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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, August 13, 1887
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, August 13, 1887
little stave,
I'll explain the furious ferment that now leavens
A tipple once so sound is just Party spite all round,
And of course my Ballyhooly is St. Stephen's.
'Twill be very long before you will wish to cry "Encore!"
To the row that makes our Parliament unruly;
For good sense would put a stop on the flow of Party "Pop"
That makes a Donnybrook of "Ballyhooly."
Chorus.
Whililoo, hi, ho! 'Tis a huge mistake, ye know,
To let ructions and recriminations charm ye.
If they don't abate their hate, they'll bring ruin on the State,
Will the Ballyhooly Parliamentary Army.
Very Like a Wales.
The zeal of the Actor who blacked himself all over to play Othello, is at last outdone—by Mr. Gladstone, who, it is stated, is learning the Welsh language, under the tuition of Mr. Richard, M.P., in order to deliver his speech at the forthcoming Eisteddfod in Taffy's own tongue. "Not for Cadwallader and all his goats," as Pistol says, would an ordinary politician go through such an ordeal for such an end. "Gallant Little Wales" will, however, no doubt be duly grateful, and, by lending its support to her adroit flatterer, enable him to say, with Gower, to the opponents of Home-Rule, "Henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition."
UN DUEL DE CAFÉ-CONCERT.
MM. Boxe et Coxe.
M. le Général Boxe. "Savez-vous vous Battre?"
M. Coxe (homme d'état). "Non!"
M. le Général Boxe. "Eh bien, alors! Allons-y-donc!"
(Translation.—"Can you fight?" "No!" "Then come on!")
Jest in Earnest.
(What might have happened.)
Monday.—The Fleets started on their manœuvres. Before leaving, the Ironclads ran down, accidentally, all the unarmoured vessels in the harbour.
Tuesday.—Collision. Sinking of the Ajax.
Wednesday.—Mistake in steering. Foundering of the Minotaur.
Thursday.—Error in seamanship. Loss of the Neptune.
Friday.—Misapprehension of signal. Ramming of the Devastation.
Saturday.—Something wrong somewhere. The remainder of the Fleet goes to the bottom.
MR. PUNCH'S MANUAL FOR YOUNG RECITERS.
It is a charming characteristic of the Young Amateur Entertainer that—whether he possesses or not the smallest acquaintance with any language beyond his own—he is always prepared to impersonate a foreigner of any given nationality at a moment's notice; and Mr. Punch is confident that the most backward of his Pupils will be perfectly at home (and how his audience will envy him!) with the following Anglo-German recitation, which may be given under the following title:—
Professor Bompp Relates a Little Anecdote.
(To do this effectively, you must assume an air of childlike candour.)
I deach my dong in Engeland for dventy years and more;
And vonce I dvell at Vigmore Shtreet, ubon ze zegond floor—
(Pull yourself up suddenly.)
Bot dat has nodings hier to zay—zo, blease, (professorial air for this) you vill addend!
I gom to dell you gurious dings vat habbened mit a vriend.
He vas a hanzom-headed man, zo like me as a pea,
And eferyveres I valk about he gom along mit me;
Bot all ze efenings, beaceful-quiet, he shtay in-doors and shmoke.
And choggle at himzelf at dimes in hatching out a yoke;
Ontill von day his choggling stobbed—he'd tombled deep in lôf,
And he bassed ze dime vith gissing at a leedle vemale glôf!
Ubon two shpargling eyes he dink, von deligate cock-nose—
Dill zoon his dinkings vork him op mit gourage to bropose.
Zen, ach! zat nose vas dilted more, and gruel vorts she shpoke:
"I vill not dwine aroundt no heart vat shmells zo shtrong mit shmoke!
Vor you yourzelf I might, vith dime, bersuade myzelf to gare—
Bot nevare mit no ogly bipes vill I avection share!"
(Pause, and glance round your audience with a slightly pained air.)
I dink I hear zom laty make a symbathetic shniff—
You Englisch shendlevomens dreats a shmoker var too shtiff!
For look—meinzelf I shmoke a bipe, mit baintings on ze bowl,
I shtoffs him vith dat sheepstabak vat's dwisted in a roll,
I gif my vort it ton't daste pad—zough yust a leedle veak—
Shtill, ven I schmokes inzide a drain,—I vinds zom laties seeck!
(Amiable surprise, as you mention this instance of insular intolerance.)
Bot, zere, you makes me chadderbox, and dakes op all my dime!
I vant to dell you how mein vriend behafed himself sooblime:
"If you vill pe mein Braut," he zaid, "tobaggo I'll renounce,
And shvear to nefer puy no more von solidary ounce!"
Zo she gif him out her lily hand, and shmile on him zo shveet:
"Vith sodge a sagrifice," she zaid, "you brove your lôf indeet!
And I dakes you—on your zolem vort mit shmoking to ged rid,
Pe off and purn your bipes and dings!" vich—boor yong man, he—did!
Dree sblendid bipes he sacrificed, in china, glay, and vood,
He vatched zem craggle in ze vlames—I vonder how he could!
And mit zem vent his brime zigars of pest Havana prandt,
Imborted hier vrom Hampurg, in his own dear Vaderlandt!
[With sentiment.
Henzefort he lif a shmokeless life, vor vear to lose his bride,
And nefer vonce gomblained to her of soferings inzide!
Bot—zough she gif him zentiment and rabdures ven zey met—
Zomdimes he vish she vouldn't mind von leedle zigarette! [Pause.
Now game along ze night pefore his veddings was to pe—
And he dried to galm his jomping soul mit bonderings and tea—
Ven, zoddenly—he hear a zound, as eef zom barty knock,
And it gom vrom his tobaggo-jar, long embdy of its shtock!
"Gom in! I mean—gom out!" he cried (he was a viddy chap!)
[Here you should be convulsed with inward laughter.
"For nonn of your nockdurnal knocks I do not gare von rap!"
Bot—vile he yoked—ze lid fly off, and sblash into his cop,
[Business here.
And a kind of leedle voman's form inzide the jar sbring op!
Her face vas yust the golour of a meerschaum nod quide new,
And her hair vas all in ribbling vaves—like long-cut honnydew!
In golden silber she vas roped, all shpangled o'er mit shtars,
For it zeemed as eef she dress