The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 78

I've only had a pint of Port at dinner And can't be sprung-- Oh, no!--Shame on the thought!

I see a coach!-- Is it a coach?

Not exactly.

Yet it has wheels-- Wheels within wheels--and on the box A driver, and a cad behind, And Horses--Horses?-- Bethink thee--Worm!-- Are they Horses? or that race Lower than Horses, but with longer ears And less intelligence-- In fact--"EQUI ASINI,"

Or in vernacular JACKa.s.sES?

'Tis not a coach exactly-- Now I see on the panels-- p.r.i.c.ked out and flourished-- A word! A magic word-- "THE DILLY!"--"THE DERBY DILLY!"

Oh Dilly! Dilly!--all thy pa.s.sengers Are outsiders-- The road is rough and rutty-- And thy driver, like NIMs.h.i.+'S son-- Driveth Furiously!

And the cad upon the monkey-board The monkey-board behind, Scorneth the drag--but goes Downhill like mad.

He hath a Caucasian brow!

A son of SHEM, is he, Not of HAM-- Nor j.a.pHETH-- In fact a Jew-- But see, the pace Grows faster--and more fast--in fact-- I may say A case of Furious driving!

Take care, you'll be upset-- Look out!

Holloa!

Horrible! Horrible!! Horrible!!

The Dilly-- With all its precious freight Of men and Manners-- Is gone!

Gone to immortal SMAs.h.!.+

Pick up the pieces! Let me wipe my eyes!

Oh Muse--lend me my scroll To do it with, for I have lost My wipe!

PART SECOND

* * * Again upon the road The road to where?

To nowhere in particular!

Ah, no--I thank thee, Muse-- That hint--'tis a finger-post, And "he that runs may read"-- He that runs?

But I am not running-- I am riding-- How came I here?--what am I riding on?

Who are my fellow-pa.s.sengers?

Ah, ha!

I recognize them now!

The Coach-- The Box-- The Driver-- And the Cad-- I'm on the Dilly, and the Dilly Is on the road again And now I see That finger-post!

It saith "To Oxford Fifty-two miles."

And, hark! a chorus!

From all the joyous load, Driver and cad, and all!

"We go," they sing-- To OXFORD TO BE DOCTORED."

To be Doctored?

Then, wherefore Are ye so cheerful?

I was not cheerful in my early days-- Days of my buoyant boyhood-- When, after inglut.i.tion Of too much Christmas pudding, Or Twelfth cake saccharine, I went, as we go now, To be Doctored!

Salts!

Senna and Rhubarb!!

Jalap and Ipecacuanha!!!

And Antimonial Wine!!!!

"WORM!

IDIOT!!

DONKEY!!!"

Said the free-spoken Muse "With them thou goest to be doctored, too, Not in medicine--but in Law-- All these--and thou-- Are going to be made HONORARY LL.D.s!

Behold!

And know thy company Be thou familiar with them, But by no means vulgar-- For familiarity breeds contempt; And no man is a hero To his VALET-DE-CHAMBRE!

So ponder and perpend."

DERBY!

The wise, the meek, the chivalrous-- Mirror of knightly graces And daily dodges; Who always says the right things At the right time, And never forgets himself as others-- Nor changes his side Nor his opinion-- A STANLEY to the core, as ready To fight As erst on FLODDEN FIELD His mail-clad ancestor.-- See the poem Of MARMION, By SIR WALTER SOOTT!

DIZZY!

Dark--supple--subtle-- With mind lithe as the limbs Of ISHMAEL'S sons, his swart progenitors-- With tongue sharp as the spear That o'er Sahara Flings the blue shadow Of the crown of ostrich feathers-- As described so graphically By LAYARD, in his recent book On Nineveh!

With tongue as sharp As aspic's tooth of NILUS, Or sugary Upon the occasion As is the date Of TAFILAT.

DIZZY, the bounding Arab Of the political arena-- As swift to whirl Right about face-- As strong to leap From premise to conclusion-- As great in balancing A budget-- Or flinging headlong His somersets Over sharp swords of adverse facts, As were his brethren of EL-ARISH, Who Some years ago exhibited-- With rapturous applause-- At Astley's Amphitheater-- And subsequently At Vauxhall Gardens!

Cl.u.s.tering, front and back On box and knife-board, See, petty man; Behold! and thank thy stars That led thee--Worm-- THEE, that art merely a writer And a barrister, Although a man of elegant acquirements, A gentleman and a scholar-- Nay, F.R.S. to boot-- Into such high society, Among such SWELLS, And REAL n.o.bS!

Behold! ten live LORDS! and lo *! no end Of Ex-Cabinet Ministers!

Oh! happy, happy, happy, Oh, happy SAM!

Say, isn't this worth, at the least "TEN THOUSAND A YEAR!"

And these are all, to day at least--- Thy fellows!

Going to be made LL.D.s, even as thyself-- And thou shalt walk in silk attire.

And hob and n.o.b with all the mighty of the earth, And lunch in Hall-- In Hall!

Where lunched before thee, But on inferior grub, That first great SAM-- SAM JOHNSON!

And LAUD, and ROGER BACON, And CRANMER, LATIMER, And RIDLEY, And CYRIL JACKSON--and a host besides, Whom at my leisure I will look up In WOOD'S "ATHENAE OXONIENSES"

Only to think!

How BLACKWOOD Is honored!

ALISON! AYTOUN!

BULWER!!!

And last, not least The great SAM GANDERAM!!!!

Oh EBONY!

Oh MAGA!

And oh Our n.o.ble selves!

"A BOOK IN A BUSTLE."

A TRUE TALE OF THE WARWICK a.s.sIZES. BY THE GHOST OF CRABBE.

PUNCH.

The partial power that to the female race Is charged to apportion gifts of form and grace, With liberal hand molds beauty's curves in one, And to another gives as good as none: But woman still for nature proves a match, And grace by her denied, from art will s.n.a.t.c.h.

Hence, great ELIZA, grew thy farthingales; Hence, later ANNA, swelled thy hoops' wide pales; To this we must refer the use of stays; Nor less the bustle of more modern days.

Artful device! whose imitative pad Into good figures roundeth off the bad-- Whether of simple sawdust thou art seen, Or tak'st the guise of costlier crinoline-- How oft to thee the female form doth owe A grace rotund, a line of ampler flow, Than flesh and blood thought fit to clothe it with below!

There dwelt in Liverpool a worthy dame, Who had a friend--JAMES TAYLOR was his name.

He dealt in gla.s.s, and drove a thriving trade And still saved up the profits that he made, Till when a daughter blessed his marriage bed, The father in the savings-bank was led In his child's name a small sum to invest, From which he drew the legal interest.

Years went and came; JAMES TAYLOR came and went, Paid in, and drew, his modest three per cent, Till, by the time his child reach'd girlhood's bounds, The sum had ris'n to two-and-twenty pounds.

Our cautious legislature--well 'tis known-- Round savings-banks a guardian fence has thrown: 'Tis easy to pay into them, no doubt, Though any thing but easy to draw out.

And so JAMES TAYLOR found; for on a day He wanted twenty pounds a bill to pay, And, short of cash, unto the bank applied; Failing some form of law, he was denied!

JAMES TAYLOR humm'd and haw'd--look'd blank and blue;-- In short, JAMES TAYLOR knew not what to do: His creditor was stern--the bill was over due.

As to a friend he did his plight deplore-- The worthy dame of whom I spoke before-- (It might cause pain to give the name she owns, So let me use the pseudonym of JONES); "TAYLOR," said MRS. JONES, "as I'm a friend, I do not care if I the money lend.

But even friends security should hold: Give me security--I'll lend the gold."

"This savings-bank deposit-book!" he cries.

"See--in my daughter's name the sum that lies!"

She saw--and, satisfied, the money lent; Wherewith JAMES TAYLOR went away content.

But now what cares seize MRS. JONES'S breast!

What terrors throng her once unbroken rest!