Mr. Punch's Cockney Humour by J. A. Hammerton (best time to read books txt) 📗
- Author: J. A. Hammerton
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Jest go it tip-top while you're at it, and blow the expense, is my plan.
Bin took for a nob, and no error this time; which my tailor's A 1.
The cut of these bags, sir, beats Poole out of fits. (Are yer fly to the pun?)
And this gridiron pattern in treacle and mustard is something uneek,
As the girls—but there, Charlie, you know me, and so there's no call for to speak.
My merstach is a coming on proper—that fetches 'em, Charlie, my boy;
Though one on 'em called me young spiky, which doubtless was meant to annoy.
But, bless yer! 'twas only a touch of the green-eyed, 'acos I looked sweet
On a tidy young parcel in pink as 'ung out in the very same street.[Pg 98]
O Charlie, such larks as I'm 'aving. To toddle about on the sands,
And watch the blue beauties a-bathing, and spot the sick muffs as they lands,
Awful flabby and white in the gills, and with hoptics so sheepishly sad,
And twig 'em go green as we chaff 'em; I tell yer it isn't half bad.
Then, s'rimps! Wy, I pooty near lives on 'em; got arf a pocketful here,
There's a flavour of bird's-eye about 'em; but that's soon took off by the beer.
The "bitter" round here is jest lummy, and as for their soda-and-b.,
It's ekal to "fizz" and no error, and suits this small child to a t.
The weeds as I've blown is a caution;—I'm nuts on a tuppenny smoke.
Don't care for the baths, but there's sailing, and rollicking rides on a moke.
I've sung comic songs on the cliffs after dark, and wot's fun if that ain't?
And I've chiselled my name in a church on the cheek of a rummy stone saint.
So, Charlie, I think you will see, I've been doing the tourist to rights.
Good grub and prime larks in the daytime, and billiards and bitter at nights;
That's wot I calls 'oliday-making, my pippin. I wish you was here,
Jest wouldn't we go it extensive! But now I am off for the pier.[Pg 100]
To ogle the girls. 'Ow they likes it! though some of their dragons looks blue.
But lor'! if a chap has a way with the sex, what the doose can he do?
The toffs may look thunder and tommy on me and my spicey rig out,
But they don't stare yours faithfully down, an' it's all nasty envy, no doubt.
Ta! ta! There's a boat coming in, and the sea has been roughish all day;
All our fellows will be on the watch, and I mustn't be out of the way.
Carn't yer manige to run down on Sunday? I tell yer it's larks, and no kid!
Yours bloomingly,
P.S.—I have parted with close on four quid!
Poison in the Bowl.—Hot weather.—Advice by our own Cockney. Don't put ice in your champagne. It's pison. How do I know this? Because it comes from Venom Lake.
Seasonable.—'Arry's friend. What's the proper dinner for Ash Wednesday?
'Arry. Why, 'ash mutton, o' course.
[Pg 97]
The Missus. "Oh, Jem, you said you'd give me your photergrarf. Now, let's go in, and get it done."
Jem. "Oh, I dessay! an' 'ave my 'Carte de Wisete' stuck up in the winder along o' all these 'ere bally-gals an' 'igh-church parsons! No, Sairey!"
[Pg 99]
'Arriet (nudging her lidy friend, and in an ostentatious stage-whisper). "'Amlet!"
[Pg 101]
Tenor (singing). "Oh, 'appy, 'appy, 'appy be thy dreams——"
Professor. "Stop, stop! Why don't you sound the H?"
Tenor. "It don't go no 'igher than G!"
[Pg 102]
First Newspaper Boy. "Hullo, Bill! Who's 'e?"
Second Newspaper Boy. "I suppose 'e's the North Pole as 'as just been discovered!"
[Pg 103]
Gorgeous-looking Individual. "Most 'strordinary weather, ain't it? First it's 'ot, then it's cold. Blow me, if one knows 'ow to dress!"
[Pg 104]
"I say, Bill, wot 's a Prodigal?"
"Why, a Prodigal's a sort o' cove as keeps on coming back!"
[Pg 105]
Scene—Canal side, Sunday morning
Lady. "Do you know where little boys go to who bathe on Sunday?"
First Arab. "Yus. It's farder up the canal side. But you can't go. Girls ain't allowed!"
[Pg 106]
'ARRY ON 'APPINESSDear Charlie,
A 'Appy New Year to yer! That's the straight tip for to-day,
So I'm bound to be in it, old chip, though things don't look remarkable gay.
I inclose you a card—a correct one, I 'ope, though it strikes one as queer
That such picters is thought apprypo this perticular time of the year.
You'll observe there's a hangel in muslin a twisting 'erself all awry,
With some plums, happle-blossoms, and marigolds, backed by a dab o' blue sky.
Dekkyrative it's called, so the mivvy informed me who nobbled my tanner;
I call it a little bit mixed, like the art on a Odd-Fellow's banner.
But, bless you, it's all of a piece, Charlie—life is so muddled with rot
That it takes rayther more than a judge or a jury to tell yer wot's wot.
Whether knifing a boy 'cos one's peckish means murder if lyings are libels,
Seem questions as bothers the big wigs, in spite of their blue books and Bibles.
Where are we, old pal? that's the question. Perhaps it would add to one's ease
If life wos declared a "mixed wobble," it's motter a "go as you please."[Pg 108]
But 'tisn't all cinder-path, Charlie, wus luck! if it was, with "all in,"
You wouldn't go fur wrong, I fancy, in backing "yours truly" to win.
"A 'Appy New Year!" That's the cackle all over the shop like to-day.
Wot's 'Appiness? Praps Mister Ruskin and little Lord Garmoyle will say.
You an' me's got our notions of yum-yum, as isn't fur wide o' the mark,
But who'll give us change for 'em, Charlie? Ah! that's where we're left in the dark.
The Reform Bill won't do it, my pippin, on that you may lay your last dollar.
The fact is this 'Appy New Year fake is 'oller, mate, hutterly 'oller.
'Twon't fly—like the Christmas card hangels, it doesn't fit into the facks;
All it does is to spread tommy-rot, and to break all the postmen's poor backs.
You'll be thinking I've got the blue-mouldies, old man, and you won't be fur hout.
Funds low with yours truly, my bloater, no chances of getting about.
Larks, any amount of 'em, going, advertisements gassing like fun,
But 'Arry, for once in the way, 's a stone-broker and not in the run.[Pg 110]
It's cutting, that's wot it is, cutting. I'm so used to leading the field,
That place as fust-fly at life's fences is one as I don't like to yield,
Espechly to one like Bill Blossit—no style, not a bit about Bill!
And they talk of a 'Appy New Year, mate, and cackle o' peace and goodwill!
Oh yus, I'd goodwill 'em, Bill Blossit and false Fanny Friswell, a lot!
They are off to the world's fair to-night, sir, and that's wy I say it's such rot.
If form such as mine's to go 'obbling whilst mugginses win out o' sight,
I say the world's handicap's wrong, mate, and Christmas cards won't set it right.
Lor bless yer, 'e ain't got no patter, not more than a nutmeg, Bill ain't;
But the railway has taken his shop, and he's come out as fresh as new paint.
And so because I'm out of luck, and that duffer has landed the chink,
She 'ooks onto him like a bat to a belfry, sir! What do you think?
A 'Appy New Year? Yus, it looks like it! Charlie, old chap, I've heard tell
Of parties called pessymists, writers as swear the whole world's a big sell;
No doubt they've bin jilted, or jockeyed by some such a juggins as Bill;
And without real jam—cash and kisses—this world is a bitterish pill.[Pg 112]
Still, I wish you a 'Appy New Year, if you care for the kibosh, old chappie,
Though 'taint 'igh art cards full o' gush and green paint'll make you and me 'appy.
Wot we want is lucre and larks, love and lotion as much as you'll carry!
Give me them, and one slap at that Bill,—They're the new year gifts to suit.
At Scarborough.—'Arriet (pointing to postillions of pony-chaises). Why do all them boys wear them jackets?
'Arry. There's a stoopid question! Why, they're all jockeys a-training for the Ledger, of course!
Egging Him on.—Knowing old Gentleman. Now, sir, talking of eggs, can you tell me where a ship lays to?
Smart Youth (not in the least disconcerted). Don't know, sir, unless it is in the hatchway.
Retreat for Cockney Idlers.—Earn nil.
[Pg 107]
Visitor. "Hullo! I say, I've got 'em agin! Gi' me the blue ribbon!"
[Pg 109]
Short-tempered Gentleman in Black (after violent collision with a stonemason fresh from work). "Now, I'll arsk you jest to look at the narsty beastly mess as you 've gone and mide me in! Why, I'm simply smothered in some 'orrid white stuff!! Why don't yer be more careful!!!"
[Pg 111]
Overheard During one of our Recent Stormy Days.—"What cheer, matey! Doin' any business?"
"Garn! Wot yer gettin' at? I ain't 'ere to do business. I'm takin' the hopen hair treatment!"
[Pg 113]
Master. "Jim!"
Page. "Yessir."
Master. "Rather a 'igh 'ill we're comin' to, ain't it?"
Page. "Very 'igh 'ill indeed, sir."
Master. "Ah! well, jest you jump down, Jim, and walk alongside a bit; it'll make it easier for the poor 'orse, you know."
[Pg 114]
'Arry (reading account of the war in the East). "Ow, I s'y, 'Arriet, they've bin an' took old Li 'Ung Chang's three-heyed peacock's feathers all off 'im!"
'Arriet (compassionately). "Pore old feller!"
[Pg 115]
[Pg 116]
Architect. "What aspect would you like, Mr. Smithers?" (who is about to build a house).
Mr. Smithers. "Has Muggles"—(a rival tradesman)—"got a haspect? 'Cause—mind yer, I should like mine made a good deal bigger than 'is!!"
[Pg 117]
Miss Effie has left her sun-shade on the other side of the rivulet. The chivalrous young De Korme attempts the dangerous pass in order to restore it to her.
Obnoxiously Festive 'Arry (to him). "Ho, yuss! Delighted, I'm sure! Drop in any time you're passin'!"
[Pg 118]
'ARRY ON THE MERRY MONTH OF MAYDear Charlie,
'Ow are yer, old Turmuts? Gone mouldy, or moon-struck, or wot?
Sticking down in the country, like you do, I tell yer, is all tommy-rot.
Its town makes a
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