The Works of William Makepeace Thackeray: Ballads and The rose and the ringSmith, Elder & Company, 1901 |
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beat beautiful Betsinda blushing Bouillabaisse brave Brentford Buckley Square Captain Hedzoff CHRISTMAS WAITS church COSSACK EPIC Court cried Crim Tartary crown darling dear door drum Elephant and Castle eyes fair Fairy Blackstick father gate gave gentle gentleman girl Glumboso Gruff hair hand head hear heard heart Hogginarmo honest Jack Jeames King Giglio King Padella Kioff lady laugh Lille lions looked Lord Lord Chancellor maid Majesty marry monarch never night O'Brine o'er Paflagonia palace poor Bulbo pooty pray pretty Prince Bulbo Prince Giglio Prince of Crim Princess Angelica Queen ring roar Roger-Bontemps Roney Rosalba rose round Royal Highness Saint Saint Willibald says Giglio says Gruffanuff Shannon shore sing smiling sure sweet Pimlico sword tell thee There's thou thought throne took town Twas Valoroso Vich vith wait WHITE SQUALL young
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Side 78 - Kneel undisturbed, fair Saint! Pour out your praise or plaint Meekly and duly; I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer With thoughts unruly. But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering a minute, Like outcast spirits, who wait, And see, through heaven's gate, Angels within it.
Side 81 - Would you know how first he met her ? She was cutting bread and butter. Charlotte was a married lady, And a moral man was Werther, And, for all the wealth of Indies, Would do nothing for to hurt her. So he sighed and pined and ogled, And his passion boiled and bubbled, Till he blew his silly brains out, And no more was by it troubled. Charlotte, having seen his body Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person, Went on cutting bread and butter.
Side 54 - CHRISTMAS is here ; Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill, Little care we ; Little we fear Weather without, Sheltered about The Mahogany Tree. Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang, in its bloom ; Night-birds are we ; Here we carouse, Singing, like them, Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree.
Side 77 - ALTHOUGH I enter not, Yet round about the spot Ofttimes I hover ! And near the sacred gate With longing eyes I wait, Expectant of her. The Minster bell tolls out Above the city's rout, And noise and humming : They've...
Side 153 - THERE lived a sage in days of yore And he a handsome pigtail wore ; But wondered much and sorrowed more Because it hung behind him. He mused upon this curious case, And swore he'd change the pigtail's place, And have it hanging at his face, Not dangling there behind him. Says he, " The mystery I've found, — I'll turn me round," — he turned him round; But still it hung behind him.
Side 204 - King Canute was weary-hearted ; he had reigned for years a score, Battling, struggling, pushing, fighting, killing much and robbing more; And he thought upon his actions, walking by the wild sea-shore. "'Twixt the Chancellor and Bishop walked the King with steps sedate, Chamberlains and grooms came after, silversticks and goldsticks great, Chaplains, aides-de-camp, and pages, — all the officers of state.
Side 69 - It was but a moment she sat in this place; She'da scarf on her neck and a smile on her face: A smile on her face, and a rose in her hair, And she sat there and bloomed in my cane-bottomed chair.
Side 21 - Go to ! I hate him and his trade : Who bade us so to cringe and bend, And all God's peaceful people made To such as him subservient ? Tell me what find we to admire In epaulets and scarlet coats — In men, because they load and fire, And know the art of cutting throats...
Side 131 - So each shall mourn, in life's advance, Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed ; Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance, And longing passion unfulfilled. Amen ! whatever fate be sent, Pray God the heart may kindly glow, Although the head with cares be bent, And 'whitened with the winter snow.
Side 50 - THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. A STREET there is in Paris famous, For which no rhyme our language yields, Rue Neuve des Petits Champs its name is — The New Street of the Little Fields. And here's an inn, not rich and splendid, But still in comfortable case ; The which in youth I oft attended, To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse. This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is — A sort of soup or broth, or brew, Or hotchpotch...