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    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104, January 7, 1893
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104, January 7, 1893
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104, January 7, 1893
    Ebook95 pages38 minutes

    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104, January 7, 1893

    By Various Various and F. C. (Francis Cowley) Burnand

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104, January 7, 1893

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      Book preview

      Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104, January 7, 1893 - Various Various

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104,

      January 7, 1893, 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 104, January 7, 1893

      Author: Various

      Editor: Francis Burnand

      Release Date: August 21, 2008 [EBook #26385]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, JANUARY 7, 1893 ***

      Produced by Neville Allen, Juliet Sutherland and the Online

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

      PUNCH,

      OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

      VOL. 104

      January 7th, 1893.

      LONDON:

      PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE, 85, FLEET STREET,

      AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.

      1893.

      LONDON:

      BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

      SCENE—The Elysian Fields, a flower-gemmed bank, by a flowing stream, beneath the sylvan shade of unfading foliage.

      Mr. Punch—who is free of all places, from Fleet Street to Parnassus—discovered, in Arcadian attire, attempting numerous verse on a subject of National importance—to wit, the approaching Royal Marriage.

      Mr. Punch. Propt on this bank of amaranth and moly,

      Beneath the shade of boughs un melancholy,

      I meditate on Æstas and on Hymen!

      Pheugh! What a Summer! Torrid drought doth try men,—

      And fields and farms; yet when our Royal May

      Weds—in July—'tis fit that Phoebus stay

      His fiery car to welcome her! By Jove,

      That sounds Spenserian! Illustrious Love

      Epithalamion demands, and lo!

      We've no official Laureate, to let flow,

      With Tennysonian dignity and sweetness,

      Courtly congratulation. Dryden 's neatness,

      Even the gush of Nahum Tate or Pye

      Are not available, so Punch must try

      His unofficial pen. My tablets, Toby !

      This heat's enough to give you hydrophoby!

      Talk about Dog-days! Is that nectar iced?

      Then just one gulp! It beats the highest priced

      And creamiest champagne. Now, silence, Dog,

      And let me give my lagging Muse a jog!

      [Writes, with one eye on the portraits of the Duke of York and the Princess May, the other on the iced nectar-cup.

      Humph! I do hope the happy Royal Pair

      (Whose counterfeit presentments front me there,

      Inspiring, in young manhood and frank beauty)

      Will think their Laureate hath fulfilled his duty,

      His labour of most loyal love, discreetly.

      Compliments delicate, piled not sickly-sweetly,

      Like washy Warton 's, nor so loud thrasonical—

      Like Glorious John 's—that they sound half ironical!

      'Tis hard indeed for loyal love to hit

      The medium just 'twixt sentiment and wit——

      [Toby barks, and a mellifluous voice soundeth, courteously intervenient, as two splendid Shades steal silently through the verdurous shadows.

      First Voice. But you have hit it, never-missing-One!

      Second Voice. For fulsome twaddle finds best check in Fun!

      Mr. Punch ( with respectful heartiness ).

      What! Sweet-voiced Chivalrous-souled Sidney!!

      This is a joy! For heroes of your kidney

      Punch hath a heartier homage, as he hopes,

      Than the most thundering Swinburnian tropes

      Could all express!

      Spenser (smiling mildly).

      Algernon's one of Us!

      In fierce superlatives, and foam and fuss,

      He deals o'ermuch, but proof

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