DOI issue:
January to June, 1851
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16607#0130
PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
i
SAINTS OF OLD. {That is, of the Dark Ages.) A Chant fob the Times.
The Saints of old were queer old fellows, used to live in caves and cells,
And looked, if true their legends tell us, rather more like Guys than
swells;
Next to their skin, not very clean, they mostly wore a horsehair shirt,
And over that a gaberdine, both regularlv steeped in dirt.
Sing the cock-bird is the gander, and the goose the gander's hen ;
And these, my bucks, were your holy men!
A knotted rope the waist around, these fogies did for girdle wear,
And had their feet with sandals bound, or otherwise entirely bare ;
About their heads there used to play a curious shiny kind of thing,
Which in their portraits doth convey a like idea to Saturn's Ring.
Sing, &c.
The rope that round their loins was twisied, served them, too, them-
selves to flog,
As they did daily, and desisted all but quite from drink and prog;_
For Paradise they thought to merit, through the frame's attenuation,
And Heaven's beatitude inherit by diurnal flagellation.
Sing, &c.
In repudiating lather, scorning water, shunning soap,
Did your pattern saintly Father, also put his trust and hope ;
Domesticities he hated, counting wedlock as disgrace,
Which example, imitated, soon would end the human race.
Sing, &c.
On their chins saints nourished bristles, but they often shaved their heads;
Used to sleep on thorns and thistles, or of nettles made their beds;
Or else would pass the livelong night in kneeling upon bare flint-stones,
O'er and o'er again reciting gibberish on their marrow-bones.
Sing, &c.
Some would fix their habitation on a pillar in the air,
T___J_ 1 *1 T" -K T ..... . 1 "
From cold and wet without protection would through pious postures £0,
And with many a genuflexion edify the crowd below.
Sing, &c.
Talk of Jumpers, talk of Shakers, and their antics queer and quaint f
They are all nothing ; none but Fakirs can approach your ancient Saint.
Thus he lived wit hout a neighbour, or a soul to love or please,
Working not, and giving labour only to industrious fleas.
Sing, &c.
Just like Loud Nelson's situation in our own Trafalgar Square ? Sing, &c
Now he lay in trances snoring—now his occupation dull
Was to sit intently poring on an image or a skull;
With these employments interfered theFiend, with imps in various shapes,
Who, to annoy the Saint, appeared as dragons, owls, wild beasts, and apes.
Sing, &c.
The people sometimes, like a badger, drew the Saint from out his lair
And made, by force, the sordid cadger to ascend a bishop's chair.
At ancient pictures if you look, you'll see him with his neck awry,
Holding between his wrists a crook, and doing miracles thereby.
Sing, &c.
In odour styled of sanctity his Saintship finished his career,
A perfume which, decidedly, Saints' habits must have render'd queer.
His relics—nails—teeth—os coccygis—served to cure all kinds of ills,
As surely—truth to state obliges—as our Universal Pills.
Sing, &c.
Now to the Saints' mirific ashes, and their memory, peace we wish._
They sometimes, scribes whom nought abashes fell us, preached to birds
and fish ;
If everybody had their wishes, once again would faith prevail
In such old Saints, and birds and fishes, all so very like a whale!
A Kaffir Prophet.
The Kaffirs, it seems, keep a prophet—one Umlangeni—and hepiu-
dicted that the English would be turned into cattle—the trees would
become Kaffirs—and the British bullets would be melted into water.
Now PA?ich predicts that, like an animal of burden, John Bull at
home will bear the weight of the war; and that for every bullet fired,
there will be paid at least an ounce of tax-raised £rold.
The Great Finish erf Art.
The excuse that Government makes about taking forty years m
issuing a war medal, is, that they do not like to send out an imperfect
thing. They are determined that each medal shall be the most finished
thing of its kind—only we are afraid they will carry the finish to such a
tremendous extreme, that, when really finished, there will not be &
survivor left to admire it!
i
SAINTS OF OLD. {That is, of the Dark Ages.) A Chant fob the Times.
The Saints of old were queer old fellows, used to live in caves and cells,
And looked, if true their legends tell us, rather more like Guys than
swells;
Next to their skin, not very clean, they mostly wore a horsehair shirt,
And over that a gaberdine, both regularlv steeped in dirt.
Sing the cock-bird is the gander, and the goose the gander's hen ;
And these, my bucks, were your holy men!
A knotted rope the waist around, these fogies did for girdle wear,
And had their feet with sandals bound, or otherwise entirely bare ;
About their heads there used to play a curious shiny kind of thing,
Which in their portraits doth convey a like idea to Saturn's Ring.
Sing, &c.
The rope that round their loins was twisied, served them, too, them-
selves to flog,
As they did daily, and desisted all but quite from drink and prog;_
For Paradise they thought to merit, through the frame's attenuation,
And Heaven's beatitude inherit by diurnal flagellation.
Sing, &c.
In repudiating lather, scorning water, shunning soap,
Did your pattern saintly Father, also put his trust and hope ;
Domesticities he hated, counting wedlock as disgrace,
Which example, imitated, soon would end the human race.
Sing, &c.
On their chins saints nourished bristles, but they often shaved their heads;
Used to sleep on thorns and thistles, or of nettles made their beds;
Or else would pass the livelong night in kneeling upon bare flint-stones,
O'er and o'er again reciting gibberish on their marrow-bones.
Sing, &c.
Some would fix their habitation on a pillar in the air,
T___J_ 1 *1 T" -K T ..... . 1 "
From cold and wet without protection would through pious postures £0,
And with many a genuflexion edify the crowd below.
Sing, &c.
Talk of Jumpers, talk of Shakers, and their antics queer and quaint f
They are all nothing ; none but Fakirs can approach your ancient Saint.
Thus he lived wit hout a neighbour, or a soul to love or please,
Working not, and giving labour only to industrious fleas.
Sing, &c.
Just like Loud Nelson's situation in our own Trafalgar Square ? Sing, &c
Now he lay in trances snoring—now his occupation dull
Was to sit intently poring on an image or a skull;
With these employments interfered theFiend, with imps in various shapes,
Who, to annoy the Saint, appeared as dragons, owls, wild beasts, and apes.
Sing, &c.
The people sometimes, like a badger, drew the Saint from out his lair
And made, by force, the sordid cadger to ascend a bishop's chair.
At ancient pictures if you look, you'll see him with his neck awry,
Holding between his wrists a crook, and doing miracles thereby.
Sing, &c.
In odour styled of sanctity his Saintship finished his career,
A perfume which, decidedly, Saints' habits must have render'd queer.
His relics—nails—teeth—os coccygis—served to cure all kinds of ills,
As surely—truth to state obliges—as our Universal Pills.
Sing, &c.
Now to the Saints' mirific ashes, and their memory, peace we wish._
They sometimes, scribes whom nought abashes fell us, preached to birds
and fish ;
If everybody had their wishes, once again would faith prevail
In such old Saints, and birds and fishes, all so very like a whale!
A Kaffir Prophet.
The Kaffirs, it seems, keep a prophet—one Umlangeni—and hepiu-
dicted that the English would be turned into cattle—the trees would
become Kaffirs—and the British bullets would be melted into water.
Now PA?ich predicts that, like an animal of burden, John Bull at
home will bear the weight of the war; and that for every bullet fired,
there will be paid at least an ounce of tax-raised £rold.
The Great Finish erf Art.
The excuse that Government makes about taking forty years m
issuing a war medal, is, that they do not like to send out an imperfect
thing. They are determined that each medal shall be the most finished
thing of its kind—only we are afraid they will carry the finish to such a
tremendous extreme, that, when really finished, there will not be &
survivor left to admire it!