Читать книгу Absurd Ditties - G. E. Farrow - Страница 11

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Of all the schools throughout the land

St. Vedast's is the oldest, and

All men are proud

(And justly proud)

Who claim St. Vedast's as their Al-

Ma mater. There I went a cal-

Low youth. Don't think I'm going to paint

The glories of this school—I ain't.

The Rev. Cecil Rowe, M.A.,

Was classics Master in my day,

A learned man

(A worthy man)

In fact you'd very rarely see

A much more clever man than he.

But if you think you'll hear a lot

About this person—you will not.

The porter was a man named Clarke;

We boys considered it a lark

To play him tricks

(The usual tricks

Boys play at public schools like this),

And Clarke would sometimes take amiss

These tricks. But don't think I would go

And only sing of him. Oh, no!

This ditty, I would beg to state,

Professes likewise to relate

The latter words

(The solemn words)

Of her who kept the tuck-shop at

St. Vedast's. I'd inform you that

The porter was her only son

(The reason was—she had but one).

For many years the worthy soul

Had kept the shop—the well-loved goal

Of little boys

(And larger boys)

Who bought the tarts, and ginger pop

And other things sold at her shop—

But, feebler growing year by year,

She felt her end was drawing near.

She therefore bade her son attend,

That she might whisper, ere her end,

A startling tale

(A secret tale)

That on her happiness had preyed,

And heavy on her conscience weighed

For many a year. "Alas! my son,"

She sighed, "injustice has been done.

"Let not your bitter anger rise,

Nor gaze with sad reproachful eyes

On one who's been

(You know I've been)

For many years your mother, dear;

And though you think my story queer,

Believe—or I shall feel distressed—

I thought I acted for the best.

"When you were but a tiny boy

(Your mother's and your father's joy),

Good Mr. Rowe

(The Revd. Rowe)

Was but a little baby too,

Who very much resembled you,

And, being poorly off in purse,

I took this baby out to nurse.

"Alike in features and in size—

So like, indeed, the keenest eyes

Would find it hard

(Extremely hard)

To tell the t'other from the one——"

"Hold! though your tale is but begun,"

The porter cried, "a man may guess

The secret of your keen distress.

"You changed the babes at nurse, and I

(No wonder that you weep and sigh),

Tho' callèd Clarke

(School Porter Clarke),

Am really Mr. Rowe. I see.

And he, of course, poor man, is me,

While all the fortune he has known

Through these long years should be my own.

"Oh falsely, falsely, have you done

To call me all this time your son;

I've always felt

(Distinctly felt)

That I was born to better things

Than portering, and such-like, brings,

I'll hurry now, and tell poor Rowe

What, doubtless, he will feel a blow."

"Stay! stay!" the woman cried, "'tis true,

My poor ill-treated boy, that you

Have every right

(Undoubted right)

To feel aggrieved. I had the chance

Your future welfare to advance

By changing babes. I knew I'd rue it,

My poor boy—but—I didn't do it."