DOI issue:
June 12, 1880
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17763#0274
2T0 PUNCH, OR THE LONHON CHARIVARI. [June 12, 1880.
BREAKING AN AWKWARD SILENCE.
Mrs. Montague Smart [suddenly, to bashful Youth, who has not opened his lips since he teas introduced to her a quarter of an hour ago). “And
now let us Talk of something else ! ”
OLD BOOTS.
John Bull. Well, William, and what do you think of them now,
This same pair of boots you ’ye so long been abusing ?
Speak up, man. L ’ye think you can manage, somehow,
To furbish, them up into fitness for using P
William [eyeing them dubiously). Well—ahem !—hardly know—
don’t quite like to decide
Till I’ve given the pair a complete overhauling.
They are not quite the work I should look on .with pride.
Their maker was not too expert at his calling,
John Bull. Humph ! You ’re getting quite mealy-mouthed; you
late so loud
In declaring that Ben was the veriest botcher.
William. Why you see times have changed. I’ve no wish to seem
proud.
For your custom’s return I have long been a watcher;
I knew it must come ; but, the change being made,
What need to keep on pitching into my rival ?
John Bull. Why, none, to be sure. Only chaps in the, trade,
Who hold you of th’ wnfifctest a case of survival,
Declare that, despite of the shindy you raised,
You are now going in for their stuff and their measures.
William. Pooh ! don’t you believe them. The fellows are crazed
At losing your custom which everyone treasures.
There’s nothing like Liberal Leather for wear,
And nothing like Liberal Cut for good fit, Sir.
These boots—well, of course it won’t do to go hare,
But you’ll find it all right if you ’ll just wait a bit, Sir.
John Bull. Whilst you patch and repair ? That’s hut cobbling, at
best.
Is that quite wbat you promised when out, my stout Crispin ?
William [cheerily). Of course not! [Regarding boots contemptuously.)
By Jove ! were these boots, now, the best
Ben could find you to wade and chase Will-o’-tbe-Wisp in ?
Too bad ! Why they’ve not even water-tight soles;
The stitching is poor and the uppers are perished ;
The top3 too, though tawdry, are riddled with holes.
Too long, my dear Bull, you that cobbler bad cherished.
’Tis well you have sacked' him.
John Bull. “ _ But what will you do ?
That’s more to the point, I imagine.
William. _ Precisely.
To make a new pair that are worthy of you
Must take me some time, so I think you ’ll do wisely
To wear these meanwhile. I will touch up the tops,
Patch the soles here and there, stitch this split upper leather:
Can’t alter their shape, they will always be slops ;
But they ’ll do for awhile just to keep out the weather.
Meantime I must put you a new pair in hand.
I’ve the length of your foot, and your old last is handy.
John Bull. That’s right; but I hope you will quite understand,
Though I like a neat fit just as much as a dandy,
I cannot stand pinching ! Verb, sap., my dear Will.
William. I twig. Give me time, and I ’ll suit you, I warrant,
Only do not believe I’m devoting my skill
J ust to copy Ben’s botcliings—that’s fudge the most arrant.
IN THE THEATRE.
(Oxford Commemoration Questions. By One of the Mon-initialed.)
Is this the Sheldonian, or a cheap Aquarium ?_
Why do they request the Yice-Chancellor to sing a comic song ?
Is the gallery rented by out-patients of a lunatic asylum F ^
Will the winner of the Newdigate Prize really dance a break-
down F _
Are those split-peas pattering on the Senior Proctor s forehead r
Lo the Ladies in yellow really object to three cheers ?
Why are all the jokes over thirty years old P . ?
Lo you think the Gentleman who is reading the Latin Essay coula
manage “ My Grandfather's Clock ?’’ _
Are the Distinguished Foreign Visitors likely to make head or tail
of the whole thing F
Is any one much the better for it P
BREAKING AN AWKWARD SILENCE.
Mrs. Montague Smart [suddenly, to bashful Youth, who has not opened his lips since he teas introduced to her a quarter of an hour ago). “And
now let us Talk of something else ! ”
OLD BOOTS.
John Bull. Well, William, and what do you think of them now,
This same pair of boots you ’ye so long been abusing ?
Speak up, man. L ’ye think you can manage, somehow,
To furbish, them up into fitness for using P
William [eyeing them dubiously). Well—ahem !—hardly know—
don’t quite like to decide
Till I’ve given the pair a complete overhauling.
They are not quite the work I should look on .with pride.
Their maker was not too expert at his calling,
John Bull. Humph ! You ’re getting quite mealy-mouthed; you
late so loud
In declaring that Ben was the veriest botcher.
William. Why you see times have changed. I’ve no wish to seem
proud.
For your custom’s return I have long been a watcher;
I knew it must come ; but, the change being made,
What need to keep on pitching into my rival ?
John Bull. Why, none, to be sure. Only chaps in the, trade,
Who hold you of th’ wnfifctest a case of survival,
Declare that, despite of the shindy you raised,
You are now going in for their stuff and their measures.
William. Pooh ! don’t you believe them. The fellows are crazed
At losing your custom which everyone treasures.
There’s nothing like Liberal Leather for wear,
And nothing like Liberal Cut for good fit, Sir.
These boots—well, of course it won’t do to go hare,
But you’ll find it all right if you ’ll just wait a bit, Sir.
John Bull. Whilst you patch and repair ? That’s hut cobbling, at
best.
Is that quite wbat you promised when out, my stout Crispin ?
William [cheerily). Of course not! [Regarding boots contemptuously.)
By Jove ! were these boots, now, the best
Ben could find you to wade and chase Will-o’-tbe-Wisp in ?
Too bad ! Why they’ve not even water-tight soles;
The stitching is poor and the uppers are perished ;
The top3 too, though tawdry, are riddled with holes.
Too long, my dear Bull, you that cobbler bad cherished.
’Tis well you have sacked' him.
John Bull. “ _ But what will you do ?
That’s more to the point, I imagine.
William. _ Precisely.
To make a new pair that are worthy of you
Must take me some time, so I think you ’ll do wisely
To wear these meanwhile. I will touch up the tops,
Patch the soles here and there, stitch this split upper leather:
Can’t alter their shape, they will always be slops ;
But they ’ll do for awhile just to keep out the weather.
Meantime I must put you a new pair in hand.
I’ve the length of your foot, and your old last is handy.
John Bull. That’s right; but I hope you will quite understand,
Though I like a neat fit just as much as a dandy,
I cannot stand pinching ! Verb, sap., my dear Will.
William. I twig. Give me time, and I ’ll suit you, I warrant,
Only do not believe I’m devoting my skill
J ust to copy Ben’s botcliings—that’s fudge the most arrant.
IN THE THEATRE.
(Oxford Commemoration Questions. By One of the Mon-initialed.)
Is this the Sheldonian, or a cheap Aquarium ?_
Why do they request the Yice-Chancellor to sing a comic song ?
Is the gallery rented by out-patients of a lunatic asylum F ^
Will the winner of the Newdigate Prize really dance a break-
down F _
Are those split-peas pattering on the Senior Proctor s forehead r
Lo the Ladies in yellow really object to three cheers ?
Why are all the jokes over thirty years old P . ?
Lo you think the Gentleman who is reading the Latin Essay coula
manage “ My Grandfather's Clock ?’’ _
Are the Distinguished Foreign Visitors likely to make head or tail
of the whole thing F
Is any one much the better for it P