This song, now all but forgotten, deserves to be recorded, for it contributed not a little to the Revolution of 1688. A contemporary writer said of it, "A foolish ballad was made at that time, treating the Papists, and chiefly the Irish, in a very ridiculous manner, which had a burden, said to be Irish words, "Lero, lero, liliburlero," that made an impression on the King's army that cannot be imagined by those that saw it not, The whole army, and at last the people, were singing it perpetually, and perhaps never had so slight a thing so great an effect."'

One of the principal tools of James II. was General Richard Talbot, who was nominated to the Lieutenancy of Ireland in 1686, in this position his arbitrary and cruel treatment of the Protestants recommended him to the favour of his bigoted master, who rewarded him by creating him Earl of Tyrconnel, and sending him a second time, and on this occasion as Viceroy, to Ireland. It was at this time that Lillburlero was written; Lilliburlero and Bullen-a-lah are said to have been the sign and countersign used among the Irish papists during their warfare with the protestants.

The song has been ascribed to Lord Dorset, but also, and with more probability, to Lord Wharton, who openly boasted that he had sung King James out of three kingdoms.

Ho! BRODER Teague, dost hear de decree

Lilliburlero, bullen-a-lah.

Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen-a-lah, Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen-a-lah. (This refrain is to be repeated after each two lines.) Ho! by St. Tyburn, it is de Talbote: And he will cut de Englishmen's troate. Lilli, &c. Dough by my shoul de English do praat, De law's on dare side, and Chrish knows what, Lilli, &c. But if dispence do come from de Pope, We'll hang Magna Charta and dem in a rope. For de good Talbote is made a lord, And with brave lads is coming aboard. Who all in France have taken a sware, Dat dey will have no Protestant heir. Arrah! but why does he stay behind? Ho! by my shoul 'tis a Protestant wind,

But see de Tyrconnel is now come ashore,
And we shall have commissions gallore.
And he dat will not go to de mass,
Shall be turn out, and look like an ass.

Now, now de hereticks all go down,

By Crish and Saint Patrick, de nation's our own.

Dare was an old prophesy found in a bog,
Ireland shall be ruled by an ass, and a dog.

And now dis prophesy is come to pass,
For Talbot's de dog, and James is de ass.
Lilli burlero, bullen-a-lah.

Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen-a-lah,
Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen-a-lah.

The melody was said to be the same as that which accompanies the convivial chant :

"Very good song, very well sung,
Jolly companions, every one."

"The verses

And Lord Macaulay wrote of Lilliburlero :and the tune caught the fancy of the nation. It was especially the delight of the English army." Whilst Sterne also mentions it in "Tristram Shandy," as the favourite air of Uncle Toby, who had been a soldier in the army of William III.

The following imitation alludes to the attempts being made in 1798 to bring about the legislative union of England and Ireland, but which did not actually take place until 1801. At that date the Irish Parliament was induced, by bribery and fraud to consent to its incorporation with that of Great Britain. The parody is a somewhat remarkable prophecy of what has actually occurred.

THE NEW LILLA BULERO.

Ho, broder Teague, dost hear de decree?
Lilla bulero, bulen, al ha,
United men we shall all of us be,
Lilla bulero, bulen, al ha.

Lero lero, lilla bulero, lilla bulero, bulen al ha.
Lero lero, lilla bulero, lilla bulero, bulen al ha,
Says England, since Union's de ting dat you want,
By Jasus I'll give you a belly full on't

And if green is de colour you like, by de mass,
You'll be plas'd when all Dublin is cover'd wid grass.

But, says Teague, now, by Union, what is it dey mane?
Sure 'tis binding three nations all fast in one chain.
'Tis a shame which quite bodder's one's brain faith and troth,
For 'tis worse for de one yet it's better for both.

Is not Johnny Fitzgibbon gone straight to de King?
Oh! between 'em how nately dey ll settle de ting!
He'll drive a rare job for us all, you may swear,
And anoder as good for Lord Chancellor Clare.
And since we've a parliament not to our mind,
Sure to take it away now, is wonderful kind.
Would a minister wish for his jobs better tools
Dan a cargo of knaves, when exported by fools?
And, by Christ, we'll not send him such blundering elves,
Who will tink of deir country and not of demselves.
Oh! when Paddy in Westminster takes his own sate,
By my shoul he'll enliven de British debate.
Should de Spaker call order, he'll huff and look big,
Till he makes ev'ry hair stand on an end on his wig.

Should a member prasume on his spache to remark
Sure he'll beg just to mate him next day in de Park.
For a park like our Phanix in London dey've got,
By jontlemen us'd for exchanging a shot.
Won't it be a vast benefit now to our trade,

When all laws to promote it in England are made?

You have seen, Teague, a cur, to whose draggled backside, Butcher boys have a broken old canister tied.

Now, if England's de dog whom French butchers assail,
Will not we be de canister tied to her tail?

Not a great while ago, sure, we heard a vast dale
About renunciation and simple repale :

But this schame now will strike ev'ry orator mute,
And de Union will settle de simple dispute;

And 'twill den to our fearce Orange yeomen be known,
Dat in cutting our troats dey've been cutting deir own.
Lilla Lero, &c.

The Morning Chronicle. 1798.

THE NEW "LILLI BURLERO." (To be sung by Nationalists to the old air.) Ho! Broder League, dost hear the decree? Lilli Bullero, Buller a-la,

"SAUNDERSON ought to be sub-Secretree." Bully Bullero, Buller a-la. *

Lero, Lero, REDVERS BULLERO,
Lero, Lero, Buller o-la

Oranges come to us from foreign climes,
Lilli Bullero, Buller a-la,

Is the blood-orange a sign of the Times?

Lilli Bullero Buller a-la.

The style of the old ballad has been often so successfully imitated as to deceive even the most accomplished literary critics. Amongst these may be noted the "New-Old Ballads," written by Peter Pindar (Dr. Wolcot) which were republished by that clever but unscrupulous satirist in a collection, entitled Tears and Smiles, published in 1801, with the following "Advertisement to the Reader. These ballads were composed several years ago, in imitation of authors of the reigns of Harry the Eighth, Elizabeth, and James, and sent to some of my literary friends as innocent deceptions.-P. P."

There were also "The Cornish Ballads," written by Mrs. Gervis, and "The Bristow Tragedy, or Death of Sir Charles Bawdin," by Thomas Chatterton, and others too numerous to mention, especially as they cannot exactly be styled Parodies in the strict sense of the term.

The finest burlesque ballad in the language is undoubtedly that entitled "The Queen in France," contained in The Book of Ballads edited by Bon Gaultier, and published by W. Blackwood and Sons. This clever book of parodies

* Sir Redvers Buller.

and burlesques was the joint production of Sir Theodore Martin, and the late Professor W. E. Aytoun. The burlesque ballad in question was probably composed by Ayioun, it describes the Queen's visit to Louis Phillippe in France in 1843, and closely imitates the metre and diction of Sir Patrick Spens" an old Scotch balad. The old ballad may be found in Percy's Reliques, in Sir Walter Scott's Border Minstrelsy, and in Early Ballads, edited by Robert Bell. "The Queen in France" is very long. and disjointed extracts would give but a faint idea of its quaint humour, and simple pathos, besides which The Bon Gaultier Ballads is a readily accessible book.

In the same volume there is another, but inferior, burlesque ballad, entitled Little John and the Red Friar, which deals with the vexed question of ecclesiastical titles. Little John representing Lord John Russell, and the Red Friar, Cardinal Wiseman, who, in 1850, was appointed by the Pope, Lord Archbishop of Westminster, a nomination which gave rise to much agitation and angry controversy.

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THE "LAY" OF THE GOOD LORD ROSEBERY.
A Modern Ballad.

IT was the good Lord Rosebery

And he sat at the Durdans fair,

By the hour of noon in his heel-less shoon,

And the ease of an easy-chair.

"Come hither, come hither, my private scribe;

Come hither and soothly say,

What wild ducks fly, be it low, be it high,

Over London town this day."

"O the talk flies high," said the private scribe, "That to-day we cross the sea,

To Calais and Brussels and fair Cologne,

And the City upon the Spree.

"And its O, but I know, when the loud winds blow

And the sea climbs high on the strand,

It is I that am wan as the wan watèr

Or ever I win to land."

"Nay, peace, good fellow," Lord Rosebery cried, "Till the actual qualms befall,

And tell me, I pray, what men may say
Of the mails which we travel withal."

"O they say you have ta'en a despatch-box stout, But and a Gladstone bag,

With a bottle of blacking and brush inside
Wrapped up in the British flag."

"But tell me, O tell me, my private scribe,
Come tell me, and soothly say,
How fared you with yon smart interviewèr
Who interviewed you this day?

"What learnt he of us and our secret plans?

Sith he comes of a questing tribe,

Did he ask what we're at? hath he smelt of a rat? Say soothly, my private scribe."

"Now Heaven be good to thee, good my lord!" Quo' the scribe in high chagrin, "Dost think from the face of thy faithful clerk That his mother him bore yestreen?

"O many's the chiel taking notes I have known And many a one sent back

With the saut, saut scent of the red herring
Drawn featly across his track,"

"Tis well, 'tis well," Lord Rosebery cried,
"Tis well that the rogues should stray.
But tell me, my scribe, what think they of us?
What of our little game think they?"

"O some there were who talked full wise
Of the Germans beyond the sea,

And the purposes dark of the grim Bismarck

On the coast of New Guinea;

"And who seemed cocksure you were seeking the Prince

'Twas thus that the rumour ran

With additional swag in the Gladstone bag

As a bribe from the grand old man.'

"But said they nought," said the Minister bold; Come tell me, my follower good,

Of the Muscovite pranks on the Murghab's banks, And the banks of the Heri Rud?"

"O ay! O ay! there were some who deemed

Of your mission to Germany thus:

That you go to engage the honest broker
To square the advancing Russ."

Full loud the good Lord Rosebery laughed,
And his head went to and fro;

"Jack-fools are they who suppose that to-day One needs over sea to go.

"A word flies fleet on the lightning's feet,
And 'twere best without mission' or fuss;
Let the wire give hints to the broker-Prince
To square the advancing Russ."

But the scribe look'd up from his newspaper,
And a white-faced scribe was he;
"Too late may a man be, dear my lord,
Though he wait not to cross the sea.

"For the foot of a Fate that is bent on war
May outstrip a surrendering wire;
Our allies and our foes are already at blows,
And the fat's in the Afghan fire."

The Saturday Review. April 11, 1885.

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A BALLAD OF THE GREAT

ELECTION BATTLE.

DECEMBER, 1885.

(Some way after Drayton's Ballad of Agincourt. )

FAIR stood the wind (we thought),

Ere the great fight was fought,
Much hoping, fearing nought,

On marched our heroes.
But when, whilst banners flew,
First Orange closed with Blue,
Our hopes soon tumbled to
Chillest of zeros!

When in his height of pride,
Joe did the foe deride,

And "Ransom " loudly cried,
Many offending;

When he forgot the while
Rob Roy's not English style,
Cecil did darkly smile,

Mischief portending.

And, turning to his men, Quoth our sage William then, Bearded in our own den?

I am amazed!

But battles ill begun
By pluck are often won.
Close ranks, and fight like fun!
Joe has gone craséd.

"But for myself," quoth he,
This my last fight may be.
England will mock at me,

No more esteem me, If vanquished I remain, In this great fray fall slain ; Close up and charge again Loss to redeem me! "Eighty' our foes may tell, When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell,

Not less our skill is Than when great Ben we beat; That conquest we'll repeat If you but follow fleet One standard-Willie's!"

(Five verses omitted.)
Dilke held a stubborn pike,
Harcourt as Thor did strike,
Smiting down smashers like
Hammer on anvil;
Morley his axe did ply,
Bright and young Rosebery
Bore them right doughtily,
Derby and Granville !

All in December grey
Fought was this wondrous fray,
Brave Britons, as when they
Lopped the French lillies!
Acts these to fill a pen!
Must not all Englishmen
Hope we may breed again
Hearts like Auld Willie's?

Punch. December 19, 1885.

THE BATTLE OF THE BALLOT.
(Another imitation of Drayton's Ballad,)
SEE, where the hosts advance,
As on their steeds they prance,
Flashing the sword and lance,
Eager for glory!
Hear ye the battle din ;

Who will be "Out" or "In "-
Which of the twain will win-

Lib'ral or Tory?

Salisbury, helmetless,
On with his lance doth press
Theat'ning with dire distress
Will o' the Collars!
He, with uplifted axe,
Never true valour lacks
Sore doth his vigour tax

Squire " G., who "follers."

GOD rest you merry, gentlemen!
May nothing you dismay;

Not even the dyspeptic plats

Through which you'll eat your way;

Nor yet the heavy Christmas bills

The season bids you pay;

No, nor the ever tiresome need
Of being to order gay;

Nor yet the shocking cold you'll catch

If fog and slush hold sway;

Nor yet the tumbles you must bear

If frost should win the day;

Nor sleepless nights-they're sure to come---
When "waits" attune their lay;
Nor pantomimes, whose dreariness
Might turn macassar grey;

Nor boisterous children, home in heaps,
And ravenous of play;

Nor yet-in fact, the host of ills
Which Christmases array.
God rest you merry gentlemen,
May none of these dismay !

Funny Folks. January, 1880.

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KING JOHN IN A COCKED HAT.

A Parody on the famous old Grimaldian song, called "The Frog in the Ofera Hat."

JOHN Kemble he would an acting go,
Heigho! says Kemble;

He raised the price which he thought too low,

Whether the public would let him or no;

With his roly-poly, gammon and spinnage,
And ho say manager Kemble.

The mob at the door made a mighty din,
Heigho says Kemble;

They dashed like devils thro' thick and thin,
And over the benches came tumbling in,

With their roly, &c.

'Twill do, says manager Kemble.

Soon as they pass'd Will Shakespeare's hall,

Heigho says Kemble;

They thought the lobbies were much too small,
So they gave a loud roar, and they gave a loud bawl,
With roly, &c.

Hollo! says manager Remble.

Pray what do you want? (in a sort of a huff)
Heigho says Kemble;

Says Mr. Leigh-"Nonsensical stuff,

Pho, none of your gammon, you know well enough. With your roly, &c.

You do, great manager Kemble;

He held by the tip his opera-hat,

Heigho! says Kemble;

"Indeed the concern's as poor as a rat ;

Says Bull,"No dam'me, we won't stand that,"
With our roly, &c.

'Twon't do, great manager Kemble.

He folded his arms, in a sad nonplus,

Heigho says Kemble ;

With Queen Anne's prices he made a fuss,

Says Bull,"what the devil's Queen Anne to us," With roly, &c.

'Twon't do, great manager Kemble.

He swore to himself an oath, by Styx,
Heigho! says Kemble.

Kind ladies and gentlemen, none of your tricks,
I love seven shillings much better than six,

With my roly, &c.

I do, says manager Kemble.

Then roar'd the gallery, gentle souls,

Heigho says Kemble;

No private boxes, no pigeon-holes,

We'll dowse your glims, in a crack, by goles,
With roly, &c.

No, don't, says manager Kemble.

The Morning Chronicle. November, 7, 1809.

During the O.P. riots at Covent Garden Theatre, in 1809, a certain Mr. Henry Clifford was a very conspicuous opponent to the new prices as fixed by John Kemble. Finally the management of the Theatre had to concede nearly all the claims advanced by the O. P. party through their spokesman, Clifford, and the victory was celebrated in the following lines:

HAL Clifford would once a reforming go,
Heigho says Clifford ;

He swore by the mass, that he'd nonsuit his foe,
And under his jerkin he hid his flambeau ;
With his roly, poly, gammon and spinage,
"I'll do it" roar'd patriot Clifford.

He went to the pit, where he saw a great fray,
Heigho says Clifford ;

"We want" cried O. P. "those vile boxes away,' For if they don't sin there, I'm sure that they may,” With a roly, poly, gammon and spinage, "They shall vanish" said patriot Clifford.

Now he swears reformation has got a new tune,
Heigho said Clifford ;

Lo! he and John Kemble, like loon scratching loon,
Sip their dramatic broth with the very same spoon;
With roly, poly, gammon and spinnage,
"It's over" said patriot Clifford.

The last lines refer to the Dinner of Reconciliation which took place at the Crown and Anchor Tavern on January 4th, 1810, when Mr. Clifford took the chair, supported by the most prominent of the O. P. party, and Messrs. John Kemble and Harris represented the management of Covent Garden Theatre. For full details of these extraordinary proceedings the reader is referred to the Covent Garden Journal (J. J, Stockdale, London), 1810.

I've left the "New Monthly

once and for all, Well done, said Redding;

And now I'm determined to work for its fall,

With its portraits, memoirs-gammon and spinage-
I'm very glad of it, said Redding.

Perhaps you'll help me over the style;

That I will, said Redding: So they sat down with a smirk and a smile, With pens and paper- gammon and spinage,—

Tom Campbell and Cyrus Redding. They had written prospectus-quaff'd their gin.

I'm devilish tired, said Redding. When Picken and Roscoe came tumbling in With James and Marryatt-gammon and spinageYou're the King's Own, said Redding.

Campbell rose, and with voice so sweet,

Gentlemen all, said Campbell,

I'll give you fifteen guineas a sheet
For your tales and politics-gammon and spinage
So you ought to write well, said Campbell.

I mean to be independent quite,-

The devil you do? said Roscoe.

I begin to think it's nothing but right,
And better than puffing, gammon and spinage,
To be sure so it is, said Roscoe.

They then retired, each and all,

All alone was Campbell; And they finished their articles, great and small, Poems, advertisements, gammon and spinage,

And sent them away to Campbell.

Under a cover the numbers were bound,

Heigh ho said the reader:

Cochrane and partner sent them round
To the nobles, gentry, gammon and spinage,
Heigh ho said the gentle reader.
The National Omnibus. May 13, 1831.

Thomas Campbell, the Poet, was editor of The New Monthly Magazine, Cyrus Redding was his literary subordinate, and Henry Colburn was the publisher. The Lady here referred to was doubtless intended for Lady Morgan.

LEAP FROG.

Dedicated to PRINCE NAPOLEON, THE DUKE OF MALAKHOFF, MARSHALS CANROBERT, BOSQUET, and the other French officers present at the late Crimean banquet at Paris. FROGGY must a warring go

Heigh ho, so slowly!

Froggy must a warring go,

By the Emperor's orders, like it or no,

With his swingeing St. Arnaud, Bosquet and Canrobert,
Heigh ho, so slowly!

So off he sailed to the Bosphorus blue,
Heigh ho, so growly,

So off he sailed to the Bosphorus blue,

And there found John Bull with a soldier or two, With his good-natured Raglan, Lucan, and Cardigan, Heigh ho, so scowly!

When the Rooskies at Alma were forced to run-
Heigh ho, so easy!

When the Rooskies at Alma were forced to run,
It was Froggy, of course took the one captured gun,
With his swingeing St. Arnaud, Bosquet, and Canrobert,
Heigh ho, so easy!

When the beaten Rooskies we failed to pursue