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Bab Ballads (version 2)

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<h2>BAINES CAREW, GENTLEMAN</h2> Of all the good attorneys who    Have placed their names upon the roll, But few could equal Baines Carew    For tender-heartedness and soul. Whene’er he heard a tale of woe    From client A or client B, His grief would overcome him so    He’d scarce have strength to take his fee. It laid him up for many days,    When duty led him to distrain, And serving writs, although it pays,    Gave him excruciating pain. He made out costs, distrained for rent,    Foreclosed and sued, with moistened eye— No bill of costs could represent    The value of such sympathy. No charges can approximate    The worth of sympathy with woe;— Although I think I ought to state    He did his best to make them so. Of all the many clients who    Had mustered round his legal flag, No single client of the crew    Was half so dear as Captain Bagg. Now, Captain Bagg had bowed him to    A heavy matrimonial yoke— His wifey had of faults a few—    She never could resist a joke. Her chaff at first he meekly bore,    Till unendurable it grew. “To stop this persecution sore    I will consult my friend Carew. “And when Carew’s advice I’ve got,    Divorce a mensâ I shall try.” (A legal separation—not    A vinculo conjugii.) “Oh, Baines Carew, my woe I’ve kept    A secret hitherto, you know;”— (And Baines Carew, Esquire, he wept    To hear that Bagg had any woe.) “My case, indeed, is passing sad.    My wife—whom I considered true— With brutal conduct drives me mad.”    “I am appalled,” said Baines Carew. “What! sound the matrimonial knell    Of worthy people such as these! Why was I an attorney?  Well—    Go on to the sævitia, please.” “Domestic bliss has proved my bane,—    A harder case you never heard, My wife (in other matters sane)    Pretends that I’m a Dicky bird! “She makes me sing, ‘Too-whit, too-wee!’    And stand upon a rounded stick, And always introduces me    To every one as ‘Pretty Dick’!” “Oh, dear,” said weeping Baines Carew,    “This is the direst case I know.” “I’m grieved,” said Bagg, “at paining you—    To Cobb and Poltherthwaite I’ll go— “To Cobb’s cold, calculating ear,    My gruesome sorrows I’ll impart”— “No; stop,” said Baines, “I’ll dry my tear,    And steel my sympathetic heart.” “She makes me perch upon a tree,    Rewarding me with ‘Sweety—nice!’ And threatens to exhibit me    With four or five performing mice.” “Restrain my tears I wish I could”    (Said Baines), “I don’t know what to do.” Said Captain Bagg, “You’re very good.”    “Oh, not at all,” said Baines Carew. “She makes me fire a gun,” said Bagg;    “And, at a preconcerted word, Climb up a ladder with a flag,    Like any street performing bird. “She places sugar in my way—    In public places calls me ‘Sweet!’ She gives me groundsel every day,    And hard canary-seed to eat.” “Oh, woe! oh, sad! oh, dire to tell!”    (Said Baines).  “Be good enough to stop.” And senseless on the floor he fell,    With unpremeditated flop! Said Captain Bagg, “Well, really I    Am grieved to think it pains you so. I thank you for your sympathy;    But, hang it!—come—I say, you know!” But Baines lay flat upon the floor,    Convulsed with sympathetic sob;— The Captain toddled off next door,    And gave the case to Mr. Cobb. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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