Punch: Punch (100.1891)

May 9, 1891.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

219

THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID.

Painter. " Would you believe it? This is the Picture they've thought proper
to Reject ! I'll be so bold as to say, there are not Twenty better in the whole
Exhibition!" Friend. "Dear me 1 Is it sdch a Poor Academy as that?"

FASHION'S FLORALIA;

Or, The Urban Queen of the May.

(A Song of the Season, a very long way after
Merrick.)

"London town is another affair
Since Herricx wrote his perfect rhymes."

Mortimer. Collins.

True, sadly true, shaper of rattling rhymes,
London hath changed with process of the
times.

Aurora now may " throw her faire

Fresh-quilted colours through the aire,"

But our conditions atmospheric

Are not as in the days of Hebbick.

Nathless the Muse to-day may see

Flora at urban revelry.
See how the goddess trippeth from the "West,
Fragrant, though something fashionably

The Season waketh at her tread, [drest;

Art liiteth a long-drooping head ;

Music doth make a merry din.

'Tis profanation, keeping in,
Whenas a hundred Shows upon this day
Spring, lightly as the lark to fetch in May.

Rise, Nymph, put on fresh finery, and be
seen, [and green !

To come forth like the Spring-time, fresh
And gay as Flora. Art is there,
With flowing hyacinthine hair.
Fear not, the throng will strew
Largess abundant upon you, [kept.
When Burlington's great Opening Day is
Gone is thy Grosvenor rival, not unwept;
But a New Nymph, with footing light,
Trips it beside thee, nor hath night
Shadowed sweet " Aquarelle" whose skill,
As of a Water-Nymph, is still [paying,
Well to the fore. Pipe up ! playing means
When Fashion's Urban Flora goes a-Maying.

Come, my Corlnna, come ; and, coming, mark
How each street turns a grove, each square
a park, [how
Made green and trimmed with trees: see
The pinky hawthorn decks the bough!
Each Bond Street porch, or door, ere this
Of Art a Tabernacle is ;
Nor Art alone. With May is interwove
Seaweed, which Neptune's favourites love.
Swinburne should sing: in stanzas fleet,
How Nelson may, at Chelsea, meet
Armstrong ! Sound conch-1 hell! Let's
obey

Thy Proclamation made "for May.
Wild marine whiffs from the salt sea are
straying,

And the brine greets us as we go a-Maying.

There's not a London-Teuton but this day
Hath a new welcome for the English May.
Germania from her distant home
In Flora's train this year doth come.
She hath despatched her country's cream
Of things, to make the Cockney dream.
Neptune and she have wooed and plighted
troth,

And her we give May-welcome, nothing loth,
As many a welcome we have given
To France, Spain, Italy ! War hath riven
Many true hearts, but we're content
Of Peace to make experiment.

Blow Teuton horn—(not like " Hernani's"
braying!)—

It makes new music as we go a-Maying!

Come, let us go, while May is in its prime,
And make the best of the brief Season's time.

Hebbick's Corinna might not see

An Urban May Oneen such as we

Behold disport in our rare sun.

R-ouse, Nymph ! The Season is begun !
We '11 trust no blizzard, and no boreal rain
May mar " Our Opening Day." Sound flutes
again!

Pipe. Sir Fbedebick ! Ah, well played !
Tootle thy new strains, fair Maid.
Blow, oh Briny One, with might I
Teuton Brunehild, glad our sight!
Fashion's Floralia, Nymph, invite our
straying ;

Come, my Cokinna, come; let's go a-Maying !

THE HUMOUR O'T!

(Namely of Parliament, as seen through Harry
Furniss's fancy.)

Air—" The Wooing oH,"

Lika Joko makes us langb,

Hal ha! the humour o't!
With caricature and caustic chaff ;

He ! he ! the humour o't!
Parliament strikes some as slow,
Lika Joko deems not so ;
Visit his St. Stephen's Show !

Humph ! humph ! the humour o't!

Gladstone stern and Gladstone staid,

Ha 1 ha! the humour o't!
Gladstone in war-paint arrayed,

He! he ! the humour o't!
Gladstone "Oat" and Gladstone "In,"
Gladstone with colossal chin,
Giant collars plunged within,

Humph ! humph ! the humour o't!

Smith with bland perennial smile,
Ha! ha ! the humour o't I

Balfoub, pet of the Green Isle,

He! he! the humour o't!
Habcoubt, big as Babel's tower,
Goschen, with myopic glower,
Joseph of the orchid-flower.

Humph ! humph ! the humour o't!

How they muster, how they " tell,"

Ha I ha ! the humour o't!
Woes of the Division Bell,

He ! he I the humour o't'.
All—from Prayers to "Who goes Home?"
O'er St. Stephens you may roam ;
Lika Joko bids you. Come !

Humph '. humph! the humour o't!

Lika Joko is a wag,

Ha! ha! the humour o't!
All the tricks are in his bag,

He ! he! the humour o't!
He can mimic, he can mime,
Draw, and act, and—what is prime—
Keep you laughing all the time.

Humph! humph ! the humour o't!

Why doesn't some Musical Photographic
Artist of Scotch Nationality compose a March
for his fellow Professors and Practisers, and
call it " The March of the Camera Men" ?
Sure to be popular.

An Un-" Common" Good Hobse. —-The
Winner of this Year's Two Thousand.