Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub

Let's do what we can to appease

So, Parson, you son of a punk,

'em :

You must now try a something to please 'em,
Although you 're so d-mn-bly drunk.
GRAND CHORUS-TUNE, "Pity our Fall"
Omnes. Unless a something soon is done,

The Morning Post will spoil our fun ;
So Prig must try to please 'em now,
Though he's as drunk as David's sow.
Pity our fall,
Reformers all,

Well-a-day, well-a-day.

Prig. Reporters of the Morning Post,

Before I quite give up the ghost, (Hiccups.)
I'm glad to find you all are warm (Staggers.)
In Treason's cause to shout Reform. (Falls.)
Pity my fall,
Mock Parsons all,
Well-a-day, well-a-day.

Stagger. The row which here has been, my boys,
Pray do not through the wide world noise,

Of Newgate's pride don't make your game, (Reel-
ing.)

Nor ridicule my honest name. (Falls.)

Pity my fall,

Qui tam Lawyers all,
Well-a-day, well-a-day.

Omnes. The row which here has been, my boys,
Pray do not through the wide world noise,
But give the world, in your details,

The harmony of Nightingales.

Pity our fall,

Reformers all,

Well-a-day, well-a-day.

[Exeunt omnes.

4

INVASION.

[From the Morning Herald, November 9.]

THE French still confide in long nights to come over
The troublesome ditch betwixt Calais and Dover;
Long nights they may find, and a comfort left still-
They are sure of short days, let them come when they will.

OR, THE

LORD MAYOR'S DAY;

CITY DEFENDED FROM THE ACCUSATION OF INEBRIETY BY THE TWO MEN AT ST. DUNSTAN'S.

[From the General Evening Post, November 10.]

First Man. "TIS said on this day that the Cits deeply

drink.

Second Man. (Chimes in.) Why, to tell you my mind, that's the fact as I think.

First Man. (Furiose.) But 't is false, I declare, by this ponderous Club!

Second Man. (Pianissimo.) Pray don't knock so hard, and make such a hubbub!

First Man. My opinion is sound--I'm a character striking! Second Man. Let me hear, and I'll tell if it be to my liking. First Man. Why, I'll bet all the money that's over the way At Hoare's, where the guineas are chinking

all day.

That to Negus so simple this Feast they devote. Second Man. 'Egad, Brother Giant, thou ly'st in thy throat! First Man. I speak truth, and am grave as a Judge or a Vicar

Is not Negus compos'd of a mixture of liquor?
And in this way the Cits the prescription com-

bine

For at NOON they take Water-at NIGHT they

take Wine!

POLYPHEMUS

AN EPIGRAMMATIC QUERE

TO THE REELING MAN IN ARMOUR AT THE LATE LORD MAYOR'S FEAST.

[From the Morning Herald, November 12.] THOU Knight in steel! thou man of spunk! Tell me by penny-post epistle,

How thou contriv'dst to get dead drunk,

When no one else could wet his whistle?

NIM

ANSWER

TO THE EPIGRAMMATIC QUERE IN YESTERDAY'S HERALD. BY THE KNIGHT IN ARMOUR HIMSELF.

[From the same, November 13.]

JOKE-CRACKING Nim, of waggish line,
That I was drunk what made thee think,
When my poor gaping chops, like thine,
Got nothing, or to eat, or drink?

My body took a fainting reel,

For want of suction I declare it,

Then fell because, though ribb'd in steel,
No flesh and blood could stand, and bear it!

AN APOLOGETICAL REPLY
TO THE LORD MAYOR'S KNIGHT IN ARMOUR.
[From the same, November 15.]

PARDON, Sir Knight, since you had not

A boozing, reeling frolic;

But from sheer emptiness had got
Drunk with the windy colic!

We thought that wiser you, Sir Knight,
Had tipp'd your suction cool,
Then laugh'd at every thirsty wight,
Made now my Lord Mayor's fool!

NIM.

POEM

MADE BY THE MAN IN ARMOUR, DURING HIS PENANCE AT GUILDHALL, NOV. 9, 1911.

[From the same, November 16.]

(Patagonian Measure.)

O! WHAT a cruel joke! O! what a cursed spite,

That ever I should come to Guildhall to be a Knight! I have a good dinner at home; there I might eat like a farmer;

But here, alas! I must roam, to starve as a Man in Armour! I like to live well myself; I like to see others a-munching; But such a fine feast as this would not serve our mess for a luncheon.

I wish I was Gog, or Magog; I wish I was made of wood; Then I could stand, without grub, as long as those fellows have stood.

I wish I was what I seem; I wish I was made of steel;
Then, if I could not eat, at least I should not feel.

I wish I was iron, or brass; I wish I was Hamlet's ghost;
Then I could make a good feast, without either boil'd or

roast.

My eyes begin to get dim; I look in vain for compassion; A scullion's not to be seen, and the cook 's * a man of fashion.

If I ask a waiter for drink, he tells me to get an order;
If I turn to the butler, he looks as grim as the Recorder;
From him to the Sheriff I go, and say-Pray, is this fair?
He tells me he does not know; but bids me ask-the Mayor.
So here I must fast, and faint, and die, without one more

word;

For where's the use of complaint to a man just turn❜d to a Lord?

O! what a cruel joke! O! what a cursed spite,

That ever I should come to Guildhall to be a Knight!

We apprehend the Poet in armour would here have said Pastry Cook, if the necessities of the measure had not cramped his genius, as they have done many a genius before. D 5

THE

THE CIVIC FEAST.

[From the British Press, November 16.]
HE Donor of the City Feast

THE

Ne'er thought to save his wealth;
"T was nothing but a tender care
To keep his friends in health.

For having last year lost the whole,
Nay, pr'ythee, do not laugh!

He thought 't would do their stomachs good
This year to dine on half:

Lest, in endeav'ring to make up

For all their last year's cheating,

They 'd come with more than usual haste,

And kill'd themselves with eating.

FREDERIC.

AN

AN ODD CHOICE.

[From the Morning Herald, November 2o.]
N old Roman Emperor, famous for whim,
A Consul his Horse would declare ;
The City of London, to imitate him,
Of a Hunter have made a Lord Mayor!

November 9.

THE RAREST THING!

'IPPONPHILOS.

AND THE MOST PLENTIFUL ONE!
[From the Morning Chronicle, November 22.]

WH

HAT is the rarest thing we know?
How can you ask, you ninny?

Since even Perceval will show

The rarest thing's a Guinea.

But if

you wish to see a source More plentiful than vapour,

And just as thin, observe the course

Of Circulating Paper.

BANK-NOTE.

« ForrigeFortsæt »