William Schwenck Gilbert

Here you will find the Long Poem Lost Mr. Blake of poet William Schwenck Gilbert

Lost Mr. Blake

Mr. Blake was a regular out-and-out hardened sinner,
Who was quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to speak,
He was in the habit of smoking a long pipe and drinking a glass of 
grog on a Sunday after dinner,
And seldom thought of going to church more than twice or - if Good 
Friday or Christmas Day happened to come in it - three times a 

He was quite indifferent as to the particular kinds of dresses
That the clergyman wore at church where he used to go to pray,
And whatever he did in the way of relieving a chap's distresses,
He always did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, hole-and-corner 
sort of way.

I have known him indulge in profane, ungentlemanly emphatics,
When the Protestant Church has been divided on the subject of the 
proper width of a chasuble's hem;
I have even known him to sneer at albs - and as for dalmatics,
Words can't convey an idea of the contempt he expressed for THEM.

He didn't believe in persons who, not being well off themselves, 
are obliged to confine their charitable exertions to collecting 
money from wealthier people,
And looked upon individuals of the former class as ecclesiastical 
He used to say that he would no more think of interfering with his 
priest's robes than with his church or his steeple,
And that he did not consider his soul imperilled because somebody 
over whom he had no influence whatever, chose to dress himself up 
like an exaggerated GUY FAWKES.

This shocking old vagabond was so unutterably shameless
That he actually went a-courting a very respectable and pious 
middle-aged sister, by the name of BIGGS.
She was a rather attractive widow, whose life as such had always 
been particularly blameless;
Her first husband had left her a secure but moderate competence, 
owing to some fortunate speculations in the matter of figs.

She was an excellent person in every way - and won the respect even 
She was a good housewife, too, and wouldn't have wasted a penny if 
she had owned the Koh-i-noor.
She was just as strict as he was lax in her observance of Sunday,
And being a good economist, and charitable besides, she took all 
the bones and cold potatoes and broken pie-crusts and candle-ends 
(when she had quite done with them), and made them into an 
excellent soup for the deserving poor.

I am sorry to say that she rather took to BLAKE - that outcast of 
And when respectable brothers who were fond of her began to look 
dubious and to cough,
She would say, "Oh, my friends, it's because I hope to bring this 
poor benighted soul back to virtue and propriety,
And besides, the poor benighted soul, with all his faults, was 
uncommonly well off.

And when MR. BLAKE'S dissipated friends called his attention to the 
frown or the pout of her,
Whenever he did anything which appeared to her to savour of an 
unmentionable place,
He would say that "she would be a very decent old girl when all 
that nonsense was knocked out of her,"
And his method of knocking it out of her is one that covered him 
with disgrace.

She was fond of going to church services four times every Sunday, 
and, four or five times in the week, and never seemed to pall of 
So he hunted out all the churches within a convenient distance that 
had services at different hours, so to speak;
And when he had married her he positively insisted upon their going 
to all of them,
So they contrived to do about twelve churches every Sunday, and, if 
they had luck, from twenty-two to twenty-three in the course of the 

She was fond of dropping his sovereigns ostentatiously into the 
plate, and she liked to see them stand out rather conspicuously 
against the commonplace half-crowns and shillings,
So he took her to all the charity sermons, and if by any 
extraordinary chance there wasn't a charity sermon anywhere, he 
would drop a couple of sovereigns (one for him and one for her) 
into the poor-box at the door;
And as he always deducted the sums thus given in charity from the 
housekeeping money, and the money he allowed her for her bonnets 
and frillings,
She soon began to find that even charity, if you allow it to 
interfere with your personal luxuries, becomes an intolerable bore.

On Sundays she was always melancholy and anything but good society,
For that day in her household was a day of sighings and sobbings 
and wringing of hands and shaking of heads:
She wouldn't hear of a button being sewn on a glove, because it was 
a work neither of necessity nor of piety,
And strictly prohibited her servants from amusing themselves, or 
indeed doing anything at all except dusting the drawing-rooms, 
cleaning the boots and shoes, cooking the parlour dinner, waiting 
generally on the fa