Emotions and Feelings

A source of innocent merriment!

Here’s a pretty state of things! Here’s a pretty how-de-do!

Ah, pray make no mistake, We are not shy; We’re very wide awake, The moon and I!

Then the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone, All centuries but this, and every country but his own.

Three little maids from school are we, Pert as a schoolgirl well can be, Filled to the brim with girlish glee.

As some day it may happen that a victim must be found, I’ve got a little list—I’ve got a little list. Of society offenders who might well be underground, And who never would be missed—who never would be missed.

I can’t help it. I was born sneering.

To sit in solemn silence in a dull dark dock, In a pestilential prison, with a life-long lock, Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock, From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block.

To sit in solemn silence in a dull dark dock, In a pestilential prison, with a life-long lock, Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock, From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block.

For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a steamer from Harwich— Which is something between a large bathing machine and a very small second-class carriage.

When you’re lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo’d by anxiety, I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in, without impropriety.

When you’re lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo’d by anxiety, I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in, without impropriety.

Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in the high aesthetic band, If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your medieval hand. And everyone will say, As you walk your flowery way, “If he’s content with a vegetable love, which would certainly not suit me, Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man must be!”

You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of your complicated state of mind, The meaning doesn’t matter if it’s only idle chatter of a transcendental kind. And everyone will say, As you walk your mystic way, “If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for me, Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man must be!”

Things are seldom what they seem, Skim milk masquerades as cream.

I am the Captain of the Pinafore; And a right good captain too!

And I’m never, never sick at sea! He’s hardly ever sick at sea! Then give three cheers, and one cheer more For the hardy Captain of the Pinafore!

As innocent as a new-laid egg.

I’m called Little Buttercup—dear little Buttercup, Though I could never tell why.

Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain’s gig.

He thought he saw an Albatross That fluttered round the lamp: He looked again, and found it was A penny postage stamp. “You’d best be getting home,” he said, “The nights are very damp.”

He thought he saw an Albatross That fluttered round the lamp: He looked again, and found it was A penny postage stamp. “You’d best be getting home,” he said, “The nights are very damp.”

He thought he saw a Buffalo Upon the chimneypiece: He looked again, and found it was His sister’s husband’s niece.

He thought he saw an Elephant, That practiced on a fife: He looked again, and found it was A letter from his wife. “At length I realize,” he said, “The bitterness of Life!”