The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 69

"When ladies blush 'neath l.u.s.ters' flush, And fast the waltzers fly, Though tame at tea I bide with thee, No tear shall dim my eye.

When summer's close brings Chiswick shows-- When all from town have gone, I'll sit me down, nor pout nor frown, But sew thy b.u.t.tons on!"

THE PAID BILL A BALLAD OF DOMESTIC ECONOMY.

PUNCH O fling not this receipt away, Given by one who trusted thee; Mistakes will happen every day However honest folks may be.

And sad it is, love, twice to pay; So cast not that receipt away!

Ah, yes; if e'er, in future hours, When we this bill have all forgot, They send it in again--ye powers!

And swear that we have paid it not-- How sweet to know, on such a day We've never cast receipts away!

PARODY FOR A REFORMED PARLIAMENT.

PUNCH.

The quality of bribery is deep stained; It droppeth from a hand behind the door Into the voter's palm. It is twice dirty: It dirts both him that gives, and him that takes.

'Tis basest in the basest, and becomes Low blacklegs more than servants of the Crown.

Those swindlers show the force of venal power, The attribute to trick and roguery, Whereby 'tis managed that a bad horse wins: But bribery is below their knavish "lay."

It is the vilest of dishonest things; It was the attribute to Gatton's self; And other boroughs most like Gatton show When bribery smothers conscience. Therefore, you, Whose conscience takes the fee, consider this-- That in the cause of just reform, you all Should lose your franchise: we do dislike bribery; And that dislike doth cause us to object to The deeds of W. B.

THE WAITER.

PUNCH.

I met the waiter in his prime At a magnificent hotel; His hair, untinged by care or time, Was oiled and brushed exceeding well.

When "waiter," was the impatient cry, In accents growing stronger, He seem'd to murmur "By and by, Wait a little longer."

Within a year we met once more, 'Twas in another part of town-- An humbler air the waiter wore, I fancied he was going down.

Still, when I shouted "Waiter, bread!"

He came out rather stronger, As if he'd say with toss of head, "Wait a little longer."

Time takes us on through many a grace; Of "ups and downs" I've had my run, Pa.s.sing full often through the shade And sometimes loitering in the sun.

I and the waiter met again At a small inn at Ongar; Still, when I call'd, 't was almost vain-- He bade me wait the longer.

Another time--years since the last-- At eating-house I sought relief From present care and troubles past, In a small plate of round of beef.

"One beef, and taturs," was the cry, In tones than mine much stronger; 'T was the old waiter standing by, "Waiting a little longer."

I've marked him now for many a year; I've seen his coat more rusty grow; His linen is less bright and clear, His polished pumps are on the go.

Torn are, alas! his Berlin gloves-- They used to be much stronger, The waiter's whole appearance proves He can not wait much longer.

I sometimes see the waiter still; 'Gainst want he wages feeble strife; He's at the bottom of the hill, Downward has been his path through life.

Of "waiter, waiter," there are cries, Which louder grow and stronger; 'Tis to old Time he now replies, "Wait a little longer."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Oliver Wendell Holmes]

THE LAST APPENDIX TO "YANKEE DOODLE."

PUNCH, 1851.

YANKEE DOODLE sent to Town His goods for exhibition; Every body ran him down, And laugh'd at his position.

They thought him all the world behind; A goney, m.u.f.f, or noodle; Laugh on, good people--never mind-- Says quiet YANKEE DOODLE.

Chorus.--YANKEE DOODLE, etc.

YANKEE DOODLE had a craft, A rather tidy clipper, And he challenged, while they laughed, The Britishers to whip her.

Their whole yacht-squadron she outsped, And that on their own water; Of all the lot she went a-head, And they came nowhere arter.

Chorus.--YANKEE DOODLE, etc.

O'er Panama there was a scheme Long talk'd of, to pursue a Short route--which many thought a dream-- By Lake Nicaragua.

JOHN BULL discussed the plan on foot, With slow irresolution, While YANKEE DOODLE went and put It into execution.

Chorus.--YANKEE DOODLE, etc.

A steamer of the COLLINS line, A YANKEE DOODLE'S notion, Has also quickest cut the brine Across the Atlantic Ocean.

And British agents, no ways slow Her merits to discover, Have been and bought her--just to tow The CUNARD packets over.

CHORUS.--YANKEE DOODLE, etc.

Your gunsmiths of their skill may crack, But that again don't mention: I guess that COLTS' revolvers whack Their very first invention.

By YANKEE DOODLE, too, you're beat Downright in Agriculture, With his machine for reaping wheat, Chaw'd up as by a vulture.

CHORUS.--YANKEE DOODLE, etc.

You also fancied, in your pride, Which truly is tarnation, Them British locks of yourn defied The rogues of all creation; But CHUBBS' and BRAMAH'S HOBBS has pick'd, And you must now be view'd all As having been completely licked By glorious YANKEE DOODLE.

CHORUS.--YANKEE DOODLE, etc.

LINES FOR MUSIC.

PUNCH.

Come strike me the harp with its soul-stirring tw.a.n.g, The drum shall reply with its hollowest bang; Up, up in the air with the light tamborine, And let the dull ophecleide's groan intervene; For such is our life, lads, a chaos of sounds, Through which the gay traveler actively bounds.

With the voice of the public the statesman must chime, And change the key-note, boys, exactly in time; The lawyer will coolly his client survey, As an instrument merely whereon he can play.

Then harp, drum, and cymbals together shall clang, With a loud-tooral lira, right tooral, bang, bang!

DRAMA FOR EVERY-DAY LIFE.

LUDGATE HILL.--A MYSTERY.

PUNCH.