Punch (80.1881)

January 8, 1881.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

9

Squire Randolph. And coUyrium too.

Sir Broadbrim. Young springald, herb o' grace might better you.
Welsh Knight [offering a stoup). Try some Madeira. You look
something hot.

Sir Broadbrim [icily). Way, good my Lord, the liquor likes me not.
Lord of Misrule [advancing with fantastic flourishes and loud

yells). Hurroo ! Make way there ! Mine this Masque,

and mine

The honours of this Twelfth Night muster !

Sir Will [haughtily). _ Thine f

Lord of Misrule [swaggering). Let the Isle's voices say!

\_Pushes towards portal.

Sir Will [repulsing him). Back, braggart, back !

Too long, perchance, a tether something slack
Hath let your noises lord that Isle, which yet
Hath other voices than Misrule's. You fret,
But shall not foil.

Punchius. Exactly so. Give way !

Your shindy wearies ; list another lay!

Song.

Wake, Albion, Ruler of the Seas,
Holding of many ports the keys,

And to your Neptune tell
That Erin, greenest of the Isles,
Shall greet us yet with loyal smiles,

Content with us to dwell.

Chorus.

Then think it not a common cause
That to such early muster draws

The Swells of Parliament.
Together let them tune their notes,
Or answer to the Public Yotes
That Members hither sent.
Blend all the wisdom of the Whigs,

And all the Tories' nous ;
Rads' rare restraint from o'er rash rigs,
The patience of the House ;
Add all the favour of the Court,
The Public's interest, and, in short,
Mingle all wits 'gainst Anarchy's assaults,
That none may say Justice's Triumph halts,
Swear Law goes lame, or pitifully smile
On hapless Erin as the Unfortunate Isle !

The Masquers dance their Entry. The Revels follow.

NOTES FROM THE DIARY OF A CITY WAITER.

We had rather
a grand Night on
Toosday at Mer-
chant Tailers
All, wen we
made Sir Fre-
derick Roberts
a Freeman and a
Tailer, and proud
he must ha' felt
at the honor.
We are jolly per-
tickler we Mer-
chant Taylerses
is who we makes
free of our Kraft,
and no wunder,
considerin as
we has no less
than 4 Monnerks
amung 'em. We
hadareglar swell
Cumpenny in-
cludin the Lord
Mare, Lord Lyt-
ton from Ingy,
(who Brown
wanted to pur-

swade me was only a Poet, but I warn't quite so green as to believe
that rubbish.) 3 or 4 Judges lots of M.P.s 5 Masters of Cumpennys
and no less than 6 Aldermen! That was sumthink like a Compenny
that was. The Song Book told 'em the old story about " God save
the Queen," how it was composed by Dr. John Bull and written by
Ben Jonson for the Merchant Taylers' Cumpenny, just after Get
Fox's little job was found out. I wunder how manyr on 'em be-
leeved it! As if ey'ry fool didn't know as we hadn't got no Queen

CHERRY UN-RIPE.

Suggestion by a Young Artist (at Home for the Holidays)
for a Graphic Companion Picture to Mb. Millais' charming

" Cherry Ripe."

when Guy Fox was blowed up. The Master when he proposed
Genral Roberts's health, told him that not only was he now a Free
Tayler, but that we meant to stick his Arms in one of the Winders,
which I shood think must rayther have estonished him. However
he didn't seem quite so overcome with the ideer as I should ha'
thought he wood, and returned thanks as carmly and as coollie as if
he'd been a Lord Mare, instead of a mere General. I never heerd a
man talk so little about hisself. It was all about his Soljers, what
brave nobel fellers they was, what short commons they enjured
without no complaints, and what temtashuns they withstood without
a murmer. Why I 'ye heerd Majors and Captings talk away all
about theirselves, and what they did, and what they meant to do
nex time, that beat Sir Frederick holler, and even Captings of
Wollenteers goes on sometimes in a way that estonishes even us
Waiters, about what they means to do when the Ennemy lands, and
off en talks louder and longer than he did.

Lord Lytton spoke out like a reel Lord, and called us a Wenerubel
Cumpenny, which it's quite a new name to me. I hope as nobody
ain't goin to worry us. " And so say all of us."

We then Avent thro' the usual Rooteen of buttered Toasts, and then
they all got up and went away, Sir Frederick; leavin on his plate
some of the finest grapes as I ever tasted.

Ah, what a different world it would be, and what different people
lots of people would be, if all that's said in after-dinner speeches was
Trew!

Real Ass-ass-ins.

In the Times, Friday, Dec. 31, 1880, we read :—■

1A Correspondent states that the donkey on which Lord and Lady Lans-
downe's little children were in the habit of riding when they were at
Dereen Home, Kenmare, has been mutilated, and its ears cut off."

Perhaps before our comment appears Lord Shaftesbury will
have retracted his latest opinions on the Irish question. If not, this
wanton outrage on one of his proteges should rouse his righteous
indignation.