Thomas Winterbottom Hance
IN all the towns and cities fair
On Merry England's broad expanse,
No swordsman ever could compare
With THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE.
The dauntless lad could fairly hew
A silken handkerchief in twain,
Divide a leg of mutton too -
And this without unwholesome strain.
On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick,
His sabre sometimes he'd employ -
No bar of lead, however thick,
Had terrors for the stalwart boy.
At Dover daily he'd prepare
To hew and slash, behind, before -
Which aggravated MONSIEUR PIERRE,
Who watched him from the Calais shore.
It caused good PIERRE to swear and dance,
The sight annoyed and vexed him so;
He was the bravest man in France -
He said so, and he ought to know.
"Regardez donc, ce cochon gros -
Ce polisson! Oh, sacre bleu!
Son sabre, son plomb, et ses gigots
Comme cela m'ennuye, enfin, mon Dieu!
"Il sait que les foulards de soie
Give no retaliating whack -
Les gigots morts n'ont pas de quoi -
Le plomb don't ever hit you back."
But every day the headstrong lad
Cut lead and mutton more and more;
And every day poor PIERRE, half mad,
Shrieked loud defiance from his shore.
HANCE had a mother, poor and old,
A simple, harmless village dame,
Who crowed and clapped as people told
Of WINTERBOTTOM'S rising fame.
She said, "I'll be upon the spot
To see my TOMMY'S sabre-play;"
And so she left her leafy cot,
And walked to Dover in a day.
PIERRE had a doating mother, who
Had heard of his defiant rage;
HIS Ma was nearly ninety-two,
And rather dressy for her age.
At HANCE'S doings every morn,
With sheer delight HIS mother cried;
And MONSIEUR PIERRE'S contemptuous scorn
Filled HIS mamma with proper pride.
But HANCE'S powers began to fail -
His constitution was not strong -
And PIERRE, who once was stout and hale,
Grew thin from shouting all day long.
Their mothers saw them pale and wan,
Maternal anguish tore each breast,
And so they met to find a plan
To set their offsprings' minds at rest.
Said MRS. HANCE, "Of course I shrinks
From bloodshed, ma'am, as you're aware,
But still they'd better meet, I thinks."
"Assurement!" said MADAME PIERRE.
A sunny spot in sunny France
Was hit upon for this affair;
The ground was picked by MRS. HANCE,
The stakes were pitched by MADAME PIERRE.
Said MRS. H., "Your work you see -
Go in, my noble boy, and win."
"En garde, mon fils!" said MADAME P.
"Allons!" "Go on!" "En garde!" "Begin!"
(The mothers were of decent size,
Though not particularly tall;
But in the sketch that meets your eyes
I've been obliged to draw them small.)
Loud sneered the doughty man of France,
"Ho! ho! Ho! ho! Ha! ha! Ha! ha!
"The French for 'Pish'" said THOMAS HANCE.
Said PIERRE, "L'Anglais, Monsieur, pour 'Bah.'"
Said MRS. H., "Come, one! two! three! -
We're sittin' here to see all fair."
"C'est magnifique!" said MADAME P.,
"Mais, parbleu! ce n'est pas la guerre!"
"Je scorn un foe si lache que vous,"
Said PIERRE, the doughty son of France.
"I fight not coward foe like you!"
Said our undaunted TOMMY HANCE.
"The French for 'Pooh!'" our TOMMY cried.
"L'Anglais pour 'Va!'" the Frenchman crowed.
And so, with undiminished pride,
Each went on his respective road.
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Related quotes
Having covered some half a hundred cities, towns, villages, and wide spots in the road during the last tow years, George and I fairly wallowed in the comfort of our own home base.
quote by Martin Milner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fair and Fair
Oenone:
Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
The fairest shepherd on our green,
A love for any lady.
Paris:
Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
Thy love is fair for thee alone
And for no other lady.
Oenone:
My love is fair, my love is gay,
As fresh as bin the flowers in May
And of my love my roundelay,
My merry, merry, merry roundelay,
Concludes with Cupid's curse,--
'They that do change old love for new
Pray gods they change for worse!'
Ambo Simul:
They that do change old love for new,
Pray gods they change for worse!
Oenone:
Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
The fairest shepherd on our green,
A love for any lady.
Paris:
Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
Thy love is fair for thee alone
And for no other lady.
Oenone:
My love can pipe, my love can sing,
My love can many a pretty thing,
And of his lovely praises ring
My merry, merry, merry roundelays
Amen to Cupid's curse.
poem by George Peele
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Merry, Merry Christmas
Peace to the world from the new kids on the block, we are here,
Were spreading all our joy, spreading all our love and our cheers.
Cheerful sleigh bells ring, choir children sing,
Its peace and love and harmony we bring.
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
To all our sisters and brothers
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
Let all of the world join our hands.
Theres a feeling in the air, its beginning to look like christmas everywhere.
Hear the gentle sounds of the snowflakes trickle down without a care.
People stop and stare, the christmas tree is there,
A star on top which nothing cant compare.
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
Its all about peace and understanding
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
Let all of the world lend a hand
A time for me, a time for you,
Theres enough of love to last our whole life through
Hail, merry...
song performed by by New Kids On The Block
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Merry Merry Xmas
Peace to the world from the new kids on the block, we are here,
Were spreading all our joy, spreading all our love and our cheers.
Cheerful sleigh bells ring, choir children sing,
Its peace and love and harmony we bring.
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
To all our sisters and brothers
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
Let all of the world join our hands.
Theres a feeling in the air, its beginning to look like christmas everywhere.
Hear the gentle sounds of the snowflakes trickle down without a care.
People stop and stare, the christmas tree is there,
A star on top which nothing cant compare.
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
Its all about peace and understanding
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
Let all of the world lend a hand
A time for me, a time for you,
Theres enough of love to last our whole life through
Hail, merry...
song performed by by New Kids On The Block
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Children from like 8 and even up to the college age - Spider-Man appeals to a fairly broad demographic but, like I said, a mean age probably of 12 is a good mark - they process information so quickly and it's not because of attention deficit or short attention span.
quote by Thomas Haden Church
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Okay At Christmas
First let me say merry Christmas
Hope you haven't yet spent up to the max
For again this is such a time of the year
When you should take a little more care
And for Christ's sake do what's fair
Prepare yourself to do a little charity
Then let those with much help others fairly
Even if you can't afford to do a great lot
The Saviour sees and knows what you've got
Just do your best He will do the rest
Do the work of love you'll be blessed
He whose birthday you're hoping to celebrate
Doubtless you guess He requires no less
Than for everyone to have a merry Christmas
Join me with a cheer for who takes care
To help the less fortunate share a Christmas
Happy be your spirit all along the way
The Child who was born upon this day
He reigns, our Saviour Christ the Lord
Three cheers to all for a merry Christmas
Let everyone give thanks for Christ the Lord
The beloved Son of God came to us at last
Who went on the cross and paid the cost
He did it to stop man from getting lost
Lift your hands and say merry Christmas.
poem by Clarence Prince
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Life was very simple. My parents had come from the North of England, which is a fairly rugged, bleak, hard-working part of England, and so there was not the expectation of luxury.
quote by Roger Bannister
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballade Of The Dead Cities
The dust of Carthage and the dust
Of Babel on the desert wold,
The loves of Corinth, and the lust,
Orchomenos increased with gold;
The town of Jason, over-bold,
And Cherson, smitten in her prime -
What are they but a dream half-told?
Where are the cities of old time?
In towns that were a kingdom's trust,
In dim Atlantic forests' fold,
The marble wasteth to a crust,
The granite crumbles into mould;
O'er these--left nameless from of old -
As over Shinar's brick and slime,
One vast forgetfulness is roll'd -
Where are the cities of old time?
The lapse of ages, and the rust,
The fire, the frost, the waters cold,
Efface the evil and the just;
From Thebes, that Eriphyle sold,
To drown'd Caer-Is, whose sweet bells toll'd
Beneath the wave a dreamy chime
That echo'd from the mountain-hold, -
'Where are the cities of old time?'
ENVOY.
Prince, all thy towns and cities must
Decay as these, till all their crime,
And mirth, and wealth, and toil are thrust
Where are the cities of old time.
poem by Andrew Lang
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If I had to compare any of the two, I'd compare the first one in Edmonton, the first one here in New York because it had been so long in New York since we had won. Obviously, being the first time to ever win the cup in Edmonton, they were fairly similar in that regard.
quote by Mark Messier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home Thoughts from Abroad
April in England–daffodils are growing
By every wayside, golden, tall and fair;
April–and all the little winds are blowing
The scents of springtime through the sunny air.
April in England–God, that we were there!
April in England–and her sons are lying
On these red fields, and dreaming of her shore;
April–we hear the thrushes' songs replying
Each unto each, above the cannons' roar;
April in England–shall we see it more?
April in England–there's the cuckoo calling
Down in her meadows where the cowslip gleams;
April–and little showers are softly falling,
Dimpling the surface of her babbling streams;
April in England–how the shrapnel screams!
April in England–blood and dust and smother,
Screaming of horses, men in agony.
April–full many of thy sons, O Mother,
Never again those dewy dawns shall see.
April in England–God, keep England free!
poem by Norah M. Holland
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Snow Filled Fields
And a new day is born on the broad expanse of the snow
And man is now freed from the phantoms below -- and I must go!
I turn away -- the snow and its beauty my visit prolong --
But now day returns and my heart must leave with its song
That it gleaned from the stars and the moonlight's soft glow,
From the broad breast of the land and wide sweep of white snow.
poem by Henry Kriescher
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On a Fair Morning as I Came by the Way
On a fair morning, as I came by the way,
Met I with a merry maid in the merry month of May,
When a sweet love sings his lovely lay,
And every bird upon the bush bechirps it up so gay.
With a heave and ho! with a heave and ho!
Thy wife shall be thy master, I trow.
Sing care away, care away, let the world go!
Hey, lustily, all in a row, all in a row,
Sing care away, care away, let the world go!
poem by Thomas Morley
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The Shepherd's Resolution
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?
BY OUR OWN JEROME D. KERN, AUTHOR OF "YOU'RE HERE AND I'M HERE"
I don't care if a girl is fair
If she doesn't seem beautiful to me,
I won't waste away if she's fair as day,
Or prettier than meadows in the month of May;
As long as you are there for me to see,
I don't care and you don't care
How many others are beyond compare--
You're the only one I like to have around.
I won't mind if she's everything combined,
If she doesn't seem wonderful to me,
I won't fret if she's everybody's pet,
Or considered by all as the one best bet;
As long as you and I are only we,
I don't care and you don't care
How many others are beyond compare,
You're the only one I like to have around.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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In Rotterdam
I
I gaze upon a city,—
A city new and strange,—
Down many a watery vista
My fancy takes a range;
From side to side I saunter,
And wonder where I am;
And can you be in England,
And I at Rotterdam!
II
Before me lie dark waters
In broad canals and deep,
Whereon the silver moonbeams
Sleep, restless in their sleep;
A sort of vulgar Venice
Reminds me where I am;
Yes, yes, you are in England,
And I'm at Rotterdam.
III
Tall houses with quaint gables,
Where frequent windows shine,
And quays that lead to bridges,
And trees in formal line,
And masts of spicy vessels
From western Surinam,
All tell me you're in England,
But I'm in Rotterdam.
IV
Those sailors, how outlandish
The face and form of each!
They deal in foreign gestures,
And use a foreign speech;
A tongue not learn'd near Isis,
Or studied by the Cam,
Declares that you're in England,
And I'm at Rotterdam.
V
And now across a market
My doubtful way I trace,
Where stands a solemn statue,
The Genius of the place;
And to the great Erasmus
I offer my salaam;
Who tells me you're in England,
But I'm at Rotterdam.
VI
The coffee-room is open—
I mingle in its crowd,—
The dominos are noisy—
The hookahs raise a cloud;
The flavor, none of Fearon's,
That mingles with my dram,
Reminds me you're in England,
And I'm at Rotterdam.
VII
Then here it goes, a bumper—
The toast it shall be mine,
In schiedam, or in sherry,
Tokay, or hock of Rhine;
It well deserves the brightest,
Where sunbeam ever swam—
'The Girl I love in England'
I drink at Rotterdam!
poem by Thomas Hood
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Merry-Go-Round
Merry-go-round, merry-go-round,
Up in the sky.
Merry-go-round, merry-go-round,
Soars me high!
Breeze rustles,
cloud's castles,
Roam round and round!
I shriek in false fear,
Seeing the thing near,
which I never have found.
Merry-go-round, merry-go-round,
Brings the fun to me,
Merry-go-round, merry-go-round,
Fills mind with glee!
Moving round, round,
Touching the ground,
Almost kisses the sky.
Merry-go-round, merry-go-round,
Takes me up in the high!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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We were soon free of the woods and bushes, and fairly upon the broad prairie.
quote by Francis Parkman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Prophecy
The cities of England burn
with the rage of youth -
nothing to gain
and nothing to lose.
Blitzkrieg rains incinerate
shops and schools
give cover
as they rush through
gaping windows.
“so why not go get your own?
a penny’s worth, a purse,
a watch,
designer jeans
you know
loot”
“nearly one million school leavers
and graduates
out of work,
a generation lost
to worklessness.”
So sirens wail as batons flail
like v-bombs launched
at the nation’s children
denied,
cut-back
forgotten
The story of our
strangled civilization
will be written on the back
of bloodied balance sheets
until a new order prevails
in the cities of England, France,
America…
the few rich
and the many poor.
poem by Steven Federle
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The Wonderful Future
She builds her own satellite
From an old rusted chair
She leaves this old world behind
And the things that she cares
Maybe she's gone but it won't be for long
What do I know?
Maybe she's found what we all dream about
What do I know?
She's beautiful and wonderful
I can't compare
It's wonderful
It's not that fair
She builds a strong alibi from the future that's here
She needs to know I'm alive
That I'm flesh and I tear
Maybe she's wrong but I wouldn't mind my own
What do I know?
Her best silicone with a touch of her soul
What do I know?
She's beautiful and wonderful
I can't compare
It's wonderful
It's just not fair
song performed by by Our Lady Peace
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pro Rege Nostro
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice again
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England: --
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease,
Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song of your bugles blown, England --
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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At a Hasty Wedding
If hours be years the twain are blest,
For now they solace swift desire
By bonds of every bond the best,
If hours be years. The twain are blest
Do eastern stars slope never west,
Nor pallid ashes follow fire:
If hours be years the twain are blest,
For now they solace swift desire.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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