Francis Cowley Burnand

Sir Francis Cowley Burnand was a humorous playwright and former editor of the British magazine Punch. Born on November 29, 1836, he was educated at Eton and Cambridge. Burnand edited Punch from 1880 to 1906, during which time it achieved its highest circulation. His best-known work is the burlesque 'The Colonel.' He is known for his wit and contribution to Victorian era humor and satire. Burnand passed away on April 21, 1917.

November 29, 1836

April 21, 1917

English

Fisherman's Chant, The

Oh, the fisherman is a happy wight!
He dibbles by day, and he sniggles by night.
He trolls for fish, and he trolls his lay,
He sniggles by night, and he dibbles by day.
    Oh, who so merry as he!
    On the river or the sea!
        Sniggling,
        Wriggling
        Eels, and higgling
        Over the price
        Of a nice
        Slice
        Of fish, twice
        As much as it ought to be.

Oh, the fisherman is a happy man!
He dibbles, and sniggles, and fills his can!
With a sharpened hook, and a sharper eye,
He sniggles and dibbles for what comes by,
    Oh, who so merry as he!
    On the river or the sea!
Dibbling
Nibbling
Chub, and quibbling
Over the price
Of a nice
Slice
Of fish, twice
A...

Francis Cowley Burnand

Oh, My Geraldine

Oh, my Geraldine,
No flow'r was ever seen so toodle um.
You are my lum ti toodle lay,
    Pretty, pretty queen,
Is rum ti Geraldine and something teen,
More sweet than tiddle lum in May.
    Like the star so bright
    That somethings all the night,
        My Geraldine!
You're fair as the rum ti lum ti sheen,
    Hark! there is what, ho!
    From something, um, you know,
        Dear, what I mean.
Oh I rum! tum!! tum!!! my Geraldine.

Francis Cowley Burnand

True To Poll

I'll sing you a song, not very long,
    But the story somewhat new,
Of William Kidd, who, whatever he did,
    To his Poll was always true.
He sailed away in a galliant ship
    From the port of old Bristol,
        And the last words he uttered,
        As his hankercher he fluttered,
    Were, "My heart is true to Poll."

        His heart was true to Poll,
        His heart was true to Poll,
            It's no matter what you do
            If your heart be only true:
        And his heart was true to Poll.

'Twas a wreck. William, on shore he swam,
    And looked about for an inn;
When a noble savage lady, of a color rather shady,
    Came up with a kind of grin:
"Oh, marry me, and a king you'll be,
    And in a pal...

Francis Cowley Burnand