Page:Punch (Volume 147).pdf/59

July 8, 1914.]



a good practical joke; as the garland adorning
 * The hair of a maiden it shines, as the balm that is shed

On the brain of a wandering minstrel; it comes without warning,
 * Transmuting to gold an existence that once was as lead.
 * It glads, it rejoices the soul; recollecting it after
 * One well-nigh explodes; but I say there are seasons for laughter,

And, like other great men, I am not at my best in the morning
 * When just out of bed.

So it was that last week, when the pitiless glare of Apollo
 * Was toasting the lawn till it looked like a segment of mat,

When I came to my breakfast at length from a lingering wallow
 * In a bath that professed to be cold—as I moodily sat
 * And observed how the heat on the pavements was momently doubling,
 * And hated the coffee for looking so brown and so bubbling,

And hated my paper, which seemed to expect me to follow
 * A prize-fight (my hat!)—

When I heard a great noise as though heaven was breaking asunder,
 * And "Thanks be to glory," said I, "for this merciful dole;

The rain! the beneficent rain! Will it lighten, I wonder?
 * I need not pack up, after all, for my cruise to the Pole;"
 * And my spirits revived and my appetite seemed to awaken,
 * And I said so to Jane as she brought in the kidneys and bacon;

I was vexed when she answered me pertly, "Why, that isn't thunder;
 * We're taking in coal!"

I say there are limits. The girl may be decent and sunny,
 * Industrious, sober and what not; I don't care a bit;

But she hasn't a right on a day such as that to be funny,
 * With the glass at 120, confound her, the chit!
 * I refuse to submit to the whimsical wheeze of a servant
 * Just because Araminta's away and the weather is fervent,

So I said to her, "Wench, do you fancy you're taking my money
 * For work or for wit?

"What are parlourmaids coming to now with their insolent banter?
 * Command those uproarious ruffians to hop it, to trek,

And fetch me a siphon or two and the whisky decanter;
 * Your notions of humour have left me exhausted and weak;
 * Take the breakfast away; disappointment has vanquished my hunger,
 * And afterwards go out at once to the nearest fishmonger

And order two cart-loads of icebergs. Obey me instanter,
 * Or leave in a week."

Evoe.

 "Although weighing over 13 tons, Glendinning declares that an aircraft built from his designs could sail round the world without the slightest danger of calamity.'—Glasgow Herald."

Subject for Silly Season—Should Stout Men Boast?