DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17031#0013
Note: This is an additional scan to display the colour reference chart and scalebar.
0.5
1 cm
PUNCH'S ALMANACK FOE 1846.
SONG OF MARCH.
(apteb braham.)
March, March ; daisies and buttercups
Put forth their petals in exquisite order.
March, March ; crocuses springing up.
Give a gay aspect to bed and to border.
Little birds fly about; turkeys' eggs lie about,
And the broad daylight gets broader and
broader.
Boreas goes about; everything blows about;
Bonnets and hats are in dreadful disorder.
March, March ; daisies and buttercups
Put forth their petals in exquisite order.
March, Maroh ; crocuses springing up,
Give a gay aspect to bed and to border.
Survey.
i. CAUDLE COULD GO OUT AND ENJOY HIMSELF
it sort of
ick looks
you look
a-omen—
can they
for hus-
;he kettle
hear me,
hat fly or.
i go out f
ited to go
own your
I'm going
:pect me ;
3 all.
1! Arn't
, if you'd
3 for 'em.
anything
" The fact is, Mrs. Caudlk. I've indulged you too much. I've made a fool
of you. No, I hav'n't t Well, then, who has ? If I hav'n't, somebody has,
it's plain. Going out, indeed .' I've no opinion of any woman who wants
to go out at all. Women were never intended to go out; only the fact is,
we've let you have your own way. Ha ! they manage these matters much
better in the East.
"I'm generally a pretty quiet man, Mrs. Caudle, and you know it.
Nevertheless, I have a little of the liou in me; just a little. Don't rouse
it, that's all.
" There you are, with the pocket-handkerchief again. Always hoisting
that signal of distress. No. no : I'm not made of sugar, like a twelfth-cake
image ; I'm not to be melted with tears ; let them be as many and as hot as
they will. Besides, as I any, you can all do it when you like—every mother's
soul of you. But I'm not to be washed off my legs by any river of the
sort.
41 All I say to you is,—stay at home. You've a needle and thread
haven't you? and I '11 tie sworn for it, plenty of things to make or to mend.
And if you haven't, cut holes, and sew 'em up again.
" Now, see when I come home that my portmanteau's ready. What's
o'clock ? You want five minutes to -? No doubt: the old story ; you're
always wanting something."
SONG OF MARCH.
(apteb braham.)
March, March ; daisies and buttercups
Put forth their petals in exquisite order.
March, March ; crocuses springing up.
Give a gay aspect to bed and to border.
Little birds fly about; turkeys' eggs lie about,
And the broad daylight gets broader and
broader.
Boreas goes about; everything blows about;
Bonnets and hats are in dreadful disorder.
March, March ; daisies and buttercups
Put forth their petals in exquisite order.
March, Maroh ; crocuses springing up,
Give a gay aspect to bed and to border.
Survey.
i. CAUDLE COULD GO OUT AND ENJOY HIMSELF
it sort of
ick looks
you look
a-omen—
can they
for hus-
;he kettle
hear me,
hat fly or.
i go out f
ited to go
own your
I'm going
:pect me ;
3 all.
1! Arn't
, if you'd
3 for 'em.
anything
" The fact is, Mrs. Caudlk. I've indulged you too much. I've made a fool
of you. No, I hav'n't t Well, then, who has ? If I hav'n't, somebody has,
it's plain. Going out, indeed .' I've no opinion of any woman who wants
to go out at all. Women were never intended to go out; only the fact is,
we've let you have your own way. Ha ! they manage these matters much
better in the East.
"I'm generally a pretty quiet man, Mrs. Caudle, and you know it.
Nevertheless, I have a little of the liou in me; just a little. Don't rouse
it, that's all.
" There you are, with the pocket-handkerchief again. Always hoisting
that signal of distress. No. no : I'm not made of sugar, like a twelfth-cake
image ; I'm not to be melted with tears ; let them be as many and as hot as
they will. Besides, as I any, you can all do it when you like—every mother's
soul of you. But I'm not to be washed off my legs by any river of the
sort.
41 All I say to you is,—stay at home. You've a needle and thread
haven't you? and I '11 tie sworn for it, plenty of things to make or to mend.
And if you haven't, cut holes, and sew 'em up again.
" Now, see when I come home that my portmanteau's ready. What's
o'clock ? You want five minutes to -? No doubt: the old story ; you're
always wanting something."