Из полного собрания бессмыслиц, Лир Эдвард

Из полного собрания бессмыслиц

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Nonsense verse and songs

Self-portrait of the laureate of nonsense

How pleasant to know Mr. Lear!Who has written such volumes of stuff!Some think him ill-tempered and queer,But a few think him pleasant enough.His mind is concrete and fastidious,His nose is remarkably big;His visage is more of less hideous,His beard it resembles a wig.He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers,Leastways if you reckon two thumbs,Long ago he was one of the singers,But now he is one of the dumbs.He sits in a beautiful parlour,With hundreds of books on the wall;He drinks a great deal of Marsala,But never gets tipsy at all.He has many friends, laymen and clerical;Old Foss is the name of his cat;His body is perfectly spherical,He weareth a runcible hat.When he walks in a waterproof white,The children run after him so!Calling out, “He's come out in his night-Gown, that crazy old Englishman, oh!”He weeps by the side of the ocean,He weeps on the top of the hill;He purchases pancakes and lotion,And chocolate shrimps from the mill.He reads but he cannot speak Spanish,He cannot abide ginger-beer:Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish,How pleasant to know Mr. Lear!

The Owl and the Pussy-cat

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to seaIn a beautiful pea-green boat,They took some honey, and plenty of money,Wrapped up in a five-pound note.The Owl looked up to the stars above,And sang to a small guitar,“O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,What a beautiful Pussy you are, You are, You are!What a beautiful Pussy you are!”

Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl!How charmingly sweet you sing!O let us be married! too long we have tarried:But what shall we do for a ring?”Thwy sailed away, for a year and a day,To the land where the Bong-tree growsAnd there in a wood a Piggy-wig stoodWith a ring at the end of his nose, His nose, His nose,With a ring at the end of his nose.

III

“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shillingYour ring?” Said the Piggy, “I will.”So they took it away, and were married next dayBy the Turkey who lives on the hill.They dined on mince, and slices of quince,Which they ate with a runcible spoon;And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon,They danced by the light of the moon.

The Children of the Owl and the Pussy-cat

Our mother was the Pussy-cat,Our father was the Owl,And so we’re partly little beastsAnd partly little fowl,The brothers of our familyHave feathers and they hoot,While all the sisters dress in furAnd have long tails to boot. We all believe that little mice, For food are singularly nice.Our mother died long years ago.She was a lovely catHer tail was 5 feet long, and greyWith stripes, but what of that?In Sila forest on the EastOf far Calabria’s shoreShe tumbled from a lofty tree —None ever saw her more.Our owly father long was illFrom sorrow and surprise,But with the feathers of his tailHe wiped his weeping eyes.And in the hollow of a treeIn Sila’s inmost mazeWe made a happy home and thereWe pass our obvious days.From Reggian CosenzaMany owls about us flitAnd bring us worldly newsFor which we do not care a bit.We watch the sun each morning rise,Beyond Tarento’s strait;We go out pleasure seeking,Before it gets too late;And when the evening shades beginTo lengthen from the treesYoy’ll find us merrily dancingAs sure as bees is bees.We wander up and down the shoreOr tumble over head and heels,But never, never more,Can see the far Gromboolian plainsOr weep as we could once have weptO’er many a vanished scene:This is the way our father moans —He is so very green.Our father still preserves his voice,And when he sees a starHe often sings to the strings of thatOriginal guitar.The pot in which our parents tookThe honey in their boat,But all the money has been spent,Beside the 5-pound note.The owls who come and bring us nowsAre often sent awayBecause we take no interestIn poltix of the day.

The Duck and the Kangaroo

Said the Duck to the Kangaroo,“Good gracious! how you hop!Over the fields and the water too,As if you never would stop!My life is a bore in this nasty pond,And I long to go out in the world beyond!I wish I could hop like you!”Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.

“Please give me a ride on your back!”Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.“I would sit quite still, and say nothing but “Quack”,Te whole of the long day through!And we’d go to the Dee, and the Jelly Bo Lee,Over the land, and over the sea; —Please take me a ride! O do!”Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.

III

Said the Kangaroo to the Duck,“This requires some little reflection;Perhaps on the whole it might bring me luck,And there seems but one objection,Which is, if you’ll let me speak so bold,Your feet are unpleasantly wet and cold,And would probably give me the roo-Matiz!” said the Kangaroo.

Said the Duck, “As I sate on the rocks,I have thought over that completely,And I bought four pairs of worsted socksWhich fit my web-fit neatly.And to keep out the cold I’ve bought a cloak,And every day a cigar I’l smoke,All to follow my own dear trueLove of Kangaroo!”

Said the Kangaroo, “I’m ready!All in the moonlight pale;But to balance me well, dear Duck, sit steady!And quite at the end of my tail!”So away they went with a hop and a bound,And they hopped the whole world three times roundAnd who so happy, – O who,As the Duck and the Kangaroo?

The Daddy Long-legs and the Fly

Once Mr. Daddy Long-legs,Dressed in brown and gray,Walked about upon the sandsUpon a summer’s day;And there among the pebbles,When the wind was rather cold,He met with Mr. Floppy Fly,All dressed in blue and gold.And as it was too soon to dine,They drank some Periwinkle-wine,And played an hour or two, or more,At battlecock and shuttledoor.

Said Mr. Daddy Long-legsTo Mr. Floppy Fly,“Why do you never come to court?I wish you’d tell me why.All gold and shine, in dress so fine,You’d quite delight the court.Why do you never go at all?I really think you ough!And if you went, you’d see such sights!Such rugs! and jugs! and candle-lights!And more than all, the King and Queen,One in red, and one in green!”

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