1
These are the ballads, tender and meek,
Sung by a bard with his tongue in his cheek.
Sung by a poet, well a day!
Who doesn’t believe a word of his lay.
2
Rattleton Traplegh was pretty and pink;
Rattleton Traplegh was (only think!)
Sadly addicted to flirting with
Mrs. Saphira Wallabie Smith.
3
List to a legend wholly untrue!
Mrs. Saphira’s men wore blue
Coats with a chevron of crimson-lake,
Just where one feels a stomach-ache.
4
(They pulled her rickshaw in storm or shine
When she went round J—ko or went to dine.)
Was it an accident? Was it a game?
Mrs. Y. Canterby’s men wore the same!
5
Mrs. Y. Canterby wasn’t a belle—
Mrs. Y. Canterby’s age was—well
More than thirty! and Mrs. Y.C.
Was “down” like a vulture on Rattleton T.
(Needless to state what you all must guess,—
Mrs. Y. Canterby loathed Mrs. S.)
6
List to a legend wholly untrue!
The clock in the steeple was striking two;
The dance was ended, and, filled with hope,
Rattleton rattled down B—e slope.
7
Blue were the coats by the rickshaw shaft;
Red were the chevrons fore and aft.
Closed was the hood; but, nevertheless,
Under the hood sat Saphira S.
8
So thought Traplegh. Her voice was gruff.
He never noticed, but whispered stuff
To the hooded rickshaw he ‘hadn’t orter.’
(Rattleton’s drink was never water.)
9
Rattleton Traplegh’s tongue was stilled;
Rattleton Traplegh’s blood was chilled
(Fill the hiatus yourself. Not I.)
When the lamplight showed Mrs. Canterby.
10
Was there a ‘ruction’? Who can say?
Rattleton Traplegh bolted away
To a place in the plains (which are rather warm)
Left Mrs. Smith in the thick of the storm.
11
Now for the moral. Never walk
By night with a rickshaw, and never talk
In a way you shouldn’t. At least, take care
To look in the rickshaw and see who’s there.