Produced by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOLUME 98. MARCH 1, 1890. * * * * * UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS. "Tres volontiers," repartit le demon. "Vous aimez les tableaux changeans: je veux vous contenter." _Le Diable Boiteux._ [Illustration:] XXI. "Though cold the coxcomb, and though coarse the boor, Though dulness haunts the rich and pain the poor, In this colossal city, Yet London is not Rome, O Shade!" I said. "A later JUVENAL should not find her dead To purity and pity." "Satire, of shames and follies in sole quest, Is a one-eyed divinity at best," My guide responded, slowly. "The tale of ZOILUS hath its moral still. Such critics are but blowflies, their small skill To carrion given wholly. "Not all the Romans of DOMITIAN's days Were such as live in JUVENAL's savage lays; Not all the Latian ladies Were HIPPIAS or COLLATIAS. Neither here May all be gauged by satire's rule severe, Or earth would be a Hades. "The scalpel hath no terrors for the sound, Nor is the hand that wields it harshly bound To ceaseless vivisection. The Cynic sharply sees, but sees not far; The eye that hunts the mote may miss the star Too great for scorn's detection. "Dream not, oh friend, because I let the light On lurid London through the cloak of night (As was my undertaking.) That I've a spirit wholly given to scorn, Or blind to all, save sin, that with the morn Will see a bright awaking. "Yet could the freedman's son but wield his flail In London, there are those might shrink and pale As did DOMITIAN'S minion. PARIS lives yet, pander and parasite Still flaunt in bold impunity, despite A custom-freed opinion. "Dull in the drawing-room, our beardless boys Can sparkle in the haunts of coarser joys, Coldness and muteness vanish When TULLIA dances or when POLLIO sings. With riotous applause the precinct rings, There chill restraint they banish. "Behold Lord LIMPET in his gilded Box, His well-gloved palms and scarlet silken socks Actively agitated; He who erewhile about the ball-room stood A solemn, weary, whispering thing of wood, And sneered, and yawned, and waited." "Wondrous!" I cried. "The youngster's cheeks flush red, Wide laugh his lips, and swiftly wags his head, He cheers, he claps, he chuckles. Can he, the languid lounger limp and faint Give way to mirth with the mad unrestraint Of boys with ribs and knuckles? "Frankly _canaille_ is that dancing chit Slang and suggestiveness serve her for wit, And impudence for beauty. Yet frigid 'Form' melts at her cockney spell, 'Form,' which votes valsing with the reigning belle An undelightful duty.