Analysis of The Baby's Vengeance
William Schwenck Gilbert 1836 – 1911
Weary at heart and extremely ill
Was PALEY VOLLAIRE of Bromptonville,
In a dirty lodging, with fever down,
Close to the Polygon, Somers Town.
PALEY VOLLAIRE was an only son
(For why? His mother had had but one),
And PALEY inherited gold and grounds
Worth several hundred thousand pounds.
But he, like many a rich young man,
Through this magnificent fortune ran,
And nothing was left for his daily needs
But duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds.
Shabby and sorry and sorely sick,
He slept, and dreamt that the clock's "tick, tick,"
Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife,
Snicking off bits of his shortened life.
He woke and counted the pips on the walls,
The outdoor passengers' loud footfalls,
And reckoned all over, and reckoned again,
The little white tufts on his counterpane.
A medical man to his bedside came.
(I can't remember that doctor's name),
And said, "You'll die in a very short while
If you don't set sail for Madeira's isle."
"Go to Madeira? goodness me!
I haven't the money to pay your fee!"
"Then, PALEY VOLLAIRE," said the leech, "good bye;
I'll come no more, for your're sure to die."
He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast;
"Oh, send," said he, "for FREDERICK WEST,
Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim:
I've a terrible tale to whisper him!"
Poor was FREDERICK'S lot in life, -
A dustman he with a fair young wife,
A worthy man with a hard-earned store,
A hundred and seventy pounds - or more.
FREDERICK came, and he said, "Maybe
You'll say what you happened to want with me?"
"Wronged boy," said PALEY VOLLAIRE, "I will,
But don't you fidget yourself - sit still."
THE TERRIBLE TALE.
"'Tis now some thirty-seven years ago
Since first began the plot that I'm revealing,
A fine young woman, whom you ought to know,
Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing.
Herself by means of mangling reimbursing,
And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing.
"Two little babes dwelt in their humble cot:
One was her own - the other only lent to her:
HER OWN SHE SLIGHTED. Tempted by a lot
Of gold and silver regularly sent to her,
She ministered unto the little other
In the capacity of foster-mother.
"I WAS HER OWN. Oh! how I lay and sobbed
In my poor cradle - deeply, deeply cursing
The rich man's pampered bantling, who had robbed
My only birthright - an attentive nursing!
Sometimes in hatred of my foster-brother,
I gnashed my gums - which terrified my mother.
"One day - it was quite early in the week -
I IN MY CRADLE HAVING PLACED THE BANTLING -
Crept into his! He had not learnt to speak,
But I could see his face with anger mantling.
It was imprudent - well, disgraceful maybe,
For, oh! I was a bad, blackhearted baby!
"So great a luxury was food, I think
No wickedness but I was game to try for it.
NOW if I wanted anything to drink
At any time, I only had to cry for it!
ONCE, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking,
My blubbering involved a serious smacking!
"We grew up in the usual way - my friend,
My foster-brother, daily growing thinner,
While gradually I began to mend,
And thrived amazingly on double dinner.
And every one, besides my foster-mother,
Believed that either of us was the other.
"I came into HIS wealth - I bore HIS name,
I bear it still - HIS property I squandered -
I mortgaged everything - and now (oh, shame!)
Into a Somers Town shake-down I've wandered!
I am no PALEY - no, VOLLAIRE - it's true, my boy!
The only rightful PALEY V. is YOU, my boy!
"And all I have is yours - and yours is mine.
I still may place you in your true position:
Give me the pounds you've saved, and I'll resign
My noble name, my rank, and my condition.
So far my wickedness in falsely owning
Your vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!"
FREDERICK he was a simple soul,
He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll,
And gave to PALEY his hard-earned store,
A hundred and seventy pounds or more.
PALEY VOLLAIRE, with many a groan,
Gave FREDERICK all that he called his own, -
Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean,
A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.
And FRED (entitled to all things there)
He took the fever from MR. VOLLAIRE,
Which killed poor FREDERICK WEST. Meanwhile
VOLLAIRE sailed off to Madeira's isle.
Scheme | AABB CCDD EEFF GGHH XDXB IIJJ KKLL MMNN HHOO KKAA X PQPQQQ RSRSSS TQTQSS UGUGKK VWVWQQ XSXSSS IYIYZZ 1 C1 CQG 2 2 OO 3 3 XX XOJJ |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 101100101 110111 0010101101 1101101 10111101 111101111 0100100101 11010101 111100111 110100101 0101111101 1100101101 100100101 110110111 1110110111 11111101 1101001101 0110011 01011001001 01011111 010011111 110101101 0111001011 11111111 11010101 1100101111 110110111 1111111111 110110111 11111101 110111111 1010011101 1110101 010110111 010110111 0100100111 10101110 1111101111 11110111 111100111 01001 1111010101 11010111010 0111011111 11010101110 01111100010 01011100110 1101101101 110101010110 0111010101 110101000110 111001010 00010011010 1101111101 01110101010 011101111 1101101010 01010111010 1111110110 1111110001 1011010101 1011111111 1111111101 11010101010 111101110 1101001111 110011111111 111101011 110111011111 11111101010 1101010010 11100100111 11010101010 1100010111 01010011010 010010111010 01110111010 1101111111 11111100110 110100111 01010111110 11110111111 010101011111 0111110111 11111011010 1101110101 11011101010 11110001010 11111111 10110101 1111100101 011101111 0100100111 10111001 110111111 1100100111 0100100011 010101111 110101101 1111011 111111 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 4,064 |
Words | 781 |
Sentences | 48 |
Stanzas | 22 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 1, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 4, 4, 4 |
Lines Amount | 101 |
Letters per line (avg) | 31 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 143 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 35 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:57 min read
- 69 Views
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"The Baby's Vengeance" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 4 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/41272/the-baby%27s-vengeance>.
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