DOI issue:
September 20, 1884
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17757#0149
142
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[September 20, 1884.
LOVE ON A YACHT.
I loved her with a love that
made
The heat at ninety in the shade
Seem cool beside it;
I blushed whene’er I heard her
name,
And she, observant of my
dame,
Did not deride it.
But, on one most unlucky day,
We both of us were asked to
stay
On board the Lily;
I knew ’twas rash of me, but
then
When they’re in love, the
wisest men
Are often silly.
We dined, we danced on moon-
lit nights,
And went in boats to see the
sights ;
I do not row, so
1 sat within the stern, and
there,
I felt, despite the fresh sea
air,
Extremely “ so-so.”
On board the yacht, too, I felt
dead,
And vainly racked my aching
head
For conversation;
The while a rival stout and
strong
Would hover round her all day
long,
In adoration.
One cannot coruscate or shine
When feeling far too ill to
dine;
The yacht’s gay motion
Made me more bilious, and he,
My hated rival, loved the sea,
The horrid ocean.
I knew she could not love a
man
Who, when he went to sea,
began
To look so yellow ;
And so he calmly wooed and
won,
While I was outcast and un-
done—
Unhappy fellow!
Classics at Cardiff.—We
read in the Daily News last
Friday that “ Mr. Brock,
A.R.A., has just completed
for Cardiff a marble bust of
Mr. Menelaus,” which has,
since then, been unveiled.
•Justice to that worthy classi-
cal personage at last! Mr.
Menelaus—he was only plain
Menelaus in the good old
classic days — has deserved
well of Cardiff, having pre-
sented to that town ten thou-
sand pounds’ worth of pic-
tures. We hope Mr. Brock
will follow it up with a statue
of the celebrated spouse of
Mr. Menelaus, La Belle He-
lene, which, instead of marble,
he might appropriately execute
in plaster of Paris.
PUNCH’S OCCASIONAL FABLES.
; The bearings of it lie in the application.”—Jack Bunsby.
THE MASTIFF AND THE POODLE.
A LATE-whipt Poodle spied a Mastiff napping
On the far side of a swift-flowing stream,
And straight indulged its spleen in spiteful yapping ;
Its rabid anger rose into a scream.
Snarling and snapping,
It waked the Mastiff from a mid-day dream.
The Mastiff opened, with an air of wonder,
One brightly watchful yet good-tempered eye,
But did not stir, esteeming it a blunder
To rouse himself at every currish cry.
At such poor thunder,
Only the smallest beer fumes acidly.
“ You stand such insolence ? ” cried a bystander,
Seeing the Mastiff quite as little moved
As old Diogenes by Alexander.
‘ ‘ Surely such noisy spite should be reproved!
Should patience pander
To pertinacious malice custom-grooved?”
“ Pooh! ” said the Mastiff. “ He has had a skelping,
Poor noisy little chap, and so is sore.
Thinks I’m his foe ; at present that ’s past helping ;
But though, of course, his shindy is a bore,
He ’ll soon cease yelping,
And we shall be good neighbours as before.”
Moral.
When Strength’s assailed by shrill but harmless clatter,
Wise Magnanimity’s motto is, “ No matter ! ”
Au Re voir, Australia !
“ I’ve ’eard of Cricket on the Hearth,” said ’Ariiy, after reading of the
victory of Australia over the South of England: “ but I should call the
game o’ these Australian Coves, Cricket at the t’other end o’ the Hearth ! ”
SWEET HAY OF LEST!
THE SONG OF THE SAB-
BATARIAN.
(A very long way after Herbert.)
Saveet Day when working
men drink beer,
And wanking women din-
ners buy !
I ’ll stop all that. Oh yes, no
fear!
At least, I ’ll try !
I do not want to shop or drink,
I only want to eat, and cant;
The poor would have tresh
beer, they think,
But oh ! they shan’t!
If they will porter swill or ale,
(And 1 their will in this
would fetter),
Why, if that drink is fiat and
stale,
So much the better !
It serves them right! What
right have they
To wish to do except as I
wish ?
They’d ramble, tipple, sport,
be gay!
Well, that’s not 'my wish.
Why can’t they dress them-
selves iu black,
And regularly go to chapel,
Dine on cold mutton, and rush
back
With texts to grapple ?
Or -why not take their forty
winks—
If they must rest—then tea
and crumpets,
An evening cheered by tem-
perance drinks,
And “ Zion's Trumpets ” f
What can they wish for more ?
Of course
Their yearnings are perverse
and sinful.
They won't read tracts, wdth
the resource
Of a cheap “ skinful.”
Don’t let them drink, play,
ride, or drive,
Travel by rail, buy nuts or
apples,
Then they ’ll have no alterna-
tive
But Schools and Chapels !
Sweet Day! No, never mind
the Clubs,
But shut shop shutters very
tight,
Hermetically close all clubs,
And all is right!
TENNIS V. CROQUET.
It is said that a struggle
for supremacy will shortly
take place between the ad-
herents of these two games.
The Croqueurs have adopted,
as their motto, “We can’t
stand the Racket! ” and the
Lawntennisonians rejoice in
the legend, “ Honi soit qui
Mallet pense l ”
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[September 20, 1884.
LOVE ON A YACHT.
I loved her with a love that
made
The heat at ninety in the shade
Seem cool beside it;
I blushed whene’er I heard her
name,
And she, observant of my
dame,
Did not deride it.
But, on one most unlucky day,
We both of us were asked to
stay
On board the Lily;
I knew ’twas rash of me, but
then
When they’re in love, the
wisest men
Are often silly.
We dined, we danced on moon-
lit nights,
And went in boats to see the
sights ;
I do not row, so
1 sat within the stern, and
there,
I felt, despite the fresh sea
air,
Extremely “ so-so.”
On board the yacht, too, I felt
dead,
And vainly racked my aching
head
For conversation;
The while a rival stout and
strong
Would hover round her all day
long,
In adoration.
One cannot coruscate or shine
When feeling far too ill to
dine;
The yacht’s gay motion
Made me more bilious, and he,
My hated rival, loved the sea,
The horrid ocean.
I knew she could not love a
man
Who, when he went to sea,
began
To look so yellow ;
And so he calmly wooed and
won,
While I was outcast and un-
done—
Unhappy fellow!
Classics at Cardiff.—We
read in the Daily News last
Friday that “ Mr. Brock,
A.R.A., has just completed
for Cardiff a marble bust of
Mr. Menelaus,” which has,
since then, been unveiled.
•Justice to that worthy classi-
cal personage at last! Mr.
Menelaus—he was only plain
Menelaus in the good old
classic days — has deserved
well of Cardiff, having pre-
sented to that town ten thou-
sand pounds’ worth of pic-
tures. We hope Mr. Brock
will follow it up with a statue
of the celebrated spouse of
Mr. Menelaus, La Belle He-
lene, which, instead of marble,
he might appropriately execute
in plaster of Paris.
PUNCH’S OCCASIONAL FABLES.
; The bearings of it lie in the application.”—Jack Bunsby.
THE MASTIFF AND THE POODLE.
A LATE-whipt Poodle spied a Mastiff napping
On the far side of a swift-flowing stream,
And straight indulged its spleen in spiteful yapping ;
Its rabid anger rose into a scream.
Snarling and snapping,
It waked the Mastiff from a mid-day dream.
The Mastiff opened, with an air of wonder,
One brightly watchful yet good-tempered eye,
But did not stir, esteeming it a blunder
To rouse himself at every currish cry.
At such poor thunder,
Only the smallest beer fumes acidly.
“ You stand such insolence ? ” cried a bystander,
Seeing the Mastiff quite as little moved
As old Diogenes by Alexander.
‘ ‘ Surely such noisy spite should be reproved!
Should patience pander
To pertinacious malice custom-grooved?”
“ Pooh! ” said the Mastiff. “ He has had a skelping,
Poor noisy little chap, and so is sore.
Thinks I’m his foe ; at present that ’s past helping ;
But though, of course, his shindy is a bore,
He ’ll soon cease yelping,
And we shall be good neighbours as before.”
Moral.
When Strength’s assailed by shrill but harmless clatter,
Wise Magnanimity’s motto is, “ No matter ! ”
Au Re voir, Australia !
“ I’ve ’eard of Cricket on the Hearth,” said ’Ariiy, after reading of the
victory of Australia over the South of England: “ but I should call the
game o’ these Australian Coves, Cricket at the t’other end o’ the Hearth ! ”
SWEET HAY OF LEST!
THE SONG OF THE SAB-
BATARIAN.
(A very long way after Herbert.)
Saveet Day when working
men drink beer,
And wanking women din-
ners buy !
I ’ll stop all that. Oh yes, no
fear!
At least, I ’ll try !
I do not want to shop or drink,
I only want to eat, and cant;
The poor would have tresh
beer, they think,
But oh ! they shan’t!
If they will porter swill or ale,
(And 1 their will in this
would fetter),
Why, if that drink is fiat and
stale,
So much the better !
It serves them right! What
right have they
To wish to do except as I
wish ?
They’d ramble, tipple, sport,
be gay!
Well, that’s not 'my wish.
Why can’t they dress them-
selves iu black,
And regularly go to chapel,
Dine on cold mutton, and rush
back
With texts to grapple ?
Or -why not take their forty
winks—
If they must rest—then tea
and crumpets,
An evening cheered by tem-
perance drinks,
And “ Zion's Trumpets ” f
What can they wish for more ?
Of course
Their yearnings are perverse
and sinful.
They won't read tracts, wdth
the resource
Of a cheap “ skinful.”
Don’t let them drink, play,
ride, or drive,
Travel by rail, buy nuts or
apples,
Then they ’ll have no alterna-
tive
But Schools and Chapels !
Sweet Day! No, never mind
the Clubs,
But shut shop shutters very
tight,
Hermetically close all clubs,
And all is right!
TENNIS V. CROQUET.
It is said that a struggle
for supremacy will shortly
take place between the ad-
herents of these two games.
The Croqueurs have adopted,
as their motto, “We can’t
stand the Racket! ” and the
Lawntennisonians rejoice in
the legend, “ Honi soit qui
Mallet pense l ”