Punch (103.1892)

August 27, 1892.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

93

FROM THE PARTICULAR TO THE GENERAL.

"I say, Old Chappie—"What tremendous high Chairs you've got—One's Feet
positively Dangle ! "

THE SONG OF THE BAB.

Work, work, work!

Sang Hood, in the " Song of the Shirt,"
Of the seamstress slave who worked to her
grave

In poverty, hunger, and dirt.
Work, work, work!

The Bar-maid, too, can say,
Work for ten hours, or more;

Oh, for "eight hours " a day!

Is she a happier slave

Where gilding and mirrors ahound ?
Of what can she think when eternal drink

Is the cry of all around?
Stand, stand, stand!

Serving sots from far and near ;
Stand, stand, stand!

More whiskey! More hrandy ! More beer!

Possibly some one may say,

" What can that matter to us ?
She is frail, frivolous, gay ;

She is not worth a fuss."
Prig, all her life is a snare,

You, so excessively good,
Would pity her rather if there

Once for ten hours you stood.

How would you feel at the end ?

You may not think she is fit,
Ouite, for your sister's friend—

Is she too wicked to sit?
Stand stand, stand!_

In the smoke of pipe and cigar,
Always to think of eternal drink;

Oh, pity the Slave of the Bar!

By a Bibb on Girl who < has been to
France.—" Sure the town itself must be
full of go-a-head young women that a decent
female wouldn't be seen spaking to—else
why is it called Belle-Fast ? "

THE OPERA IN THE FUTURE.

(As suggested by "Musical Patcvers.")

Scene—Interior of Covent Garden on a Sub-
scription Night. The house is filled in the
parts reserved for Subscribers. The re-
mainder of the Auditorium is less
crowded. The Overture is over, when
there is a loud cry for the Manager.
Enter before the Curtain Courteous
Gentleman, ivho bows, and tvaits in an
attitude of respectful attention.
Person in the Amphitheatre. I say,
Mister, look 'ere, after charging me sixpence
for a seat, I'm 'anged if they don't want an
extra penny for a bill of the play.

Courteous Gentleman. Highly improper,
Sir. I will look into the matter to-morrow,
and if you are kind enough to identify the
attendant who has attempted this overcharge,
I will have him dismissed. And now, with
your permission, your Iloyal Highnesses, my
Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen, we will go on
with the Musical performances.
{The Opera continues. At the end of the
Third Act there is another cry for the
Manager. The Courteous Gentleman
re-enters before the Curtain, as before.
Very Stout Person in the Amphitheatre
Stalls. I say, look here—I paid two shillings
for this seat, and the back's coming off.

Cour. Gen. Perhaps, Sir, you have been
leaning with a weight it is unable to bear.

Very S. P. Never mind about that. As I
pay two shillings for my seat, I expect you to
stop the show until it's mended.

Cour. Gen. As the show (as you call it, Sir)
costs about two pounds a minute, 1 fear that
would be rather an extravagant proceeding.
If I may suggest, I would counsel you to
change your seat to a more perfect one.

Very S. P. I like that! and get turned
out by someone who had reserved it. No,

thankee! But there, after all, I am rather
heavy, so let's say no more about it.

Cour. Gen. I am infinitely obliged to you.
[Exit. The Opera continues until the com-
mencement of the last Act, when there is
a frantic cry for the Manager. The
Courteous Gentleman again appears
before the Curtain.
Voices from the Cheaper Parts of the
House. Here, cut it short! Let's get to the
end. Let's see how the story finishes!
Cour. Gent. I am at your disposal.
Spokesman, Well, look here, Mister.
There's a lot of us here who want to catch the
11'40 train, so can't you cut the performance ?

Cour. Man. Although your proposal, Sir,
may cause some trouble and complications, I
will honestly do my best. \_Bows and exit.
Curtain.

TO THE ROLLER-SKATING FIEND.

0 boy!—0 injudicious boy!—

Who, swayed by dark and secret reasons,
Dost love thine elders to annoy

At sundry times and frequent seasons,
Why hast thou left thy tempting top—

Thy penny-dreadful's gory garble—
Thy blue- and-crimson lollipop—

Thy aimlessly meandering marble ?

Thy catapult, so sure of aim,

In cold neglect, alas! reposes,
And even " tip-cat's " cherished game

No longer threatens eyes and noses ;
Thy tube of tin (projecting peas)

At length has ceased from irritating;
But how much worse than all of these

Thy latest craze—for roller-skating !

For, mounted on twin engines dread,

Thou rushest (with adventures graphic)
Where even angels fear to tread,

Because there's such a lot of traffic.
At lightning-speed we see thee glide,

(With malice every narrow shave meant),
And charge thine elders far and wide,

Or stretch them prone upon the pavement.

Bound corners sharp thou lov'st tp dart,

(Thou skating imp! Thou rolling joker!)
And hit in some projecting part

The lawyer staid, or solemn broker.
Does pity never mar thy glee,

When upright men with torture double ?
Oh, let our one petition be

That thou may'st come to grievous
trouble!