me have my way ; 
 
 But let her smile or frown, 
 For just a wegk, I beg to say, 
 
 The bard is out of town. 
 
 GRANDPAPA JACK. 
 
 EAR Grandpapa Jack, you must frankly be told 
 fYou are getting more stupid while getting more old, 
 r And the state of your intellect, weak from the first. 
 By degrees has at present arrived at its worst. 
 You have been such a hopeless old pauper till now. 
 That your mind got neglected, one hardly cared how. 
 But your millionaire cousin, a week or two back. 
 Died and left you his property, Grandpapa Jack. 
 
 There are duties in wealth which the poor man may shun — 
 As a matter of course, education is one : 
 And, though rich, you've become such an absolute fool, 
 That we all think it better to send you to school. 
 Though you're eighty, or near it, you'll probably find 
 That you still have a chance of improving your mind ; 
 But I wish, 'ere you start on so novel a track, 
 To advise and admonish you, Grandpapa Jack, 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQTJILL. 81 
 
 They will teach you the alphabet ; never despair, 
 
 If at first it defies your most vigilant care. 
 
 They ■will teach you arithmetic, too (if they carC) 
 
 Which is always of use to an opulent man. 
 
 If you cannot write pothooks and hangers with ease, 
 
 Or make dots over i's and put crosses to t's. 
 
 Never fear, but imdaunted renew the attack. 
 
 And at length you may conquer them, Grandpapa Jack. 
 
 ^Tis incautious to lay out much money in toys ; 
 
 And beware how you meddle with quarrelsome boys. 
 
 If your schoolfellows taunt you, this maxim recall : — 
 
 Pick the little ones out if you must fight at all. 
 
 You must also beware, when temptations arise, 
 
 Of becoming dyspeptic on sweetstuff and pies. 
 
 Take my blessing and prosper ; you can't plead the lack 
 
 Of advice and admonishment, Grandpapa Jack. 
 
 ONLY WISHING. 
 
 OUR eyes, my love, are brightly blue. 
 
 And brightly golden are your tresses, 
 Your very looks are billets doux, 
 '^i That go at once to their addresses. 
 ' Your temper is a sunny sky, 
 
 Where clouds may very rarely mingle, 
 You've laid a mint of money by; 
 i only wish that I were single. 
 
32 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 'Twould be a happy task, methinks, 
 
 To court you, out of town or in it ; 
 Let Cupid weave his thickest links. 
 
 And I could wear them in a minute. 
 For in a street or in a square. 
 
 Or in a dell or in a dingle, 
 'Twere bliss to kneel, and sigh, and swear, 
 
 I only wish that I were single. 
 
 My wife is plain and forty-five — 
 
 In talents I am far above her ; 
 'Tis not so easy to contrive 
 
 To think I rather think I love her. 
 I simply honour and obey 
 
 Because my wedded ears may tingle 
 If ever she should hear me say, 
 
 I only wish that I were single. 
 
 WANTED, A SITUATION. 
 
 Y little wants are few enough ; — 
 
 The thing I most of all want 
 Is one that none except a muff 
 
 Would mention as a small want. 
 I'm not a footman out of place 
 In search of occupation ; 
 But mine is just as bad a case— 
 I want a Situation. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 33 
 
 Ten years I've worked my busy brain 
 
 In drama for the million : 
 I don't aspire to Drury Lane, 
 
 Nor stoop to the Pavilion. 
 I've sought materials low and high 
 
 To edify the nation ; 
 At last the fount is running dry — 
 
 I want a Situation. 
 
 Tve known the day when wicked earls. 
 
 Who made improper offers 
 To strictly proper village girls, 
 
 Could fill a house's coffers. 
 The lowly peasant could create 
 
 A wonderful sensation. 
 Such people now are out of date — 
 
 I want a Situation. 
 
 The carpenter and painter seem 
 
 To lord it in our dramas ; 
 We want expresses worked by steam, 
 
 And gorgeous panoramas. 
 I naturally wish to join 
 
 This march of education. 
 Hang art and talent ; where's the coin ?- 
 
 I want a Situation. 
 
34 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL, 
 
 I fancy tliat a heavy swell, 
 
 Who burks his only daughter 
 At midnight in a diving-bell, 
 
 Would draw (across the water). 
 And yet I'm doubtful, I confess;— 
 
 (Excuse my hesitation), 
 I want a genuine success — 
 
 I want a Situation. 
 
 THE REASON OF IT. 
 
 ^ you ask me the cause of my firmly declining 
 To join in the revel, the dance, or the song 1 
 [Do you ask why I'm seldom or never seen dining 
 
 At boards where the world's giddy votaries throng ? 
 Would you learn how the garment I formerly cherish' d — 
 Which takes from the swallow the form of its tail — 
 Hath survived while its bloom and its brightness have perish'd 
 From hanging so painfully Iqng on a nail ? 
 
 T will tell you the reason ; it forcibly strikes me 
 That nobody loves me, if anyone likes me. 
 
 There are times in our life wlien this earthly Sahara 
 
 Receives the salute of the deadly Simoom ; 
 When the harp that was long ago tuneful in Taxa 
 
 Reverberates only in echoes of gloom. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 35 
 
 I have known sucli a time — -when my idols were shatter' d, 
 
 When Friendship and Love spread their wings to depart ; 
 When Despair (arm-in-arm with Misanthropy) batter'd 
 Remarkably hard at the door of my heart. 
 
 I will tell you the reason ; it forcibly strikes me 
 That nobody loves me, if anyone Ukes me. 
 
 Woe is me that I open'd this heart at their summons, 
 
 Instead of remorselessly barring its door ; 
 Many lodgers I've had, but a pair of such rum'uns 
 
 I never — ^no, never — encounter'd before. 
 When the worm shall abscond from the depths of his apple, 
 
 The earwig abandon the folds of his rose. 
 Shall my destiny grant me the courage to grapple 
 
 For life or for death with my tenants and foes. 
 
 I will tell you the reason ; it forcibly strikes me 
 That nobody loves me, if anyone Hkes me. 
 
 'Twas my hope to have died with my secret unwritten — 
 
 This badge of my sorrow, this mark of my shame : 
 But it gnaws like the fox which appears to have bitten] 
 That gallant young Spartan (I don't know his name). 
 Let the frivolous jeer at my bitter confession ; 
 
 A nature like mine how can they understand 1 
 I wiU put the whole world, if I can, in possession 
 Of all that I know on the question in hand. 
 
 So I tell you the reason ; it forcibly strikes me 
 That nobody loves me, if anyone Hkes me. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 MY PARTNER 
 
 ", ULL often at my cosy club 
 
 I take my claret and my joint. 
 And then essay a friendly rub 
 
 At silver tbreepennies the point. 
 My partner is a ghastly man, 
 
 With awful knowledge of the game; 
 -play as deftly as I can — 
 He treats my efforts all the same. 
 
 I lead a trump, no matter why — 
 
 We lose the trick, no matter how ; 
 I feel the fury of his eye. 
 
 And see the scowl upon his brow. 
 I give a shrug as if to say, 
 
 'Twas purely an affair of chance ; 
 He coughs in quite a quiet way — 
 
 But oh, the lightning of his glance ! 
 
 Perchance I play a lively Eang, 
 
 When swiftly on the monarch's face 
 (Before I dream of such a thing) 
 
 My bold opponent puts an ace. 
 The luck is theirs, and such a tide 
 
 Is quite impossible to stem ; 
 My partner turns his head aside, 
 
 And mournfully observes "Ahem !" 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 37 
 
 At length. I gradually lose 
 
 AJl sense of what we are about ; 
 With little time to pick or choose, 
 
 I play a card when twelve are out. 
 I know it's utterly absurd, 
 
 And frankly feel we cannot win ; 
 My partner never says a word, 
 
 But kicks me hard upon the shin. 
 
 What matters that 1 One little graze 
 
 Will only last a week or so ; 
 And what are six or seven days 
 
 Of poulticing to undergo 1 
 But, when I wildly dash away 
 
 More desperately than before, 
 My partner swears he'll never play 
 
 With such an idiot any more. 
 
 AT IT AGAIN ! 
 
 ^N my juvenile era, when father and mother 
 Were teaching my infant ideas to shoot, 
 [ I was always in some sort of mischief or other, 
 «t^ Directly those infant ideas took root. 
 
 When my parents discover' d a petty transgression. 
 
 They flogg'd me with most of their might and their main ; 
 But I own — though I blush while I pen the confession — 
 The whipping once past, I was "at it again !" 
 
38 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 When I plunged into love — and once more I sit blushing !- 
 
 My obstinate qualities follow' d me still. 
 I divided my days between glooming and gushing ; 
 
 I drest very nicely and look'd very ill. 
 I proposed — but, of course, to be calmly rejected, — 
 
 No matter, my rage and regret were in vain. 
 There were girls by the score to be woo'd, I reflected— r- 
 
 And, after a while, I was " at it again !" 
 
 I beUeved there was fame to be had for the asking ; 
 
 The principal question was how to begin. 
 I was full of the hopes and the pleasures of basking 
 
 In public applause and the popular tin. 
 But the managers treated my tragedy rudely ; 
 
 My novels met merely with utter disdain. 
 " There's a call for an epic," said I, very shrewdly — 
 
 So, lo and behold, I was "at it again !" 
 
 When I. thought of a scheme to recruit my finances. 
 
 Quoth I, a rich widow may probably pay. 
 I had long ago quitted my boyish romances, 
 
 And now I made love in a sensible way. 
 She had cash in the funds, but I miss'd it completely ; 
 
 I got but a " No " for my trouble and pain. 
 So I said, " I must manage in future more neatly ; " 
 
 And soon I was ardently " at it again !" 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 39 
 
 Through the varied events of this mortal existence 
 
 I've always adopted this obstinate way. 
 I believe on the whole in a Httle persistence, 
 
 And practise it thoroughly day after day. 
 I've a Muse that's as lively and gay as a kitten, 
 
 She burns with a fury I cannot restrain ; 
 So, supposing you don't like the verses I've written, 
 
 I mean very soon to be "at it again !" 
 
 TO A COUNTRY COUSIN. 
 
 ALBUM VERSES. 
 
 f RUEL Cousin Kate, you ask me 
 For a lyric or a lay. 
 How tyrannical to task me, 
 
 Consul Kate, in such a way. 
 Pardon me, I pray, and pity — 
 (Oh, do anything but frown !) 
 For I can't be wise or witty 
 In an album out of town. 
 
 No, my pegasus will canter 
 
 Only here on civic stones ; 
 In the country I i/nstanter 
 
 Come to grief and broken bones. 
 Be it mine to sing the city. 
 
 Where I seek my mild renown ; — 
 But I can't be wise or witty 
 
 In an album out of town. 
 
40 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 Small my power and small my -mil is 
 
 Rural sympathies to wiii ; 
 Ludgate my sublimest hill is, 
 
 And my fields are Lincoln's Inn. 
 AH the Muses in committee, 
 
 Pouring inspiration down, 
 Cannot make me wise or witty 
 
 In an album out of town. 
 
 London life in many phases 
 
 I describe for Cockney friends ; 
 Lead me out amongst the daisies 
 
 And my versifying ends. 
 I can favour with a ditty 
 
 Jones, and Robinson and Brown ; 
 But I can't be wise or witty 
 
 In an album out of town. 
 
 Cousin, hear my supplication ; 
 
 Give me something else to do. 
 Is there aught in all creation 
 
 I would not attempt for you ? 
 Ask my Ufe, my cruel Kitty : 
 
 Bid me hang, or bid me drown ; 
 But I can't be wise or witty 
 
 In an album out of town. 
 
 ->.< 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 41 
 
 A HUE AND CRY. 
 
 OST — ^lost — ^for ever lost, alack ! 
 
 Some years of precious time ; 
 Which no regret can bring me back, 
 
 And no insipid rhyme. 
 But when they went, and where they went, 
 
 I never yet could find. 
 Lost — ^lost the days that I have spent 
 In making up my mind. 
 
 To advertise them in the Ti/mes, 
 
 Or in the Telegraph, 
 Were better that to scribble rhymes 
 
 That only earn a laugh. 
 But prose would weakly represent 
 
 A grief of such a kind. 
 Lost — ^lost the days that I have spent 
 
 In making up my mind. 
 
 I'm never slow, but otherwise. 
 
 To contemplate a plan ; — 
 I fancy I can theorise 
 
 As fast as any man. 
 Restore me. Fate, but five per cent. 
 
 Of hopes that I've resign'd ; — 
 Lost — lost the days that I, have spent 
 
 In making up my mind. 
 
42 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUXLL. 
 
 I might have ■nron, I'm pretty sure, 
 
 A fortune and a wife ; — 
 Perhaps' I might have been secure 
 
 Of happiness for life. 
 To-day my taxes and my rent 
 
 Are very mach behind. 
 Lost — ^lost the days that I have spent 
 
 In making up my mind. 
 
 I've proved ambition a mistake, 
 
 And found that many a scheme 
 Which once I fancied wide-awake 
 
 Has ended in a dream. 
 At present I must rest content 
 
 To sing (when so incHned) ; — 
 Lost — lost the days that I have spent 
 
 In making up my mind. 
 
 A NEW AND ORIGINAL INCIDENT. 
 
 HILE sauntering lonely — last Saturday only — 
 
 In Tavistock-street, Covent-garden, 
 Methought I would wander with Nature, and ponder. 
 
 Like Jacques, in the Forest of Arden. 
 As soon as I enter' d, my notice was centred 
 At once on the roses and Hlies. 
 But, when these became tiring, I took to admiring 
 The dear little daffydowndillies. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 43- 
 
 It was truly entrancing to see tliem all dancing, 
 And nodding away at the breezes ; 
 
 And the pleasant emotion convey'd by that notion- 
 Comes back to my mind when it pleases. 
 
 Now you'll think me a baby, or class me, it may be,. 
 With other poetical silhes ; 
 
 But I feel it a pleasure, sublime beyond measure. 
 To dance with my daffydowndillies. 
 
 DONNING THE MOTLEY. 
 
 OND fathers talk to little boys 
 Of life. and Life's conditions, 
 4.nd ask what most of all employs 
 
 Their juvenile ambitions. 
 Some answer money, some renown : 
 My own desires were humble, 
 I had a wish to be a clown. 
 To paint my face and tumble. 
 
 I envied in my early day. 
 
 That rough but ready joker. 
 Who drives the world at large away 
 
 Before a redden'd poker. 
 With such a lot in life, said I, 
 
 Could mortal ever grumble ? 
 What happiness, was all my cry. 
 
 To paint my face and tumble ! 
 
44 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 But years have given me, I think, 
 
 A little naore discretion ; 
 If there's a trade from which I shrink, 
 
 It is a clown's profession. 
 The paths in life are manifold. 
 
 And life itself s a jumble ; 
 I should not care, when growing old. 
 
 To paint my face and tumble. 
 
 And yet my own career, it seems, 
 
 Has little more of clover ; 
 I'm waking from Ambition's dreams, 
 
 My dreams of love are over. 
 My castles in the air decay. 
 
 Their waUs begin to crumble. 
 Fate says, Be funny: write away ! — 
 
 Come, paint your face and tumble ! 
 
 TITYEUS IN TJRBE. 
 
 AY-FAIR, thine enchantment is over; 
 The knockers hang mute at the doors. 
 Amaryllis has flown (vid Dover) — 
 Alexis has left for the moors. 
 '^. And the squares in ovir dullest of cities 
 Re-echo the notes of my lay, 
 As I pipe Metropolitan ditties. 
 And strive to be jocund and gay. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQtTILL. 4 
 
 But Hampstead and Highgate are hilly, 
 
 And Clapham though dull is discreet : 
 And, whatever you say, Piccadilly 
 
 Is not at all bad as a street. 
 I can stray by the Parliament Houses, 
 
 Or muse from the dawn till the dark 
 On the ijmocent mutton that browses 
 
 All day in the neighbouring Park. 
 
 I can lounge in the haunts of the fashion 
 
 As oft and as long as I please ; 
 Giving scope to my favourite passion 
 
 For water, for plants, and for trees. 
 And, if Nature's complete panorama 
 
 Due solace should fail to impart, 
 I can flee to the shrine of the Drama, 
 
 To purchase a refuge in Art. 
 
 Still I mourn for the close of the season, 
 
 I sigh for the friends that have flown ; 
 Though I can't give a definite reason. 
 
 Except that Pm lonely alone. 
 Come again, my adored Amaryllis 
 
 (In other words Emily Jane) ; — 
 With your sister, Miss Florry (that's Phyllis)- 
 
 Come back to poor London again. 
 
46 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 LANES WITHOUT A TURNING. 
 
 ,HAT scores of moralists you hear 
 
 Exalting Patience as a virtue ; — 
 ! When sad, they bid you be of cheer, 
 
 No earthly troubles long can hurt you. 
 Their sympathy and good advice 
 I hope you never think of spuming : 
 They've told you, maybe, once or twice, 
 Long is the lane without a turning. 
 
 Suppose your journey rather brief. 
 
 And straight the line that leads you through it : 
 You need no zig-zags for reHef, 
 
 The path is plain and you pursue it. 
 But make the journey long, you see — 
 
 One fact you cannot help discerning. 
 Your way, though pleasant it may be, 
 
 Looks longer far without a turning. 
 
 Still on and on, precisely straight. 
 
 You find monotony is teasing — 
 And very soon begin to hate 
 
 The hedges that at first were pleasing. 
 Now just imagine the dismay 
 
 That fills your bosom upon learning 
 You can't escape in any way — 
 
 You're in the lane without a turning. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 47 
 
 Life's path seems either long or short ; 
 
 Some like the trip, some wish it over : — 
 Though very few of any sort 
 
 Make all the journey through the clover. 
 And when in love, or when in debt, 
 
 Or haply with ambition burning. 
 Long seems the lane, and longer- yet. 
 
 Because it's one without a turning. 
 
 Your travels He — they often do — 
 
 Through roads beset by thorny trials ; 
 The Fates have drench'd you through and through 
 
 In all the wrath of all their vials. 
 Long seems the way — full well it may ; 
 
 For some encouragement you're yearning. 
 Up come Job's comforters to say. 
 
 This lane's a lane without a turning. 
 
 THE CARES OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 OU tell me, poet, in your lays — 
 
 You tell me, singer, in your song — 
 That, looking back to early days, 
 
 No brighter days to life belong. 
 My poet, and my singer, cease 
 
 The empty verse — the vapid strain; 
 But answer, ere you hold your peace. 
 Why wish to be a child again ? 
 
48 GILLOTT AST) GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 Oh, must we o'er and o'er be told 
 
 How quickly childhood fleeted by ;, 
 "With its December very cold. 
 
 And very sultry its July 1 
 July is warm, December dull 
 
 And thus wiU probably remaui ; 
 So, if you get your seasons still, 
 
 Why wish to be a child again ? 
 
 That I myself have been a child 
 
 (Some years before I was a youth),. 
 May seem a statement rather wild 
 
 And incompatible with truth. 
 But it's a bitter fact ; and thence 
 
 I think my right is pretty plain 
 To ask you, as a man of sense, 
 
 Why wish to be a child again ? 
 
 You think, when I was very small. 
 
 That I was better than I a/m. 
 But was I truthful ? — Not at all. 
 
 Or honest ? — No, I stole the jam. 
 I treated mother as a foe, 
 
 And nurse with juvenile disdain., 
 If you,; my friend, were ever so. 
 Why wish to be a child again ? 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 49 
 
 And now, in these maturer years, 
 
 I know my will and have my way ; 
 No unkind monitor appears, 
 
 To thrash me when I go astray. 
 I have my whack of pleasure now, 
 
 As then I had my whack of pain. 
 The score is equal, anyhow ; 
 
 Why wish to be a child again ? 
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 'VE written poesy and prose. 
 
 Philosophy and fun ; 
 I've run the gamut, goodness knows, 
 j^ From pedantry to pun. 
 I've battled very hard for Fame, 
 Untiring in the strife ; 
 I've earn'd a tolerable name. 
 And now — I'll write my life. 
 
 I've no intense desire to die 
 
 At present — Fate forbid ! 
 But, if I wish my Hfe to try, 
 
 'Tis nearly time I did. 
 My days are in their " yellow leaf" 
 
 (To quote the Thane of Fife) ; 
 My chances may be few and brief, 
 
 So let me write my life. 
 
50 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 The book, if publish'd at a crown, 
 
 Is sure to make a hit ; 
 And thousands in and out of town 
 
 Will fly to purchase it. 
 A host of talent and of taste. 
 
 With eager paper-knife. 
 Will cut my leaves in busy haste 
 
 And feed upon my life. 
 
 Most autobiographic works 
 
 I've met with in my time 
 Attempt — ^the phrase is Mr. Burke' s- 
 
 The Beautiful-Sublime. 
 With incident, at any rate, 
 
 Their eVry page is rife. 
 What incidents can I relate 
 
 When I describe my life ? 
 
 My early days are quite a blank, 
 
 My later Httle more : 
 I never knew a man of rank 
 
 Nor cross'd the Chaunel o'er. 
 I never had a quarrel yet, 
 
 I never had a wife : 
 But never mind ; — I'm sure to get 
 
 A thousand for my life. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 51 
 
 COLOURED AND PLAIN. 
 
 ,N early life I gain'd enough of knowledge 
 To make me rather less than half a fool, 
 , By plodding at a place they call'd a college — 
 * * Though, entre nous, 'twas nothing but a schooL 
 To pictures I devoted my affection. 
 
 And fiU'd my gallery from Drury Lane : 
 The price of eVry gem in the collection 
 Was twopence colour'd and a penny plain. 
 
 The seven champions of as many nations 
 
 Were mix'd with effigies of N. T. Hicks. 
 I had Macready in his best creations, 
 
 And Mr. T. P. Cooke in five or six. 
 Young Nerval in the tartan, with a feather, 
 
 Described his parent as "a frugal swain ;" — 
 In short I pull'd a motley group together 
 
 For twopence colour'd and a penny plain. 
 
 In melodramas I invested freely. 
 
 Where characters run up to nine or ten ; — 
 I ranged from Black-eyed Susan to Tekeli, 
 
 From Obi to the Miller and his Men, 
 They sold me half-a-dozen lords and ladies, 
 
 And half-a-dozen robbers in a chain, 
 For nothing more — to show how cheap the trade is — 
 
 Than twopence colour'd and a penny plain. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQTJILL. 
 
 From kings to countr3rmen got represented 
 
 In that incongruously varied set, 
 With all the dresses ever yet invented, 
 
 And many that are unin vented yet. 
 The ruffian in a cloak and in a fury — 
 
 Who growls "No matter; we shall meet again !"- 
 Was easily obtainable in Drury 
 
 For twopence colour'd and a penny plain. 
 
 My tastes in art have suffer' d alteration ; — 
 
 I cannot feel, as formerly I felt. 
 That Rafael, at his highest elevation. 
 
 Is much inferior to Mr. Skelt. 
 Yet now and then fond memories compel me 
 
 To soften the contempt I entertain 
 For pictures of the sort they used to sell me 
 
 At twopence colour'd and a penny plain. 
 
 THE BALLAD SINGER. 
 
 HEARD him singing in the square 
 
 A song of other times ; 
 And there was nothing in the air, 
 it^ And little in the rhymes. 
 He sang without a bit of style, 
 He sang without a voice ; 
 But somehow, for a little while, 
 He made my heart rejoice. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 53 
 
 And many thoughts and many dreams 
 
 Came flocking round me fast : 
 And Memory brought me many gleams 
 
 Of sunshine from the past. 
 For when I was a tiny boy, 
 
 A tidy time ago, 
 It was my weakness to enjoy 
 
 The " liixury of woe." 
 
 It gave me pleasure to rehearse 
 
 The many-colour'd woes 
 Of people woe-begone in verse, 
 
 And woe-begone in prose. 
 But, since I was extremely young, 
 
 I've never (till to-day) 
 Heard such a woeful ballad sung 
 
 In such a woeful way. 
 
 LOVE AND KUBBISH. 
 
 N a day when Love's Aurora 
 Lighted all the sky of life, 
 When I fancied that my Flora 
 Ij^ Was to be my wife ; 
 ^ As a pledge of the confession 
 
 That I read in both her eyes. 
 Of her glove I took possession — 
 Six three-quarters size. 
 
54 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 Though of superfine kid leather, 
 
 All the finger-tips were torn ; 
 And the glove was altogether 
 
 Very old and worn. 
 In my desk I laid the token — 
 
 In a corner quite apart ; 
 Emblem of a faith soon broken, 
 
 And a breaking heart. 
 
 For I found she loved another, 
 
 And my miseries began ; 
 She is married and a mother, 
 
 I'm a single man. 
 "Will she think me rude or cubbish 
 
 If I send her back the glove. 
 Telling her to throw her rubbish 
 
 Where she throws her love ? 
 
 LITTLE AND BIG. 
 
 " The child is father to the man." — Wobdswobth. 
 
 HITS wrote, in a moment of weakness, 
 
 A great metaphysical bard ; 
 But the phrase, I submit in all meekness,. 
 
 Is not worth a minute's regard. 
 It is merely a random assertion 
 That looks rather lofty in rhyme ; 
 And with people who read The JEoocursion^ 
 May possibly pass for sublime. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 55 
 
 Mr. W. does not inform us 
 
 (I very much doubt if he can) 
 How he comes by a creed so enormous 
 
 Concerning the child and the man. 
 I began, Hke himself, as a baby, 
 
 Like him I became an adult ; 
 And have thought as profoundly, it may be, — 
 
 But not with so little result. 
 
 Excuse me for turning my nose up 
 
 At sight of this paradox wild : , 
 I assert that no son ever grows up 
 
 A bit like his father the child. 
 Just observe what mammas, amongst others, 
 
 Declare of nine babies in ten. 
 They are " sweet pretty things," cry the mothers. 
 
 Well, where are the sweet pretty men t 
 
 Then the babes, as a rule, are " so clever." 
 
 They notice whatever takes place. 
 Do they make men of intellect ? Never ; 
 
 At least, such is rarely the case. 
 I myself was a genius — a beauty — 
 
 Past rivalry many degrees : — 
 Has my father's own son done his duty? 
 
 Just look at me now, if you please ! 
 
 oX«o 
 
56 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 HAS ANYBODY LOST A DOG. 
 
 WAS down Piccadilly some little time back, 
 
 When the dirtiest dog ever seen 
 Took a fancy to follow quite close in my track, 
 s^ To my lodgings near Paddington Green. 
 I would willingly spend eVry atom I'm worth, 
 To find out who his master may be ; 
 For, supposing he Owns any master on earth. 
 Why on earth should the brute follow me ? 
 Permit me to ask, 
 As I'm still in a fog, 
 "Has anyone lost such a thing as a dog ?" 
 
 Only fancy a gentleman drest in the style, 
 
 And reflect what that gentleman feels 
 When he tramps the metropolis mile after mile 
 
 With a strange little whelp at his heels. 
 But the worst of my story I've still to relate ; 
 
 For he settled in front of my door, 
 And inform'd me as plainly as language could state 
 
 That we never should part any more. 
 Permit me to ask, 
 As I'm still in a fog, 
 
 "Has anyone lost such a thing as a dog ?" 
 
 If I drive him away he returns to his post, 
 
 If I kick him he won't even stir ; 
 And I've emptied a butt of cold water almost 
 
 On the head of that quaint-looking cur. 
 
GILLOTT AJJD GOOSEQXJILL. 57 
 
 How he picks up his meals is a mystery quite ; 
 
 Though I'm rather inclined to believe 
 That he haunts the back slums in the dead of the night. 
 And is awfully given to thieve. 
 Permit me to ask, 
 As I'm stiU in a fog, 
 " Has anyone lost such a thing as a dog ?" 
 
 Could I learn his address I might coax him away ; 
 
 Could I hit on his owner at least, 
 I would gladly part company, even to-day, 
 
 With that highly intelligent beast. 
 He has robb'd me of peace, he has robb'd me of sleep; 
 
 And I hardly know which I shall do — 
 "Whether sell him to pay the expense of his keep, 
 
 Or present the dear creature to you. 
 Permit me to ask. 
 As I'm still in a fog, 
 
 " Has anyone lost such a thing as a dog ?" 
 
 YES. AND NO. 
 EASON and Passion are both good guides. 
 But often enlist upon opposite sides : 
 ■ Sentiment's all very well in its way 
 [,'Till calm Eeflection carries the day. 
 How in the world can a man be sure 
 Which of the two is the most secure 1 
 Tell me which is the way to go, 
 If the heart says "Yes," and the head says " No ?" 
 
58 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 Getting in love lias a charm, no doubt, 
 
 And many have done it who can't get out. 
 
 Bachelor Coelebs wants a wife. 
 
 But never proposed in all his life. 
 
 How can he start as a family man 
 
 On a couple of hundred pounds per ann.1 
 
 Prudence comes with a knock-down blow, 
 
 If the heart says " Yes," and the head says " No.'" 
 
 HoUowest bubble on earth is Fame, 
 
 But some folks follow it all the same. 
 
 I am ambitious, and mean some day 
 
 To astonish the town with a five-act play. 
 
 Little I know of theatric art, 
 
 And less of the way to make my start. 
 
 Ambition is folly, it inust be so. 
 
 If the heart says " Yes," and the head says " No." 
 
 Money, of course, is a thing to make, 
 
 And most of all for its own sweet sake. 
 
 Brains and Commerce are two good things, 
 
 Each first-rate for the coin it brings. 
 
 But, minus commerce and minus brains. 
 
 How shall I manage to make my gains ? 
 
 My heart's a friend, but my head's a foe. 
 
 If the heart says " Yes," and the head says " No." 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 59. 
 
 NOT A MATCH. 
 
 jITTY, sweet and seventeen, 
 
 Pulls my hair and calls me " Harry ;' 
 Hints that I am young and green, 
 
 "Wonders if I wish to marry. 
 Only tell me what reply 
 Is the best reply for Kitty ? 
 She's but seventeen — and / — 
 I am forty — mere's the pity. 
 
 Twice at least my Kitty's age 
 
 (Just a trifle over, maybe) — 
 I am sober, I am sage; 
 
 Kitty nothing but a baby. 
 She is merriment and mirth, 
 
 I am wise and gravely witty ; 
 She's the dearest thing on earth, 
 
 I am forty — more's the pity. 
 
 She adores my pretty rhymes. 
 
 Calls me " poet" when I write them ;, 
 And she listens oftentimes 
 
 Half an hour when I recite them. 
 Let me scribble by the page 
 
 Sonnet, ode, or lover's ditty ; 
 Seventeen is Kitty's age — 
 
 I am forty — more's the pity. 
 
60 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 A VILLAJSrOUS AMBITION. 
 
 N Lambeth, at the " Dragon" tap, 
 Upon a day it came to pass 
 ] I met as affable a chap 
 i^ As ever took a friendly glass. 
 We drank — a very little while 
 Dissolved one shilHng and a kick : 
 And then he told me with a smile 
 He pkyd the villains at the " Vic." 
 
 I felt a sudden sense of awe, 
 
 Where admiration bore a part, 
 When dimly through the smoke I saw 
 
 That son of histrionic art. 
 I answer'd him in eager tone. 
 
 In accents passionate but thick ; — 
 " I would thy lot had been my own, 
 
 "To play the villains at the ' Vic' " 
 
 ■" Methinks," I said, " I see thee now 
 
 " On Queen Victoria's classic boards ; 
 ■" There sits a ftown upon thy brow, 
 
 " That cork — and only cork — affords. 
 " Thine ev'ry act proclaims thee ripe 
 
 " At nothing but thy foes to stick ; — 
 •" I hail thee as a goodly type 
 
 "To play the villains at the 'Vic.'" 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 61 
 
 We parted shortly after one. 
 
 By Legislature's harsh decree : 
 But ere we parted we had done 
 
 Another drink — or two — or three : 
 He bade me tenderly good night, 
 
 And call'd me amicably "brick;" 
 I loved the man with aU my might 
 
 Who playd the villains at the "Vic." 
 
 I envied him with all my heart — 
 
 I feel it would have been my pride 
 To act a very wicked part 
 
 In dramas on the Surrey side. 
 Had I to seek a fresh career — 
 
 If Fate would let me have my pick, 
 I'd say, " Well, Destiny, look here, 
 
 "I'll play the villains at the 'Vic.'" 
 
 Serene my days would be and bright, 
 
 My deeds exceptionally good ; — 
 But I would cork my brow at night 
 
 And be as naughty as I could. 
 And on my grave, when I am dead, 
 
 I'd plant no jacet with its hie; 
 But just this little phrase instead — 
 
 "Heplaj/d the villains at the 'Vic!'" 
 
<62 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 NO TIME TO SPARE. 
 
 H ! Posthumus, my bosom friend. 
 Fugacious are the cruel years7 
 And with my raven locks to blend 
 
 New silver week by week appears. 
 Cold grows the heart, and colder yet, 
 As yet more thickly comes the gray, 
 'Tis twilight when the sun hath set — 
 I've not an hour to throw away. 
 
 Ten years ago my heart was big 
 
 With hopes of glory and renown ; 
 To-day I firmly think a wig 
 
 More useful than a laurel crown, 
 Ten years ago my thoughts were set 
 
 Upon an epic and a play ; 
 But neither task is finish'd yet — 
 
 I've not an hour to throw away. 
 
 Love's quiver, like Apollo's lyre. 
 
 No longer serves the ends of yore ; 
 Nor grace nor beauty now conspire 
 
 To thriU me as they thrill'd before. 
 They still are lovely as they look ; 
 
 But look as lovely as they may. 
 No more for me they bait the hook — 
 
 I've not an hour to throw away. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQTJILL. 63 
 
 But stop ! 'Tis idiotic, sure, 
 
 To mope and maunder as I do. 
 My few gray hairs are premature : 
 
 One can't be old at thirty-two. 
 I'll win a name — I'm not a dunce — 
 
 I'll fall in love again. And stay ! 
 Suppose that I begin at once — 
 
 I've not an hour to thow away. 
 
 MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD. 
 
 OME sombre evening, when I sit 
 And feed in solitude at home, 
 
 Perchance an ultra-bilious fit 
 
 Paints all the world an orange chrome. 
 
 When Fear, and Care, and grim Despair, 
 Flock round me in a ghostly crowd, 
 One charm dispels them all in air ; — 
 
 I blow my after-dinner cloud. 
 
 'Tis melancholy to devour 
 
 The gentle chop in loneliness. 
 I look on six — my prandial hour — 
 
 With dread not easy to express. 
 And yet, for every penance done, 
 
 Due compensation seems alloVd, 
 My penance o'er, its price is won ; — 
 
 I blow my after-dinner cloud. 
 
64 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 My clay is not a Henry Clay — 
 
 I like it better, on the whole ; 
 And when I fill it, I can say 
 
 I drown my sorrows in the bowl. 
 For most I love my lo wly pipe 
 
 When weary, sad, and leaden-broVd : 
 At such a time behold me ripe 
 
 To blow my after-dinner cloud. 
 
 As gracefully the smoke ascends 
 
 In columns from the weed beneath, 
 My friendly wizard, Fancy, lends 
 
 A vivid shape to every wreath. 
 Strange memories of life or death. 
 
 Up from the cradle to the shroud, 
 Come forth as, with enchanter's breath, 
 
 I blow my after-dinner cloud. 
 
 "What wonder if it stills my care 
 
 To quit the present for the past ; 
 And summon back the things that were. 
 
 Which only thus in vapour last ? 
 What wonder if I envy not 
 
 The rich, the giddy, and the proud, 
 Contented in this quiet spot 
 
 To blow my after-dinner cloud ? 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 65 
 
 ORDERS. 
 
 .F all the cries on all the earth, 
 To make a clever man regret 
 'That Thespis ever came to birth 
 
 And started with his wagonette- 
 "^A cry there is — the very first 
 Of evils in the crying way ; 
 The most persistent and the worst — 
 "I want an order for the play !" 
 
 You don the buskin or the sock, 
 
 To act as often as you can ; 
 Or, black amongst a blacker flock, 
 
 Become a literary man. 
 No matter where you choose to go. 
 
 No matter what you do or say. 
 This cry pursues you to and fro — 
 
 " I want an order for the play !" 
 
 Your country cousins come to town. 
 
 At mistletoe and holly time ; 
 They hunt you up and hunt you down 
 
 To send them to a pantomime. 
 Your uncle, or perhaps your aunt, 
 
 Prefers to go and not to pay : 
 You cannot answer with a " Shan't !" 
 
 " I want an order for the play !" 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 Your tailor begs a box, perchance ; 
 
 Or else your friend, your very best. 
 Your lovely partner in a dance 
 
 Lisps out the very same request. 
 In fact, you may as well prepare — 
 
 From dawn to dusk, from day to day, 
 To hear this echo everywhere: — 
 
 " I want an order for the play !" 
 
 AFTER HORACE. 
 
 ELL me not of Gallic feeds ; 
 
 Only, when I touch my bell, 
 Bring me all the poet needs — 
 
 Just a chop au naturel. 
 Tender, PhiUis, let it be, 
 
 Since it forms my only dish : 
 Soups are not for such as me, 
 Neither will it run to fish. 
 
 Fetch the homely pint of ale, 
 
 Since the poet loves his beer; 
 For, whene'er the spirits fail. 
 
 Malt and hops are kindly cheer. 
 Burgundy and Claret, hence ! 
 
 Not for me the purple vine. 
 Claret comes to eighteen pence. 
 
 Burgundy is two-and-nine. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 67 
 
 PHllis, as you seek my beer, 
 
 If an organ-man you meet, 
 Kindly, softly, bring him here ; 
 
 He will soothe me as I eat. 
 Music is the food of love. 
 
 But my purse will not attain 
 Even to the slips above 
 
 At the Garden or the Lane. 
 
 Bring me roses for my brow, 
 
 Since the poet entertains 
 Little hope of laurel now, 
 
 To engird his addled brains. 
 Let me, in Horatian style, 
 
 Carry roses on my hair ; 
 Tor I find my only tile 
 
 Utterly unfit for wear. 
 
 MY LOVE AND MY HEAET. 
 
 • 
 
 '. H, the days were ever shiny 
 
 When I ran to meet my love ; 
 ■^When I press'd her hand so tiny 
 
 Through her tiny tiny glove. 
 ''Was I very deeply smitten ? 
 Oh, I loved like anything ! 
 But my love she is a kitten, 
 And my heart's a ball of string 
 
68 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 She was pleasingly poetic, 
 
 And she loved my little rhymes ;, 
 For our tastes were sympathetic. 
 
 In the old and happy times. 
 Oh, the ballads I have written, 
 
 And have taught my love to aing t 
 But my love she is a kitten. 
 
 And my heart's a ball of string. 
 
 Would she Hsten to my offer, 
 
 On my knees I would impart 
 A sincere and ready proffer 
 
 Of my hand and of my heart. 
 And below her dainty mitten 
 
 I would fix a wedding ring — 
 But my love she is a kitten. 
 
 And my heart's a ball of string. 
 
 Take a warning, happy lover. 
 
 From the moral that I show ; 
 Or too late you may discover 
 
 What I leam'd a month ago. 
 We are scratch' d or we are bitten 
 
 By the pets to whom we cling. 
 Oh, my love she is a kitten. 
 
 And my heart's a ball of string. 
 
 V 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 69 
 
 YOUNG HOPEFUL. 
 
 OPE — as Pope has well exprest — 
 Springs eternal in the breast ; 
 For its ashes will retain 
 Fire to maiie it live again. 
 Though so many hopes are gone, 
 Still you find me hoping on. 
 Still I sing from chime to chime — 
 " Better luck another time." 
 
 When I wander up and down. 
 Hawking verse iabout the town, 
 Publishers have little praise 
 For my light and lively lays. 
 " Fie," say I, " on vain regret ! 
 " I will dare an epic yet ; — 
 " Something solid and sublime — 
 " Better luck another time." 
 
 If my way is hardly clear 
 To a thousand pounds a year; 
 If my taxes and my rent 
 Give me pain to some extent; 
 If my tailor bids me pay 
 On the spot, or name a day ; 
 Want of coin is not a crime — 
 " Better luck another time." 
 
70 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 Albion ! If thy cruel shore 
 Treats me harshly any more. 
 There are lands below the sun, 
 Whei'e a deal can yet be done. 
 If I find my native isle 
 Won't appreciate my style ! 
 I can seek a kinder cHme — 
 " Better luck another time." 
 
 To the philosophic mind, 
 Placid — hopeful — and resign' d, 
 Nothing goes amiss for long — 
 Nothing goes completely wrong. 
 Be it mine, from youth to age, 
 Thus to play the singing sage ; 
 Be the motto of my rhyme; — 
 " Better luck another time." 
 
 THE ALBUM GRIEVANCE. 
 
 HE light and lively bard intends 
 Hereby to utter proclamation 
 To literary lady friends 
 
 Throughout the limits of the nation. 
 An album is a pretty thing — 
 The verses of the bard are clever ; 
 But he requests to say (or sing) 
 
 He cannot scribble rhyme for ever. 
 Society is rather hard 
 Upon the light and lively bard. 
 
GILLOTT AJSTD GOOSEQUILL. 71 
 
 " You have a little time to spare, 
 
 Do write me, Mr. Bard, a sonnet 
 Upon the latesthue in hair. 
 
 Or else the newest style of bonnet. 
 I know you have a ready Muse — 
 
 Your lyrics are intensely funny ; — 
 To write for love you can't refuse. 
 You write so very fast for money !" 
 Society is rather hard 
 Upon the light and lively bard. 
 Suppose the bard were in a line 
 
 "With Browning, Tennyson, and Tupper, 
 "VlTio seek to cultivate the Nine 
 
 In regions which are call'd the upper ; — 
 Were he the genius of his day, 
 
 And not among its flippant scoffers, 
 His lady friends would flee away 
 In terror from his rhyming offers. 
 Society is rather hard 
 Upon the light and lively bard. 
 The bard will never more indite 
 
 For album, out of town or in it ; 
 Though Phcebus give him skill to write 
 
 A dozen epigrams a minute. 
 There's one resolve he cannot shrink 
 
 From firmly but politely hinting ; — 
 He quits the world in pen and ink, 
 And only speaks to it in printing. 
 Society shall not be hard 
 Upon the light and lively bard. 
 
72 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILLi 
 
 DITTO TO MR. BURKE. 
 
 FEEL no longer as I felt 
 ! When love and beauty forged me fetters 
 No hearts I struggle now to melt 
 ^ With murmur'd vows or crazy letters. 
 ^ No more from Miss to Miss I stray, 
 
 Delighted as a bee in clover : 
 My flowing locks are growing gray, 
 My days of chivalry are over. 
 
 The softer sex has fallen low 
 
 (Full cent, per cent.) in my opinion, 
 Since Cupid held me long ago 
 
 A captive in his wide dominion. 
 I'm something of a fogey now. 
 
 And very little of a rover ; 
 I've certain lines upon my brow — 
 
 My days of chivalry are over. 
 
 Time was when I possess'd a tongue 
 
 All eloquence to plead my passion ; 
 I whisper' d, wheedled, sigh'd and sung, 
 
 In proper idiotic fashion. 
 I now and then suggested flight — 
 
 A trip to Gretna Green or Dover : 
 Which now seems anything but right — 
 
 My days of chivalry are over. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 73 
 
 My heart is very mucli the worse 
 
 For all its wearing and its tearing ; 
 As empty as a poet's purse 
 
 Of anything that's worth the sharing. 
 Whatever lady finds the key 
 
 May try the lock by right of trover : 
 The thing's of little use to me — 
 
 My days of chivalry are over. 
 
 A DESERT ISLAND. 
 
 »^Y father and mother consulted each other, 
 
 As soon as they taught me to toddle, 
 ^ And sent me to school, where I grew up a fool, 
 
 With a qiiite inaccessible noddle. 
 I confess — and I wish I could do so 
 As nicely as John Jacky Rousseau — 
 That my fine head of hair was internally bare 
 As the island of Robinson Crusoe. 
 
 Though I studied the pages of several sages 
 
 They never improved me one tittle ; 
 Till a notion, one day, to my brain found its way 
 
 And astonish'd my brain not a little. 
 But fancy — and probably whoso 
 
 Peruses this ballad will do so — 
 How the thought must have trembled to find it resembled 
 
 That anchorite, Robinson Crusoe. 
 
74 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 THE CHAMBERLAIN'S CHAEGE* 
 
 HE Lord Chamberlain begs, in alluding to legs, 
 
 To adduce as excuse the report 
 That our ballets are wrong, for the dances are long, 
 M And the skirts of the dancers are short. 
 As My Lord never goes to theatrical shows, 
 He is judging, of course, by a guess ; 
 But the matter, it seems, is prolific in themes 
 To the people who write for the press. 
 
 Lord S., you're aware, is a statesman who ne'er 
 
 From the cause of morality swerves ; 
 And such horrible sights as young women in tights 
 Are too much for a Chamberlain's nerves. 
 
 At the Hall of St. James many virtuous dames 
 
 May be seen on the " Popular" nights ; 
 For the music is good, and it's well understood 
 
 That Herr Joachim doesn't wear tights. 
 Proper people may stray in the Zoo all the day, 
 
 And may listen to Pepper at night ; 
 Or to Madame Tttssacd they may go, for they know 
 That it's perfectly moral and right. 
 
 But he thinks it a sin for young women to spin 
 
 In such bold pirouettings and curves ; 
 And the sight of a dance, whether here or in France, 
 Is too much for a Chamberlain's nerves. 
 
 * Suggested by Lord Sydney's well-intended. but futfle Circular to 
 the London Managers. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQXHLL. 7o- 
 
 In concluding his hint (which is written for print)) 
 The Lord Chamberlain cannot but feel 
 
 That all girls who combine in a ballet to shine 
 Should be draped from the chin to the heel. 
 
 If the public desire to behold and admire 
 Pretty shoulders and beautiful necks, 
 
 They have only to call at some nobleman's ball, 
 To observe the ^lite of the sex. 
 
 The Lord Chamberlain trusts no ironical thrusts- 
 May diminish the praise he deserves; 
 
 But a dance on the stage in our profligate age 
 Is too much for a Chamberlain's nerves. 
 
 SINGLE AND DOUBLE. 
 
 Y destiny has ne'er decreed 
 That I should win a wife ; 
 But, though a single man, I lead 
 
 A strangely doubled life. 
 One solitary case to take, — 
 Throughout the days of youth 
 I never had a single ache 
 But in a double-tooth. 
 
76 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 One solitaiy case, perhaps, 
 
 Is nothing to relate ; 
 So let the rolling years elapse 
 
 As far as man's estate. 
 I'd made in music some advance 
 
 By twenty-one or two ; 
 Could play the double-bass and dance 
 
 A double-shuffle through. 
 
 In later life 'twas all the same ; — 
 
 I studied Mr. Hoyle, 
 And o'er my double-dummied game 
 
 Forgot my daily toil. 
 Whene'er I pla/d my friendly whist 
 
 At home or at the club, 
 I made a single, but I miss'd 
 
 Two doubles and the rub. 
 
 At forty years of age, alas ! 
 
 I chanced to lose a leg ; 
 And thus you see, it came to pass 
 
 I have to use a peg. 
 But Fate, I've proved beyond dispute, 
 
 Can never be controlled ; 
 For, though I wear a single boot, 
 
 That boot is double-soled. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 77 
 
 TO MY DEAR WIFE. 
 
 Y love, I cannot call thee fair : 
 
 'Twere difficult, methinks, to trace 
 One feature that the world will dare 
 
 To call good-looking in thy face. 
 But Love is blind, and sets aside 
 Thy faults of countenance and limb : 
 Thy husband feels with proper pride 
 That thou art fairly fond of him. 
 
 I cannot call thee rich, my dear : 
 
 'Twould scarce be true, in any sense, 
 To call thy twenty pounds a-year 
 
 Profuse and princely opulence. 
 And yet a maxim thou cans't find — 
 
 A sentiment in which I join — 
 Which says that a contented mind 
 
 Is better far than current coin. 
 
 My own, I cannot call thee wise, 
 
 For, oh ! far otherwise thou art ; 
 In Learning's race to take a prize, 
 
 'Tis requisite to make a start. 
 It grieves me not that thou hast got 
 
 No further than thy ABC; 
 For thou hast master'd (happy lot !) 
 
 The science of adoring me! 
 
78 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 LONDON SOUVENIRS. 
 
 . OW dear they are — how deeply dear — 
 
 The fields where first we met : 
 For me, through all the changing year, 
 
 The summer gilds them yet. 
 They saw me happy, saw me free ; 
 They saw my loves begin ; 
 And therefore are they dear to me, 
 The Fields of Lincoln's Inn. 
 
 An ancient arch, a steep descent, 
 
 A garden by a stream. 
 Bring back the happy days I spent 
 
 When life was half a dream. 
 How sweet such recollections are ; 
 
 Tho' I have borne of late 
 A heavy heart through Temple Bar, 
 
 And past the Temple Gate, 
 
 There stands before me, as I search 
 
 Amongst my souvenirs, 
 A churchyard roimd about a church 
 
 To tell of hopes and fears. 
 And still the memory of my love 
 
 Points thither, and recalls 
 The grey dome towering high above — 
 
 The Churchyard of Saint Paul's. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 79 
 
 My happy times are far away; 
 
 And, footsore and in chains, 
 I wander sadly day by day 
 
 Up Shoe and Fetter Lanes. 
 No murmurs answer now my own, 
 
 I miss the vanish' d hand; 
 And, Ariadne-like, alone 
 
 I pace the dreary Strand. 
 
 This London is enchanted ground ; 
 
 In alley, square, or street. 
 Perpetual memories abound. 
 
 Some bitter and some sweet. 
 Folks tell me 'tis an ugly place ; — 
 
 I neither know nor care. 
 The child looks in its mother's face 
 
 And Tnust pronounce it fair. 
 
 VERY SLIGHTLY. 
 
 all the merry men I know. 
 The pretty women also — 
 
 To all my friends, both high and low. 
 That I may truly call so — 
 
 To all the set who, knowing me. 
 Would greet you most politely ; 
 I'd introduce you — ^but, you see, 
 
 1 know them very slightly. 
 
80 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUIit. 
 
 I've clung devotedly to Smith, 
 
 In fine and cloudy weather; 
 I thought that friendship was a mjrth 
 
 Till we were friends together. 
 A perfect paragon is he 
 
 To those who judge him rightly ; 
 rd introduce you — ^but, you see, 
 
 I know him very slightly. 
 
 You'd like our people at the club, 
 
 Of chaff there's little danger : 
 They never sneer, they never snub 
 
 The unassuming stranger. 
 You'd soon be friends with two or three. 
 
 Suppose you met them nightly; 
 I'd introduce you— but you see, 
 
 I know them very sKghtly. 
 
 You'd fall in love with Emma Brown, 
 
 If only once you met Tier; 
 If once you called at Camden Town, 
 
 You never could forget her. 
 As pretty as a girl can be. 
 
 And musical, and sprightly; 
 I'd introduce you — but, you see, 
 
 I know her very slightly. 
 
GILLOTT AND GOOSEQTJILL. 81 
 
 I wisli you knew my Uncle Jack, 
 
 From whom I've expectations ; 
 In short, I wish you knew the pack 
 
 Of my esteem' d relations. 
 I'm pretty sure you'd all agree. 
 
 And cling together tightly; 
 I'd introduce you — but, you see, 
 
 I know them very slightly. 
 
 LES ADIEUX. 
 
 ;E met — heigh ho ! 
 
 A year ago ; 
 'To see was to adore y-ou. 
 
 At least I know 
 
 I told you so, 
 And many more before you. 
 
 I bade you speak — 
 
 Your blushing cheek 
 Keferr'd me to your mother : 
 
 Yet silly freak. 
 
 Within a week 
 You flirted with another. 
 
82 GILLOTT AND GOOSEQUILL. 
 
 My hopes were bright, 
 My cares were light, 
 
 No Fate our loves could sever : 
 And yet I write 
 This very night — ' 
 
 "Adieu, adieu for ever !" 
 
 I cannot fret; — 
 
 I'm not as yet 
 Completely broken-hearted ; 
 
 I do regret 
 
 That we have met, 
 But not that we have parted. 
 
 Printed by Jomr B. Day, "Savoy Steam Press," Savoy Street, Strand. 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 4883.L2G4 
 
 Gitlott and goosequill. 
 
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