DOI issue:
Punch's Almanack for 1881
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17773#0017
PUNCH’S ALMANACK FOE 1881
December 13, 1830.
“ Deaeest, do you know you grieve me
More than I can well express,
You are lovely, but believe me,
Something’s wrong about your dress.
It may be the height of fashion,
What in fact is always worn,
But—don’t get into a passion—
Change it ere the ’morrow mom.”
Then she wore a jersey fitting
Bike an eel-skin all complete.
With a skirt so tight that sitting
Was an agonising feat.
Cried she, with supreme conviction
“ This, I think, will suit the men :
It was not a benediction,
That he breathed upon her then !
THE BATTLE OF THE STYLES.
Like a kind obedient lady,
Straight the good wife went, I ween,
Robed herself in vesture shady,
Faced him in a sad sage green.
Quoth she, bowing to correction,
“Here’s the last aesthetic ‘ fad -, ’ ”
Said he, with wild interjection,
“ Bless me, dear, you must be mad.”
Still she kept her temper sweetly
And with aggravating smiles,
Dressed herself—and did it neatly
In a mixture of all styles.
Modern, classic, Dolly Yarden ;
—Then she brought him to his knees !
For he cried, “ I beg your pardon.
Dress in future —as you please ! ”
LOST ! HER HAT, HIS HEAD!
Scene—During a run with the Blankshi/re Hmmds.
Little Flurry handing Grade Dash her hat, lost at the jump.—She. “ Oh, thanks, Mr. Flurry, so much ! ” He. “ Not at all—don’t mention it. I’m sure you’d do tee same for me !! ”
December 13, 1830.
“ Deaeest, do you know you grieve me
More than I can well express,
You are lovely, but believe me,
Something’s wrong about your dress.
It may be the height of fashion,
What in fact is always worn,
But—don’t get into a passion—
Change it ere the ’morrow mom.”
Then she wore a jersey fitting
Bike an eel-skin all complete.
With a skirt so tight that sitting
Was an agonising feat.
Cried she, with supreme conviction
“ This, I think, will suit the men :
It was not a benediction,
That he breathed upon her then !
THE BATTLE OF THE STYLES.
Like a kind obedient lady,
Straight the good wife went, I ween,
Robed herself in vesture shady,
Faced him in a sad sage green.
Quoth she, bowing to correction,
“Here’s the last aesthetic ‘ fad -, ’ ”
Said he, with wild interjection,
“ Bless me, dear, you must be mad.”
Still she kept her temper sweetly
And with aggravating smiles,
Dressed herself—and did it neatly
In a mixture of all styles.
Modern, classic, Dolly Yarden ;
—Then she brought him to his knees !
For he cried, “ I beg your pardon.
Dress in future —as you please ! ”
LOST ! HER HAT, HIS HEAD!
Scene—During a run with the Blankshi/re Hmmds.
Little Flurry handing Grade Dash her hat, lost at the jump.—She. “ Oh, thanks, Mr. Flurry, so much ! ” He. “ Not at all—don’t mention it. I’m sure you’d do tee same for me !! ”