THE GHOST, THE GALLANT, THE GAEL,
          AND THE GOBLIN
                 by W. S. Gilbert

O'er unreclaimed suburban clay
     Some years ago were hobblin',
An elderly ghost of easy ways,
     And an influential goblin.
The ghost was a sombre spectral shape,
     A fine old five-act fogy,
The goblin imp, a lithe young ape,
     A fine low-comedy bogy.

And as they exercised their joints,
     Promoting quick digestion,
They talked on several curious points,
     And raised this pregnant question:
"Which of us two is Number One--
     The ghostie, or the goblin?"
And o'er the point they raised in fun
     They fairly fell a-squabblin'.

They'd barely speak, and each, in fine,
     Grew more and more reflective,
Each thought his own particular line
     By far the more effective.
At length they settled some one should
     By each of them be haunted,
And so arranged that either could
     Exert his prowess vaunted.

"The Quaint against the Statuesque"--
     By competition lawful--
The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque,
     The ghost the Grandly Awful.
"Now," said the goblin, "here's my plan--
     In attitude commanding,
I see a stalwart Englishman
     By yonder tailor's standing.

"The very fittest man on earth
     My influence to try on--
Of gentle, p'raps of noble birth,
     And dauntless as a lion!
Now wrap yourself within your shroud--
     Remain in easy hearing--
Observe--you'll hear him scream aloud
     When I begin appearing!"

The imp with yell unearthly--wild--
     Threw off his dark enclosure:
His dauntless victim looked and smiled
     With singular composure.
For hours he tried to daunt the youth,
     For days, indeed, but vainly--
The stripling smiled!--to tell the truth,
     The stripling smiled inanely.

For weeks the goblin weird and wild,
     That noble stripling haunted;
For weeks the stripling stood and smiled
     Unmoved and all undaunted.
The sombre ghost exclaimed, " Your plan
     Has failed you, goblin, plainly:
Now watch yon hardy Hieland man,
     So stalwart and ungainly.

"These are the men who chase the roe,
     Whose footsteps never falter,
Who bring with them where'er they go,
     A smack of old Sir Walter.
Of such as he, the men sublime
     Who lead their troops victorious,
Whose deeds go down to after-time,
     Enshrined in annals glorious!

"Of such as he the bard has said
     'Hech thrawfu' raltie rawkie!
Wi' thecht ta' croonie clapperhead
     And fash' wi' unco pawkie!'
He'll faint away when I appear
     Upon his native heather;
Or p'raps he'll only scream with fear,
     Or p'raps the two together."

The spectre showed himself, alone,
     To do his ghostly battling,
With curdling groan and dismal moan
     And lots of chains a-rattling!
But no--the chiel's stout Gaelic stuff
     Withstood all ghostly harrying,
His fingers closed upon the snuff
     Which upwards he was carrying.

For days that ghost declined to stir,
     A foggy, shapeless giant--
For weeks that splendid officer
     Stared back again defiant!
Just as the Englishman returned
     The goblin's vulgar staring,
Just so the Scotchman boldly spurned
     The ghost's unmannered scaring.

For several years the ghostly twain
     These Britons bold have haunted,
But all their efforts are in vain--
     Their victims stand undaunted.
Unto this day the imp and ghost
     (Whose powers the imp derided)
Stand each at his allotted post--
     The bet is undecided.