Ah, Violin Cremonian! Ah, Pussy-cat of Ispahan! Moo-cow that dost outmoon the moon! Yes, dainty poodle, laugh away, And mock the pranks poor mortals play Who spoon the dish and dish the spoon! * * * * * TO THE QUEEN OF MAYS. Give me an elfin, frolic MAY, No Queen with hoarse cadenzas, Who pipes a frozen roundelay Of spiteful influenzas. _My_ MAY shall air no voices crude. No chained and chilly dances-- With wordless harmonies endued And pirouetting fancies. She'll draw us round no Northern Poles With crowns of mimic roses. That mock our sad sepulchral souls And counterfeit our noses. But white as hawthorn blossom, free As air to shed her pleasures, _My_ mute, melodious MAY shall be The soul of wayward measures. To put it plainly, while the ban Of Spring on us and gales is, I'll bask and smile and worship JEANNE Within the Prince of Wales's. * * * * * CONSERVATIVE COMMENT ON A RECENT ELECTION (_after Mr. Middlewick_).--"Humph! Inferior Dosset!" * * * * * NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 100, May 16, 1891, by Various