DOI issue:
July 22, 1882
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17753#0038
30
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[July 22, 1882,
IT >S NOT SO DIFFICULT TO SPEAK FRENCH, AFTER ALL.
Mistress (fluently). “ Oh—ek—Fran^oise, il faut que vous alliez chez le Chemist, dans High Street, pour le Gargle
de Mademoiselle Maud ; et chez le Toy-Shop, pour le Lawn-Tennis Bat de Monsieur Malcolm ; et n’oubliez pas mon
Waterproof, chez le Cleaner, vis-a-vis l’Underground Railway Station; et dites a Smithson, le Builder (dans Church
Lane a cote du Publichouse, vous savez), que le Kitchen-Boiler est—est—est-”
Frangoise (who has been longer in England than her new Mistress thinks). “ Esr Burrrst ! Tres bien, Madame.”
POOR JACK.
{Revised Version.)
Go patter to fogies and croakers, d ’ye see,
About Old Wooden Walls, and the like !
An iron-clad hulk or smart gunboat give me,
And it ain’t to an earthquake I ’ll strike.
Our Eighty-One-Tonners like thunderbolts smite,
And splinter huge stone-blocks like wood,
But a gunboat ’ll see all the fun of the fight,
If the grit of its Captain be good.
Avast! nor don’t think me a duffer so soft
As to timber to wish to go back,
For there still is a Providence sits up aloft
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.
Your penny-a-liners palaver away
About Hearts of Oak, Nelson, and such,
Were that gallant old hero still with us to-day,
He’d like pounding the Marabout much.
To hear our huge Temeraire thundering out
Would ’a quickened his pulses, I know,
Whilst that trim little Condor a-scudding about
Would ’a gladdened the heart o’ Bf.nbow.
Though an iron ton doesn’t fly slow or hit soft,
That won’t take our tars all aback ;
Thtre is still that sweet Cherub as sits up aloft
To keep watch o’er the life of poor Jack.
I said to our Poll, as was going to cry,
When an Eighty-One-Tonner she see,
“ What argufies funking or piping your eye ?
Why what a great goose you must be !
Can’t you see the world changes, ships, guns, shots, and all ?
But our Sailors aren't changed, don’t you know,
And if to Old Davy I must go, dear Poll,
What matters, my dear, how I go ?
Cheer up ! All’s a hazard. Come, don’t be a soft,
Like enough I shall laughing come back,
For there’s still that there Cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.”
D’ye mind me, a Sailor should be every inch
All as one as a part of his ship;
Be it iron or wood, he won’t offer to flinch
Whilst the sea holds a foeman to whip.
As for me, on the whopping Invincible's deck,
Or tbe cockyhoop Condor's, I’m game
For a slap at the foe. Arter all, I expect,
As it comes pooty much to the same.
Behind iron or wood, while their hearts don’t grow soft,
British tars won’t be taken aback,
And that sweet little Cherub still sits up aloft
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.
Cetewayo’s Residence.
The Government, amongst its other troubles, is puzzled to decide
upon a fit and proper dwelling for the Zulu King. Lord Gingerly,
who is always cautious, has suggested a suburban residence, probably
at Camden Town. If a hint from us is acceptable, we might name
Blackwall or Blackheath. Windsor Castle is out of the question.
After the Black King has moved he cannot castle.
Mrs. Ramsbotham: tells us she recently purchased at a sale
in the country a Sheridan sofa and half a dozen Colebrook Dale
chairs, which give quite an Ascetic appearance to her drawing-
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[July 22, 1882,
IT >S NOT SO DIFFICULT TO SPEAK FRENCH, AFTER ALL.
Mistress (fluently). “ Oh—ek—Fran^oise, il faut que vous alliez chez le Chemist, dans High Street, pour le Gargle
de Mademoiselle Maud ; et chez le Toy-Shop, pour le Lawn-Tennis Bat de Monsieur Malcolm ; et n’oubliez pas mon
Waterproof, chez le Cleaner, vis-a-vis l’Underground Railway Station; et dites a Smithson, le Builder (dans Church
Lane a cote du Publichouse, vous savez), que le Kitchen-Boiler est—est—est-”
Frangoise (who has been longer in England than her new Mistress thinks). “ Esr Burrrst ! Tres bien, Madame.”
POOR JACK.
{Revised Version.)
Go patter to fogies and croakers, d ’ye see,
About Old Wooden Walls, and the like !
An iron-clad hulk or smart gunboat give me,
And it ain’t to an earthquake I ’ll strike.
Our Eighty-One-Tonners like thunderbolts smite,
And splinter huge stone-blocks like wood,
But a gunboat ’ll see all the fun of the fight,
If the grit of its Captain be good.
Avast! nor don’t think me a duffer so soft
As to timber to wish to go back,
For there still is a Providence sits up aloft
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.
Your penny-a-liners palaver away
About Hearts of Oak, Nelson, and such,
Were that gallant old hero still with us to-day,
He’d like pounding the Marabout much.
To hear our huge Temeraire thundering out
Would ’a quickened his pulses, I know,
Whilst that trim little Condor a-scudding about
Would ’a gladdened the heart o’ Bf.nbow.
Though an iron ton doesn’t fly slow or hit soft,
That won’t take our tars all aback ;
Thtre is still that sweet Cherub as sits up aloft
To keep watch o’er the life of poor Jack.
I said to our Poll, as was going to cry,
When an Eighty-One-Tonner she see,
“ What argufies funking or piping your eye ?
Why what a great goose you must be !
Can’t you see the world changes, ships, guns, shots, and all ?
But our Sailors aren't changed, don’t you know,
And if to Old Davy I must go, dear Poll,
What matters, my dear, how I go ?
Cheer up ! All’s a hazard. Come, don’t be a soft,
Like enough I shall laughing come back,
For there’s still that there Cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.”
D’ye mind me, a Sailor should be every inch
All as one as a part of his ship;
Be it iron or wood, he won’t offer to flinch
Whilst the sea holds a foeman to whip.
As for me, on the whopping Invincible's deck,
Or tbe cockyhoop Condor's, I’m game
For a slap at the foe. Arter all, I expect,
As it comes pooty much to the same.
Behind iron or wood, while their hearts don’t grow soft,
British tars won’t be taken aback,
And that sweet little Cherub still sits up aloft
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.
Cetewayo’s Residence.
The Government, amongst its other troubles, is puzzled to decide
upon a fit and proper dwelling for the Zulu King. Lord Gingerly,
who is always cautious, has suggested a suburban residence, probably
at Camden Town. If a hint from us is acceptable, we might name
Blackwall or Blackheath. Windsor Castle is out of the question.
After the Black King has moved he cannot castle.
Mrs. Ramsbotham: tells us she recently purchased at a sale
in the country a Sheridan sofa and half a dozen Colebrook Dale
chairs, which give quite an Ascetic appearance to her drawing-