98 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [September 3. 1892.
SUMMER VOLUPTAS."
Toby {sings). "My Barque is on the Sea !"
SONGS OUT OF SEASON.
No. I.—DISORGANISED.
Sttll in London now you '11 find me,
Still detained against my will;
And I wish, distinctly, mind me,
To accentuate the " still" ;
It's a sort of consolation,
As I sit, and fume, and frown,
That the greatest botheration
Of my life is out of town.
He who used to grind " She Wore a
Wreath of Roses" every day,
And " Selections from Dinorah,"
And—" Ta-ra-ra-Boom-de-ay. "
With his execrable smiling,
And exasperating din,
Must, I needs infer, be riling
Some one else with grind and grin.
He who seemed, in fact, delighted,
And a kiss—the fiend !—would blow,
When I got a bit excited.
And exclaimed " Al Diavolo ! "
Who, with unabashed assurance,
Only beamed the more, and kissed,
If, incensed beyond endurance,
In his face I shook my fist.
He has earned his little outing,
This excruciating cove,
And his instrument is flouting
Bath, or Scarborough, or Hove.
For the moment I can get a
Peaceful interim, and free—
But he cherishes vendetta,
This Italian count, to me.
Yes ! Perhaps, indeed, 'twere kinder,
Had he ne'er relaxed his track ;
He '11 return, that grinning grinder,
lleinvigorated, back!
Then, as I remarked before, a
Spell of doom for me remains,
With "Selections from Dinorah"
And his other worse refrains.
Why I don't go out of Town for the
Autumn ?—Becaxise I've been pretty well
everywhere, but always quite well in London.
SUMMER VOLUPTAS."
Toby {sings). "My Barque is on the Sea !"
SONGS OUT OF SEASON.
No. I.—DISORGANISED.
Sttll in London now you '11 find me,
Still detained against my will;
And I wish, distinctly, mind me,
To accentuate the " still" ;
It's a sort of consolation,
As I sit, and fume, and frown,
That the greatest botheration
Of my life is out of town.
He who used to grind " She Wore a
Wreath of Roses" every day,
And " Selections from Dinorah,"
And—" Ta-ra-ra-Boom-de-ay. "
With his execrable smiling,
And exasperating din,
Must, I needs infer, be riling
Some one else with grind and grin.
He who seemed, in fact, delighted,
And a kiss—the fiend !—would blow,
When I got a bit excited.
And exclaimed " Al Diavolo ! "
Who, with unabashed assurance,
Only beamed the more, and kissed,
If, incensed beyond endurance,
In his face I shook my fist.
He has earned his little outing,
This excruciating cove,
And his instrument is flouting
Bath, or Scarborough, or Hove.
For the moment I can get a
Peaceful interim, and free—
But he cherishes vendetta,
This Italian count, to me.
Yes ! Perhaps, indeed, 'twere kinder,
Had he ne'er relaxed his track ;
He '11 return, that grinning grinder,
lleinvigorated, back!
Then, as I remarked before, a
Spell of doom for me remains,
With "Selections from Dinorah"
And his other worse refrains.
Why I don't go out of Town for the
Autumn ?—Becaxise I've been pretty well
everywhere, but always quite well in London.