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When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte, As every child can tell, The House of Peers, throughout the war, Did nothing in particular, And did it very well
W. S. Gilbert
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W. S. Gilbert
Age: 74 †
Born: 1836
Born: November 18
Died: 1911
Died: May 29
Dramatist
Illustrator
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Theatrical Director
Writer
London
England
Sir William Schwenck Gilbert
William Schwenck Gilbert
William S. Gilbert
William Schwenk Gilbert
Bab
Bab Gilbert
William Gilbert
Every
War
House
Thrashed
Tell
Wellington
Government
Bonaparte
Wells
Peers
Well
Throughout
Nothing
Particular
Children
Child
More quotes by W. S. Gilbert
Life is a joke that's just begun.
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every Jack He must study the knack If he wants to make sure of his Jill!
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The happiest hour a sailor sees Is when he's down At an inland town, With his Nancy on his knees, yo ho! And his arm around her waist!
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Things are seldom what they seem.
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It isn't so much what's on the table that matters, as what's on the chairs.
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Oh, don't the days seem lank and long When all goes right and nothing goes wrong, And isn't your life extremely flat With nothing whatever to grumble at!
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I am the very model of a modern major general
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I accept refreshment at any hands, however lowly.
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A policeman's lot is not a happy one
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For duty, duty must be done The rule applies to everyone.
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It is a glorious thing To be a Pirate King.
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Life's perhaps the only riddle That we shrink from giving up.
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Who knows but we may count among our intellectual chickens Like them an Earl of Thackeray and p'raps a Duke of Dickens
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No one can have a higher opinion of him than I have and I think he's a dirty little beast.
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Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion must excite your languid spleen, An attachment a la Plato for a bashful young potato, or a not-too-French French bean!
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I see no objection to stoutness, in moderation.
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Love, unrequited, robs me of my rest: Love, hopeless love, my ardent soul encumbers: Love, nightmare-like, lies heavy on my chest, And weaves itself into my midnight slumbers!
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Strike the concertina's melancholy string! Blow the spirit-stirring harp like any thing! Let the piano's martial blast Rouse the Echoes of the Past
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Society has quite forsaken all her wicked courses, Which empties our police courts, and abolishes divorces.
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Darwinian man, though well-behaved, at best is only a monkey shaved.
W. S. Gilbert
