Mr. Punch Afloat: The Humours of Boating and Sailing by Hammerton and Tenniel (ebook reader 8 inch TXT) đź“•
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- Author: Hammerton and Tenniel
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Skipper. "Did ye got the proveesions Angus?"
Angus. "Ay, ay! A half loaf, an' fouer bottles o' whiskey."
Skipper. "An' what in the woarld will ye be doin' wi' aal that bread?"
[Pg 75]
Sympathetic Old Gentleman. "I'm sorry to see your husband suffer so, ma'am. He seems very——"
Lady Passenger (faintly). "Oh dear! He isn't my husband. 'Sure I don't know who the ge'tleman is!"
[Pg 77]
Visitor. "Good morning: tide's very high this morning, eh?"
Ancient Mariner. "Ar, if the sea was all beer, there wouldn' be no bloomin' 'igh tides!"
[Pg 79]
"Unbidden guests are often welcomest when they are gone."—Shakespeare.
[Pg 81]
Old Lady. "Goodness gracious, Mr. Boatman! What's that?"
Stolid Boatman. "That, mum! Nuthun, mum. Only the Artillery a prac-ti-sin', and that's one o' the cannon balls what's just struck the water!!"
[Pg 83]
Bride. "I think—George, dear—I should—be better—if we walked about——"
Husband (one wouldn't have believed it of him). "You can do as you like, love. I'm very well (!) as I am!!"
[Pg 85]
Intelligent Foreigner. "I am afraid zey are not much use, zeze grand works of yours at Dovaire. Vot can zey do against our submarines?—our leetle Gustave Z�de? Ah, ze submarine e' is mos terrible, an' ze crews also—ze matelots—zey are 'eroes! Vy, every time zey go on board of him zey say goodbye to zer vives an' families!"
[Pg 87]
Doris. "Oh, Jack, here come those Sellerby girls! Do show them how beautifully you can punt."
[Pg 89]
Miss Grundison, Junior. "There goes Lucy Holroyd, all alone in a boat with young Snipson, as usual! So imprudent of them!"
Her Elder Sister. "Yes; how shocking if they were upset and drowned—without a chaperon, you know!"
[Pg 91]
Captain of Clyde steamer (to stoker, as they sighted their port). "Slack awee, Donal', slack awee"—(he was interested in the liquors sold)—"they're drencken haurd yenoo!!"
[Pg 92]
'ARRY ON A 'OUSE-BOATDear Charlie,—It's 'ot, and no error! Summer on us, at last, with a bust;
Ninety odd in the shade as I write, I've a 'ed, and a thunderin' thust.
Can't go on the trot at this tempryture, though I'm on 'oliday still;
So I'll pull out my eskrytor, Charlie, and give you a touch of my quill.
If you find as my fist runs to size, set it down to that quill, dear old pal;
Correspondents is on to me lately, complains as I write like a gal.
Sixteen words to the page, and slopscrawly, all dashes and blobs. Well, it's true;
But a quill and big sprawl is the fashion, so wot is a feller to do?
Didn't spot you at 'Enley, old oyster—I did 'ope you'd shove in your oar.
We 'ad a rare barney, I tell you, although a bit spiled by the pour.[Pg 93]
'Ad a invite to 'Opkins's 'ouse-boat, prime pitch, and swell party, yer know,
Pooty girls, first-class lotion, and music. I tell yer we did let things go.
Who sez 'Enley ain't up to old form, that Society gives it the slip?
Wish you could 'ave seen us—and heard us—old boy, when aboard of our ship.
Peonies and poppies ain't in it for colour with our little lot,
And with larfter and banjos permiskus we managed to mix it up 'ot.
My blazer was claret and mustard, my "stror" was a rainbow gone wrong!
I ain't one who's ashamed of his colours, but likes 'em mixed midd-lingish strong.
'Emmy 'Opkins, the fluffy-'aired daughter, a dab at a punt or canoe,
Said I looked like a garden of dahlias, and showed up her neat navy blue.
[Pg 94]
Fair mashed on yours truly, Miss Emmy; but that's only jest by the way,
'Arry ain't one to brag of bong jour tunes; but wot I wos wanting to say
Is about this here "spiling the River" which snarlers set down to our sort.
Bosh! Charlie, extreme Tommy rot! It's these sniffers as want to spile sport.
Want things all to theirselves, these old jossers, and all on the strictest Q. T.
Their idea of the Thames being "spiled" by the smallest suggestion of spree,
Wy, it's right down rediklus, old pal, gives a feller the dithreums it do.
I mean going for them a rare bat, and I'm game to wire in till all's blue.
Who are they, these stuckuppy snipsters, as jaw about quiet and peace,
Who would silence the gay "constant-screamer" and line the Thames banks with perlice;
Who sneer about "'Arry at 'Enley," and sniff about "cads on the course,"
As though it meant "Satan in Eden"? I'll 'owl at sich oafs till I'm 'oarse!
Scrap o' sandwich-greased paper 'll shock 'em, a ginger-beer bottle or "Bass,"
Wot 'appens to drop 'mong the lilies, or gets chucked aside on the grass,
Makes 'em gasp like a frog in a frying-pan. Br-r-r-r! Wot old mivvies they are!
Got nerves like a cobweb, I reckon, a smart banjo-twang makes 'em jar.[Pg 96]
I'm toffy, you know, and no flies, Charlie; swim with the swells, and all that,
But I'm blowed if this bunkum don't make me inclined to turn Radical rat.
"Riparian rights," too! Oh scissors! They'd block the backwaters and broads,
Because me and my pals likes a lark! Serve 'em right if old Burns busts their 'oards!
Rum blokes, these here Sosherlist spouters! There's Dannel the Dosser, old chap,
As you've 'eard me elude to afore. Fair stone-broker, not wuth 'arf a rap—
Knows it's all Cooper's ducks with him, Charlie; won't run to a pint o' four 'arf,
And yet he will slate me like sugar, and give me cold beans with his charf.
Sez Dannel—and dash his darned cheek, Charlie!—"Monkeys like you"—meaning Me!—
"Give the latter-day Mammon his chance. Your idea of a lark or a spree
Is all Noise, Noodle-Nonsense, and Nastiness! Dives, who wants an excuse
For exclusiveness, finds it in you, you contemptible coarse-cackling goose!
"Riparian rights? That's the patter of Ahab to Naboth, of course;
But 'tis pickles like you make it plausible, louts such as you give it force.
You make sweet Thames reaches Gehennas, the fair Norfolk Broads you befoul;
You—you, who'd make Beulah a hell with your blatant Bank Holiday howl!
"Decent property-owners abhor you; you spread your coarse feasts on their lawns,
And 'Arry's a hog when he feeds, and an ugly Yahoo when he yawns;
You litter, and ravage, and cock-sky; you romp like a satyr obscene,
And the noise of you rises to heaven till earth might blush red through her green.
"You are moneyed, sometimes, and well-tailored; but come you from Oxford or Bow,
You're a flaring offence when you lounge, and a blundering pest when you row;[Pg 98]
Your 'monkeyings' mar every pageant, your shindyings spoil every sport,
And there isn't an Eden on earth but's destroyed when it's 'Arry's resort.
"Then monopolist Mammon may chuckle, Riparian Ahabs rejoice;
There's excuse in your Caliban aspect, your hoarse and ear-torturing voice,
You pitiful Cockney-born Cloten, you slum-bred Silenus, 'tis you
Spoil the silver-streamed Thames for Pan-lovers, and all the nymph-worshipping crew!"
I've "reported" as near as no matter! I don't hunderstand more than arf
Of his patter; he's preciously given to potry and classical charf.
But the cheek on it, Charlie! A Stone-broke! I should like to give him wot for,
Only Dannel the Dosser's a dab orf of whom 'tain't so easy to score.
But it's time that this bunkum was bunnicked, bin fur too much on it of late—
Us on 'Opkins's 'ouse-boat, I tell yer, cared nix for the ink-spiller's "slate."
I mean doin' them Broads later on, for free fishing and shooting, that's flat.
If I don't give them dash'd Norfolk Dumplings a doing, I'll eat my old 'at.
Rooral quiet, and rest, and refinement? Oh, let 'em go home and eat coke.
These fussy old footlers whose 'air stands on hend at a row-de-dow joke,
The song of the skylark sounds pooty, but "skylarking" song's better fun,
And you carn't do the rooral to-rights on a tract and a tuppenny bun.
As to colour, and kick-up, and sing-song, our party was fair to the front;
But we wosn't alone; lots of toppers, in 'ouse-boat, or four-oar, or punt,[Pg 100]
Wos a doin' the rorty and rosy as lively as 'Opkins's lot,
Ah! the swells sling it out pooty thick; they ain't stashed by no ink-spiller's rot.
Bright blazers, and twingle-twang banjoes, and bottles of Bass, my dear boy,
Lots of dashing, and splashing, and "mashing" are things every man must enjoy,
And the petticoats ain't fur behind 'em, you bet. While top-ropes I can carry,
It ain't soap-board slop about "Quiet" will put the clear kibosh on 'Arry.
"JAM" NON "SATIS." (A Lay of Medmenham, by a Broken-hearted Boating Man landing from the Thames, who was informed that, by the rules of the Hotel, visitors were not allowed jam with their tea if served in the garden.)There's a river hotel that is known very well,
From the turmoil of London withdrawn,
Between Henley and Staines, where this strange rule obtains—
That you must not have jam on the lawn.
In the coffee-room still you may eat what you will,
Such as chicken, beef, mutton, or brawn,
Jam and marmalade too, but, whatever you do,
Don't attempt to eat jam on the lawn.
Young Jones and his bride sought the cool river side,
And she said, as she skipped like a fawn,
"As it is, it is nice, but 'twould be paradise,
Could we only have jam on the lawn!"
[Pg 95]
[Pg 97]
[Pg 99]
"I say, you girls, we shall be over in a second, and if you can't swim better than you punt, I'm afraid I shan't be able to save both of you!"
[Pg 101]
M.P.'s Bride. "Oh! William, dear—if you are—a Liberal—do bring in a Bill—next Session—for that underground tunnel!!"
[Pg 102]
THE YACHTING SEASON (Examination for a Master's Certificate)1. Can you dance a hornpipe? If so, which? (Vivďż˝ voce.) If dancing unaccompanied by fiddle, whistle the first eight bars of College Hornpipe. Also, dance the three first figures of the hornpipe, announcing the distinctive name of each beforehand.
2. Explain the terms "Ahoy!" "Avast!" "Belay!" Whence derived? Also of "Splice my main-brace." Is "main-brace" a part of rigging, or of sailor's costume? Which? If neither, what? Is "Lubber" a term of opprobrium or of endearment? State varieties of "Lubber." Give derivations of the terms "Bum-boat woman," "Marlin' spike," "Son of a sea-cook," "Dash my lee-scuppers!" "Pipe your eye," "Tip us your grapplin' iron."
3.
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