Punch (91.1886)

July 3, 1886.]_PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHABIVARI.

FAREWELL TO THE SEASON.

a Midsummer Monody. 1886.

^S2™* to the Season! Not often

we take it so early as June ;
^rf,:^11™™ nothing could soften,
a j -^ties were all out of tune.
And so dissolution confronts us,

lire roses are fairly in bloom,
And Gladstone from Westminster hunts

J.0 challenge our fate, and his doom.

us

Farewell to the Season! 'Twas scurvy

Of William to play us this trick,
Sets everything all topsy-turvy,

And banishes trade to Old Mek.
The Shopkeeper sighs with vexation,

The Milliner moans in despair ;
In the West there is wild tribulation;

Teeth-grinding and tearing of hair.

Farewell to the Season! The hunter

Of husbands is baulked of her game.
There is grief in the bosom of Gunteb,

All Eegent-Street's soul is a-flame.
The Row is a wilderness utter,

The Livery Stables look sad,
The Cab-drivers mournfully mutter,

And Materf amilias goes mad.