The Musical Boy by James Thomas Fields 1817-1881

It is a ruthless, toothless wight
Who dwells beside a wall,
And spends his time in singing songs
As loud as he can bawl,
And casting stones at passengers
Who may neglect to call.

The knave deals out inflated corn
And other fluffy things,
Gum-balls and miscellaneous pies,
And doughnuts shaped like rings;
The pea-nut branch he also plies,
As all day long he sings.

“O urchin rude, of manners crude,
Of unangelic voice,
Pray tell me true, young ruffian, do,
If thus you live from choice,
Or if in your unhallowed ways
You really don’t rejoice!

“Your wares are insalubrious,
Your carols are the same,
Your bold career is fraught with fear,
Your traffic one of shame,–
A dark, mysterious, dreadful trade,
A deed without a name.

“Boy, cease your harmful, dreary notes,
And fling your goods away;
Go get you to New Zealand, or
Some cove in Baffin’s Bay:
Expenses out (but no return)
Myself will gladly pay.”

The rogue looks up with knowing leer,
And bids me not repine,
Then aims a missile at my head
With phrase that’s not divine,
And croaks a still more dismal song,–
The words, alas! are mine!

From: Fields, James T., Ballads and Other Verses, 1881, Houghton, Mifflin and Company: Boston, pp. 31-32.

Date: 1881

via From Troubles of the World


Take care and keep laughing!

Sarah

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