William Schwenck Gilbert - Poems

Classic Poetry Series William Schwenck Gilbert - poems - Publication Date: 2004 Publisher: Poemhunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive William Schwenck Gilbert(1836 - 1911) William Schwenck Gilbert, born in London in 1836, was the son of a retired naval surgeon. Except for a kidnapping by Italian brigands in Italy at age two, and a ransomed release, he appears to have had a very normal upbringing. Beyond ordinary schooling, he took training as an artillery officer and was tutored in military science with hopes of participating in the Crimean War. Unfortunately for him, but not for us, he did not graduate until after the War was over. Gilbert subsequently joined the militia and was a member for 20 years. After finishing his military training Gilbert worked in a government bureau job which he hated. Upon receiving a nice inheritance from an aunt, Gilbert indulged his fancy and became a barrister. Called to the bar at age 28, Gilbert's law career, with no "rich attorney's elderly, ugly daughter" to help him escape mediocrity, lasted just a few years. Before leaving his law practice, however, he married the daughter of an army officer. Gilbert had shown a proclivity for caustic wit and sarcasm from an early age and it was this talent that put him on the path to greatness. Beginning in 1861, Gilbert contributed dramatic criticism and humorous verse (unsigned) to the popular British magazine FUN. Some of his work was accompanied by cartoons and sketches which were signed "Bab." Many of the characters in the G&S operas were modelled after some of Gilbert's "Bab" characters. A collection of these 'Bab Ballads' was later published in 1869. The period from 1868 to 1875 was a very fruitful period for Gilbert, primarily because two plays which he wrote in 1871 netted him huge financial rewards. This was also the year that he collaborated briefly with a composer named Sullivan on a production entitled Thespis which did not bring the duo any notoriety. Their collaboration, however, spanned twenty-five years and produced a total of fourteen comic operas of which The Grand Duke, the last in the order, premiered in 1896. Gilbert was knighted by Edward VII in 1907 and died in 1911, at age 74, while attempting to save a drowning woman. www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 1 A Classical Revival At the outset I may mention it's my sovereign intention To revive the classic memories of Athens at its best, For my company possesses all the necessary dresses, And a course of quiet cramming will supply us with the rest. We've a choir hyporchematic (that is, ballet-operatic) Who respond to the CHOREUTAE of that cultivated age, And our clever chorus-master, all but captious criticaster, Would accept as the CHOREGUS of the early Attic stage. This return to classic ages is considered in their wages, Which are always calculated by the day or by the week - And I'll pay 'em (if they'll back me) all in OBOLOI and DRACHMAE, Which they'll get (if they prefer it) at the Kalends that are Greek! (At this juncture I may mention That this erudition sham Is but classical pretension, The result of steady "cram.": Periphrastic methods spurning, To my readers all discerning I admit this show of learning Is the fruit of steady cram."!) In the period Socratic every dining-room was Attic (Which suggests an architecture of a topsy-turvy kind), There they'd satisfy their twist on a RECHERCHE cold [Greek text which cannot be reproduced], Which is what they called their lunch - and so may you, if you're inclined. As they gradually got on, they'd [Greek text which cannot be reproduced] (Which is Attic for a steady and a conscientious drink). But they mixed their wine with water - which I'm sure they didn't oughter - And we Anglo-Saxons know a trick worth two of that, I think! Then came rather risky dances (under certain circumstances) Which would shock that worthy gentleman, the Licenser of Plays, Corybantian maniAC kick - Dionysiac or Bacchic - And the Dithyrambic revels of those indecorous days. www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 2 (And perhaps I'd better mention Lest alarming you I am, That it isn't our intention To perform a Dithyramb - It displays a lot of stocking, Which is always very shocking, And of course I'm only mocking At the prevalence of "cram.") Yes, on reconsideration, there are customs of that nation Which are not in strict accordance with the habits of our day, And when I come to codify, their rules I mean to modify, Or Mrs. Grundy, p'r'aps, may have a word or two to say: For they hadn't macintoshes or umbrellas or goloshes - And a shower with their dresses must have played the very deuce, And it must have been unpleasing when they caught a fit of sneezing, For, it seems, of pocket-handkerchiefs they didn't know the use. They wore little underclothing - scarcely anything - or no-thing - And their dress of Coan silk was quite transparent in design - Well, in fact, in summer weather, something like the "altogether." And it's THERE, I rather fancy, I shall have to draw the line! (And again I wish to mention That this erudition sham Is but classical pretension, The result of steady "cram." Yet my classic love aggressive, If you'll pardon the possessive, Is exceedingly impressive When you're passing an exam.) William Schwenck Gilbert www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 3 A Discontented Sugar Broker A gentleman of City fame Now claims your kind attention; East India broking was his game, His name I shall not mention: No one of finely-pointed sense Would violate a confidence, And shall I go And do it? No! His name I shall not mention. He had a trusty wife and true, And very cosy quarters, A manager, a boy or two, Six clerks, and seven porters. A broker must be doing well (As any lunatic can tell) Who can employ An active boy, Six clerks, and seven porters. His knocker advertised no dun, No losses made him sulky, He had one sorrow - only one - He was extremely bulky. A man must be, I beg to state, Exceptionally fortunate Who owns his chief And only grief Is - being very bulky. "This load," he'd say, "I cannot bear; I'm nineteen stone or twenty! Henceforward I'll go in for air And exercise in plenty." Most people think that, should it come, They can reduce a bulging tum To measures fair By taking air And exercise in plenty. www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 4 In every weather, every day, Dry, muddy, wet, or gritty, He took to dancing all the way From Brompton to the City. You do not often get the chance Of seeing sugar brokers dance From their abode In Fulham Road Through Brompton to the City. He braved the gay and guileless laugh Of children with their nusses, The loud uneducated chaff Of clerks on omnibuses. Against all minor things that rack A nicely-balanced mind, I'll back The noisy chaff And ill-bred laugh Of clerks on omnibuses. His friends, who heard his money chink, And saw the house he rented, And knew his wife, could never think What made him discontented. It never entered their pure minds That fads are of eccentric kinds, Nor would they own That fat alone Could make one discontented. "Your riches know no kind of pause, Your trade is fast advancing; You dance - but not for joy, because You weep as you are dancing. To dance implies that man is glad, To weep implies that man is sad; But here are you Who do the two - You weep as you are dancing!" His mania soon got noised about www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 5 And into all the papers; His size increased beyond a doubt For all his reckless capers: It may seem singular to you, But all his friends admit it true - The more he found His figure round, The more he cut his capers. His bulk increased - no matter that - He tried the more to toss it - He never spoke of it as "fat," But "adipose deposit." Upon my word, it seems to me Unpardonable vanity (And worse than that) To call your fat An "adipose deposit." At length his brawny knees gave way, And on the carpet sinking, Upon his shapeless back he lay And kicked away like winking. Instead of seeing in his state The finger of unswerving Fate, He laboured still To work his will, And kicked away like winking. His friends, disgusted with him now, Away in silence wended - I hardly like to tell you how This dreadful story ended. The shocking sequel to impart, I must employ the limner's art - If you would know, This sketch will show How his exertions ended. MORAL. I hate to preach - I hate to prate - www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 6 - I'm no fanatic croaker, But learn contentment from the fate Of this East India broker. He'd everything a man of taste Could ever want, except a waist; And discontent His size anent, And bootless perseverance blind, Completely wrecked the peace of mind Of this East India broker. William Schwenck Gilbert www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 7 A Man Who Would Woo A Fair Maid A man who would woo a fair maid, Should 'prentice himself to the trade; And study all day, In methodical way, How to flatter, cajole, and persuade.

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