The Comic Almanack, Volume 2: An Ephemeris in Jest and Earnest, Containing Merry Tales, Humerous Poetry, Quips, and Oddities
David Hume · en
She speaks of her favourite authors
In terms far from pleasant to hear;
"Charles Dickens," she vows, "is a darling,"
"And Bulwer," she says, "is a dear;"
"Douglas Jerrold," with her "is an angel,"
And I'm an "illiterate hind,"
Upon whom her fine intellect's wasted;
I'm not fit for a woman of mind.
She goes not to Church on a Sunday,
Church is all very well in its way,
But she is too highly inform'd
Not to know all the parson can say;
It does well enough for the servants,
And was for poor people design'd;
But bless you! it's no good to her,
For _she_ is a woman of mind.
[Illustration:
Old Father St. Swithin, the Gentleman who presides over the Cat and
Dog Days.
A Grand Gala at Vauxhall, under the Patronage of St. Swithin
]
THE CLOUD.
(_Another Version of_ SHELLEY'S _partial view of the subject_.)
I bring cats and dogs, and November fogs,
For the folks of Cockney land;
And I brew the flood of slush and mud
In Fleet Street and the Strand.
From my watery bed spring colds in the head,
And highly inflam'd sore-throats;
And I'm the Mama[7] of the bad Catarrh,
And the Mother of Waterproof Coats.
I gave birth to Goloshes and Macintoshes,
The clog, the cork sole, and the patten;
And I act as wet Nus to each Omnibus,
For 'tis on my moisture they fatten.
I come down pretty thick at every Pic Nic,
And throw my cold water upon it;
And delight at each Fête that is called a Champêtre,
To spoil every new silk bonnet;
I'm more kind to each Jarvey than was Wittle Harvey,
When he was Commiss'oner of Stamps;
I'm the foe of Vauxhall's Grand Fancy Dress Balls,
Where I love to extinguish the Lamps;
And whenever a fellow leaves at home his Umbrella,
Oh Lord! how I chuckle and grin!
For then you may warrant I'll come down in a torrent,
And soak the poor wretch to the skin.
Footnote 7:
Be pleased to give this word the proper Cockney pronunciation—MamAR!
None others are genuine.
JUPITER AND THE MOTHER.
AN IDYLL.
At the altar of Jupiter knelt a poor woman. She was about to become a
Mother, and thus she invoked the God:—
"Oh Jupiter! King of the Heavens! and Ruler of the Earth! grant that the
dear burthen which I now bear may be a Stranger to the cares of Life!
Vouchsafe unto it such gifts that it may be the most admired of all thy
Children,—the richest—the happiest of Men. Oh Jupiter! King of the
Heavens! and Ruler of the Earth! hear me!"