Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. IV

Parodies
Oh, a dainty growth is Official Routine,
        That crawleth o’er systems old:
      With red-tape tendrils clasping keen,
        And choking where they fold!
      What stores have rotted, what ships decayed,
        To pleasure his dainty whim!
      How he fettereth hand, and blindeth head,
        So terrible and so trim!
            For knaves and fools a sheltering screen,
            Oh a glorious growth is Official Routine.

      He worketh his way, with men and things,
        Alike by land and sea;
      And the weaker his root, the tighter he clings
        By the _vis inertiæ_.
      You may see him trailing along the ground,
        O’er an army’s new-made graves;
      Or barring their way that stand around
        To save wrecked stores from waves.
            At Balaklava all serene――
            A flourishing growth is Official Routine!

      Let men and ministers have their day,
        And be as they had not been,
      Official routine still holdeth sway,
        In its mingled gray and green.
      The brave old creeper, in these our days,
        Still fattens, as in the past,
      And the noblest host a nation could raise,
        Hath fallen, its prey at last!
            Creeping still where life has been――
            A terrible plant is Official Routine!

  _Punch._ February 10, 1855.

                     ――――

              THE CABBAGE GREEN.

      Oh, a dainty plant is the cabbage green
        Wot grows in a garden bold;
      With a gammon of bacon, half fat and lean,
        He’s good either hot or cold.
      His heart must be tender and not decay’d,
        To please your dainty whim;
      And the chap as loves cabbage, I’ll tell the blade
        It’s a precious meal for him.
          Sprouting out of the ground is seen,
          A rare old plant is the cabbage green;
          Sprouting out of the ground is seen,
          A rare old plant is the cabbage green.

      Fast he sprouts, for he’s food for kings,
        And a nice white heart has he;
      How close he sticks and how tight he clings
        To the stump, till he’s quite stumpy;
      In a waggon he’s jolted along the town,
        And his leaves no longer waves,
      For he’s pack’d like a _conwict_, and quite done brown,
        As his way to _Common_ Garden he paves.
            Sprouting out, &c.

      Full wages have fled, hard work’s ill paid,
        And grub _werry_ scarce has been;
      But the rare old cabbage shall never fade
        From being a chap _wots_ green.
      The hearty old plant in future days
        Shall fatten you up so fast;
      For the best of wegables man can raise,
        Is a cabbage, my boys, at last,
              Sprouting out, &c.

                                              J. LABERN.
  From _Sharp’s Vauxhall Comic Song Book_.

                     ――――

               THE YARD OF CLAY.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. IV

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