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    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, July 23, 1887.
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, July 23, 1887.
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, July 23, 1887.
    Ebook98 pages46 minutes

    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, July 23, 1887.

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, July 23, 1887.

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      Book preview

      Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, July 23, 1887. - Archive Classics

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93,

      July 23, 1887., by Various

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, July 23, 1887.

      Author: Various

      Release Date: June 13, 2010 [EBook #32804]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, JULY 23, 1887 ***

      Produced by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer and the Online

      Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

      PUNCH,

      OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

      VOLUME 93.

      JULY 23, 1887.

      MR. PUNCH'S MANUAL FOR YOUNG RECITERS.

      No Amateur Reciter can consider himself fully equipped for the Drawing-room or Platform unless he is furnished with at least one poem in dialect, and Mr. Punch has accordingly commissioned from his Poet a recitation couched in the well-known vernacular of Loompshire. Loompshire, it need hardly be explained, is the county where most of the stage-rustics come from. The author of this little poem ventures to hope that philologists will find much deserving of careful study in some of the local expressions and provincialisms, while he can guarantee their entire authenticity, as they are mostly of his own invention. The phraseology is strictly copyright and must not be infringed, except by a dignitary of archiepiscopal rank for a charitable purpose. As for the piece itself, it is founded on a little anecdote related to the poet, which he believes has not hitherto seen the light in a metrical form. It has a good old-fashioned double title, viz:—

      Michaelmas Day; or, How Tammas Pattle very nearly Cooked his Goose.

      Begin by explaining the situation, thus:—This is supposed to be spoken by a Loompshire cottager, who overhears a stranger admiring the goodly proportions of his goose,—then start with as broad a drawl as you can assume. Remember that to be effective you must be unintelligible.

      Bewty, I 'ears ya carl her?—aye, ya niver spoöke truthfuller wurrëd!

      Rammack t' coontry side ovver, an ya weänt see no foiner burrëd!

      Passon he axed ma to sell her—but I towld him, "Beänt o' naw use—

      She's as mooch of a Chris'en as moäst, I sez, if she's nobbut a guse!"

      Coom, then!

      (This coaxingly, to an imaginary bird—be careful not to seem to make any invidious distinctions among your audience.)

      ... Naäy, but she wunna! she's gotten a wull of her oän!

      Looök at the heye of her,—pink an' greëy, loike t'fire in a hopal stoän!

      Howsiver she sims sa hinnercent-loike, she's a follerin' arl I saäy:

      An' I boärt 'er at Kettleby Feär, I did, two yeär coom Cannelmas Daäy.

      Araminta her neäme is—but I carls 'er Minty, fur shoärt,

      She weänt naw moor nor a goslin' o' coorse, what taïme she wur boärt:

      But a' knawed she'd turn oot a rare 'un, to jedge by her weëight an' feäl,

      An' I reckoned to fat her by Michaelmas Eve, ef I buzzled 'er oop wi meäl,

      Mayhappen ya'll ardly beleäve ma—but she unnerstood fra' the fust,

      What wur hexpected of 'er, (with a senile chuckle,) I thowt that burr'd 'ud ha' bust!

      Cram her, a' did! but she swuckered it doon, wi' niver a weästed drop,

      Fur she tuk that hinterest in it as she'd ruther ha' choäked nor stop!

      An' she'd foller wheeriver a went—till I hedn't naw peäce fur t' foäk,

      'Ere be Tammy long of his sweetart! wur hallus the village joäk!

      An' I'd saäy: "'Tis ma Michaelmas denner I'm squirin' aboot, owd chap!"

      An' Minty she'd stan' up a' tiptoe, an' fluther her neck, an' flap!

      Did I 'appen to gaw of a hevenin, to looök at ma hinion patch?

      Minty 'ud coom in along o' meä, an' rarstle aboot,

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