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Bab Ballads and Savoy Songs by Sir W. S. (William Schwenck) Gilbert
page 29 of 168 (17%)
And laugh at it as such;
But if they saw their Bishop land,
His leg supported in his hand,
The joke they wouldn't understand--
'Twould pain them very much!"




TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE.

BY A MISERABLE WRETCH.


Roll on, thou ball, roll on!
Through pathless realms of Space
Roll on!
What, though I'm in a sorry case?
What, though I cannot meet my bills?
What, though I suffer toothache's ills?
What, though I swallow countless pills?
Never _you_ mind!
Roll on!

Roll on, thou ball, roll on!
Through seas of inky air
Roll on!
It's true I've got no shirts to wear;
It's true my butcher's bill is due;
It's true my prospects all look blue--
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