Thomas John Dibdin

Thomas John Dibdin Poems

Thomas John Dibdin Biography

Thomas John Dibdin (March 21, 1771 – September 16, 1841) was an English dramatist and song-writer. Dibdin was the son of Charles Dibdin, a song-writer and theatre manager, and of Mrs Davenet, an actress whose real name was Harriet Pitt. He was apprenticed to his maternal uncle, a London upholsterer, and later to William Rawlins, afterwards sheriff of London. He summoned his second master unsuccessfully for rough treatment; and after a few years of service he ran away to join a company of country players. From 1789 to 1795 he played all sorts of parts; he worked as a scene painter at Liverpool in 1791; and during this period he composed more than 1,000 songs. His first work as a dramatist was Something New, followed by The Mad Guardian in 1795. He returned to London in 1795, having married two years before; and in the winter of 1798-99 The Jew and the Doctor was produced at Theatre Royal, Covent Garden. From this time he contributed a very large number of comedies, operas, farces, etc., to the public entertainment. Some of these brought immense popularity to the writer and immense profits to the theatres. It is stated that the pantomime of Mother Goose (1807) produced more than £20,000 for the management at Covent Garden theatre, and the High-mettled Racer, adapted as a pantomime from his father's play, £18,000 at Astley's. Dibdin was prompter and pantomime writer at Theatre Royal, Drury Lane until 1816, when he took over the Surrey Theatre. This venture proved disastrous, and he became bankrupt. After this, he was manager of the Haymarket Theatre, but without his old success, and his last years were passed in comparative poverty. In 1827 he published two volumes of Reminiscences; and at the time of his death he was preparing an edition of his father's sea songs, for which a small sum was allowed him weekly by the lords of the admiralty. Of his own songs, "The Oak Table" and "The Snug Little Island" were popular at the time.)

The Best Poem Of Thomas John Dibdin

The Snug Little Island

Daddy Neptune, one day, to Freedom did say,
If ever I lived upon dry land,
The spot I should hit on would be little Britain!
Says Freedom, 'Why, that's my own island!'
O, it's a snug little island!
A right little, tight little island!
Search the globe round, none can be found
So happy as this little island.

Julius Caesar, the Roman, who yielded to no man,
Came by water,--he couldn't come by land;
And Dane, Pict, and Saxon, their homes turned their backs on,
And all for the sake of our island.
O, what a snug little island!
They'd all have a touch at the island!
Some were shot dead, some of them fled,
And some stayed to live on the island.

Then a very great war-man, called Billy the Norman,
Cried, 'Drat it, I never liked my land.
It would be much more handy to leave this Normandy,
And live on your beautiful island.'
Says he, ''Tis a snug little island;
Sha'n't us go visit the island?'
Hop, skip, and jump, there he was plump,
And he kicked up a dust in the island.

But party deceit helped the Normans to beat;
Of traitors they managed to buy land;
By Dane, Saxon, or Pict, Britons ne'er had been licked,
Had they stuck to the king of their island.
Poor Harold, the king of our island!
He lost both his life and his island!
That's all very true: what more could he do?
Like a Briton he died for his island!

The Spanish armada set out to invade--a,
'Twill sure, if they ever come nigh land.
They couldn't do less than tuck up Queen Bess,
And take their full swing on the island.
O the poor queen of the island!
The Dons came to plunder the island;
But snug in her hive the queen was alive,
And 'buzz' was the word of the island.

These proud puffed-up cakes thought to make ducks and drakes
Of our wealth; but they hardly could spy land,
When our Drake had the luck to make their pride duck
And stoop to the lads of the island!
O, for the ships of the island!
The good wooden walls of the island;
Devil or Don, let them come on;
And see how they'd come off the island!

Since Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept time,
In each saying, 'This shall be my land';
Should the 'Army of England,' or all it could bring, land,
We'd show 'em some play for the island.
We'd fight for our right to the island;
We'd give them enough of the island;
Invaders should just--bite once at the dust,
But not a bit more of the island.

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