W.S. Gilbert (Google eBook)

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John Lane, 1907 - 96 pages
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Page 24 - I die, my friend," quoth I, And "Exactly so," quoth he. 'Says he, "Dear JAMES, to murder me Were a foolish thing to do, For don't you see that you can't cook me, While I can and will cook you...
Page 24 - And I never larf, and I never smile, And I never lark nor play, But sit and croak, and a single joke I have which is to say: "Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig!
Page 1 - ALL that I know Of a certain star Is, it can throw (Like the angled spar) Now a dart of red, Now a dart of blue; Till my friends have said They would fain see, too, My star that dartles the red and the blue! Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled: They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. What matter to me if their star is a world? Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.
Page 78 - When I, good friends, was called to the bar, I'd an appetite fresh and hearty, But I was, as many young barristers are, An impecunious party. I'da swallow-tail coat of a beautiful blue A brief which I bought of a booby A couple of shirts and a collar or two, And a ring that looked like a ruby ! CHORUS.
Page 79 - The flowers that bloom in the spring, Tra la, Have nothing to do with the case.
Page 83 - He is an Englishman! For he himself has said it, And it's greatly to his credit, That he is an Englishman!
Page 78 - You'll soon get used to her looks," said he, "And a very nice girl you'll find her She may very well pass for forty-three In the dusk, with a light behind her!" The rich attorney was as good as his word: The briefs came trooping gaily, And every day my voice was heard At the Sessions or Ancient Bailey. All thieves who could my fees afford Relied on my orations, And many a burglar I've restored To his friends and his relations.
Page 22 - There was me and the cook and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig." "For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, Till a-hungry we did feel, So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot The captain for our meal.
Page 81 - It's the song of a merryman, moping mum, Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum, Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, As he sighed for the love of a ladye.
Page 29 - The other night, from cares exempt, I slept and what d'you think I dreamt? I dreamt that somehow I had come To dwell in Topsy-Turveydom Where vice is virtue virtue, vice: Where nice is nasty nasty, nice: Where right is wrong and wrong is right Where white is black and black is white.

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