Public-domain ebook
Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105, November 11, 1893
by Various
Language: en270 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #39420.
The opening · free to read
Grinder, when serenely grinding On your yacht the Hundredth Psalm, Tell me, are you truly finding In this work congenial charm?
"Music hath" (an old quotation) "Charms to soothe the savage breast," Think how you might lull some nation Into dilettante rest.
GRINDER, gentle-hearted Grinder, Try the savage who has spurned Culture, for he might grow kinder, Soothed by barrel deftly turned.
Matabele LOBENGULA (Accent on penultimate) Might be made by music, you'll a- gree, a model potentate.
ORPHEUS like, you might so charm him That a mere Mashona child's Hand could easily disarm him In those equatorial wilds.
He would cease to wear his skimpy Kilts that leave his legs half bare, He would soon disband his impi; Culture then would be his care.
Suits of dittos clothe this whopper; Patent leather boots be got; You might lead him--"smash, my topper!"-- Even to a chimney-pot.
He would have a daily paper, Standard authors sold in parts, Shops of tailor, hatter, draper, An Academy of Arts.
He would teach, by plays, the loyal Folk on marsh or fertile plain, Opening a Theatre Royal, Where they've only Reeds and Grain.
And, till death made him a Morgue 'un, WAGNER, BRAHMS and GREIG no doubt He would doat on--then your organ Might be ruthlessly chucked out.
Proud emblem he of the empire's might, That thus, for a whim, Spent pounds in thousands with such delight Just to shelter him.
The courts are draughty, the courts are dark, The passages small, And witness, client, solicitor, clerk, Are squeezed in them all.
Those lancet windows on winding stairs Don't help one to see; A falling Commissioner even swears Without any fee.
Still though we stumble and though we're squeezed, We all recollect That deserted Hall, and we're truly pleased With it's fine effect.
The vacant acre of paving there Should never annoy, It has one occupant, we 're aware-- That messenger boy.
AIR--"_O! that will be joyful!_"
HERE we suffer grief and pain, Here we part to meet again: No field, no copse, no moor! O! it will be jawful, Jawful, jawful, jawful! O! isn't it awful? Autumn Meet's an awful bore!
All who hate the "Lords," you know, Swear this misery below, We owe to peers above! O! that, &c.
We'll be lammed by LABOUCHERE, Who the Afric strife will swear Is due to RHODES'S rule. O! won't he be jawful, &c.
ASHMEAD, too, will strive to prove Freedom, prestige, all we love We'll lose to gain no more, Through GLADSTONE the jawful, &c.
O! how weary we shall be, Ere the two Big Bills, or three, Are passed and Peer-wards gone! O! WEG will be jawful, &c.
Then the Rads will shout with joy, And the short Recess employ, In larrupping the Lords! O! won't they be jawful?-- Awful, awful, awful! It shouldn't be lawful Autumn Meets to summon more!
THE WHIRLIGIG OF TIME.--WAT TYLER is avenged--upon wicked WALWORTH, and unfair history. A namesake of his is to be Lord Mayor of London! All we want now is, that the Right Hon. Mr. JOHN CADE (of Birmingham?) should be made Prime Minister.
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