Punch (51.1866)

December 1, 1866.1 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 227

A BALLAD OF BLUNDERS.

j Thy supple thighs in sheaths of splendid tit,

Much use whereof shall surely render bare
The mystery, yea, the very threads of it;

And cold shall seize thee standing; should’st thou sit,
Thy skin shall vex thee with its tenderness ;

Or stoop, thy perilous underseam shall split;

This is the end of every man’s excess.

The Blunder of Gay Seasons. Strange delight;

Thy seething garb shall cleave to thee, and cling ;

Thy red wet palm shall reek beneath the white;

And fierce black shining leather bite and sting,

A future of sore troubles gathering;

The dawn shall send thee, cold and comfortless,

Creeping along the kerb, an abject thing.

This is the end of every man’s excess.

The Blunder of Much Music. Sit thee down,

Nay, stop thine ears, and sleep. For verily,

She that is playing heedeth not thy frown.

And she that singeth takes no thought for thee;

And song shall follow song till thou shalt be
Smitten and bitten with fierce restlessness
To bite and smite in turn, or turn to flee ;

This is the end of every man’s excess.

The Blunder of Great Banquets. Out of sight,

Beyond the reach of hands that heal for gain,

The dish of thy desire and thy delight

Shall vex thy sleep. Thou shalt behold again
The Lord Knight Mayor, thy host, as King of Pain;
And lo, the worthy Lady Mayoress ■

As Queen of Pleasure in thy fond heart shall reign ;

This is the end of every man’s excess.

The Blunder of Long Speeches. Thou shalt burn
To see men whisper, and thy voice grow thick,

And shame shall stain thee red and white by turn,

And all thy wine shall rise and make thee sick;

And short swift sobs shall take thy breath betw-hic !
And in thy skull shall be much emptiness,

And. in thy stead, the likeness of a stick.

This is the end of every man’s excess.

The Blunder of Late Hours. Leave thy sad bed;

See what strange things shall grieve thy straining sight:
Stray broken glass to greet the dawn; grey dead
Strewn ashes of the weeds of thy delight;

Sick sterile leavings of the hot fierce night;

Yet must thou bend thee to thy business
Thy brain to brood ; thy tremulous hand to write ;

This is the end of every man’s excess.

The Blunder of Strong Spirits; warm and sweet.

Or cold without, and pale ; whereof to tread
The wild wet ways is perilous to thy feet,

And in thine eyes, where green was, lo, the red;

And where thy sinew, soft weak fat instead;

Burning of heart, and much uneasiness
About thy girdle, and aching in thine head ;

This is the end of every man’s excess.

The Blunder of Much Rhyming. If thou write
That once again that should be once for all.

These market-men will buy thy black and white
Till thy keen swift full fervent ways shall fall
On sated ears ; thy stinging sweetness pall;

And barren memories of thy bright success
Shall burst in thee the bladder of thy gall;

This is the end of every man’s excess.

The Blunder of Long Ballads. Bide in peace ;

For when the night is near, the day shall die.

And when the day shall dawn the night shall cease,

And all things have an end of all; and I
An end of this, for that my lips are dry,

And the eleventh hour’s exceeding heaviness
Doth overweigh mine eyelid on mine eye . . .

This is the end of every man’s excess.

MORAL.

Poets, who tread the fast and flowerful way,

Heed well the burden these sad rhymes impress ;
Pleasure is first, and then the time to pay ;

This is the end of every man’s excess.

Chatouillard.

SOLDIERS AND CIGARS.

Friend Punch,

Peradventure thou hast seen that the Army Re-organisation
Commissioners propose that soldiers, after twelve years’ service, should
be tempted to re-enlist for nine years more by an addition of 2d. a day
to their pay, and a retiring pension of Is. a day.

I think the pay at present actually received, after all deductions, by
a private soldier, amounts to about 1 \d. daily. At that rate the pay,
per diem, of the re-enlisted soldier, would be 3|d.

Thou didst, peradventure, also see that when the King of Prussia
quartered his army on certain provinces which he had seized, he
exacted from their inhabitants a tribute which included, for each
soldier, a large allowance of cigars.

How many cigars dost thou think a British soldier could buy for
3\d. ? I suppose thou wilt answer. Two penny Pickwicks and a Cuba.
Dost thou think the King of Prussia would have been satisfied with
the supply of such cigars to his soldiers ? Wouldst thou smoke them
thyself ?

How many men, thinkest thou, besides the few who love fighting for
its own sake, are likely to enlist for the price of one Cuba, and re-enlist
for the equivalent of one Cuba and three penny Pickwicks a day ?
How many, in thine opinion, will the prospect of 7s. a week for their
sustenance in old age allure to resume the occupation of exposing their
viscera and their limbs to be lacerated and crushed by lumps of lead
and masses of iron ? Imagine the effect of an Armstrong bolt on thine
own shins.

Methinks, friend Punch, that if the British Army is to be recruited
with a sufficiency of volunteers, they must be encouraged to take their
chance of death or mutilation by advantages considerably higher than
the wages as above recommended.

Which if the country cannot afford, it will of necessity have to
j submit to a general conscription irrespectively of rank and riches,

| which is what the principal nations of the Continent have brought
upon themselves by their glorious victories. Truly that would be a
great calamity, especially for Members of the Society of Friends, even if
they were allowed to buy substitutes, which would be as contrary to
their principles as serving themselves. For a consistent Friend would
refuse to do either; and then, friend Punch, I fear that grievous perse-
cution would be the lot of thy friend, Obadiah

Gone Goose in Venetia.

Poor old Pope ! His Holiness scolds Italy for having “ destroyed
the Convention stipulated by us with our dear son Fran cis-Joseph,
Emperor of Austria.” A pretty pass that same Convention has
brought our dear son Francis-Joseph to! The Concordat pretty
nearly destroyed the Austrian Empire, and the Holy Father wonders
that it has been destroyed by the Italian Kingdom. The Pope has
many virtues, but by far the most admirable of all his qualities is
simplicity—or a magnificent imitation of it.

Motto for all Dramatic Performers.—:£ Act well your part.”