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Bab Ballads and Savoy Songs

by W. S. Gilbert

15 of 71 · Contents · Download EPUB

The Periwinkle Girl

I’ve often thought that headstrong youths,
 Of decent education,
Determine all-important truths
 With strange precipitation.

The over-ready victims they,
 Of logical illusions,
And in a self-assertive way
 They jump at strange conclusions.

Now take my case: Ere sorrow could
 My ample forehead wrinkle,
I had determined that I would
 Not like to be a winkle.

“A winkle,” I would oft advance
 With readiness provoking,
“Can seldom flirt, and never dance
 Or soothe his mind by smoking.”

In short, I spurned the shelly joy,
 And spoke with strange decision—
Men pointed to me as a boy
 Who held them in derision.

But I was young—too young, by far—
 Or I had been more wary,
I knew not then that winkles are
 The stock-in-trade of Mary.

I had not seen her sunlight blithe
 As o’er their shells it dances,
I’ve seen those winkles almost writhe
 Beneath her beaming glances.

Of slighting all the winkly brood
 I surely had been chary,
If I had known they formed the food
 And stock-in-trade of Mary.

Both high and low and great and small
 Fell prostrate at her tootsies,
They all were noblemen, and all
 Had balances at Coutts’s.

Dukes with the lovely maiden dealt,
 Duke Bailey and Duke Humphy,
Who eat her winkles till they felt
 Exceedingly uncomfy.

Duke Bailey greatest wealth computes,
 And sticks, they say, at no-thing.
He wears a pair of golden boots
 And silver underclothing.

Duke Humphy, as I understand.
 Though mentally acuter,
His boots are only silver, and
 His underclothing pewter.

A third adorer had the girl,
 A man of lowly station—
A miserable grov’ling earl
 Besought her approbation.

This humble cad she did refuse
 With much contempt and loathing;
He wore a pair of leather shoes
 And cambric underclothing!

“Ha! ha!” she cried, “Upon my word!
 Well, really—come, I never!
Oh, go along, it’s too absurd!
 My goodness! Did you ever?

“Two dukes would make their Bowles a bride,
 And from her foes defend her”—
“Well, not exactly that,” they cried,
 “We offer guilty splendor.

“We do not offer marriage rite,
 So please dismiss the notion!”
“Oh, dear,” said she, “that alters quite
 The state of my emotion.”

The earl he up and says, says he,
 “Dismiss them to their orgies,
For I am game to marry thee
 Quite reg’lar at St. George’s.”

He’d had, it happily befell,
 A decent education;
His views would have befitted well
 A far superior station.

His sterling worth had worked a cure,
 She never heard him grumble;
She saw his soul was good and pure
 Although his rank was humble.

Her views of earldoms and their lot,
 All underwent expansion;
Come, Virtue in an earldom’s cot!
 Go, Vice in ducal mansion!

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