Punch (102.1892)

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

Unfashionable Mother. '' What a sweet Child I How Old is she ?"

Fashionable Mother. "Well, eeally, if you are going to ask that sort of Question, I'd better send for the Nurse !",

AN OLD SONG BEVIVED.

(As sung by the Champion Ulster " Comique,"
Colonel S-nd-rs-n, to the old time of " De
Groves of de Pool," xoritten by " honest
Dick Millikin.")

Whillaloo ! If they droive us to foighting,

'Tis ourselves who will lead 'em a dance,
Till, loike the Cork bhoys, they 're deloighting,

Back again to their homes to advance !
No longer in beating such rebels

We '11 take than in baiting a bull.
How they '11 squake, in effeminate trebles,

When Ulster's battalions are full!

Ri fol didder rol didder rol I

We trate 'em as loving relations ?

We trust to the " Union of Hearts" ?
We heed the Grand Old One 's orations ?

We play the Minority's parts P
We bow to the yoke of Tim Healy ?

We stoop to the Papisthry rule ?
Faix! them who imagine it really

Must fancy that " Orange" spells "fool."
Ri fol didder rol didder rol!

We consint to a sham House o' Commons
Established on ould College Green ?

They fancy we 're Radical rum 'uns!
Allaygiance we owe to our Queen !

But we 're fly to their thraitorous dodges ;
Our loyalty's edge would they dull r

Fwit! We '11 pour like a flood from our
Lodges,

And crack every "National" skull!

Hi fol didder rol didder rol!

We 're all friends of Law and of Order,
But would they wrench us from the Crown ?

We '11 soon be a-singing " Boyne Water "
And marching to Croppies, lie down ! "

'Tis we have the Men and the Money,
We don't want to foight, we 're quite
cool.

But, by Jingo, our foes will look funny,
W^hen Ulster turns out 'gin Home Rule !
Bi fol didder rol didder rol!

To-day in our myriads we muster.

Friendly warning is all that we mean.
About Solly's " incitement" Rads fluster;

We 're thrue to the Crown and the Queen;
But Ulster no " pathriot " shall sever,

And Ulster no " Papish" shall school.
Whillaloo ! Here's the Union for ever,

And into the Boyne wid Home Rule!

Ri fol didder rol didder rol!

Och! Here's to Dutch William the Pious !

And here's to Victoria, the Good!
If they think we wonH foight, let 'em try us!

They mock at an Orangeman's mood,
But once set the Green 'gainst the Yellow,

(Wid no one our coat-tails to pull,)
And I pity the pathriots who bellow

(Like bhoys in a bog) for Home Rule !

Ri fol didder rol didder rol!

Come, all loyal props of the nation,
Come till up a bumper all round !
Drink success to our great federation;

With Brummy Joe's blessing 'tis crowned.
1 He says we are heroes, right stingo,

He vows W. G. 's an old fool.
No, we dorCt want to fight, but, by Jingo
Whin we do—it's all up wid Home Rule !
Ri fol didder rol didder rol!

[Left " bombinating."

A BACHELORS GROWL.

Oh, the beautiful women, the women of
ancient days,
The ripe and the red, who are done and
dead,

With never a word of praise ;
The rich, round Sallies and Susans, the
Pollies and Joans and Prues,
Who guarded their fame, and saw no
shame

In walking in low-heeled shoes.

They never shrieked on a platform; they
never desired a vote ;
They sat in a row and liked things slow,
While they knitted or patched a coat.
They lived with nothing of Latin, and a jolly
sight less of Greek,
And made up their books, and changed
their cooks
On an average once a week.

They never ventured in hansoms, nor climbed
to the topmost 'bus,
Nor talked with a twang in the latest slang ;
They left these fashions to us.
But, ah, she was sweet and pleasant, though
possibly not well-read,
The excellent wife who cheered your life,
And vanished at ten to bed.

And it's oh the pity, the pity that time should
ever annul
The wearers of skirts who mended shirts,
And never thought nurseries dull.
For everything's topsy-turvy now, the men
are bedded at ten,
While the women sit up, and smoke and sup
Iu the Club of the Chickless Hen.