When a Music-hall singer does not treat of the tender passion in a rakish and knowing spirit, he is apt to exhibit an unworldliness truly ideal in its noble indifference to all social distinctions. So amiable a tendency deserves encouragement, and Mr. Punch has much pleasure in offering the following little idyl to the notice of any Mammoth Comique who may happen to be in a sentimental mood. It is supposed to be sung by a scion of the nobility, and the artiste will accordingly present himself in a brown "billy-cock" hat, a long grey frock-coat, fawn-coloured trousers, white "spats," and primrose, or green, gloves—the recognised attire of a Music-hall aristocrat. A powerful,—though not necessarily tuneful,—voice is desirable for the adequate rendering of this ditty; any words it is inconvenient to sing, can always be spoken.

ONLY A LITTLE PLEBEIAN!

First Verse.

When first I met my Mary Ann, she stood behind a barrow—
A bower of enchantment spread with many a dainty snack!
And, as I gazed, I felt my heart transfixed with Cupid's arrow,
For she opened all her oysters with so fairylike a knack.

Refrain (throaty, but tender).

She's only a little Plebeian!
And I'm a Patrician swell!
But she's as sweet as Aurora, and how I adore her,
No eloquence ever can tell!
Only a fried-fish vend-ar!
Selling her saucers of whilks,
[Almost defiant stress on the word "whilks."
But, for me, she's as slend-ar—far more true and tend-ar,
Than if she wore satins and silks!

[The grammar of the last two lines is shaky, but the Lion-Comique must try to put up with that, and, after all, does sincere emotion ever stop to think about grammar? If it does, Music-hall audiences don't—which is the main point.

Second Verse.

I longed before her little feet to grovel in the gutter:
I vowed, unless I won her as a wife, 'twould drive me mad!
Until at last a shy consent I coaxed her lips to utter,
For she dallied with her Anglo-Dutch, and whispered, "Speak to Dad!"

Refrain—For she's only a little Plebeian, &c.

Third Verse.

I called upon her sire, and found him lowly born, but brawny,
A noble type, when sober, of the British artisan;
I grasped his honest hand, and didn't mind its being horny:
"Behold!" I cried, "a suitor for your daughter, Mary Ann!"

Refrain—Though she's only a little Plebeian, &c.

Fourth Verse.

"You ask me, gov'nor, to resign," said he, "my only treasure,
And so a toff her fickle heart away from me has won!"
He turned to mask his manly woe behind a pewter measure—
Then, breathing blessings through the beer, he said; "All right, my son!

Refrain—If she's only a little Plebeian,
And you're a Patrician swell,"—&c.

Fifth Verse.

(The author flatters himself that, in quiet sentiment and homely pathos he has seldom done anything finer than the two succeeding stanzas.)

Next I sought my noble father in his old ancestral castle,
And at his gouty foot my love's fond offering I laid—
A simple gift of shellfish, in a neat brown-paper parcel!
"Ah, Sir!" I cried, "if you could know, you'd love my little maid!"

Refrain—True, she's only a little Plebeian, &c.

Sixth Verse.

Beneath his shaggy eyebrows soon I saw a tear-drop twinkle;
That artless present overcame his stubborn Norman pride!
And when I made him taste a whilk, and try a periwinkle,
His last objections vanished—so she's soon to be my bride!

Refrain—Ah! she's only a little Plebeian, &c.

Seventh Verse.

Now heraldry's a science that I haven't studied much in,
But I mean to ask the College—if it's not against their rules—
That three periwinkles proper may be quartered on our 'scutcheon,
With a whilk regardant, rampant, on an oyster-knife, all gules!

Refrain—As she's only a little Plebeian, &c.

This little ditty, which has the true, unmistakable ring about it, and will, Mr. Punch believes, touch the hearts of any Music-hall audience, is entirely at the service of any talented artiste who will undertake to fit it with an appropriate melody, and sing it in a spirit of becoming seriousness.