Punch (66.1874)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [June 27, 1874.


Wherewith the tea, or what men drink for such
By Chinaman’s permission, is infused :

And all the surcoat covering his steel,

And all his horse’s housings that o’er-swept
His limbs from frog to forehead, were set thick
With pumps emblazoned azure, and to each
Its spout and scroll and legend “ Cold without.”

Sir Bung displayed three spiggots on his shield,

Issuant proper with both pale and brown,

Surcoat and housings broidered both “ Hot with.”

Nimble Sir Wilfrid was, cunning of fence,

Amd quick to cut and parry, thrust and guard,

But, for he rode his destrere without rein
Or curb, Sir Bung had him at avantage,

And knew it, and was more than a match for him,

For all his beefier bulk and wdieezier breath.

Three times they clashed, and once Sir Wilfrid bore
Sir Bung to earth, but up he rose again,

And buffetted Sir Wilfrid, caught again
His steed, and sprang to selle, with timely aid
Of Cross his Squire, and while the tilt-yard rang
With shouts of “ Hot with ! ” and “ A Bung ! ” charged
home

And smote Sir Wilfrid fair upon the shield
And wrenched him backward, till with a great heave
He scarce recovering, straightway to his sword
Betook him, and Sir Bung too drew his blade,

For the arbitrement of mortal strife.

For “ Sooner death,” he said, “ than in thy Hall
Of Exeter or of Caerleon,

For thee and thy Teetotallers to be

A plaything and a pastime, and to sit

Fettered with law-fast hours and fenced with rules

But Punch, who saw their bitterness, arose,

And flung his warder ’twixt the combatants,

And with a Ho ! staid strife, and spake to them,

“ Both worthy, both unwise, both wrong, both right'
Drunkenness is an evil, Liberty
A good ; but shall that evil on that good
Be turned to quell that good, when ’tie the good
Should quell the evil ? Foe to Liberty
Is Licence—not for that be Licence used
As cause of war with Liberty; Liberty
Should rather control Licence, till, controlled,

She ceases to be Licence, and becomes
A friend to Liberty, and not a foe.

But now break off your strife. Lo, I have here
Royal reward for prowess—not for you
Alone, for all good lances, knightly blades
On earth, I bring it——”

So he disappeared

In his pavilion.

Then with a great blast

Of brass, and clash of bells from steeples round,
And roar of Woolwich Infants, dark, deep-voiced,
Broad-breeched, black-muzzled, the pavilion swung
Its curtains back, and therein stood revealed,

With Punch that over-leapt it, lance in rest—
VOL. SIXTY-SIX to an admiring world!