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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 69 pages of information about Bab Ballads and Savoy Songs.

  Even blundering Doodle-Dum-Deh
    Was insensible quite to their leers
  And said good little Tootle-Tum-Teh,
    “It’s your blood we desire, pretty dears—­
    We have come for our dinners, my dears!”

  And the Queen of the Amazons fell
    To Borria Bungalee Boo,
  In a mouthful he gulped, with a yell,
    Tippy-Wippity Tol-the-Rol-Loo—­
    The pretty Queen Tol-the-Rol-Loo.

  And neat little Titty-Fol-Leh
    Was eaten by Pish-Pooh-Bah,
  And light-hearted Waggety-Weh
    By dismal Alack-a-Deh-Ah—­
    Despairing Alack-a-Deh-Ah.

  And rollicking Tral-the-Ral-Lah
    Was eaten by Doodle-Dum-Deh,
  And musical Doh-Reh-Mi-Fah
    By good little Tootle-Tum-Teh—­
    Exemplary Tootle-Tum-Teh!

THE TROUBADOUR.

  A troubadour he played
    Without a castle wall,
  Within, a hapless maid
    Responded to his call.

  “Oh, willow, woe is me! 
    Alack and well-a-day! 
  If I were only free
    I’d hie me far away!”

  Unknown her face and name,
    But this he knew right well,
  The maiden’s wailing came
    From out a dungeon cell.

  A hapless woman lay
    Within that dungeon grim—­
  That fact, I’ve heard him say. 
    Was quite enough for him.

  “I will not sit or lie,
    Or eat or drink, I vow. 
  Till thou art free as I,
    Or I as pent as thou.”

  Her tears then ceased to flow,
    Her wails no longer rang,
  And tuneful in her woe
    The prisoned maiden sang: 

  “Oh, stranger, as you play
    I recognize your touch;
  And all that I can say
    Is, thank you very much.”

  He seized his clarion straight,
    And blew thereat, until
  A warden oped the gate,
    “Oh, what might be your will?”

  “I’ve come, sir knave, to see
    The master of these halls: 
  A maid unwillingly
    Lies prisoned in their walls.”

  With barely stifled sigh
    That porter drooped his head,
  With teardrops in his eye,
    “A many, sir,” he said.

  He stayed to hear no more,
    But pushed that porter by,
  And shortly stood before
    Sir Hugh de Peckham Rye.

  Sir Hugh he darkly frowned,
    “What would you, sir, with me?”
  The troubadour he downed
    Upon his bended knee.

  “I’ve come, De Peckham Rye,
    To do a Christian task;
  You ask me what would I? 
    It is not much I ask.

  “Release these maidens, sir,
    Whom you dominion o’er—­
  Particularly her
    Upon the second floor.

  “And if you don’t, my lord”—­
    He here stood bolt upright,
  And tapped a tailor’s sword—­
    “Come out, you cad, and fight!”

  Sir Hugh he called—­and ran
    The warden from the gate: 
  “Go, show this gentleman
    The maid in forty-eight.”

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