Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, August 13, 1887Various
General
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, August 13, 1887
Various
English wit and humor -- Periodicals
Bot dat has nodings hier to zay--zo, blease, (_professorial air for
this_) you vill addend!
I gom to dell you gurious dings vat habbened mit a vriend.
He vas a hanzom-headed man, zo like me as a pea,
And eferyveres I valk about he gom along mit me;
Bot all ze efenings, beaceful-quiet, he shtay in-doors and shmoke.
And choggle at himzelf at dimes in hatching out a yoke;
Ontill von day his choggling stobbed--he'd tombled deep in lof,
And he bassed ze dime vith gissing at a leedle vemale glof!
Ubon two shpargling eyes he dink, von deligate cock-nose--
Dill zoon his dinkings vork him op mit gourage to bropose.
Zen, ach! zat nose vas dilted more, and gruel vorts she shpoke:
"I vill not dwine aroundt no heart vat shmells zo shtrong mit shmoke!
Vor you yourzelf I might, vith dime, bersuade myzelf to gare--
Bot nevare mit no ogly bipes vill I avection share!"
(_Pause, and glance round your audience with a slightly pained air._)
I dink I hear zom laty make a symbathetic shniff--
You Englisch shendlevomens dreats a shmoker var too shtiff!
For look--meinzelf I shmoke a bipe, mit baintings on ze bowl,
I shtoffs him vith dat sheepstabak vat's dwisted in a roll,
I gif my vort it ton't daste pad--zough yust a leedle veak--
Shtill, ven I schmokes inzide a drain,--I vinds zom laties seeck!
(_Amiable surprise, as you mention this instance of insular
intolerance._)
Bot, zere, you makes me chadderbox, and dakes op all my dime!
I vant to dell you how mein vriend behafed himself sooblime:
"If you vill pe mein Braut," he zaid, "tobaggo I'll renounce,
And shvear to nefer puy no more von solidary ounce!"
Zo she gif him out her lily hand, and shmile on him zo shveet:
"Vith sodge a sagrifice," she zaid, "you brove your lof indeet!
And I dakes you--on your zolem vort mit shmoking to ged rid,
Pe off and purn your bipes and dings!" vich--boor yong man, he--did!
Dree sblendid bipes he sacrificed, in china, glay, and vood,
He vatched zem craggle in ze vlames--I vonder how he _could_!
And mit zem vent his brime zigars of pest Havana prandt,
Imborted hier vrom Hampurg, in his own dear Vaderlandt!
[_With sentiment._
Henzefort he lif a shmokeless life, vor vear to lose his bride,
And nefer vonce gomblained to her of soferings inzide!
Bot--zough she gif him zentiment and rabdures ven zey met--
Zomdimes he vish she vouldn't mind von leedle zigarette! [_Pause._
Now game along ze night pefore his veddings was to pe--
And he dried to galm his jomping soul mit bonderings and tea--
Ven, zoddenly--he hear a zound, as eef zom barty knock,
And it gom vrom his tobaggo-jar, long embdy of its shtock!
"Gom in! I mean--gom _out_!" he cried (he was a viddy chap!)
[_Here you should be convulsed with inward laughter._
"For nonn of your nockdurnal knocks I do not gare von rap!"
Bot--vile he yoked--ze lid fly off, and sblash into his cop,
[_Business here._
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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