GROWLTIGER'S LAST STAND Growltiger was a Bravo Cat, who travelled on a barge: In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large. From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims, Rejoicing in his title of 'The Terror of the Thames'. His manners and appearance did not calculate to please; His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees; One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why, And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye. The cottagers of Rotherhithe knew something of his fame; At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name. They would fortify the hen-house, lock up the silly goose, When the rumour ran along the shore: GROWLTIGER'S ON THE LOOSE! Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage; Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger's rage; Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships, And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips! But most to Cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed; To Cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed. The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear— Because it was a Siamese had mauled his missing ear. Now on a peaceful summer night, all nature seemed at play, The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molesey lay. All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide— And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side. His bucko mate, GRUMBUSKIN, long since had disappeared, For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard; And his bosun, TUMBLEBRUTUS, he too had stol'n away— In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey. In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sate alone, Concentrating his attention on the Lady GRIDDLEBONE. And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks— As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks. Growltiger had no eye or ear for aught but Griddlebone, And the Lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone, Disposed to relaxation, and awaiting no surprise— But the moonlight shone reflected from a thousand bright blue eyes. And closer still and closer the sampans circled round, And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound. The lovers sang their last duet, in danger of their lives— For the foe was armed with toasting forks and cruel carving knives. Then GILBERT gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde; With a frightful burst of fireworks the Chinks they swarmed aboard. Abandoning their sampans, and their pullaways and junks, They battened down the hatches on the crew within their bunks. Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered; I am sorry to admit it, but she quickly disappeared. She probably escaped with ease, I'm sure she was not drowned— But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround. The ruthless foe pressed forward, in stubborn rank on rank; Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank. He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop, At the end of all his crimes was forced to go ker-flip, ker-flop. Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flew through the land; At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the strand. Rats were roasted whole at Brentford, and at Victoria Dock, And a day of celebration was commanded in Bangkok.

The Tory: Perspectives and Poems: Dr Pratt Datta

Growltiger‘s Last Stand by TS Eliot

THE OLD GUMBIE CAT I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots; Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots. All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat: She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!         But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,         Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.         And when all the family's in bed and asleep,         She tucks up her skirts to the basement to creep.         She is deeply concerned with the ways of the mice—         Their behaviour's not good and their manners not nice;         So when she has got them lined up on the matting,         She teaches them music, crocheting and tatting. I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots; Her equal would be hard to find, she likes the warm and sunny spots. All day she sits beside the hearth or on the bed or on my hat: She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!         But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,         Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.         As she finds that the mice will not ever keep quiet,         She is sure it is due to irregular diet         And believing that nothing is done without trying,         She sets right to work with her baking and frying.         She makes them a mouse-cake of bread and dried peas,         And a beautiful fry of lean bacon and cheese. I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots; The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots. She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that's smooth and flat: She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!         But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,         Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.         She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment         To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.         So she's formed, from that lot of disorderly louts,         A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,         With a purpose in life and a good deed to do—         And she's even created a Beetles' Tattoo. So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers— On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears. I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots; Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots. All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat: She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!         But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,         Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.         And when all the family's in bed and asleep,         She tucks up her skirts to the basement to creep.         She is deeply concerned with the ways of the mice—         Their behaviour's not good and their manners not nice;         So when she has got them lined up on the matting,         She teaches them music, crocheting and tatting. I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots; Her equal would be hard to find, she likes the warm and sunny spots. All day she sits beside the hearth or on the bed or on my hat: She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!         But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,         Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.         As she finds that the mice will not ever keep quiet,         She is sure it is due to irregular diet         And believing that nothing is done without trying,         She sets right to work with her baking and frying.         She makes them a mouse-cake of bread and dried peas,         And a beautiful fry of lean bacon and cheese. I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots; The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots. She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that's smooth and flat: She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!         But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,         Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.         She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment         To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.         So she's formed, from that lot of disorderly louts,         A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,         With a purpose in life and a good deed to do—         And she's even created a Beetles' Tattoo. So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers— On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears.

Milton‘s Musings Presents Old Possum‘s Book of Practical Cats - The Old Gumbie Cat by TS Eliot

Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats - The Naming of Cats by TS Eliot THE NAMING OF CATS The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,     It isn't just one of your holiday games; You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES. First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,     Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James, Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey—     All of them sensible everyday names. There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,     Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames: Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter—     But all of them sensible everyday names. But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,     A name that's peculiar, and more dignified, Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,     Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride? Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,     Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat, Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum—     Names that never belong to more than one cat. But above and beyond there's still one name left over,     And that is the name that you never will guess; The name that no human research can discover—     But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess. When you notice a cat in profound meditation,     The reason, I tell you, is always the same: His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation     Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:         His ineffable effable         Effanineffable Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

Old Possum‘s Book of Practical Cats - The Naming of Cats by TS Eliot

Alphabet Poem by Edward Lear A     tumbled down, and hurt his Arm, against a bit of wood. B     said, "My Boy, O! do not cry' it cannot do you good!" C     said, "A Cup of Coffee hot can't do you any harm." D     said, "A Doctor should be fetched, and he would cure the arm." E     said, "An Egg beat up in milk would quickly make him well." F     said, "A Fish, if broiled, might cure, if only by the smell." G     said, "Green Gooseberry fool, the best of cures I hold." H     said, "His Hat should be kept on, keep him from the cold." I     said, "Some Ice upon his head will make him better soon." J     said, "Some Jam, if spread on bread, or given in a spoon." K     said, "A Kangaroo is here,—this picture let him see." L     said, "A Lamp pray keep alight, to make some barley tea." M     said, "A Mulberry or two might give him satisfaction." N     said, "Some Nuts, if rolled about, might be a slight attraction." O     said, "An Owl might make him laugh, if only it would wink." P     said, "Some Poetry might be read aloud, to make him think." Q     said, "A Quince I recommend,—A Quince, or else a Quail." R     said, "Some Rats might make him move, if fastened by their tail." S     said, "A Song should now be sung, in hopes to make him laugh!" T     said, "A Turnip might avail, if sliced or cut in half." U     said, "An Urn, with water hot, place underneath his chin!" V     said, "I'll stand upon a chair, and play a Violin!" W    said, "Some Whiskey-Whizzgigs fetch, some marbles and a ball!" X     said, "Some double XX ale would be the best of all!" Y     said, "Some Yeast mised up with salt would make a perfect plaster!" Z     said, "Here is a box of Zinc! Get in my little master!        We'll shut you up! We'll nail you down!        We will, my little master!        We think we've all heard quite enough of this sad disaster!"

Alphabet Poem by Edward Lear

The Courtship of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo Edward Lear  On the Coast of Coromandel Where the early pumpkins blow, In the middle of the woods Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. Two old chairs, and half a candle, One old jug without a handle-- These were all his worldly goods, In the middle of the woods, These were all his worldly goods, Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Of the Yonghy-Bonghy Bo. Once, among the Bong-trees walking Where the early pumpkins blow, To a little heap of stones Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. There he heard a Lady talking, To some milk-white Hens of Dorking-- "'Tis the Lady Jingly Jones! On that little heap of stones Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!" Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. "Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly! Sitting where the pumpkins blow, Will you come and be my wife?" Said the Yongby-Bonghy-Bo. "I am tired of living singly-- On this coast so wild and shingly-- I'm a-weary of my life; If you'll come and be my wife, Quite serene would be my life!" Said the Yonghy-Bongby-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. "On this Coast of Coromandel Shrimps and watercresses grow, Prawns are plentiful and cheap," Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. "You shall have my chairs and candle, And my jug without a handle! Gaze upon the rolling deep (Fish is plentiful and cheap); As the sea, my love is deep!" Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. Lady Jingly answered sadly, And her tears began to flow-- "Your proposal comes too late, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! I would be your wife most gladly!" (Here she twirled her fingers madly) "But in England I've a mate! Yes! you've asked me far too late, For in England I've a mate, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! Mr. Yongby-Bonghy-Bo! "Mr. Jones (his name is Handel-- Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.) Dorking fowls delights to send Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! Keep, oh, keep your chairs and candle, And your jug without a handle-- I can merely be your friend! Should my Jones more Dorkings send, I will give you three, my friend! Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! "Though you've such a tiny body, And your head so large doth grow-- Though your hat may blow away Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy, Yet I wish that I could modi- fy the words I needs must say! will you please to go away That is all I have to say, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!" Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle, Where the early pumpkins blow, To the calm and silent sea Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle, Lay a large and lively Turtle. "You're the Cove," he said, "for me; On your back beyond the sea, Turtle, you shall carry me!" Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. Through the silent-roaring ocean Did the Turtle swiftly go; Holding fast upon his shell Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. With a sad primeval motion Towards the sunset isles of Boshen Still the Turtle bore him well. Holding fast upon his shell, "Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!" Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. From the Coast of Coromandel Did that Lady never go; On that heap of stones she mourns For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. On that Coast of Coromandel, In his jug without a handle Still she weeps, and daily moans; On that little heap of stones To her Dorking Hens she moans, For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

The Courtship of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo

I take it you already know Of tough and bough and cough and dough? Others may stumble, but not you, On hiccough, thorough, lough and through? Well done! And now you wish, perhaps, To learn of less familiar traps? Beware of heard, a dreadful word That looks like beard and sounds like bird, And dead: it’s said like bed, not bead – For goodness sake don’t call it deed! Watch out for meat and great and threat (They rhyme with suite and straight and debt). A moth is not a moth in mother, Nor both in bother, broth in brother, And here is not a match for there Nor dear and fear for bear and pear, And then there’s dose and rose and lose – Just look them up – and goose and choose, And cork and work and card and ward, And font and front and word and sword, And do and go and thwart and cart – Come, come, I’ve hardly made a start! A dreadful language? Man alive! I’d mastered it when I was five!

The Pronunciation Poem by Trenite

THE DADDY LONG-LEGS AND THE FLY. I. Once Mr. Daddy Long-legs, Dressed in brown and gray,Walked about upon the sands Upon a summer's day:And there among the pebbles, When the wind was rather cold,He met with Mr. Floppy Fly, All dressed in blue and gold;And, as it was too soon to dine, They drank some periwinkle-wine, And played an hour or two, or more, At battlecock and shuttledore. II. Said Mr. Daddy Long-legs To Mr. Floppy Fly,"Why do you never come to court? I wish you 'd tell me why.All gold and shine, in dress so fine, You'd quite delight the court.Why do you never go at all? I really think you ought.And, if you went, you'd see such sights! Such rugs and jugs and candle-lights! And, more than all, the king and queen,— One in red, and one in green." III. "O Mr. Daddy Long-legs!" Said Mr. Floppy Fly,"It's true I never go to court; And I will tell you why.If I had six long legs like yours, At once I'd go to court;But, oh! I can't, because my legs Are so extremely short.And I'm afraid the king and queen (One in red, and one in green) Would say aloud, 'You are not fit, You Fly, to come to court a bit!'" IV. "Oh, Mr. Daddy Long-legs!" Said Mr. Floppy Fly,"I wish you 'd sing one little song, One mumbian melody.You used to sing so awful well In former days gone by;But now you never sing at all: I wish you'd tell me why:For, if you would, the silvery sound Would please the shrimps and cockles round, And all the crabs would gladly come To hear you sing, 'Ah, Hum di Hum!'" V. Said Mr. Daddy Long-legs, "I can never sing again;And, if you wish, I'll tell you why, Although it gives me pain.For years I cannot hum a bit, Or sing the smallest song;And this the dreadful reason is,— My legs are grown too long!My six long legs, all here and there, Oppress my bosom with despair; And, if I stand or lie or sit, I cannot sing one single bit!" VI. So Mr. Daddy Long-legs And Mr. Floppy FlySat down in silence by the sea, And gazed upon the sky.They said, "This is a dreadful thing! The world has all gone wrong,Since one has legs too short by half, The other much too long.One never more can go to court, Because his legs have grown too short; The other cannot sing a song, Because his legs have grown too long!" VII. Then Mr. Daddy Long-legs And Mr. Floppy FlyRushed downward to the foamy sea With one sponge-taneous cry:And there they found a little boat, Whose sails were pink and gray;And off they sailed among the waves, Far and far away:They sailed across the silent main, And reached the great Gromboolian Plain; And there they play forevermore At battlecock and shuttledore. 

The Daddy Long Legs and the Fly by Edward Lear

THE DUCK AND THE KANGAROO. I. Said the Duck to the Kangaroo, "Good gracious! how you hopOver the fields, and the water too, As if you never would stop!My life is a bore in this nasty pond; And I long to go out in the world beyond: I wish I could hop like you,"Said the Duck to the Kangaroo. II. "Please give me a ride on your back," Said the Duck to the Kangaroo:"I would sit quite still, and say nothing but 'Quack' The whole of the long day through;And we 'd go the Dee, and the Jelly Bo Lee, Over the land, and over the sea: Please take me a ride! oh, do!"Said the Duck to the Kangaroo. III. Said the Kangaroo to the Duck, "This requires some little reflection.Perhaps, on the whole, it might bring me luck; And there seems but one objection;Which is, if you'll let me speak so bold, Your feet are unpleasantly wet and cold, And would probably give me the roo-Matiz," said the Kangaroo. IV. Said the Duck, "As I sate on the rocks, I have thought over that completely;And I bought four pairs of worsted socks, Which fit my web-feet neatly;And, to keep out the cold, I've bought a cloak; And every day a cigar I'll smoke; All to follow my own dear true Love of a Kangaroo." V. Said the Kangaroo, "I'm ready, All in the moonlight pale;But to balance me well, dear Duck, sit steady, And quite at the end of my tail." So away they went with a hop and a bound; And they hopped the whole world three times round. And who so happy, oh! who,As the Duck and the Kangaroo? 

The Duck and the Kangaroo by Edward Lear read by Pratt Datta

A Child's History of England by Charles Dickens. Chapter XXII Part V: The Duke of York and the beginning of the War of the Roses between Lancaster and York

A Child's History of England by Charles Dickens. Chapter XXII Part V

A Child's History of England by Dickens Chapter 22 part IV: Useless Henry the VI, Jack Cade's Kent Uprising and Death, and the rise of the Duke of York!

A Child's History of England by Dickens Chapter 22 part IV

A Child's History of England by Charles Dickens. Chapter XXII Part III: Joan of Arc's Capture and Death in 1431

A Child's History of England by Charles Dickens. Chapter XXII Part III

A Child's History of England by Charles Dickens. Chapter XXII Part II. Joan of Arc's victory and Charles the Vii's coronation at Rheims

A Child's History of England by Charles Dickens. Chapter XXII Part II. Joan of Arc's victory

Jabberwocky Lewis Carroll   ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves       Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves,       And the mome raths outgrabe.   “Beware the Jabberwock, my son!       The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun       The frumious Bandersnatch!”   He took his vorpal sword in hand;       Long time the manxome foe he sought— So rested he by the Tumtum tree       And stood awhile in thought.   And, as in uffish thought he stood,       The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,       And burbled as it came!   One, two! One, two! And through and through       The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head       He went galumphing back.   “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?       Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”       He chortled in his joy.   ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves       Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves,       And the mome raths outgrabe.

Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll

A Child's History of England by Charles Dickens. Chapter XXII Part I: Henry the VI and the coming of Joan of Arc Part I

A Child's History of England by Charles Dickens. Chapter XXII Part I

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat BY EDWARD LEAR I The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea    In a beautiful pea-green boat, They took some honey, and plenty of money,    Wrapped up in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the stars above,    And sang to a small guitar, "O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,     What a beautiful Pussy you are,          You are,          You are! What a beautiful Pussy you are!"   II Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!    How charmingly sweet you sing! O let us be married! too long we have tarried:    But what shall we do for a ring?" They sailed away, for a year and a day,    To the land where the Bong-Tree grows And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood    With a ring at the end of his nose,              His nose,              His nose,    With a ring at the end of his nose.   III "Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling    Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will." So they took it away, and were married next day    By the Turkey who lives on the hill. They dined on mince, and slices of quince,    Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,    They danced by the light of the moon,              The moon,              The moon, They danced by the light of the moon.

The Owl and the Pussycat by Edward Lear

The Tory is a thinking conservative's podcast by Dr. Pratt Datta.

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The Tory: Perspectives and Poems: Dr Pratt Datta

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