A HISTORY OF CIVILISATION

Oh, Noodelywhang, of Niddelywhing,
Was king of a naughty nation,

And if you'll listen, I'm going to sing
The tale of his civilisation.

Both he and his people were black as sloes,

For the zone they lived in was torrid,

And their principal clothes were a ring through the nose And a patch of red paint on the forehead.

Their food consisted of fruits and fish-
Their drink was the limpid rillet;
Their cookery knew but a single dish,

Which was barbecued enemy's fillet.

And each man might take to him wives a score-
He had nothing to do but to catch 'em;

And whenever he found they were getting a bore,
He could just take his club and despatch 'em.

They worshipped mere stocks and misshapen blocks—
But their principal idol was copper,
And history states that like fighting-cocks

The priests all lived-which was proper.

But into the bay there sailed one day,
To the people's consternation,

The very first ship that had come that way-
A herald of civilisation.

"Twas the good ship William and Jane, of Hull,
And was bound for the far Canaries;
But the captain somehow had made a mull
On account of the wind's vagaries.

He stayed a fortnight at Niddelywhing,

And accepted the people's caressings;

Then sailed, but vowed to come back and bring
Them civilisation's blessings.

He returned to Britain, and there you'll guess

His discovery he related,

And at once was elected F.R.G.S.,

And a mighty sensation created.

But he shipped him trousers and crinolines,

A piano, a patent dairy,

Twenty hogsheads of rum, some mustard from Keen's, And also a missionary.

And back he sailed to Niddelywhing,

And reached it late in the autumn,

And he briefly explained to the chiefs and the king
The various blessings he'd brought 'em.
And on shore he sent the reverend gent,
The dairy, the rum, the piano,

And there on the coast he set up a post,
Which stated in Latin that thither he went
In (to make it plain) of King George's reign
The vicesimo something anno.

Then the sailors made love to the monarch's wives,
Who in crinolines soon were adorning,

And all of the people drank rum for their lives,
And had headaches every morning.

They tried the mustard, which proved too strong,
And then their amusements to vary,

They'd daily discourses some six hours long
From that eloquent missionary.

For a month they went on with this sort of thing
In that distant climate torrid,

Till Noodelywhang, of Niddelywhing,

Felt existence was growing horrid.
And finding his subjects had also become
Quite tired of this new vagary,

He seized one day on six puncheons of rum
And the reverend missionary.

From what we can gather 'twas his intent
To empty those purloined puncheons,
And he clearly meant that reverend gent
For breakfasts and dinners and luncheons.

But before they began to cook their man,
They partook of their rum so freely,
That the national progress soon began
To be very unsteady and reelly.

Then the captain landed his gallant crew,

And slaughtered the whole of the nation:

Which it seems was his view of what you should do
For the spread of civilisation.

THOMAS HOOD THE YOUNGER

Another of those good ships that sailed, as they sailed.

'Slacker!

THE SICK KNIGHT

Reach me the helmet from yonder rack,
Mistress o' mine! with its plume of white;
Now help me upon my destrier's back,
Mistress o' mine! though he swerve in fright.
And guide my foot to the stirrup ledge,
Mistress o' mine! it eludes me still.

Then fill me a cup as a farewell pledge,
Mistress o' mine! for the night air's chill!
Haste! with the buckler and pennon'd lance,
Mistress o' mine! or ever I feel

My war-horse plunge in impatient prance,
Mistress o' mine! at the prick of heel.
Pay scant heed to my pallid hue,

Mistress o' mine! for the wan moon's sheen
Would change the ruddiest cheek to blue,
Mistress o' mine! or glamour it green.
One last long kiss, ere I seek the fray
Mistress o' mine! though I quit my cell,
I would meet the foe in the mad mêlée.
Mistress o' mine! an' I were but well!

A PLEA FOR TRIGAMY

I've been trying to fashion a wifely ideal,

And find that my tastes are so far from concise

That, to marry completely, no fewer than three'll

Suffice.

I've subjected my views to severe atmospheric

Compression, but still, in defiance of force,

They distinctly fall under three heads, like a cleric

Discourse.

My first must be fashion's own fancybred daughter,

Proud, peerless, and perfect-in fact, comme il faut;

F. ANSTEY.

A waltzer and wit of the very first

water

For show.

But these beauties that serve to make all the men jealous,

Once face them alone in the family cot, Heaven's angels incarnate (the novelists tell us)

They're not.

But so much for appearances. Now for my second,

My lover, the wife of my home and my heart:

Of all fortune and fate of my life to be reckon'd

A part.

She must know all the needs of a rational being,

Be skilled to keep counsel, to comfort, to coax;