A Serious Ballad
In Brentford town, of old renown,There lived a Mister Bray,Who fell in love with Lucy Bell,And so did Mr. Clay.
To see her ride from Hammersmith,By all it was allowed,Such fair outsides are seldom seen,Such Angels on a Cloud.
Said Mr. Bray to Mr. Clay,You choose to rival me,And court Miss Bell, but there your courtNo thoroughfare shall be.
Unless you now give up your suit,You may repent your love;I who have shot a pigeon match,Can shoot a turtle dove.
So pray before you woo her more,Consider what you do;If you pop aught to Lucy Bell--I'll pop it into you.
Said Mr. Clay to Mr. Bray,Your threats I quite explode;One who has been a volunteerKnows how to prime and load.
And so I say to you unlessYour passion quiet keeps,I who have shot and hit bulls' eyes,May chance to hit a sheep's.
Now gold is oft for silver changed,And that for copper red;But these two went away to giveEach other change for lead.
But first they sought a friend apiece,This pleasant thought to give--When they were dead, they thus should haveTwo seconds still to live.
To measure out the ground not longThe seconds then forbore,And having taken one rash step,They took a dozen more.
They next prepared each pistol-panAgainst the deadly strife,By putting in the prime of deathAgainst the prime of life.
Now all was ready for the foes,But when they took their stands,Fear made them tremble so, they foundThey both were shaking hands.
Said Mr. C. to Mr. B.,Here one of us may fall,And like St. Paul's Cathedral nowBe doomed to have a ball.
I do confess I did attachMisconduct to your name;If I withdraw the charge, will thenYour ramrod do the same?
Said Mr, B., I do agree--But think of Honor's Courts!If we go off without a shot,There will be strange reports.
But look, the morning now is bright,Though cloudy it begun:Why can't we aim above, as ifWe had called out the sun?
Soup into the harmless airTheir bullets they did send;And may all other duels haveThat upshot in the end!
Words in this poem
- mister n.
- A trade, art, or occupation. [OF. mistier trade, office, ministry, need, F. métier trade, fr. L. ministerium service, office, ministry. See Ministry, Mystery trade.]
- bray v. t.
- To pound, beat, rub, or grind small or fine. [OE. brayen, OF. breier, F. broyer to pound, grind, fr. OHG. brehhan to break. See Break.]
- thoroughfare n.
- A passage through; a passage from one street or opening to another; an unobstructed way open to the public; a public road; hence, a frequented street. [AS. þurhfaru.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- repent a.
- Prostrate and rooting; -- said of stems. Gray. [L. repens, -entis, creeping, p. pr. of repere to creep.]
- aught n.
- Property; possession. [AS. , fr. agan to own, p. p. ahte.]
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- apiece adv.
- Each by itself; by the single one; to each; as the share of each; as, these melons cost a shilling apiece. [Pref. a- + piece.]
- strife n.
- The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
- ramrod n.
- The rod used in ramming home the charge in a muzzle-loading firearm.
- upshot n.
- Final issue; conclusion; the sum and substance; the end; the result; the consummation. [Up + shot, equivalent to scot share, reckoning. Cf. the phrase to cast up an account.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
A Serious Ballad is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood, Project Gutenberg ebook #15652; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Thomas Hood, A Serious Ballad, in The Song of the Shirt, and Other Poems (1826–1845), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #15652, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hood-poetical-works/a-serious-ballad.html, id L20154.
Form and metre
A Serious Ballad is 68 lines in 17 stanzas of 4 lines each. The metre is common measure, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 93%).
See other poems in common measure.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-A renown · brayA · bell · clayA
- 2 -A-A hammersmith · allowedA · seen · cloudA
- 3 -A-A clay · meA · court · beA
- 4 -A-A suit · loveA · match · doveA
- 5 -A-A more · doA · bell · youA
- 6 -A-A bray · explodeA · volunteer · loadA
- 7 -A-A unless · keepsA · eyes · sheep'sA
- 8 -A-A changed · redA · give · leadA
- 9 -A-A apiece · giveA · have · liveA
- 10 -A-A long · forboreA · step · moreA
- 11 -A-A pan · strifeA · death · lifeA
- 12 -A-A foes · standsA · found · handsA
- 13 -A-A b · fallA · now · ballA
- 14 -A-A attach · nameA · then · sameA
- 15 -A-A agree · courtsA · shot · reportsA
- 16 -A-A bright · begunA · if · sunA
- 17 -A-A air · sendA · have · endA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against common measure. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| In Brentford town, of old renown, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| There lived a Mister Bray, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Who fell in love with Lucy Bell, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And so did Mr. Clay. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| To see her ride from Hammersmith, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| By all it was allowed, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Such fair outsides are seldom seen, | 8 | ··//·/˘· |
| Such Angels on a Cloud. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Said Mr. Bray to Mr. Clay, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| You choose to rival me, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And court Miss Bell, but there your court | 8 | ········ |
| No thoroughfare shall be. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Unless you now give up your suit, | 8 | ········ |
| You may repent your love; | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| I who have shot a pigeon match, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Can shoot a turtle dove. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| So pray before you woo her more, | 8 | ········ |
| Consider what you do; | 6 | ˘/˘··· |
| If you pop aught to Lucy Bell-- | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I'll pop it into you. | 6 | ······ |
| Said Mr. Clay to Mr. Bray, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Your threats I quite explode; | 6 | ····˘/ |
| One who has been a volunteer | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Knows how to prime and load. | 6 | ······ |
| And so I say to you unless | 8 | ········ |
| Your passion quiet keeps, | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| I who have shot and hit bulls' eyes, | 8 | ········ |
| May chance to hit a sheep's. | 6 | ······ |
| Now gold is oft for silver changed, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And that for copper red; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| But these two went away to give | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| Each other change for lead. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| But first they sought a friend apiece, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| This pleasant thought to give-- | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| When they were dead, they thus should have | 8 | ········ |
| Two seconds still to live. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| To measure out the ground not long | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| The seconds then forbore, | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| And having taken one rash step, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| They took a dozen more. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| They next prepared each pistol-pan | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| Against the deadly strife, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| By putting in the prime of death | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Against the prime of life. | 6 | ······ |
| Now all was ready for the foes, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| But when they took their stands, | 6 | ······ |
| Fear made them tremble so, they found | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| They both were shaking hands. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Said Mr. C. to Mr. B., | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Here one of us may fall, | 6 | ······ |
| And like St. Paul's Cathedral now | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| Be doomed to have a ball. | 6 | ······ |
| I do confess I did attach | 8 | ··˘/··˘/ |
| Misconduct to your name; | 6 | ˘/˘··· |
| If I withdraw the charge, will then | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Your ramrod do the same? | 6 | ·/···· |
| Said Mr, B., I do agree-- | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| But think of Honor's Courts! | 6 | ···/˘· |
| If we go off without a shot, | 8 | ········ |
| There will be strange reports. | 6 | ····˘/ |
| But look, the morning now is bright, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Though cloudy it begun: | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| Why can't we aim above, as if | 8 | ········ |
| We had called out the sun? | 6 | ······ |
| Soup into the harmless air | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Their bullets they did send; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| And may all other duels have | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| That upshot in the end! | 6 | ·/···· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.