Heard in that quiet place,
Devoted to a still and studious race,
The noise was quite appalling!
To seek a fitting simile and spin it,
Appropriate to his calling,
His voice had all Lablache's body in it;
But oh! the scientific tone it lacked,
And was, in fact,
Only a forty-boatswain-power of bawling!
"Twas said, indeed, for want of vocal nous,
The stage had banished him when he tempted it,
For tho' his voice completely filled the house,
It also emptied it.
However, there he stood
Vociferous-a ragged don!
And with his iron pipes laid on
A row to all the neighbourhood.
In vain were sashes closed
And doors against the persevering Stentor,
Though brick, and glass, and solid oak opposed,
Th' intruding voice would enter,
Heedless of ceremonial or decorum,
Den, office, parlour, study, and sanctorum ;
Where clients and attorneys, rogues, and fools,
Ladies, and masters who attended schools,
Clerks, agents, all provided with their tools,
Were sitting upon sofas, chairs, and stools,
With shelves, pianos, tables, desks, before 'em-
How it did bore 'em!
Louder, and louder still,
The fellow sang with horrible good-will,
Curses both loud and deep his sole gratuities,
From scribes bewildered making many a flaw
In deeds of law
In posting ledgers, making up accounts
To large amounts,
Or casting up annuities—
Stunned by that voice, so loud and hoarse,
Against whose overwhelming force
No invoice stood a chance, of course!
The Actuary pshawed and "pished,"
And knit his calculating brows, and wished
The singer" a bad life -a mental murther!
The Clerk, resentful of a blot and blunder,
Wished the musician further,
Poles distant-and no wonder!
For Law and Harmony tend far asunder—
The lady could not keep her temper calm,
Because the sinner did not sing a psalm—
The Fiddler in the very same position
As Hogarth's chafed musician
(Such prints require but cursory reminders)
Came and made faces at the wretch beneath,
And wishing for his foe between his teeth,
(Like all impatient elves
That spite themselves)
Ground his own Grinders.
But still with unrelenting note,
Though not a copper came of it, in verity,
The horrid fellow with the ragged coat,
And iron throat,
Heedless of present honour and posterity,
Sang like a Poet singing for prosperity,
In penniless reliance-
And, sure, the most immortal Man of Rhyme
Never set Time
More thoroughly at defiance!
From room to room, from floor to floor,
From Number One to Twenty-four
The nuisance bellowed, till, all patience lost,
Down came Miss Frost, Expostulating at her open door
Peace, monster, peace!
Where is the New Police!
I vow I cannot work, or read, or pray,
Don't stand there bawling, fellow, don't!
You really send my serious thoughts astray,
Do-there's a dear good man-do, go away."
Says he, "I won't!"
The spinster pulled her door to with a slam,
That sounded like a wooden d-n,
For so some moral people, strictly loth
To swear in words, however up,
Will crash a curse in setting down a cup,
Or through a doorpost vent a banging oath-
In fact, this sort of physical transgression
Is really no more difficult to trace
Than in a given face
A very bad expression.
However, in she went,
Leaving the subject of her discontent
To Mr. Jones's Clerk at Number Ten;
Who, throwing up
the sash,
Thus hailed the most vociferous of men:
Come, come, I say old fellor, stop your chant: I cannot write a sentence-no one can't!
So just pack up your trumps,
And stir your stumps-"
Says he, "I shant!'
Down went the sash
As if devoted to "eternal smash,"
(Another illustration
Of acted imprecation,)
While close at hand, uncomfortably near,
The independent voice, so loud and strong,
And clanging like a gong,
Roared out again the everlasting song, "I have a silent sorrow here!"
The thing was hard to stand!
The Music-master could not stand it—
But rushing forth with fiddlestick in hand,
As savage as a bandit,
Made up directly to the tattered man,
And thus in broken sentences began,
But playing first a prelude of grimaces,
Twisting his features to the strangest shapes,
So that, to guess his subject from his faces,
He meant to give a lecture upon apes→
"Com-com-I say!
You go away!
Into two parts my head you split-
My fiddle cannot hear himself a bit,
When I do play—
You have no bis'ness in a place so still!
Can you not come another day?
Says he "I will."
"No-no-you scream and bawl! You must not come at all!
You have no rights, by rights, to beg
You have not one off leg
You ought to work-you have not some complaint— You are not cripple in your back or bones
Your voice is strong enough to break some stones'
Says he "It aint!"
"I say you ought to labour!
You are in a young case,
You have not sixty years upon your face,
To come and beg your neighbour,
And discompose his music with a noise
More worse than twenty boys—
Look what a street it is for quiet!
No cart to make a riot,
No coach, no horses, no postilion,
If you will sing, I say, it is not just
To sing so loud."-Says he, " I MUST!
I'm SINGING FOR THE MILLION!"
"Up with me!-up with me into the sky!"
WORDSWORTH-on a Lark!
DEAR Graham, whilst the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
Their meaner flights pursue,
Let us cast off the foolish ties
That bind us to the earth, and rise
And take a bird's-eye view!-
A few more whiffs of my segar
And then, in Fancy's airy car,
Have with thee for the skies:-
How oft this fragrant smoke upcurled
Hath borne me from this little world,
And all that in it lies!-
Away!-away!--the bubble fills—
Farewell to earth and all its hills!-
We seem to cut the wind!—
So high we mount, so swift we go,
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