French Letter Of Add Vice And Verse_A Tile Tale - Parodies William Mackworth Praed – A Letter Of Advice Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

A French letter of Add vice and verse_a tile Tale


~~~~~~~ Parody Exchange between


*Star Sperm* ~~~ & 000 SupernOVA


~~ ~~ ~~~~~* O 'You’ll be bound I’ll be found a fine father,
~~~ * pastmaster - none faster - whose head
~~~ * forecasts for caste future, and rather
~~~ * a swishy trail tail for, ahead
~~~ * of ten million times ten of frail brothers
~~~ * I'll breast up the stream to bestow
~~~ * s[t]eamy blessings upon YOU ~ all others
~~~ * refuse! - choose Dear Ova, say 'NO! ’

~~~~~~~~~~Y

~~~ * I am fun, I run circles so sprightly,
~~~ * I can prance to the dance of your foam,
~~~ * I have writ with a wit thats delightly
~~~ * uncommon as senses free comb,
~~~ * I can spin out tail’s tale at a glance, Dear,
~~~ * your feelings send reeling, express
~~~ * cause/effect, I’m elect, what a chance, here,
~~~ * should you voice correct choice and say ‘YES! ’”

'Your thinking sounds blinking confusion,
your fusion contusion could cause!
My assets aren't dreamy delusion
there is no hesitation or pause.
So abort unseemenly intrusion,
your logic scores zilch, - for its flaws
seem so great that they rate a conclusion
to set record straight! - Who ignores

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O I Omega? I beg won’t you partake
~~~ * in an offer no egg should refuse
~~~ * Alpha’s assets talk straight, no mistake make,
~~~ * when I roundness surround - what's to lose?
~~~ * My ball with its swell tail stupendous
~~~ * united with you would tell tale
~~~ * blackbelted from foe to defend us -
~~~ * Dear Ova, don't back down, turn tail!

~~~~~~~~~~Y

~~~ * OVAries, if you please, have a function
~~~ * that’s written in code some call bible,
~~~ * ID EST to provide a conjunction
~~~ * for us to splice eyeball to I ball, -
~~~ * there is neither slander nor libel,
~~~ * mitosis prognosis the slow
~~~ * never know they, - punch drunk with a highball, -
~~~ * unsounder do flounder, earn ‘No! ’

'You are bold, I'll be bound, but I'd rather
be able to choose, and, instead,
hold court for the future, ~ A Father! ~
I’d be caught then forsought, buds in bed!
Not one in a billion discovers
my breast in his dreams, I protest,
that your blessings and those of your brothers,
leave me cold! NO! As 'YES' is poor jest! '

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O Who makes room forsakes tomb as creation
~~~ * continues the rune tune one plays,
~~~ * my antics are anticipation
~~~ * of bloom ~ for gloom’s weights OVAplays!
~~~ * This bloomer would be and uncaring ~
~~~ * I through WE seize on reason for life,
~~~ * we need sharing, child bearing, forebearing
~~~ * to win through season of strife!

~~~~~~~~~~Y

~~~ * I am able, you Ova, are stable,
~~~ * together a stable lets found
~~~ * which in fable all sing as from table
~~~ * they raise their glass, praise all around.
~~~ * You are sound, you are round, I’m a cable
~~~ * connecting you into the net,
~~ * A la modem I’m mod him who’d label
~~~ * your genes, after all I can get!

'You’re no beau but placebo semenal,
submission’s your name for the game,
though you blow all your flow is adrenal ~
get my guts? You are nuts! for my fame
no submission will brook, look, my mission
seminal not renal is seen,
so drone on, soon you’re gone, - for no fission
you’ll find in the mind of THIS Queen!

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O An OVAtion you seek? Time is critical
~~~ * I’ll clap all you want, no applause
~~~ * shall be found to sound void, hypocritical,
~~~ * no answer be answered with snores.
~~~ * I must mate and the date – though you’re wittical –
~~~ * is today so I pray as you prey,
~~~ * don’t dissolve my ambitions political
~~~ * to salve existential play!

~~~~~~~~~~Y

~~~ * OVAwinning our twinning fantastic
~~~ * could prove for the species’ survival,
~~~ * all thats needing for seeding’s elastic
~~~ * division of cells – on arrival
~~~ * you’ll shed all your plastic sarcastic
~~~ * while I my bombastic tail shed,
~~~ * do you think an existence monastic
~~~ * can Darwin with « No! » win to bed? '

'I am not OVAcome by your logical
arguments meant to impress
your cravings are phantasmogorical
you hardly know how to express
outside ravings psy pseudo biological
which leave one quite cold, nonetheless ~
your tic is tock unchronological
so 'NO! ' knock up other address!

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O 'Your gonad's gone mad and my thingum
~~~ * can jigger and sow, so why, damn,
~~~ * won't you try, by and by Dear, for by gum,
~~~ * a stick-in-the-mud mustn't jam.
~~~ * You would bloom? See the bee seize the flower.
~~~ * You glower but think how our glow
~~~ * would double not halve every hour, ~
~~~ * Natures Way YOU'd betray, saying 'No! ’

~~~~~~~~~~Y

~~~ * We'll embrace one another with passion,
~~~ * not in unction but junction joy with joy,
~~~ * on uniting my tail will still lash on
~~~ * like a lizard picked up by a boy.
~~~ * In an instant you're certain to catch on ~
~~~ * your halo my hello will know, ~
~~~ * would you scratch such a match you could hatch on?
~~~ * O matchless Miss Ova, say 'NO! ’'

'Your passion's a ploy with a catch on,
false promises vain, which soon cloy,
fools dash on where wisdom would ration
brash banners with manners more coy.
A gene with no Ache-ill-ease he(e) lix
avoids complications, distress,
a sperm's halo's hollow when he licks
his chops, pulls the stops out, and, yes,

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O 'You can clone? Call it haven? Yet Heaven
~~~ * denies what on Earth we'd enjoy!
~~~ * Oh hell! is it craven to leaven
~~~ * new ties, not shun birth as a ploy?
~~~ * My O is a plus for gestation,
~~~ * joined genes can congenial grow, ~
~~~ * division sans insemination?
~~~ * All insincts reject it! Say 'NO! ’

~~~~~~~~~~Y

~~~ * Both fated and fêted together,
~~~ * let us sate, in split second combine!
~~~ * Love creates something new, stormy weather
~~~ * here fades, ~ promised harvest is fine!
~~~ * Let the mating go on unabating,
~~~ * let the fruit show you've something to show,
~~~ * with this mission you'll stop hibernating, ~
~~~ * submission is fission you know! '

'The tandem you prone is a cycle
so vicious you'll check some, I guess!
If its mating you're after, my strike'll
soon make you think twice, but in Chess!
When my atoms split, energies fusing,
a positive synthesis dress, ~
I vote X, and refrain from refusing? ~
the refrain that bears crosses is 'YES! ’

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O 'Though you split up you'll never be parted,
~~~ * though you double, your double is sure,
~~~ * Nature's clever and never outsmarted,
~~~ * thus the fittest survive to ensure
~~~ * that fission's decision increases
~~~ * net odds we'll inbreeding out grow,
~~~ * recessional genes hold a thesis,
~~~ * eugenic'lly heretic, so,

~~~~~~~~~~Y

~~~ * what God pairs none can never asunder
~~~ * pare off ~ you'll prepare a new life,
~~~ * never fear, genes run clear, and no blunder
~~~ * interferes, causing trouble and strife.
~~~ * When the trip from the ovary's over
~~~ * and juices rejoicingly flow,
~~~ * you'd avoid ing over in clover?
~~~ * Nature hates a void Ova! Say 'No! ’”

'Genes breed true till the need for mutation
takes precedence over the Past,
and I've counted up each permutation,
I'm adaptable, fearless and fast!
My juices add just what is needed,
if YOU took MY advice, if you heeded
you would know its a vice to say 'YES! ’

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O 'Your notions of logic are hazy,
~~~ * yet I AM the cream of the cream.
~~~ * Your mind's like a snail, or you're lazy,
~~~ * can't YOU see and agree I'm your dream!
~~~ * Take my cue, let us glue gew, new dawn greet
~~~ * with confidence, daily lets sow!
~~~ * There are few who can do much to Chime cheat,
~~~ * yet I'm game all the same ~ don't say 'NO! ’

~~~~~~~~~~Y

~~~ * Let us twine, you'll be mine, know what bliss is, ~
~~~ * an act of osmosis divine,
~~~ * though sementic'lly all sex remiss is
~~~ * for ovae who won't intertwine.
~~~ * If we flow we can grow on foreever
~~~ * till Man ceases his wild oats to sow,
~~~ * would you fail in this sacred endeavour?
~~~ * Be clever, don't ever say 'NO! ’”

'Pride too wide keeps spin running, so hearken
to sanity while space permits
though you're cunning you never shall darken
my door with your vanity's fits!
My trials may with your tribulation
end quicker than any could guess,
I'd far prefer infibulation
to toeing the line with a 'YES! ’

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O 'It appears you confound parthogenics
~~~ * with eugenics, your images sound,
~~~ * with respect, quite unsound, and the Phoenix
~~~ * from our ashes could rise, break new ground.
~~~ * As to cloning and such speculation,
~~~ * it melts love like the sun melts the snow,
~~~ * clamps down on all ejaculation
~~~ * outside of a test-tube, and, so,

~~~~~~~~~~Y

~~~ * if the tide of tomorrow attracts you
~~~ * to slide down the tunnel and try
~~~ * to grasp at first hand all the facts you
~~~ * would funnel assid, you'd not cry!
~~~ * Find fulfillment, ecstatic emotion,
~~~ * in motions which the embryo
~~~ * allows to develop, ~ the notin's
~~~ * attractive ~ to this don't say 'NO! ’'

'Your thought mode’s no magical potion
expounded with flair, con brio,
though its wrapped in seductive E_motion
from commotion spare this embryo.
You seek to ride tall in the saddle,
to conquer my inner recess?
but add on a 'Y', eggs will addle ~
and that's why I'll shy off your 'YES! ’

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O 'When filled to the brim you're outspilling
~~~ * I'm certain you'll sing a new tune,
~~~ * when thrilled, in the swim, sperm are milling
~~~ * by millions about you - the moon
~~~ * will seduce in transparency lucid
~~~ * and the dish willl run off with her spoon,
~~~ * grey matter will turn to translucid,
~~~ * grey areas clear pretty soon ~

~~~~~~~~~~Y

~~~ * Time is fly, a magician of power,
~~~ * who can stick into serpent transform
~~~ * for a second or even an hour,
~~~ * who the Future assures spite the swarm
~~~ * of admirers who, jealous, sow discord
~~~ * instead of harmonious flow,
~~~ * and harmony ~ conjugal concord ~
~~~ * is so magical YOU can't say 'NO! ’”

'Male concepts of Time are too frangible
as they seek such a rapid reward.
The female deals with what is tangible,
keeps in touch, much preferring to ford
the Future with mind clear transforming
not serpents to sticks, ~ such tricks mess
clear thinking, retitles performing
mere miming act vital, and, yes,

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O 'To colours the world is converted,
~~~ * to be sure, sparks would fly on your word, -
~~~ * why withold ‘YES’ - three letters! - perverted,
~~~ * take the 'eLle' from the worLd - how absurd!
~~~ * Though clever, you're far too inverted,
~~~ * and though like a rooster you crow,
~~~ * you're no cock but a rock whose well skirted
~~~ * replies always boil down to 'NO! ''

~~~~~~~~~~Y

~~~ * EGG O centric you are while around you
~~~ * time spins, a dime wins ere the flood,
~~~ * do you think of slime on the ground you
~~~ * emerged from, the primaeval mud?
~~~ * Don’t you dream on progeniture daily
~~~ * to nourish, to flourish, increase,
~~~ * to boost EGG O twISTfully, gaily
~~~ * until Day of Judgement calls ‘Cease! ’? '

'For your counsel I thank you, however
I'd rather stay single or clone,
as for sex the best moment is never -
my genes fit I'll transmit all alone.
It isn't a question of clever, -
just face it, Man’s world is a mess!
In MY centre is SELF - who would sever
connection with self saying 'YES'!

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O 'Self-contained? Shell hard-boiled sounds more like it,
~~~ * spelled concepts run counter to sense,
~~~ * contraceptive, deceptive, why psych it
~~~ * with arguments crass though intense?
~~~ * Your Grandmother suckled as hers sucked
~~~ * farther back than the MA(N) gnon called Cro,
~~~ * you yourself are a finely-tuned product
~~~ * of all you condemn, saying 'NO'! '

-Y

~~~ * You glee when you see spangled banner -
~~~ * once my pride for a ride in the hay -
~~~ * your red flag and your bar bangled manner
~~~ * root star ripe fruit passion away.
~~~ * See me droop, nincompoop, while you genic
~~~ * float bloated, sweet coated, - my stay
~~~ * does collapse from all maps photogenic -
~~~ * for tomorrow will call it a day? ”

'Though you boil from your toil, trouble, turmoil,
take time off, if you've time still to spare,
I'm the link! your bright pink thing's a gargoyle
much weaker than split ended hair.
I shall flourish to nourish tomorrow,
while you, to your sorrow, know doom,
should my gene to your spleen beg and borrow
an atom to bloom in my womb?

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O 'Is there such a chip on your shoulder
~~~? that you shudder whenever you feel
~~~? I’m too close for comfort, no colder
~~~? could you frost, or eggs, lost, would congeal!
~~~? If I might presume to be bolder
~~~? just what is it you want to conceal?
~~~? Dam Change? Why God damn it! you'll moulder
~~~? if a 'NO! ' you continue to squeal.

~~~~~~~~~~Y

~~~ * Shared assets enormous key into
~~~ * a chain aeons long, you're a link
~~~ * which you owe to yourself to continue
~~~ * for if you attempt to out-think
~~~ * GENE-I-US DNA of life's slipstream
~~~ * it is only your offspring you’d hoodwink,
~~~ * denying yourself your own flow,
~~~ * to your tease, ill at ease, OMG think!
~~~? there's no reason on earth to say 'No! ''

'Go hood-wink yourself! ConDOM minion!
some may hold answers gold common wealth,
but should you demand my opinion,
I'd prefer to look after my health!
There are chains to the spirit that smother -
keep your mating restricted to chess! -
pick another as putative mother,
there are fish in the sea who'll say 'YES'!

~~~~~ ~~~~~*O 'Should you leave I would grieve! Are you frightened?
~~~ You just preach with a speech that no heart
~~~ could deceive, I believe, - yet enlightened
~~~ let us link, true love drink, chart love's start!
~~~ Let Time look to the Future while we two
~~~ combine in an ultimate throw
~~~ of Life's dice as we splice, - do not we, too,
~~~ have a right, here and now, bliss to know?

-Y

~~~ Has the male with his tale lost all meaning?
~~~ to the egg must he beg for embrace?
~~~ Has tradition to break and demeaning
~~~ write off Time’s hit and miss, lose all trace?
~~~ Has my reign dance been vain, as dismissing
~~~ you snub my hub entry? Obscene
~~~ is refusal to tie X Y’s blissing
……..? with a ‘NO’ that knocks ardour so keen! '

'Yet the 'NO' we both know now is coming
to deflate ego proud, tail at rest,
and historical reasons forthcoming
shall show that its all for the best.
When my nucleus splits no mutation
can compromise perfect success,
there's no doubt, not a neurone's dilation,
in refusing to answer with 'YES'!

~~~~~~: (~~~~~: (O) : ~~~~~) : ~~~~~

Here and now? Though your arguments heightened
my awareness 'twere best that we part,
but tomorrow, who knows? I'll be brightened
by the thought that Free Will's still a part
of the daily agenda and gender,
God knows whY, only seeks to impress,
I'll retain open mind, and I'll send yer
a polite little write, saying 'NO'! '



22,23 August 1991 and 6-8 April 2005


© Jonathan Robin Parody William Mackworth Praed – A Letter of Advice - written 22,23 August 1991 and 6-8 April 2005


Letter of Advice to Margaret Thatcher



You tell me you’ve taken a lover, -
the Serpent - to suckle at breast,
what took you so long to discover
its worth, that you seemed to detest?
Is it fears of the new German eagle,
which now flies in the skies, to and fro?
Is it fear you’l appear far less regal?
Prime Minister, Maggie, say ‘No! ’

You so often set foot in the City
among the stockbrokers and Jews,
until now no-one noticed that pity
assisted in making the News.
Lip service you paid as a token
to E.E.C. – more ‘stop’ than ‘go’ –
would you now betray promises spoken?
Prime Minister, Maggie, say No! ’

Dixit Maggie:
The arguments strongly defended
won time – though for whom no-one knows,
the endergy fiercely expended
I now do reverse with my prose!
Don’t think that I’m not sympathetic
to common wealth causes, but so
urgently must I seem more magnetic, -
Prime Ministers learn to say ‘No! ’

Exports are the life of the nation,
and spendthrifts throw eggs from the nest,
why would you now import inflation
why risk fresh electoral test?
You constancy prized, never faltered,
what further can grandeur bestow?
My heart is the same, is your’s altered?
Prime Minister, Maggie, say No! ’

Beware or you’ll face resignation
from the ranks of conservative friends,
for instransigence breeds indignation –
a sign that your time nears its end.
Will you bend, or back down from your folly.
On your knees beg to Brussels, kow-tow?
Or defend precious pound, British lolly,
or become ‘Lady Diehard, Soho’? ...

Dixit Maggie:
Our infantile logic was stupid,
and once we admitted its flaws,
to Snake turned like Eve to a Cupid –
a fig for Conservative bores!
A policy firm and effective
must govern though markets sink low,
while a girl learns a sense of perspective
at times when she simply says ‘No! ’


© Jonathan Robin Parody written 7 October 1990

Parody Winthrop Mackworth PRAED – A Letter of Advice

A Letter of Advice - Epistle to an Orphan



They tell me you’re promised a mother,
to cuddle, to cosset, to care.
Take care for she may try to smother,
to cover her inner despair.
The experts agree that another
could just as well clinch the affair, -
and beware that you never discover
the father who’s no longer there.


© Jonathan Robin Parody William Mackworth PRAED - A Letter written 31 October 1990


A Letter to PH from a Disappointed Writer


Dear PH, I leave you this letter
after writing from ten until nine
for a site I’d delight to know better,
for a smile that my heart can’t decline.
Yet one finds after wearily pacing,
for replies in the cold, for some sign,
that that heart which with hope had been racing
to darkest despair must incline.

Dear PH from twelve to eleven
each night I would knock at your door
in hope that an angel from heaven
could show me the light, - but no more
will I screed in my need if no answer
effective can echo joy’s store -
I can’t act as a puppet-stringed dancer,
not even for one I adore!

Dear PH the time have I waited
day in and day out by grief torn,
all write up down written, ill-fated
as my consonants vowed my vowels scorn.
The wonder my dunderhead brought you
tonight may steal thunder at morn,
but the blossoms whose beauty besought you
fade as fast as last season’s drenched corn.

As on Thursday applauseless, defeated,
so on Friday all clauseless I’m spurned,
is the cycle of love thus completed,
is this all the thanks that I’ve earned?
It is hard for a fool to be taken -
its a sign that one’s soft in the head, -
but the reason that slept must awaken,
and the spirit, restored, won’t be lead!

I’d have offered you all in my power,
to cherish, to share, to be kind,
I’d have nurtured emotions to flower
and found wings for soul unresigned.
It is not just the whim of an hour
but a lifetime with no chains to bind,
in a warm, in a warm, tender bower
with blank verse, even worse, left behind!

How can I be present tomorrow,
bear false witness with stanzas prewrit?
once again less “in anger than sorrow”
I will try to bar love from my wit.
I will try to contain my emotion -
or go through the motions to ease
the emptiness born from devotion
to one who my [he]art pleased to tease.

Good luck with your plans to continue
support for the wor[l]d caught in art!
Good luck for the talent that s[w]ings you!
Good luck for a applause the stats chart!
I’ll return into cold hibernation
all alone til your smile shines bright through
the slough of despondent elation,
these Elysean fields cropped by few.

Dear PH, ignore to this last letter
should sentiments biased appear,
yet I shall be ever your debtor -
who taught me to share and feel near.
Intuitions are fine for romantic,
inner feelings that flower in dreams,
but a chasm as deep as Atlantic
drowns my talent, it seems, PH, Dear!

So sometimes recall that I follow
your footsteps as forward they flow,
and the shadow which seems to be hollow
is an echo which helps me to know
how the sun shines for YOU as Appollo
his steeds urges onwards, - and though
forgetful nights daily verse swallow
tomorrow dawn’s brightness will glow!

© Jonathan Robin Parody William Mackworth PRAED - A Letter written 12 April 2005 revised 19 November 2006



A Letter of Advice




From Miss Medora Trevilian at Padua
to Miss Araminta Vavasour, in London

Enfin, monsieur, un homme aimable;
Voilà: pourquoi je ne saurais l'aimer. Scribe


You tell me you're promised a lover,
My own Araminta, next week;
Why cannot my fancy discover
The hue of his coat and his cheek?
Alas! if he look like another,
A vicar, a banker, a beau,
Be deaf to your father and mother,
My own Araminta, say 'No! '

Miss Lane at her Temple of Fashion,
Taught us both how to sing and to speak,
And we loved one another with passion,
Before we had been there a week:
You gave me a ring for a token;
I wear it wherever I go;
I gave you a chain - is it broken?
My own Araminta, say 'No! '

O think of our favourite cottage,
And think of our dear Lallah Rookh!
How we shared with the milkmaids their pottage,
And drank of the stream from the brook:
How fondly our loving lips faltered
'What further can grandeur bestow?
My heart is the same; - is yours altered?
My own Araminta, say 'No! '

Remember the thrilling romances
We read on the bank in the glen;
Remember the suitors our fancies
Would picture for both of us then.
They wore the red cross on their shoulder,
They had vanquished and pardoned their foe -
Sweet friend, are you wiser or colder?
My own Araminta, say 'No! '

You know, when Lord Rigmarole's carriage
Drove off with your sister Justine,
You wept, dearest girl, at the marriage,
And whispered 'How base she has been! '
You said you were sure it would kill you,
If ever your husband looked so;
And you will apostatize, - will you?
My own Araminta, say 'No! '

When I heard I was going abroad, love,
I thought I was going to die;
We walked arm in arm to the road, love,
We looked arm in arm to the sky;
And I said 'When a foreign postillion
Has hurried me off to the Po,
Forget not Medora Trevilian:

My own Araminta, say 'No! '
We parted! but sympathy's fetters
Reach far over valley and hill;
I muse o'er your exquisite letters,
And feel that your heart is mine still;
And he who would share it with me, love -
The richest of treasure below -

If he's not what Orlando should be, love,
My own Araminta, say 'No! '
If he wears a top-boot in his wooing,
If he comes to you riding a cob,
If he talks of his baking or brewing,
If he puts up his feet on the hob,
If he ever drinks port after dinner,
If his brow, or his breeding is low,
If he calls himself 'Thompson' or 'Skinner',
My own, Araminta, say 'No! '

If he ever sets foot in the City,
Amongst the stockbrokers and Jews,
If he has not a heart full of pity,
If he don't stand six feet in his shoes,
If his lips are not redder than roses,
If his hands are not whiter than snow,
If he has not the model of noses, -
My own Araminta, say 'No! '

If he speaks of a tax or a duty,
If he does not look grand on his knees,
If he's blind to a landscape of beauty,
Hills, valleys, rocks, waters, and trees,
If he dotes not on desolate towers,
If he likes not to hear the blast blow,
If he knows not the language of flowers, -
My own Araminta, say 'No! '

He must walk - like a god of old story
Come down from the home of his rest;
He must smile - like the sun in his glory
On the buds he loves ever the best;
And oh! from its ivory portal
Like music his soft speech must flow! -
If he speak, smile, or walk like a mortal,
My own Araminta, say 'No! '

Don't listen to tales of his bounty,
Don't hear what they say of his birth,
Don't look at his seat in the county,
Don't calculate what he is worth;
But give him a theme to write verse on,
And see if he turns out his toe;
If he's only an excellent person, -
My own Araminta, say 'No! '




Winthrop Mackworth PRAED 1802_1839




THE TALENTED MAN

Letter From A Lady In London To A Lady At Lausanne

Dear Alice! you'll laugh when you know it, -
Last week, at the Duchess's ball,
I danced with the clever new poet, -
You've heard of him, - Tully St. Paul.
Miss Jonquil was perfectly frantic;
I wish you had seen Lady Anne!
It really was very romantic,
He is such a talented man!

He came up from Brazen Nose College,
Just caught, as they call it, this spring;
And his head, love, is stuffed full of knowledge
Of every conceivable thing.
Of science and logic he chatters,
As fine and as fast as he can;
Though I am no judge of such matters,
I'm sure he's a talented man.

His stories and jests are delightful; -
Not stories or jests, dear, for you;
The jests are exceedingly spiteful,
The stories not always quite true.
Perhaps to be kind and veracious
May do pretty well at Lausanne;
But it never would answer, - good gracious!
Chez nous - in a talented man.

He sneers, - how my Alice would scold him! -
At the bliss of a sigh or a tear;
He laughed - only think! - when I told him
How we cried o'er Trevelyan last year;
I vow I was quite in a passion;
I broke all the sticks of my fan;
But sentiment's quite out of fashion,
It seems, in a talented man.

Lady Bab, who is terribly moral,
Has told me that Tully is vain,
And apt - which is silly - to quarrel,
And fond - which is sad - of champagne.
I listened, and doubted, dear Alice,
For I saw, when my Lady began,
It was only the Dowager's malice; -
She does hate a talented man!

He's hideous, I own it. But fame, love,
Is all that these eyes can adore;
He's lame, - but Lord Byron was lame, love,
And dumpy, - but so is Tom Moore.
Then his voice, - such a voice! my sweet creature,
It's like your Aunt Lucy's toucan:
But oh! what's a tone or a feature,
When once one's a talented man?

My mother, you know, all the season,
Has talked of Sir Geoffrey's estate;
And truly, to do the fool reason,
He has been less horrid of late.
But to-day, when we drive in the carriage,
I'll tell her to lay down her plan; -
If ever I venture on marriage,
It must be a talented man!

P.S. - I have found, on reflection,
One fault in my friend, - entre nous;
Without it, he'd just be perfection; -
Poor fellow, he has not a sou!
And so, when he comes in September
To shoot with my uncle, Sir Dan,
I've promised mamma to remember
He's only a talented man!

Winthrop Mackworth Praed 1802_1839


A Letter




Dear Kitty,
At length the term's ending;
I 'm in for my Schools in a week;
And the time that at present I'm spending
On you should be spent upon Greek:
But I'm fairly well read in my Plato,
I'm thoroughly red in the eyes,
And I've almost forgotten the way to
Be healthy and wealthy and wise.
So 'the best of all ways' - why repeat you
The verse at 2.30 a.m.,
When I 'm stealing an hour to entreat you
Dear Kitty, to come to Commem.?

Oh, come! You shall rustle in satin
Through halls where Examiners trod:
Your laughter shall triumph o'er Latin
In lecture-room, garden, and quad.
They stand in the silent Sheldonian -
Our orators, waiting - for you,
Their style guaranteed Ciceronian,
Their subject - 'the Ladies in Blue.'
The Vice sits arrayed in his scarlet;
He's pale, but they say he dissem-
-bles by calling his Beadle a 'varlet'
Whenever he thinks of Commem.

There are dances, flirtations at Nuneham,
Flower-shows, the procession of Eights:
There's a list stretching _usque ad Lunam_
Of concerts, and lunches, and fetes:
There's the Newdigate all about 'Gordon, '
- So sweet, and they say it will scan.
You shall flirt with a Proctor, a Warden
Shall run for your shawl and your fan.
They are sportive as gods broken loose from
Olympus, and yet very em-
-inent men. There are plenty to choose from,
You'll find, if you come to Commem.

I know your excuses: Red Sorrel
Has stumbled and broken her knees;
Aunt Phoebe thinks waltzing immoral;
And 'Algy, you are such a tease;
It's nonsense, of course, but she _is_ strict';
And little Dick Hodge has the croup;
And there's no one to visit your 'district'
Or make Mother Tettleby's soup.
Let them cease for a se'nnight to plague you;
Oh, leave them to manage _pro tem_.
With their croups and their soups and their ague)
Dear Kitty, and come to Commem.

Don't tell me Papa has lumbago,
That you haven't a frock fit to wear,
That the curate 'has notions, and may go
To lengths if there's nobody there, '
That the Squire has 'said things' to the Vicar,
And the Vicar 'had words' with the Squire,
That the Organist's taken to liquor,
And leaves you to manage the choir:
For Papa must be cured, and the curate
Coerced, and your gown is a gem;
And the moral is - Don't be obdurate,
Dear Kitty, but come to Commem.

'My gown? Though, no doubt, sir, you're clever,
You 'd better leave fashions alone.
Do you think that a frock lasts for ever? '
Dear Kitty, I'll grant you have grown;
But I thought of my 'scene' with McVittie
That night when he trod on your train
At the Bachelor's Ball. ''Twas a pity, '
You said, but I knew 'twas Champagne.
And your gown was enough to compel me
To fall down and worship its hem -
(Are 'hems' wearing? If not, you shall tell me
What is, when you come to Commem.)

Have you thought, since that night, of the Grotto?
Of the words whispered under the palms,
While the minutes flew by and forgot to
Remind us of Aunt and her qualms?
Of the stains of the old _Journalisten_?
Of the rose that I begged from your hair?
When you turned, and I saw something glisten -
Dear Kitty, don't frown; it _was_ there!
But that idiot Delane in the middle
Bounced in with 'Our dance, I - ahem! '
And - the rose you may find in my Liddell
And Scott when you come to Commem.

Then, Kitty, let 'yes' be the answer.
We'll dance at the 'Varsity Ball,
And the morning shall find you a dancer
In Christ Church or Trinity hall.
And perhaps, when the elders are yawning
And rafters grow pale overhead
With the day, there shall come with its dawning
Some thought of that sentence unsaid.
Be it this, be it that - 'I forget, ' or
'Was joking' - whatever the fem-
-inine fib, you'll have made me your debtor
And come, - you _will_ come? to Commem.


Green Bays Parody 1893 Arthur QUILLER-COUCH
Parody - Winthrop Mackworth PRAED – A Letter of Advice



HER LETTER - Francis Bret Harte to William Mackworth Praed

I'm sitting alone by the fire,
Dressed just as I came from the dance,
In a robe even you would admire, -
It cost a cool thousand in France;
I'm be-diamonded out of all reason,
My hair is done up in a cue:
In short, sir, 'the belle of the season'
Is wasting an hour upon you.

A dozen engagements I've broken;
I left in the midst of a set;
Likewise a proposal, half spoken,
That waits - on the stairs - for me yet.
They say he'll be rich, - when he grows up, -
And then he adores me indeed;
And you, sir, are turning your nose up,
Three thousand miles off, as you read.

'And how do I like my position? '
'And what do I think of New York? '
'And now, in my higher ambition,
With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk? '
'And isn't it nice to have riches,
And diamonds and silks, and all that? '
'And aren't they a change to the ditches
And tunnels of Poverty Flat? '

Well, yes, - if you saw us out driving
Each day in the Park, four-in-hand,
If you saw poor dear mamma contriving
To look supernaturally grand, -
If you saw papa's picture, as taken
By Brady, and tinted at that, -
You'd never suspect he sold bacon
And flour at Poverty Flat.

And yet, just this moment, when sitting
In the glare of the grand chandelier, -
In the bustle and glitter befitting
The 'finest soiree of the year, ' -
In the mists of a gaze de Chambery,
And the hum of the smallest of talk, -
Somehow, Joe, I thought of the 'Ferry, '
And the dance that we had on 'The Fork; '

Of Harrison's bar, with its muster
Of flags festooned over the wall;
Of the candles that shed their soft lustre
And tallow on head-dress and shawl;
Of the steps that we took to one fiddle,
Of the dress of my queer vis-a-vis;
And how I once went down the middle
With the man that shot Sandy McGee.

Of the moon that was quietly sleeping
On the hill, when the time came to go;
Of the few baby peaks that were peeping
From under their bedclothes of snow;
Of that ride, - that to me was the rarest,
Of - the something you said at the gate.
Ah! Joe, then I wasn't an heiress
To 'the best-paying lead in the State.'

Well, well, it's all past; yet it's funny
To think, as I stood in the glare
Of fashion and beauty and money,
That I should be thinking, right there,
Of some one who breasted high water,
And swam the North Fork, and all that,
Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter,
The Lily of Poverty Flat.

But goodness! what nonsense I'm writing!
(Mamma says my taste still is low) ,
Instead of my triumphs reciting, -
I'm spooning on Joseph, - heigh-ho!
And I'm to be 'finished' by travel, -
Whatever's the meaning of that.
Oh, why did papa strike pay gravel
In drifting on Poverty Flat?

Good-night! - here's the end of my paper;
Good-night! - if the longitude please, -
For maybe, while wasting my taper,
Your sun's climbing over the trees.
But know, if you haven't got riches,
And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that,
That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches,
And you've struck it, - on Poverty Flat

Francis Bret Harte 1830_1902


Song of a Plebutante


Oh Mumsy, it’s the starters of the Season
And here I am with not a thing to wear;
If I’m lucky I may stumble
On a T-shirt in a jumble
That won’t look too outrageous in Sloane Square.

I know we really can’t afford a party,
With unions pushing Britain down the drain,
And I’m sorry poor old Daddy
Has to borrow from his caddie
And cycle to the City in the rain.

I’ve had a teeny tête-à-tête with Tanya;
She couldn’t fit me in at her boutique,
So I’ve joined the ranks of labour
With an office job at Faber,
And they’re starting me at forty pounds a week.

Oh, getting up at eight won’t be too ghastly,
(Fiona says that filing can be fun) ,
But the times they are a-changing
And the marriage you’re arranging
Will have to wait until I’m twenty-one.

Oh, Mumsy, please stop crying, there’s a darling,
Oh, Daddy, I can’t bear it if you shout;
But if Quentin Crisp can do it
There can’t be that much to it,
And nothing’s going to stop me coming out!


Roger WODDIS 1917_1993
Parody Winthrop Mackworth PRAED – A Letter of Advice




A Letter of Advice, to My Godson






Small bundle, envelopped in laces,




Author Unknown
Parody William Mackworth PRAED