Punch (93.1887)

62

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[August 13, 1887.

GERMAN ENGLISH.

German Edle. "Ach ! you Abe font of Yachtinq ! Zen I zuppose you Ake

a goot Salesman?"

THE END OF THE JUBILEE.

I've been to the Abbey, the Naval Review,
The Maske at Gray's Inn. and the Institute too;
In fact I feel jast like the Wandering Jew,].

Or other historical rover:
I've turned day into night and the night.into day,
In a regular rollicking jubilee way,
And now I can truly and thankfully say,

I'm uncommonly glad that it's over.

I've been to a number of Jubilee balls,

And I'm really worn out by the parties and calls;

I've fed in the City 'neath shade of St. Paul's,

And ate little fish by the river:
I've been to big picnics both up and down stream,
I've wallowed in strawberries smothered in cream,
Which, following lobster, most doctors would deem

Was remarkably bad for the liver.

I've read all the Jubilee articles, loads

Of Jubilee leaders and Jubilee odes,

And seen how each poet his Pegasus goads,

Though gaining but slight inspiration;
A chaos of Jubilee Numbers I've seen.
And Jubilee pictures and lives of the Queen,
And the Jubilee coinage that's greeted, I ween,

With anything but jubilation.

But, now all is over, sincerely I trust
The Nation no longer will kick up a dust,
The Jubilee really has done for me just

As " Commodious" scared Mr. Boffin;'
Any more jubilation would finish me quite,
As it is I've a horrible dream every night
That a Jubilee demon is screwing me tight

Down into a Jubilee coffin!

The Correct Card.

Ms. Gold win Smith says:—" The one thing certain
about Tory-Democracy, besides its origin, is, that it is
the card of a political gamester." It may perhaps help
the ponderous Professor, in a future philippic, to know,
in addition, that the associations of Tory-Democracy
at once suggest " Clubs," and the game it is playing, the
"deuce."

THE PABLIAMENTAEY BALLTHOOLY.

Air—" Ballyhooly."

Theee's a dashing sort of bhoy who was once his country's joy,

But his ructions and his rows no longer charm me,
He often takes command in a fury-spouting band

Called the " Ballyhooly " Parliamentary Army.
At Donnybrook's famed fair he might shine with radiance rare,

A '' Pathriot" he's called, and may be truly,
It is catching, I'm afraid, for when he is on parade

There seems scarce a sober man in " Ballyhooly."

Chorus.'

Whililoo, hi ho ! Faith they all enlist, ye know,
Though their ructions and their shindies fail to charm me,

Bad language, howls, and hate put an end to fair debate
In the " Bally hooly " Parliamentary Army.

The Spaykek, honest soul, finds they 're quite beyond control,

Discussion takes a most extinded radius, _
It's about as fine and clear as the stalest ginger-beer,

But the " bhoys," they never seem to find it tadyious.
And what is worse, to-day all the Army march one way,

That is in being ructious and unruly,
If a Mimber in debate wants to argue fair and straight,

Faith they howl him out of court in " Ballyhooly."
Chorus—Whililoo, hi, ho, &c.

Thev 're supposed to hould debate in the interests of the State,

Which one and all they do their best to injure;
I have said their talk's as clear as the stalest ginger-beer,

And they mix the vilest vitriol with the ginger.
The bhoys are not alone, for in sorrow one must own

The young Tories are as noisy and unruly,
And the Bads they rave and rail till one longs to lodge in gaol

The intemperate brigade of " BaUyhooly."
Char us—Whililoo, hi, bo, &e.

There's a moral to my song, and it won't detain yez long,

Of Party spirit e'en the merest " nip " shun.
It's poison, that is clear, Ballyhooly " ginger-beer,"

As ye '11 own when I have given the prescription.
Tou take heaps of Party " rot," spirit mean, and temper hot,

Lies, blasphemy, and insult; mix them duly;
For sugar put in salt, bitter gall for honest malt,

Faith, they call it Statesmanship " in " Ballyhooly."
Chorus—Whililoo, hi, ho, &c.
Encore Verse.

Since you 're kind enough to crave just another little stave,

I '11 explain the furious ferment that now leavens
A tipple once so sound is just Party spite all round,

And of course my Ballyhooly is St. Stephen's.
'Twill be very long before you will wish to cry " Enoore I "

To the row that makes our Parliament unruly ;
For good sense would put a stop on the flow of Party " Pop "

That makes a Donnybrook of "Ballyhooly."

Chorus.

Whililoo, hi, ho I 'Tis a huge mistake, ye know,
To let ructions and recriminations charm ye.

If they don't abate their hate, they '11 bring ruin on the State,
Will the Ballyhooly Parliamentary Army.

Very Like a Wales.

The zeal of the Actor who blacked himself all over to play Othello,
is at last outdone—by Mr. Gladstone, who, it is stated, is learning
the Welsh language, under the tuition of Mr. RichabDj M.p., in
order to deliver his speech at the forthcoming Eisteddfod in Taffy's
own tongue. " Not for Cadwalladek and all his goats," as Pistol
says, would an ordinary politician go through such an ordeal for
such an end. "Gallant Little Wales" will, however, no doubt be
duly grateful, and, by lending its support to her adroit flatterer, enable
him to say, with Gower, to the opponents of Home-Rule, "Hence-
forth let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition."