Punch (9.1845)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

159

I, through a decent reputable life,
THE POST-OFFICE PANIC. Was constant to plain food and a plain wife.

Ireland I risked, and lost America ;
But dined on legs of mutton every day.

My brain, perhaps, might be a feeble part;
But yet I think I had an English heart.

When all the Kings were prostrate, I alone
Stood face to face against Napoleon ;

Nor ever could the ruthless Frenchman forge
A fetter for Old England and Old Georus s

I let loose naming Nelson on his fleets :

I met his troops with Wellesley's bayonets.

Triumphant waved my flag on land and sea :
Where was the King in Europe like to me ?

Monarchs exiled found shelter on my shores ;
My bounty rescued Kings and Emperors.

But what boots victory by land or sea ?

What boots that Kings found refuge at my knee ?

I was a conqueror, but yet not proud ;

And careless, even though Napoleon bow'd.

The rescued Kings came kiss my garments' hem :
The rescued Kings I never heeded them.

My guns roar'd triumph, but I never heard :
All England thrilled with joy, I never stirred.

What care had I of pomp, or fame, or power,—
A crazy old blind man in Windsor Tower !

georgius ultimus.

He left an example for age and for youth
To avoid.

He never acted well by Man or Woman,
And was as false to his Mistress as to his Wife.
He deserted his Friends and his Principles.
He was so Ignorant that he could scarcely Spell;
But he had some Skill in Cutting out Coats,
And an undeniable Taste for Cookery.
He built the Palaces of Brighton and of Buckingham,
And for these Qualities and Proofs of Genius,
An admiring Aristocracy
Christened him the " First Gentleman in Europe."
Friends, respect the King whose Statue is here,
And the generous Aristocracy who admired him.

There are rumours that the people engaged in the Post-Office are daily
in danger of being suffocated, swamped, and smothered, by the enormous
quantity of letters pouring in upon them at every chink, hole, corner, and
cranny of the establishment. An unhappy clerk was found struggling with
a pile of newspapers, to which he had nearly succumbed, when one of the
sorters came up, just soon enough to rescue him from an untimely end.
An official sitting at one of the windows, very near a receiving-box, was
suddenly carried off his stool, and almost completely immersed in a terrific
flood of what proved on inquiry to be an ocean of applications for shares
in Railway Companies. Another able and respected functionary was
found buried under a heap of papers, which had come in suddenly, like a
• pring tide, and which proved 10 be a perfect sea of inquiries as to the
time fixed for the appearance of " Punch's Pocket Book." To prevent a
recurrence of this fearful incident, we beg to announce the

first of november

as the day when the hopes of millions will be realised, by the publication
of the work alluded to.

THE GEORGES.

As the statues of these beloved Monarchs are to be put up in the
Parliament palace—we have been favoured by a young lady (con-
nected with the Court) with copies of the inscriptions which are to
be engraven tinder the images of those Stars of Brunswick.

gkorge the first-star of brunswick.

He preferred Hanover to England,
He preferred two hideous Mistresses
To a beautiful and innocent Wife.
He hated Arts and despised Literature ;
But He liked train-oil in his salads,
And gave an enlightened patronage to bad oysters.
And he had Walpole as a Minister :
Consistent in his Preference for every kind of Corruption.

george ii.

In most tilings I did as my father had done,
I was false to my wife and I hated my son :

My spending was small and my avarice much,

My kingdom was English, my heart was High Dutch :

At Dettingen fight I was known not to blench,

I butchered the Scotch, and I bearded the French :

I neither had morals, nor manners, nor wit ;
[ wasn't much missed when I died in a fit.

Here set up my statue, and make it complete—
With Pitt on his knees at my dirty old feet.

george iii.

Give me a royal niche—it is my due,

The virtuousest King the realm e'er knew.

A SURPRISE FOR STAUDIGL.

aragraphs have been going the round of the papers on the
subject of an intended surprise for Staudigl on his arrival
at Vienna. It is to consist of a little music outside the
window of his house—which is a sort of surprise we often
get from a barrel-organ, and other surprising, but not
very agreeable, instruments. " Stauoigl is to know nothing
about it," says the paragraph. Of course not. The Pet of
the Ballet knows nothing about the second-hand halfpenny
bouquets that come showering down from the top box over
the proscenium at the end of a solo bit in a pas de Qu'est-ce
que vous dites, or dance of what-do-you-eall it. Staudigl
is to be engaged in a game at chess by a friend—at least,
such, we are told, is a part of the plot that is to be played
off in honour of him. It will be rather a mull if Staudigl
is not disposed for chess, but prefers taking a walk, just
before the time atwhichhe is to be surprised bya serenade under his window.
If he is fond of chess the row will be a fearful nuisance—if he should have-
got into the middle of an interesting game ; and he may possibly "surprise"
the serenaders with a jug of cold water, which is the course we should take
if a set of obstinate fellows would persist in shouting beneath our win-
dow while we happened to be occupied with our favourite pastime. Staudigl
is an artist of too much talent to require auxiliaries of the sort alluded to;
and if he is not as great a quack as the serenaders themselves, he will be
disgusted at the bawling and squalling which a few fools have determined*
on raising beneath the window of his lodging. We frequently get sere-
naded for our many triumphs, but we have one answer to all the songs-
and ballads that are addressed to us. We invariably reply to the music
from below with a slight variation on a well-known song in the opera of
Artaxcrxes. We don't exactly strike up " Water parted from the sea,'
but we strike down a little " Water parted from the ew er."