DOI issue:
January 31, 1874
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16938#0052
A TREMENDOUS SELL.
Fidgety Old Bachelor (who hates Juvenile Parties, and has come two Hours later than he was ashed, so as to avoid the Children). 11 So
Sorry to be Late—I’m dreadfully afraid I ’ye Missed all the darling Little Ones ! ”
Lively Hostess. “0 dear, No. Our Supper has been put off Two Hours. The darling Little Ones are haying Tea,
but they’ll be Down Directly for ‘ Sir Roger de Coverley' ; so you ’re just in Time to help us Clear the Room, and
join in a Regular Romp ! ”
BISMABCK’S BACKEB!
OR, “A SMALL POT AND SOON HOT.”
There are cocks small of stature, but plucky of nature,
Who need no steel-spurring to stir to the shindy,
Whose clarion we hear, when a battle is near—
Nay, whose crow sometimes kindles the contest, I fear—
Proclaiming their wind good—the weather, too, windy.
Such a cock’s Johnny Russell, all foes game to hustle,
In whom age, strange to say, the white feather has moulted—
With what flutter ana bustle he arms for the tussle
For the Yatican cock though some doubt of his muscle
Who chalked up “ No Popery! ” once,* and then bolted.
See this brave little John, in the “ seventies ” far gone,
How his gallant old goose-quill he draws with a flourish,
Of what he thinks right reason, so always in season,
Proclaiming his view, which to doubt he holds treason,
And for which Faith and Love, alike, Liberals must nourish.
Man or cock, I maintain, ’tis the strife shows the strain,
^ And since John first wore steel—not e’en scoffers can question—
Never great fi^ht has been, but this small cock was seen,
In the thick oi the row, pecker up, and spurs keen,
Or atip-toe, and straining his throat to congestion.
So shrill chanticleering, for ears dull of hearing,
As for more normal ears might, at times, seem lost labour,
But his note still the true British Cock-doodle-doo—
Every man under law free to think, speak, and do,
What pleasing himself, does no wrong to his neighbour.
* See Mr. Punch's admirable Car
Yes, in cousinhood full, these two Johns, Russell, Bull,
As agog for the fray, and, at times, as wrong-headed,
Have blustered and blundered, till cooller wits wondered,
But still, on the whole, from the right hand have thundered.
With cartridge, at times blank, but oft double-leaded.
And ne’er have they run with more will to their gun,
Than when ’twas to point it, full-charged to the muzzle,
Their broadside to ope ’gainst that fire-ship the Pope,
Whose pluck, in her state of crew, cannon, and rope,
Was something both Johns’ bluntish reason to puzzle.
Hard times we have known, when we fought her alone,
At her back when she boasted Armadas invincible ;
But she never hoists colour less flaunting or duller,
Now she owns for ally scarce a pair-oar or sculler— _
And of these Pat, the stoutest, if not the most “ sinsible.”
Once it proved pluck to brave the Old Lord of the Wave,
To whose Cross-keys the flags of all nations were lowered,
When he ruled all seas over, from Euxine to Dover,
And bore down on John Pull, that piratical rover,
As an Eagle might swoop on a 'wren over-powered.
Now that flag calls in vain, on France, Italy, Spain,
And more vainly still on the iron-clad Herman,
Their ensigns to lower, in respect to her power,
And under her lee in submission to cower,
And to take for sealed orders her old captain’s firman.
And it needs little pluck, now she ’s down on her luck.
To tackle the old craft, worm-eaten and crazy;
One shot in her quarter, between wind and water,
Of the bolts in her rotten old sides would be starter,
And her crew is disheartened, commander grown hazy.
a propos of the Papal Titles Bill.
Fidgety Old Bachelor (who hates Juvenile Parties, and has come two Hours later than he was ashed, so as to avoid the Children). 11 So
Sorry to be Late—I’m dreadfully afraid I ’ye Missed all the darling Little Ones ! ”
Lively Hostess. “0 dear, No. Our Supper has been put off Two Hours. The darling Little Ones are haying Tea,
but they’ll be Down Directly for ‘ Sir Roger de Coverley' ; so you ’re just in Time to help us Clear the Room, and
join in a Regular Romp ! ”
BISMABCK’S BACKEB!
OR, “A SMALL POT AND SOON HOT.”
There are cocks small of stature, but plucky of nature,
Who need no steel-spurring to stir to the shindy,
Whose clarion we hear, when a battle is near—
Nay, whose crow sometimes kindles the contest, I fear—
Proclaiming their wind good—the weather, too, windy.
Such a cock’s Johnny Russell, all foes game to hustle,
In whom age, strange to say, the white feather has moulted—
With what flutter ana bustle he arms for the tussle
For the Yatican cock though some doubt of his muscle
Who chalked up “ No Popery! ” once,* and then bolted.
See this brave little John, in the “ seventies ” far gone,
How his gallant old goose-quill he draws with a flourish,
Of what he thinks right reason, so always in season,
Proclaiming his view, which to doubt he holds treason,
And for which Faith and Love, alike, Liberals must nourish.
Man or cock, I maintain, ’tis the strife shows the strain,
^ And since John first wore steel—not e’en scoffers can question—
Never great fi^ht has been, but this small cock was seen,
In the thick oi the row, pecker up, and spurs keen,
Or atip-toe, and straining his throat to congestion.
So shrill chanticleering, for ears dull of hearing,
As for more normal ears might, at times, seem lost labour,
But his note still the true British Cock-doodle-doo—
Every man under law free to think, speak, and do,
What pleasing himself, does no wrong to his neighbour.
* See Mr. Punch's admirable Car
Yes, in cousinhood full, these two Johns, Russell, Bull,
As agog for the fray, and, at times, as wrong-headed,
Have blustered and blundered, till cooller wits wondered,
But still, on the whole, from the right hand have thundered.
With cartridge, at times blank, but oft double-leaded.
And ne’er have they run with more will to their gun,
Than when ’twas to point it, full-charged to the muzzle,
Their broadside to ope ’gainst that fire-ship the Pope,
Whose pluck, in her state of crew, cannon, and rope,
Was something both Johns’ bluntish reason to puzzle.
Hard times we have known, when we fought her alone,
At her back when she boasted Armadas invincible ;
But she never hoists colour less flaunting or duller,
Now she owns for ally scarce a pair-oar or sculler— _
And of these Pat, the stoutest, if not the most “ sinsible.”
Once it proved pluck to brave the Old Lord of the Wave,
To whose Cross-keys the flags of all nations were lowered,
When he ruled all seas over, from Euxine to Dover,
And bore down on John Pull, that piratical rover,
As an Eagle might swoop on a 'wren over-powered.
Now that flag calls in vain, on France, Italy, Spain,
And more vainly still on the iron-clad Herman,
Their ensigns to lower, in respect to her power,
And under her lee in submission to cower,
And to take for sealed orders her old captain’s firman.
And it needs little pluck, now she ’s down on her luck.
To tackle the old craft, worm-eaten and crazy;
One shot in her quarter, between wind and water,
Of the bolts in her rotten old sides would be starter,
And her crew is disheartened, commander grown hazy.
a propos of the Papal Titles Bill.