A Nonsense Anthology Part 4

TO MARIE

When the breeze from the bluebottle's bl.u.s.tering blim Twirls the toads in a tooroomaloo, And the whiskery whine of the wheedlesome whim Drowns the roll of the rattatattoo, Then I dream in the shade of the shally-go-shee, And the voice of the bally-molay Brings the smell of stale poppy-cods blummered in blee From the w.i.l.l.y-wad over the way.

Ah, the shuddering shoo and the blinketty-blanks When the yungalung falls from the bough In the blast of a hurricane's hicketty-hanks On the hills of the hocketty-how!

Give the rigamarole to the clangery-whang, If they care for such fiddlededee; But the thingumbob kiss of the whangery-bang Keeps the higgledy-piggle for me.

_L'ENVOI_

It is pilly-po-doddle and aligobung When the lollypop covers the ground, Yet the poldiddle perishes punketty-pung When the heart jimmy-coggles around.

If the soul cannot snoop at the giggle-some cart, Seeking surcease in gluggety-glug, It is useless to say to the pulsating heart, "Panky-doodle ker-chuggetty-chug!"

_John Bennett_.

_LUNAR STANZAS_

Night saw the crew like pedlers with their packs Altho' it were too dear to pay for eggs; Walk crank along with coffin on their backs While in their arms they bow their weary legs.

And yet 't was strange, and scarce can one suppose That a brown buzzard-fly should steal and wear His white jean breeches and black woollen hose, But thence that flies have souls is very clear.

But, Holy Father! what shall save the soul, When cobblers ask three dollars for their shoes?

When cooks their biscuits with a shot-tower roll, And farmers rake their hay-c.o.c.ks with their hoes.

Yet, 'twere profuse to see for pendant light, A tea-pot dangle in a lady's ear; And 'twere indelicate, although she might Swallow two whales and yet the moon s.h.i.+ne clear.

But what to me are woven clouds, or what, If dames from spiders learn to warp their looms?

If coal-black ghosts turn soldiers for the State, With wooden eyes, and lightning-rods for plumes?

Oh! too, too shocking! barbarous, savage taste!

To eat one's mother ere itself was born!

To gripe the tall town-steeple by the waste, And scoop it out to be his drinking-horn.

No more: no more! I'm sick and dead and gone; Boxed in a coffin, stifled six feet deep; Thorns, fat and fearless, p.r.i.c.k my skin and bone, And revel o'er me, like a soulless sheep.

_Henry Coggswell Knight, 1815_.

NONSENSE

Oh that my Lungs could bleat like b.u.t.ter'd Pease; But bleating of my lungs hath Caught the itch, And are as mangy as the Irish Seas That offer wary windmills to the Rich.

I grant that Rainbowes being lull'd asleep, Snort like a woodknife in a Lady's eyes; Which makes her grieve to see a pudding creep, For Creeping puddings only please the wise.

Not that a hard-row'd herring should presume To swing a tyth pig in a Cateskin purse; For fear the hailstons which did fall at Rome, By lesning of the fault should make it worse.

For 'tis most certain Winter woolsacks grow From geese to swans if men could keep them so, Till that the sheep shorn Planets gave the hint To pickle pancakes in Geneva print.

Some men there were that did suppose the skie Was made of Carbonado'd Antidotes; But my opinion is, a Whale's left eye, Need not be coyned all King Harry groates.

The reason's plain, for Charon's Westerne barge Running a tilt at the Subjunctive mood, Beckoned to Bednal Green, and gave him charge To fasten padlockes with Antartic food.

The End will be the Mill ponds must be laded, To fish for white pots in a Country dance; So they that suffered wrong and were upbraded Shall be made friends in a left-handed trance.

_Anonymous, 1617_.

SONNET FOUND IN A DESERTED MAD HOUSE

Oh that my soul a marrow-bone might seize!

For the old egg of my desire is broken, Spilled is the pearly white and spilled the yolk, and As the mild melancholy contents grease My path the shorn lamb baas like b.u.mblebees.

Time's trashy purse is as a taken token Or like a thrilling recitation, spoken By mournful mouths filled full of mirth and cheese.

And yet, why should I clasp the earthful urn?

Or find the frittered fig that felt the fast?

Or choose to chase the cheese around the churn?

Or swallow any pill from out the past?

Ah, no Love, not while your hot kisses burn Like a potato riding on the blast.

_Anonymous_.

THE OCEAN WANDERER

Bright breaks the warrior o'er the ocean wave Through realms that rove not, clouds that cannot save, Sinks in the suns.h.i.+ne; dazzles o'er the tomb And mocks the mutiny of Memory's gloom.

Oh! who can feel the crimson ecstasy That soothes with bickering jar the Glorious Tree?

O'er the high rock the foam of gladness throws, While star-beams lull Vesuvius to repose: Girds the white spray, and in the blue lagoon, Weeps like a walrus o'er the waning moon?

Who can declare?--not thou, pervading boy Whom pibrochs pierce not, crystals cannot cloy;-- Not thou soft Architect of silvery gleams, Whose soul would simmer in Hesperian streams, Th' exhaustless fire--the bosom's azure bliss, That hurtles, life-like, o'er a scene like this;-- Defies the distant agony of Day-- And sweeps o'er hetacombs--away! away!

Say shall Destruction's lava load the gale, The furnace quiver and the mountain quail?

Say shall the son of Sympathy pretend His cedar fragrance with our Chiefs to blend?

There, where the gnarled monuments of sand Howl their dark whirlwinds to the levin brand; Conclusive tenderness; fraternal grog, Tidy conjunction; adamantine bog, Impetuous arrant toadstool; Thundering quince, Repentant dog-star, inessential Prince, Expound. Pre-Adamite eventful gun, Crush retribution, currant-jelly, pun, Oh! eligible Darkness, fender, sting, Heav'n-born Insanity, courageous thing.

Intending, bending, scouring, piercing all, Death like pomatum, tea, and crabs must fall.

_Anonymous_.

SHE'S ALL MY FANCY PAINTED HIM

She's all my fancy painted him, (I make no idle boast); If he or you had lost a limb, Which would have suffered most?