DOI Heft:
December 31, 1880
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17694#0314
December 31, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 309
PHANTASMA-GORE-IA!
Picturing the Various Modes of Melodramatic Murder. (By Our " Off-his "-Head Poet.)
No. Iir.—THE REVOLVER MURDER.
But wrongs are not brooked by Russian
gents—
Tbey 're awfully angry fry!
Tbe bero may pardon past events,
But not so the Russian Spy,—
From Bow comes the fur that's on his coat,
From Germany comes his watch ;
His trousers the " London make" denote,
His accent is Franco-Scotch ;
His liquor is Special Scotch ;
He "guesses" much, and he savs "You
bet";
His manner is slow and sly ;
His smoke is a Turkish cigar-
ette,
For he is a Russian Spy—
A blood - seeking Russian
Spy!
Oh ! how will the woes of Vir-
tue end ?
'Tis late in the Five-Act
play;
And Fortune still is dark
Vice's friend,
And villany holds its sway,
Its truly wonderful sway !
'Twould scarce be the thing for
Vice to crow,
And Virtue to sink and ^/
die ;
The end must arrive some time, we
know—
So bring on your Russian Spy,—
Come, out with your Russian Spy !
It cannot be long ! The time is here
For Virtue to pardon Vice,
Providing he does not live too near,
Or call more than once or twice—
Look in more than once or twice.
'Tis death from the Russian Spy
So as humbled Vice up stage retires,
Forgiven by him, he'd slay
(A noble revenge the House admires,
By utterly giving way—
By sniffingly giving way)—
The Spy, with revolver, comes down C,
And aims at the evening sky,
And down tumbles Vice, as dead as three,
From lead from the Russian Spy!—
Oh I accurate Russian Spy !
SOMETHING: LIKE A COUNTY-
COUNCILLOR.
(Being Evidence taken in the Palace of Truth.)
Question. And so you object to Theatres
and Music-Hails P
Answer. Certainly ; and know as much
about one as the other.
Q. Do you ap-
prove of Shaks-
peare ?
A. C er tainly
not; nor of any
other playwright.
Q. Have you
ever read a dra-
in atic composi-
tion?
A. Never ; it is
against my
principles to pe-
ruse such (so-cal-
led) literature.
Q. Then why do you object to the Author's
work ?
A. Because I know if I were Shakspeahe
or any of his colleagues, my writings would
be entirely unfit for representation.
Q. Have you ever entered a Theatre ?
A. Certainly not; and never shall.
Q. Have you visited a Music-Hail ?
A. Emphatically no, and don't want to.
Q. Tben why do you complain of them ?
A. Because my imagination pictures them
as indescribably horrible.
Q. How comes it that knowing so little,
you have been sent to adjudicate upon so
much P
A. Beoause I was elected by the know-
nothings of the district I have the honour to
represent.
Q. And what became of the rest of the
constituency ?
A. You mean the majority—oh, they didn't
take the trouble to register their votes.
Q. Then you are the mouthpiece of igno-
rance and incompetence ?
A. Certainly—but that is not a pretty way
of putting it!
On the Speculative Builder.
He's the readiest cus-
tomer living,
While you 're lending, or
spending, or giving;
But when you 'd make
profit, or get back your
own,
He's the awkwardest
customer ever you 've
known.
Song at Christmas.
—" Then Yule Remem- US"
her Me ' " "Hodman Hout!"
ANECDOTAGE."
11
Companion Volume to other Works of the same
kind.
The Duke of Wellington never could
persuade George the Fourth that he was
not present at Waterloo. One day his
Majesty, talking over the table, said to his
Grace, " I perfectly well remember your cry-
ing to the Grenadiers, ' Up, Guards, and at
them! "' " Yes, Sire," replied the Duke, '/ so
I have been told before." The King smiled
at the jest, but never forgave the carefully-
concealed sarcasm.
Refuge for Egotists.—"The Eye Hos-
pital." The Specialist who attends should
be Member for Eye.
ODE TO SAPONACEA.
Who claims my strongest missing noun,
When sheets as soft and white as down,
Return in colour yellowy-brown ?
My Laundress!
Who by her science can
convert
My best and most ex-
pensive shirt
Into a miracle of dirt ?
My Laundress!
Who, when my collars
come back frayed,
Receives my protests
undismayed,
And merely wishes to
be paid ?
My Laundress!
Who spite of warnings that one gives,
Turns cambric kerchiefs into sieves,
Or ragged trellis-work—and lives !
My Laundress!
Who at the wash-tub, truth to tell,
Is partly fraud and partly sell,
Yet does her "mangling" very well?
My Laundress!
THE POET'S LOVE.
Mt Lady's name I cannot state,
At different times I greet Iier
As Chloe, Amaryllis, Kate,
According to the metre ;
I've called her
Mabel many
a time,—
A name which
leads itself to
rhyme.
My Lady's
hair is some-
times black
To match her
sable dresses,
At others falls
about her
back
In glorious
auburn
tresses,
Yet do not take
me to imply
She 's given
to the use of
dye.
I like her when
she 's sweet
and small,
The daintiest
of flowers,
I love her when, divinely tall,
Above the rest she towers ;
And yet, as second thoughts suggest,
Perhaps a golden mean were best.
Sometimes, a simple rustic maid,
She strays through meadows green,
Sometimes her beauty is displayed
In glittering ball-room scene ;
More recently I've thought upon
Creating her a lady-Don.
This peerless girl of whom I speak
I ever worship blindly
And sing her praises once a week,
If editors are kindly ;
Alas, this paragon, I own,
Exists within my verse alone !
KChilling Winter " Draft."—That of
The Home-Rule Bill.
PHANTASMA-GORE-IA!
Picturing the Various Modes of Melodramatic Murder. (By Our " Off-his "-Head Poet.)
No. Iir.—THE REVOLVER MURDER.
But wrongs are not brooked by Russian
gents—
Tbey 're awfully angry fry!
Tbe bero may pardon past events,
But not so the Russian Spy,—
From Bow comes the fur that's on his coat,
From Germany comes his watch ;
His trousers the " London make" denote,
His accent is Franco-Scotch ;
His liquor is Special Scotch ;
He "guesses" much, and he savs "You
bet";
His manner is slow and sly ;
His smoke is a Turkish cigar-
ette,
For he is a Russian Spy—
A blood - seeking Russian
Spy!
Oh ! how will the woes of Vir-
tue end ?
'Tis late in the Five-Act
play;
And Fortune still is dark
Vice's friend,
And villany holds its sway,
Its truly wonderful sway !
'Twould scarce be the thing for
Vice to crow,
And Virtue to sink and ^/
die ;
The end must arrive some time, we
know—
So bring on your Russian Spy,—
Come, out with your Russian Spy !
It cannot be long ! The time is here
For Virtue to pardon Vice,
Providing he does not live too near,
Or call more than once or twice—
Look in more than once or twice.
'Tis death from the Russian Spy
So as humbled Vice up stage retires,
Forgiven by him, he'd slay
(A noble revenge the House admires,
By utterly giving way—
By sniffingly giving way)—
The Spy, with revolver, comes down C,
And aims at the evening sky,
And down tumbles Vice, as dead as three,
From lead from the Russian Spy!—
Oh I accurate Russian Spy !
SOMETHING: LIKE A COUNTY-
COUNCILLOR.
(Being Evidence taken in the Palace of Truth.)
Question. And so you object to Theatres
and Music-Hails P
Answer. Certainly ; and know as much
about one as the other.
Q. Do you ap-
prove of Shaks-
peare ?
A. C er tainly
not; nor of any
other playwright.
Q. Have you
ever read a dra-
in atic composi-
tion?
A. Never ; it is
against my
principles to pe-
ruse such (so-cal-
led) literature.
Q. Then why do you object to the Author's
work ?
A. Because I know if I were Shakspeahe
or any of his colleagues, my writings would
be entirely unfit for representation.
Q. Have you ever entered a Theatre ?
A. Certainly not; and never shall.
Q. Have you visited a Music-Hail ?
A. Emphatically no, and don't want to.
Q. Tben why do you complain of them ?
A. Because my imagination pictures them
as indescribably horrible.
Q. How comes it that knowing so little,
you have been sent to adjudicate upon so
much P
A. Beoause I was elected by the know-
nothings of the district I have the honour to
represent.
Q. And what became of the rest of the
constituency ?
A. You mean the majority—oh, they didn't
take the trouble to register their votes.
Q. Then you are the mouthpiece of igno-
rance and incompetence ?
A. Certainly—but that is not a pretty way
of putting it!
On the Speculative Builder.
He's the readiest cus-
tomer living,
While you 're lending, or
spending, or giving;
But when you 'd make
profit, or get back your
own,
He's the awkwardest
customer ever you 've
known.
Song at Christmas.
—" Then Yule Remem- US"
her Me ' " "Hodman Hout!"
ANECDOTAGE."
11
Companion Volume to other Works of the same
kind.
The Duke of Wellington never could
persuade George the Fourth that he was
not present at Waterloo. One day his
Majesty, talking over the table, said to his
Grace, " I perfectly well remember your cry-
ing to the Grenadiers, ' Up, Guards, and at
them! "' " Yes, Sire," replied the Duke, '/ so
I have been told before." The King smiled
at the jest, but never forgave the carefully-
concealed sarcasm.
Refuge for Egotists.—"The Eye Hos-
pital." The Specialist who attends should
be Member for Eye.
ODE TO SAPONACEA.
Who claims my strongest missing noun,
When sheets as soft and white as down,
Return in colour yellowy-brown ?
My Laundress!
Who by her science can
convert
My best and most ex-
pensive shirt
Into a miracle of dirt ?
My Laundress!
Who, when my collars
come back frayed,
Receives my protests
undismayed,
And merely wishes to
be paid ?
My Laundress!
Who spite of warnings that one gives,
Turns cambric kerchiefs into sieves,
Or ragged trellis-work—and lives !
My Laundress!
Who at the wash-tub, truth to tell,
Is partly fraud and partly sell,
Yet does her "mangling" very well?
My Laundress!
THE POET'S LOVE.
Mt Lady's name I cannot state,
At different times I greet Iier
As Chloe, Amaryllis, Kate,
According to the metre ;
I've called her
Mabel many
a time,—
A name which
leads itself to
rhyme.
My Lady's
hair is some-
times black
To match her
sable dresses,
At others falls
about her
back
In glorious
auburn
tresses,
Yet do not take
me to imply
She 's given
to the use of
dye.
I like her when
she 's sweet
and small,
The daintiest
of flowers,
I love her when, divinely tall,
Above the rest she towers ;
And yet, as second thoughts suggest,
Perhaps a golden mean were best.
Sometimes, a simple rustic maid,
She strays through meadows green,
Sometimes her beauty is displayed
In glittering ball-room scene ;
More recently I've thought upon
Creating her a lady-Don.
This peerless girl of whom I speak
I ever worship blindly
And sing her praises once a week,
If editors are kindly ;
Alas, this paragon, I own,
Exists within my verse alone !
KChilling Winter " Draft."—That of
The Home-Rule Bill.