_Chorus_--Why, your wushup sees, o’ course, It was all the bloomin’ ’orse! He _would_ ’ave a pail o’ water Every ’arf a mile (or quarter), Which is what he didn’t oughter! He shall stick to ale or porter, With a drop o’ something shorter, I’m my family’s supporter-- Fine the poor old ’orse! [_The_ Magistrate’s _view of the case. Concluding remark that, notwithstanding the success of the excursion, as a whole--it will be some time before the singer consents to go upon any excursion with a horse of such bibulous tendencies as those of the quadruped they drove to Kew._ [Illustration] [Illustration: THE DRAMATIC SCENA.] VIII.--THE DRAMATIC SCENA. This is always a popular form of entertainment, demanding, as it does, even more dramatic than vocal ability on the part of the artist. A song of this kind is nothing if not severely moral, an frequently depicts the downward career of an incipient drunkard with all the lurid logic of a Temperance Tract. _Mr. Punch_, however, is inclined to think that the lesson would be even more appreciated and taken to heart by the audience, if a slightly different line were adopted such as he has endeavoured to indicate in the following example:-- THE DANGER OF MIXED DRINKS. _The singer should have a great command of facial expression, which he will find greatly facilitated by employing (as indeed is the usual custom) coloured limelight at the wings._ _First Verse (to be sung under pure white light)._ He (_these awful examples are usually, and quite properly, anonymous_) was once as nice a fellow as you could desire to meet, Partial to a pint of porter, always took his spirits neat; Long ago a careful mother’s cautions trained her son to shrink From the meretricious sparkle of an aërated drink. _Refrain (showing the virtuous youth resisting temptation. N.B. The refrain is intended to be spoken through music._ NOT _sung_.) Here’s a pub that’s handy. Liquor up with you? Thimbleful of brandy? Don’t mind if I do. Soda-water? No, Sir. Never touch the stuff. Promised mother--so, Sir. (_With an upward glance._) ’Tisn’t good enough! _Second Verse._ (_Primrose light for this._) Ah, how little we suspected, as we saw him in his bloom, What a demon dogged his footsteps, luring to an awful doom! Vain his mother’s fond monitions; soon a friend, with fiendish laugh, Tempts him to a quiet tea-garden, plies him there with shandy-gaff! _Refrain_ (_illustrating the first false step_).