The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 72

OILY (to his man). That's a rum customer at any rate.

Had I cut him as short as he cut me, How little hair upon his head would be!

But if kind friends will all our pains requite, We'll hope for better luck another night.

[Shop-bell rings and curtain falls.

THE SATED ONE.

[IMPROMPTU AFTER CHRISTMAS DINNER.]

PUNCH.

It may not be--go maidens, go, Nor tempt me to the mistletoe; I once could dance beneath its bough, But must not, will not, can not, now!

A weight--a load within I bear; It is not madness nor despair; But I require to be at rest, So that my burden may-digest!

SAPPHICS OF THE CABSTAND [Footnote: See The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-Grinder]

PUNCH.

FRIEND OF SELF-GOVERNMENT.

Seedy Cab-driver, whither art thou going?

Sad is thy fate--reduced to law and order, Local self-government yielding to the gripe of Centralization.

Victim of FITZROY! little think the M.P.s, Lording it o'er cab, 'bus, lodging-house, and grave-yard, Of the good times when every Anglo Saxon's House was his castle.

Say, hapless sufferer, was it Mr. CHADWICK-- Underground foe to the British Const.i.tution-- Or my LORD SHAFTESBURY, put up MR. FITZROY Thus to a.s.sail you?

Was it the growth of Continental notions, Or was it the Metropolitan police-force Prompted this blow at Laissez-faire, that free and Easiest of doctrines?

Have you not read Mr. TOULMIN SMITH'S great work on Centralization? If you haven't, buy it; Meanwhile I should be glad at once to hear your View on the subject.

CAB-DRIVER.

View on the subject? jiggered if I've got one; Only I wants no centrylisin', I don't-- Which I suppose it's a crusher standin' sentry Hover a cabstand.

Whereby if we gives e'er a word o' cheek to Parties as rides, they pulls us up like winkin'-- And them there blessed beaks is down upon us Dead as an 'ammer!

As for Mr. TOULMIN SMITH, can't say I knows him-- But as you talks so werry like a gem'man, Perhaps you're goin in 'ansome style to stand a s.h.i.+llin' a mile, sir?

FRIEND OF SELF--GOVERNMENT.

I give a s.h.i.+lling? I will see thee hanged first-- Sixpence a mile--or drive me straight to Bow-street-- Idle, ill-mannered, dissipated, dirty, Insolent rascal!

JUSTICE TO SCOTLAND.

[Footnote: In this poem the Scottish words and phrases are all ludicrously misapplied]

[AN UNPUBLISHED POEM BY BURNS.]

COMMUNICATED BY THE EDINBURG SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CIVILIZATION IN ENGLAND PUNCH.

O mickle yeuks the keckle doup, An' a' unsicker girns the graith, For wae and wae the crowdies loup O'er jouk an' hallan, braw an' baith.

Where ance the coggie hirpled fair, And blithesome poort.i.th toomed the loof There's nae a burnie giglet rare But blaws in ilka jinking coof.

The routhie bield that gars the gear Is gone where glint the pawky een.

And aye the stound is birkin lear Where sconnered yowies wheepen yestreen.

The crees.h.i.+e rax wi' skelpin' kaes Nae mair the howdie bicker whangs, Nor weanies in their wee bit claes Glour light as lammies wi' their sangs.

Yet leeze me on my bonnie byke!

My drappie aiblins blinks the noo, An' leesome luve has lapt the d.y.k.e Forgatherin' just a wee bit fou.

And SCOTIA! while thy rantin' lunt Is mirk and moop with gowans fine, I'll stowlins pit my unco brunt, An' cleek my duds for auld lang syne.

THE POETICAL COOKERY-BOOK.

PUNCH THE STEAK.

Air.--"The Sea."

Of Steak--of Steak--of prime Rump Steak-- A slice of half-inch thickness take, Without a blemish, soft and sound; In weight a little more than a pound.

Who'd cook a Stake--who'd cook a Steak-- Must a fire clear proceed to make: With the red above and the red below, In one delicious genial glow.

If a coal should come, a blaze to make, Have patience! You mustn't put on your Steak.

First rub--yes, rub--with suet fat, The gridiron's bars, then on it flat Impose the meat; and the fire soon Will make it sing a delicious tune.

And when 'tis brown'd by the genial glow, Just turn the upper side below.

Both sides with brown being cover'd o'er, For a moment you broil your Steak no more, But on a hot dish let it rest, And add of b.u.t.ter a slice of the best; In a minute or two the pepper-box take, And with it gently dredge your Steak.

When seasoned quite, upon the fire Some further time it will require; And over and over be sure to turn Your Steak till done--nor let it burn; For nothing drives me half so wild As a nice Rump Steak in the cooking spiled.

I've lived in pleasure mixed with grief, On fish and fowl, and mutton and beef, With plenty of cash, and power to range, But my Steak I never wished to change: For a Steak was always a treat to me, At breakfast, luncheon, dinner, or tea.

ROASTED SUCKING-PIG.

AIR--"Scots wha has."

Cooks who'd roast a Sucking-pig, Purchase one not over big; Coa.r.s.e ones are not worth a fig; So a young one buy.

See that he is scalded well (That is done by those who sell), Therefore on that point to dwell, Were absurdity.

Sage and bread, mix just enough, Salt and pepper quantum suff., And the Pig's interior stuff, With the whole combined.

To a fire that's rather high, Lay it till completely dry; Then to every part apply Cloth, with b.u.t.ter lined.

Dredge with flour o'er and o'er, Till the Pig will hold no more; Then do nothing else before 'Tis for serving fit.

Then sc.r.a.pe off the flour with care; Then a b.u.t.ter'd cloth prepare; Rub it well; then cut--not tear-- Off the head of it.

Then take out and mix the brains With the gravy it contains; While it on the spit remains, Cut the Pig in two.

Chop the sage, and chop the bread Fine as very finest shred; O'er it melted b.u.t.ter spread-- Stinginess won't do.

When it in the dish appears, Garnish with the jaws and ears; And when dinner-hour nears, Ready let it be.

Who can offer such a dish May dispense with fowl and fish; And if he a guest should wish, Let him send for me!