The Choice Humorous Works, Ludicrous Adventures, Bons Mots, Puns, and Hoaxes of Theodore HookHook, Theodore Edward
General
The Choice Humorous Works, Ludicrous Adventures, Bons Mots, Puns, and Hoaxes of Theodore Hook
Hook, Theodore Edward
English wit and humor
At home we have projects too for draining surplus capital,
And honest Master Johnny of his cash to chouse;
Tho' t'other day, Judge Abbott gave a rather sharpish slap at all,
And Eldon launch'd his thunder from the Upper House.
Investment banks to lend a lift to people who are undone--
Proposals for assurance--there's no end of that in London;
And one amongst the number, who in Parliament now press their Bills,
For lending cash at eight per cent. on coats and inexpressibles.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
No more with her bright pails the milkman's rosy daughter works,
A Company must serve you now with milk and cream;
Perhaps they've some connection with the advertising water-works,
That promise to supply you from the limpid stream.
Another body corporate would fain some pence and shillings get,
By selling fish at Hungerford, and knocking up old Billingsgate;
Another takes your linen, when it's dirty, to the suds, sir,
And brings it home in carriages with four nice bits of blood, sir.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
When Greenwich coaches go by steam on roads of iron railing, sir,
How pleasant it will be to see a dozen in a line;
And ships of heavy burden over hills and valleys sailing, sir,
Shall cross from Bristol's Channel to the Tweed or Tyne.
And Dame Speculation, if she ever fully hath her ends,
Will give us docks at Bermondsey, St. Saviour's, and St. Catherine's;
While side-long bridges over mud shall fill the folks with wonder,
sir,
And lamp-light tunnels all day long, convey Cockneys under, sir.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
A tunnel underneath the sea, from Calais straight to Dover, sir,
That qualmish folks may cross by land from shore to shore,
With sluices made to drown the French, if e'er they would come over,
sir,
Has long been talk'd of, till at length 'tis thought a monstrous
bore.
Amongst the many scheming folks, I take it he's no ninny, sir,
Who bargains with the Ashantees to fish the coast of Guinea, sir.
For, secretly, 'tis known, that another brilliant view he has,
Of lighting up the famous town of Timbuctoo with oil gas.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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