Punch (43.1862)

218 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. December 20, 1862.

A RUINOUS INQUIRY.

Great deal lias been written
of late in the lancet, the Corn-
hill, and other publications,
on The Effect of Railways
on the Health. A poor dis-
heartened shareholder wishes
that some great analytical
inquirer would start another
scientific investigation, which
is no less important than
the above, and that is The
Effects of Railways on the
Rocket. He is convinced
that the result would be to
the full as disastrous, and
'even more ruinous, in the
latter than in the former in-
stance. He doubts, as far
as he is concerned, whether
his monetary system will ever
be able to get over the shock
it has received from having
continued to trust itself so
long to the mercies of rail-
ways. He wishes most
heartily that his pocket had
never had anything to do
with them. The constant collisions, the numerous accidents, the
alarming ups anddowus of the Stock Exchange, the incessant vibrations
of the railway market, that no break, or number of breaks, could
possibly control, have all conspired to shorten it to that extent that
all its functions have become completely paralysed. Every symptom
of circulation, he says, has long since ceased.

THE JOLLY CONVICTS.

A Cantata (after Burns).

Recitativo.

When working men, ill-fed, ill-clad,

Erom cold and clamouring brats are glad
Bedwards to make retreat,

When humble traders count the gains
Of long shop hours, or rack their brains
How to make both ends meet,

A troop of gaol-birds right and tight,

O’er best of drink and victual,

At The Thieves’ Kitchen, made a night
Tk> wet a pal’s acquittal
With chaffing and laughing
They ranted and they sang.

With jumping and thumping
The boozing ken it rang.

Eirst next the fire, all bounce and brag
Over the evening’s feats and swag,

Sat a tip-top garotter;

To squeeze a scrag he boasts the skill,

No sneaking prig to draw a till,

Or o’er a pocket potter.

His comforts near,—his fancy lass.

His bull-pup, black and tan,—

He sucked his pipe, and flowed his glass,

As late he floored his man.

Off rump-steak and oysters
He’d managed to sup.

Then boisterous he roysters
And tuneful strikes up.

Air.—“ Soldier's Joyff

My name it is Bill Sykes, I’ve got the best of tykes.

And a gal who ha’n’t her likes, wherever she comes.

This here ticker1 was a bloke’s,2 that I sarved with hearty-chokes,

And this reader3 was a moke’s,4 as got his windpipe ’twixt my thumbs.

When my ’prenticeship was past, folks bad a different taste.

And lagging5 used to last to the land o’ kingdom come.

In the hulks a cove was laid, and the cat it freely played,

And skilly6 you was made to eat—oh warn’t it glum !

I’ve had my seven long year, in a chain-gang so severe.

As snug as I sets here, with my pipe, and pup, and pal;

But now I’ve Jebb to pet me, and, if nabbed, my ticket get me.

And out agin to let me go garotting, with my gal.

Oh, it’s rare times for us prigs ; in quod we runs our rigs.

As merry as the grigs, on the best 0’ grub and snooze7;

They cockers up in prison him as bones what isn’t his’n,

To the chaplain if he’ll listen and come the holy blues.8

What if there’s bars and locks ? there’s no hard lines or hard knocks
Like a sparkler in a box, you ’re laid up in cotton wool;

While poor hard-working cogers they lives as hard as sogers,

And to keep us artful dodgers out their rates is forced to pull '•

Recitativo.

He ended, and the kitchen shook,

With such a mighty roar.

That down Eox Court9 the blues10 deigned look.

Then paced on as before.

A nobby cracksman, William’s pal,

Cried * brayvo ’ and ‘ hencore,’

But up arose Bill Sykes’s gal,

And laid the loud uproar.

Air.—Soldier Laddie.

I once was a green ’un, I cannot tell when,

And still I can come the green game, now and then;

“A short life and a pleasant’’was always my motter.

No wonder I’m fond of my gallant garotter.

Sing, lal de lal, &c.

The first of my loves was an “area sneak,”

With a basket of tracts, and no end of a cheek ;

But his four year he got, when, pulled up at a gate.

They twigged ’neath his tracts all the family plate.

So he being quodded11, left me in the lurch,

And I took up with one as faked clys12 out 0’ church ;

Till being cotcht out with his hand in a fob,

He got a long turn at the Tench13 for the job.

And then I grew tired of the whole low-lived lot.

And an out-and-out nobby swell-mobsman I got:

And I stalled14 as he faked, and I lived like a lady.

Till I left hhn, along of his growin’ unsteady.

And then I took up with my Villiam: there,

And we lives well-beknown, quite a model young pair :

I hooks on a covev, so smilin’ and smug,

Vich Bill comes behind him and puts on the hug.13

I’ve tried on most lurks and most lays, broad and long,

But garottin’s the game for the brave and the strong;

I’m von must look up to the man that I likes,

Which towards him I looks, with your health, my Bill Sykes !

Recitativo.

Then next outspoke an ancient beldam.

Sober in gaol but out on't seldom :

In quod her warmest welcome found,

Of England’s jugs she’d run the round ;

Her earliest love, in days long past,

For highway robbery had been cast,

Now, memory stirring, she began
To wail her old High-toby-mau.16

Air.—John Bighlandman.

In better times my love was born,

Your flimping and faking 17 he’d hold in scorn;

He did the trick on a different plan,

My gallant, gay High-toby-man.

Sing, hey, my bold High-toby-man,

Sing, ho, my bold lligh-toby-man,

Let your fiimpers and fakers match if they can
The deeds of my bold High-toby-man!

With his brace of barkers and vizor black,

As he spurred along on his thorough-bred hack.

The bar-maid’s hearts he did trepan,

My gallant, gay High-toby-man !

Sing, hey, &c.

His “ stand and deliver,” was frank and fair.

And he took his swag with so high an air,

That the ladies to like being robbed began
By my gallant, gay High-toby-man!

Sing, hey, &c.