Venice Preserved72
Tune—“The Sprig of Shillelagh.”
Och, tell me truth now, and did you ne’er hear
Of a pair of big traitors, call’d Jaffier and Pierre,
Who thought that their country was shockingly served?
Who met in the dark, and the night, and the fogs,—
Who “howl’d at the moon” and call’d themselves “dogs,”
Till Jaffier to Pierre pledged his honour and life,
And into the bargain his iligant wife,—
By which very means was ould Venice preserved.
The ringleaders held a snug club in the town,
The object of which was to knock the Doge down,
Because from his duty they thought he had swerved.
They met every evening, and more was their fault,
At the house of a gentleman, Mr. Renault,
Who—och, the spalpeen!—when they all went away,
Stay’d at home, and made love to the sweet Mrs. J.,—
By which, in the end, was ould Venice preserved.
When Jaffier came back, his most delicate belle—
Belvidera they call’d her—determined to tell
How she by old Renault that night had been served.
This blew up a breeze, and made Jaffier repent
Of the plots he had laid: to the Senate he went.
He got safe home by twelve: his wife bade him not fail;
And by half-after-one he was snug in the gaol,—
By which, as we’ll see, was ould Venice preserved.
The Doge and the Court, when J.’s story they’d heard,
Thought it good for the country to forfeit their word,
And break the conditions they should have observed.
So they sent the police out to clear every street,
And seize whomsoever by chance they might meet;
And before the bright sun was aloft in the sky,
Twenty-two of the party were sentenced to die,—
And that was the way was ould Venice preserved.
Mr. Jaffier, who ‘peach’d, was let off at the time;
But that wouldn’t do, he committed a crime,
Which punishment more than his others deserved;
So when Pierre was condemn’d, to the scaffold he went,
Pierre whisper’d and nodded, and J. said “Content.”
They mounted together, till kind Mr. J.,
Having stabb’d Mr. P., served himself the same way,—
And so was their honour in Venice preserved.
But och! what a scene, when the beautiful Bell,
At her father’s, found out how her dear husband fell!
The sight would the stoutest of hearts have unnerved.
She did nothing but tumble, and squabble, and rave,
And try to scratch J., with her nails from the grave.
This lasted three months, when, cured of her pain,
She chuck’d off her weeds, and got married again,—
By which very means was this Venus preserved.