William Schwenck Gilbert

(1836 - 1911 / London / England)

William Schwenck Gilbert Poems

1. The Played-Out Humorist 1/1/2004
2. The Reverend Simon Magus 1/1/2004
3. The Sensation Captain 1/1/2004
4. The Mystic Selvagee 1/1/2004
5. The House Of Peers 1/1/2004
6. The Folly Of Brown - By A General Agent 1/1/2004
7. The National Anthem 1/1/2004
8. The Modest Couple 1/1/2004
9. The Perils Of Invisibility 1/1/2004
10. The Periwinkle Girl 1/1/2004
11. The Mighty Must 1/1/2004
12. The Phantom Curate 1/1/2004
13. The Sorcerer's Song 1/1/2004
14. The Haughty Actor 1/1/2004
15. The Family Fool 1/1/2004
16. The Reverend Micah Sowls 1/1/2004
17. The Rover's Apology 1/1/2004
18. The Precocious Baby - A Very True Tale 1/1/2004
19. The Two Majors 1/1/2004
20. The Sorcerer: Act I 1/1/2004
21. The Troubadour 1/1/2004
22. The Story Of Prince Agib 1/1/2004
23. The Philosophic Pill 1/1/2004
24. The Three Kings Of Chickeraboo 1/1/2004
25. The Rival Curates 1/1/2004
26. King Borria Bungalee Boo 4/15/2010
27. The Heavy Dragoon 1/1/2004
28. The Force Of Argument 1/1/2004
29. Poetry Everywhere 1/1/2004
30. The Bishop Of Rum-Ti-Foo 1/1/2004
31. The Baby's Vengeance 1/1/2004
32. Peter The Wag 1/1/2004
33. Out Of Sorts 1/1/2004
34. Her Terms 1/1/2004
35. Sir Macklin 1/1/2004
36. The Bishop Of Rum-Ti-Foo Again 1/1/2004
37. Sleep On! 1/1/2004
38. Limited Liability 1/1/2004
39. The British Tar 1/1/2004
40. The Sorcerer: Act Ii 1/1/2004
Best Poem of William Schwenck Gilbert

The Yarn Of The Nancy Bell

'Twas on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Ramsgate span,
That I found alone on a piece of stone
An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he,
And I heard this wight on the shore recite,
In a singular minor key:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
Till I really felt afraid,
For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
And ...

Read the full of The Yarn Of The Nancy Bell

The Love-Sick Boy

When first my old, old love I knew,
My bosom welled with joy;
My riches at her feet I threw;
I was a love-sick boy!
No terms seemed too extravagant
Upon her to employ -
I used to mope, and sigh, and pant,
Just like a love-sick boy!

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