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    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, March 15, 1890
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, March 15, 1890
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, March 15, 1890
    Ebook90 pages43 minutes

    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, March 15, 1890

    By Various Various

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, March 15, 1890

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      Book preview

      Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, March 15, 1890 - Various Various

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98,

      March 15, 1890, 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.org

      Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, March 15, 1890

      Author: Various

      Release Date: October 5, 2009 [EBook #30182]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***

      Produced by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer and the Online

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

      PUNCH,

      OR, THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

      VOLUME 98.

      MARCH 15, 1890.

      MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.

      No. VIII.—JACK PARKER;

      Or, The Bull who knew his Business.

      Characters.

      Jack Parker (was a cruel boy, For mischief was his sole employ. Vide Miss Jane Taylor.)

      Miss Lydia Banks (though very young, Will never do what's rude or wrong.—Ditto.)

      Chorus of Farm Hands.

      Scene—A Farmyard. R. a stall, from which the head of the Bull is visible above the half-door. Enter Farmer Banks with a cudgel.

      Farmer B. (moodily).

      When roots are quiet, and cereals are dull,

      I vent my irritation on the Bull.

      [We have Miss Taylor's own authority for this rhyme.

      Come hup, you beast! (Opens stall and flourishes cudgel—the Bull comes forward with an air of deliberate defiance.)

      Oh, turning narsty, is he?

      (Apologetically, to Bull.)

      Another time will do! I see you're busy!

      [The Bull, after some consideration, decides to accept this retractation, and retreats with dignity to his stall, the door of which he carefully fastens after him. Exit Farmer Banks, L., as Lydia Banks enters R., accompanied by Chorus. The Bull exhibits the liveliest interest in her proceedings, as he looks on, with his forelegs folded easily upon the top of the door.

      Song—Lydia Banks (in Polka time.)

      I'm the child by Miss Jane Taylor sung;

      Unnaturally good for one so young—

      A pattern for the people that I go among,

      With my moral little tags on the tip of my tongue,

      And I often feel afraid that I shan't live long,

      For I never do a thing that's rude or wrong!

      Chorus (to which the Bull beats time).

      As a general rule, one doesn't live long,

      If you never do a thing that's rude or wrong!

      Second Verse.

      My words are all with wisdom fraught,

      To make polite replies I've sought;

      And learned by independent thought,

      That a pinafore, inked, is good for nought.

      So wonderfully well have I been taught,

      That I turn my toes as children ought!

      Chorus (to which the Bull dances).

      This moral lesson she's been taught—

      She turns her toes as children ought!

      Lydia (sweetly).

      Yes, I'm the Farmer's daughter—Lydia Banks;

      No person ever caught me playing pranks!

      I'm loved by all the live-stock on the farm,

      [Ironical applause from the Bull.

      Pigeons I've plucked will perch upon my arm,

      And pigs at my approach sit up and beg,

      [Business by Bull.

      For me the partial Peacock saves his egg,

      No sheep e'er snaps if I attempt to touch her,

      Lambs like it when I lead them to the butcher!

      Each morn I milk my rams beneath the shed,

      While rabbits flutter twittering round my head,

      And, as befits a dairy-farmer's daughter,

      What milk I get I supplement with water,

      [A huge Shadow is thrown on the road outside; Lydia starts.

      Whose shadow is it makes the highway darker?

      That bullet head! those ears! it is——Jack Parker!

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