H was Papa’s new Hat;
He wore it on his head;
Outside it was completely black,
But inside it was red.
I
I was an Inkstand new,
Papa he likes to use it;
He keeps it in his pocket now,
For fear that he should lose it.
J
I was some Apple Jam,
Of which Papa ate part,
But all the rest he took away,
And stuffed into a tart.
K
K was a great new Kite;
Papa he saw it fly
Above a thousand chimney pots,
And all about the sky.
L
L was a fine new Lamp;
But when the wick was lit,
Papa he said, ‘This light ain’t good!
I cannot read a bit!’
M
M was a dish of Mince;
It looked so good to eat!
Papa, he quickly ate it up,
And said, ‘This is a treat!’
N
N was a Nut that grew
High up upon a tree;
Papa, who could not reach it, said,
‘That’s much too high for me!’
O
O was an Owl who flew
All in the dark away,
Papa said, ‘What an owl you are!
‘Why don’t you fly by day!’
P
P was a little Pig,
Went out to take a walk;
Papa he said, ‘If Piggy dead,
He’d all turn into Pork!’
Q
Q was a Quince that hung
Upon a garden tree;
Papa he brought it with him home,
And ate it with his tea.
R
R was a Railway Rug,
Extremely large and warm;
Papa he wrapped it round his head,
In a most dreadful storm.
S
S was Papa’s new Stick,
Papa’s new thumping Stick,
To thump extremely wicked boys,
Because it was so thick.
T
T was a Tumbler full
Of Punch all hot and good;
Papa he drank it up, when in
The middle of a wood.
U
U was a silver Urn,
Full of hot scalding water;
Papa said, ‘If that Urn were mine,
I’d give it to my daughter!’
V
V was a Villain; once
He stole a piece of beef.
Papa he said, ‘O! dreadful man!
That Villain is a Thief!’
W
W was a Watch of Gold:
It told the time of day,
So that Papa knew when to come,
And when to go away.
X
X was King Xerxes, whom
Papa much wished to know;
But this he could not do, because
Xerxes died long ago.
Y
Y was a Youth, who kicked
And screamed and cried like mad;
Papa he said, ‘Your conduct is
Abominably bad!’
Z
Z was a Zebra striped
And streaked with lines of black;
Papa said once, he thought he’d like
A ride upon his back.
A tumbled down, and hurt his Arm, against a bit of wood.
B said, ‘My Boy, O! do not cry; it cannot do you good!’
C said, ‘A Cup of Coffee hot can’t do you any harm.’
D said, ‘A Doctor should be fetched, and he would cure the arm.’
E said, ‘An Egg beat up with milk would quickly make him well.’
F said, ‘A Fish, if broiled, might cure, if only by the smell.’
G said, ‘Green Gooseberry fool, the best of cures I hold.’
H said, ‘His Hat should be kept on, to keep him from the cold.’
I said, ‘Some Ice upon his head will make him better soon.’
J said, ‘Some Jam, if spread on bread, or given in a spoon!’
K said, ‘A Kangaroo is here,—this picture let him see.’
L said, ‘A Lamp pray keep alight, to make some barley tea.’
M said, ‘A Mulberry or two might give him satisfaction.’
N said, ‘Some Nuts, if rolled about, might be a slight attraction.’
O said, ‘An Owl might make him laugh, if only it would wink.’
P said, ‘Some Poetry might be read aloud, to make him think.’
Q said, ‘A Quince I recommend,—a Quince, or else a Quail.’
R said, ‘Some Rats might make him move, if fastened by their tail.’
s said, ‘A Song should now be sung, in hopes to make him laugh!’
T said, ‘A Turnip might avail, if sliced or cut in half!’
U said, ‘An Urn, with water hot, place underneath his chin!’
V said, ‘I’ll stand upon a chair, and play a Violin!’
W said, ‘Some Whisky-Whizzgigs fetch, some marbles and a ball!’
X said, ‘Some double XX ale would be the best of all!’
Y said, ‘Some Yeast mixed up with salt would make a perfect plaster!’
Z said, ‘Here is a box of Zinc! Get in, my little master!
‘We’ll shut you up! We’ll nail you down! We will, my little master!
‘We think we’ve all heard quite enough of this your sad disaster!’
V
NONSENSE SONGS AND STORIES (1895)
With the exception of the verses and drawings which follow, this posthumous volume was a selection from the earlier
Nonsense Books.
INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MY UNCLE ARLY
I
O My agèd Uncle Arly!
Sitting on a heap of Barley
Thro’ the silent hours of night,—
Close beside a leafy thicket:—
On his nose there was a Cricket,—
In his hat a Railway-Ticket;—
(But his shoes were far too tight.)
II
Long ago, in youth, he squander’d
All his goods away, and wander’d
To the Tiniskoop-hills afar.
There on golden sunsets blazing,
Every evening found him gazing,—
Singing,—‘Orb! you’re quite amazing!
‘How I wonder what you are!’
III
Like the ancient Medes and Persians,
Always by his own exertions
He subsisted on those hills;—
Whiles,—by teaching children spelling,—
Or at times by merely yelling,—
Or at intervals by selling
Propter’s Nicodemus Pills.’
IV.
Later, in his morning rambles
He perceived the moving brambles—
Something square and white disclose;—
‘Twas a First-class Railway-Ticket;
But, on stooping down to pick it
Off the ground,—a pea-green Cricket
Settled on my uncle’s Nose.
V
Never—nevermore,—oh! never,
Did that Cricket leave him ever,—
Dawn or evening, day or night;—
Clinging as a constant treasure,—
Chirping with a cheerious measure,—
Wholly to my uncle’s pleasure,—
(Though his shoes were far too tight.)
VI
So for three-and-forty winters,
Till his shoes were worn to splinters,
All those hills he wander’d o’er,—
Sometimes silent;-sometimes yelling;—
Till he came to Borley-Melling,
Near his old ancestral dwelling;—
(But his shoes were far too tight.)
VII
On a little heap of
Barley
Died my agèd uncle Arly,
And they buried him one night;—
Close beside the leafy thicket;—
There,—his hat and Railway-Ticket;—
There,—his ever-faithful Cricket;—
(But his shoes were far too tight.)
ECLOGUE
COMPOSED AT CANNES, DECEMBER 9TH, 1867
[Interlocutors—MR. LEAR AND MR. AND MRS. SYMONDS]
Edwardus.—
What makes you look so black, so glum, so cross? Is it neuralgia, headache, or remorse?
Johannes.—
What makes you look as cross, or even more so? Less like a man than is a broken Torso?
E.— What if my life is odious, should I grin? If you are savage, need I care a pin?
J.— And if I suffer, am I then an owl? May I not frown and grind my teeth and growl?
E.— Of course you may; but may not I growl too? May I not frown and grind my teeth like you?
J.— See Catherine comes! To her, to her, Let each his several miseries refer;
She shall decide whose woes are least or worst,
And which, as growler, shall rank last or first.
Catherine.—
Proceed to growl, in silence I’ll attend, And hear your foolish growlings to the end;
And when they’re done, I shall correctly judge
Which of your griefs are real or only fudge.
Begin, let each his mournful voice prepare,
(And, pray, however angry, do not swear!)
J.—
We came abroad for warmth, and find sharp cold Cannes is an imposition, and we’re sold.
E.—
Why did I leave my native land, to find Sharp hailstones, snow, and most disgusting wind?
J.—
What boots it that we orange trees or lemons see, If we must suffer from such vile inclemency?
E.—
Why did I take the lodgings I have got, Where all I don’t want is:—all I want not?
J.—
Last week I called aloud, O! O! O! O! The ground is wholly overspread with snow!
Is that at any rate a theme for mirth
Which makes a sugar-cake of all the earth?
E.—
Why must I sneeze and snuffle, groan and cough, If my hat’s on my head, or if it’s off?
Why must I sink all poetry in this prose,
The everlasting blowing of my nose?
J.—
When I walk out the mud my footsteps clogs, Besides, I suffer from attacks of dogs.
E.—
Me a vast awful bulldog, black and brown, Completely terrified when near the town;
As calves, perceiving butchers, trembling reel,
So did my calves the approaching monster feel.
J.—
Already from two rooms we’re driven away, Because the beastly chimneys smoke all day:
Is this a trifle, say? Is this a joke?
That we, like hams, should be becooked in smoke?
E.—
Say! what avails it that my servant speaks Italian, English, Arabic, and Greek, Besides Albanian: if he don’t speak French, How can he ask for salt, or shrimps, or tench?
J.—
When on the foolish hearth fresh wood I place, It whistles, sings, and squeaks, before my face:
And if it does unless the fire burns bright,
And if it does, yet squeaks, how can I write?
E.—
Alas! I needs must go and call on swells, That they may say, ‘Pray draw me the Estrelles.’
On one I went last week to leave a card,
The swell was out—the servant eyed me hard:
‘This chap’s a thief disguised,’ his face expressed:
If I go there again, may I be blest!
J.—
Why must I suffer in this wind and gloom? Roomattics in a vile cold attic room?
E.—
Swells drive about the road with haste and fury, As Jehu drove about all over Jewry.
Just now, while walking slowly, I was all but
Run over by the Lady Emma Talbot,
Whom not long since a lovely babe I knew,
With eyes and cap-ribbons of perfect blue.
J.—
Downstairs and upstairs, every blessed minute, There’s each room with pianofortes in it.
How can I write with noises such as those?
And, being always discomposed, compose?
E.—
Seven Germans through my garden lately strayed, And all on instruments of torture played; They blew, they screamed, they yelled: how can I paint Unless my room is quiet, which it ain’t?
—How can I study if a hundred flies Each moment blunder into both my eyes?
E.—
How can I draw with green or blue or red, If flies and beetles vex my old bald head?
J.—
How can I translate German Metaphys- Ics, if mosquitoes round my forehead whizz?
E.—
I’ve bought some bacon, (though it’s much too fat,) But round the house there prowls a hideous cat:
Once should I see my bacon in her mouth,
What care I if my rooms look north or south?
J.—
Pain from a pane in one cracked window comes, Which sings and whistles, buzzes, shrieks and hums;
In vain amain with pain the pane with this chord
I fain would strain to stop the beastly discord!
E.—
If rain and wind and snow and such like ills Continue here, how shall I pay my bills?
For who through cold and slush and rain will come
To see my drawings and to purchase some?
And if they don’t, what destiny is mine?
How can I ever get to Palestine?
J.—
The blinding sun strikes through the olive trees, When I walk out, and always makes me sneeze.
E.—
Next door, if all night long the moon is shining, There sits a dog, who wakes me up with whining.
Cath.—
Forbear! You both are bores, you’ve growled enough: No longer will I listen to such stuff!
All men have nuisances and bores to afflict ’um:
Hark then, and bow to my official dictum!
For you, Johannes, there is most excuse,
(Some interruptions are the very deuce,)
You’re younger than the other cove, who surely
Might have some sense—besides, you’re somewhat
poorly.
This therefore is my sentence, that you nurse
The Baby for seven hours, and nothing worse.
For you, Edwardus, I shall say no more
Than that your griefs are fudge, yourself a bore:
Return at once to cold, stewed, minced, hashed mutton—
To wristbands ever guiltless of a button—
To raging winds and sea, (where don’t you wish
Your luck may ever let you catch one fish?)—
To make large drawings nobody will buy—
To paint oil pictures which will never dry—
To write new books which nobody will read—
To drink weak tea, on tough old pigs to feed—
Till spring-time brings the birds and leaves and flowers,
And time restores a world of happier hours.
THE HERALDIC BLAZON OF FOSS THE CAT
[Edward Lear’s cat is well known to readers of his letters. Foss was a great pet and lived to the advanced age of seventeen years. He received honourable burial with a suitable inscribed headstone in the garden of Lear’s villa at San Remo. Ed.]
THE DUCK AND THE KANGAROO
in the autograph of Edward Lear
1 A selection of these illustrations was published in 1889, the year after his death, with a Memoir by his old friend Franklin Lushington.
2 Views in Rome. (1841); Excursions in Italy (1846); Excursions in Italy, Second Series (1846); Journa
l of a Landscape Painter in Albania and Illyria (1841); Journal of a Landscape Painter in Southern Calabria (1852); Views in the Seven Ionian Islands (1863); Journal of a Landscape Painter in Corsica (1870).
The Complete Nonsense of Edward Lear Page 13