Page:The Bab Ballads.djvu/144

 One evening, sitting at a pantomime,
 * (Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of him),

Roaring at jokes, sans metre, sense, or rhyme,
 * He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him,
 * His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it,
 * A curate, also heartily enjoying it.

Again, 'twas Christmas Eve, and to enhance
 * His children's pleasure in their harmless rollicking,

He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance;
 * When something checked the current of his frollicking;
 * That curate, with a maid he treated lover-ly,
 * Stood up and figured with him in the "Coverley!"

Once, yielding to an universal choice
 * (The company's demand was an emphatic one,

For the old Bishop had a glorious voice),
 * In a quartet he joined—an operatic one.
 * Harmless enough, though ne'er a word of grace in it,
 * When, lo! that curate came and took the bass in it!

One day, when passing through a quiet street,
 * He stopped awhile and joined a Punch's gathering;

And chuckled more than solemn folk think meet,
 * To see that gentleman his Judy lathering;
 * And heard, as Punch was being treated penally,
 * That phantom-curate laughing all hyænally.