Mr Punch's Model Music Hall Songs and Dramas

But, for me, she's as slend-ar – far more true and tend-ar,
Than if she wore satins and silks!

[The grammar of the last two lines is shaky, but the Lion-Comique must try to put up with that, and, after all, does sincere emotion ever stop to think about grammar? If it does, Music-hall audiences don't – which is the main point.

Second Verse

I longed before her little feet to grovel in the gutter:
I vowed, unless I won her as a wife, 'twould drive me mad!
Until at last a shy consent I coaxed her lips to utter,
For she dallied with her Anglo-Dutch, and whispered, "Speak to Dad!"

    Refrain– For she's only a little Plebeian, &c.

Third Verse

I called upon her sire, and found him lowly born, but brawny,
A noble type, when sober, of the British artisan;
I grasped his honest hand, and didn't mind its being horny:
"Behold!" I cried, "a suitor for your daughter, Mary Ann!"

    Refrain– Though she's only a little Plebeian, &c.

Fourth Verse

"You ask me, gov'nor, to resign," said he, "my only treasure,
And so a toff her fickle heart away from me has won!"
He turned to mask his manly woe behind a pewter measure —
Then, breathing blessings through the beer, he said; "All right, my son!

    Refrain– If she's only a little Plebeian,
    And you're a Patrician swell," – &c.

Fifth Verse

(The author flatters himself that, in quiet sentiment and homely pathos he has seldom done anything finer than the two succeeding stanzas.)

Next I sought my noble father in his old ancestral castle,
And at his gouty foot my love's fond offering I laid —
A simple gift of shellfish, in a neat brown-paper parcel!
"Ah, Sir!" I cried, "if you could know, you'd love my little maid!"

    Refrain– True, she's only a little Plebeian, &c.

Sixth Verse

Beneath his shaggy eyebrows soon I saw a tear-drop twinkle;
That artless present overcame his stubborn Norman pride!
And when I made him taste a whilk, and try a periwinkle,
His last objections vanished – so she's soon to be my bride!

    Refrain– Ah! she's only a little Plebeian, &c.

Seventh Verse

Now heraldry's a science that I haven't studied much in,
But I mean to ask the College – if it's not against their rules —
That three periwinkles proper may be quartered on our 'scutcheon,
With a whilk regardant, rampant, on an oyster-knife, all gules!

    Refrain– As she's only a little Plebeian, &c.

This little ditty, which has the true, unmistakable ring about it, and will, Mr. Punch believes, touch the hearts of any Music-hall audience, is entirely at the service of any talented artiste who will undertake to fit it with an appropriate melody, and sing it in a spirit of becoming seriousness.

xi.– THE PANEGYRIC PATTER

This ditty is designed to give some expression to the passionate enthusiasm for nature which is occasionally observable in the Music-hall songstress. The young lady who sings these verses will of course appear in appropriate costume; viz., a large white hat and feathers, a crimson sunshade, a pink frock, high-heeled sand-shoes, and a liberal extent of black silk stockings. A phonetic spelling has been adopted where necessary to bring out the rhyme, for the convenience of the reader only, as the singer will instinctively give the vowel-sounds the pronunciation intended by the author.

THE JOYS OF THE SEA-SIDE

First Verse

Oh, I love to sit a-gyzing on the boundless blue horizing,
When the scorching sun is blyzing down on sands, and ships, and sea!
And to watch the busy figgers of the happy little diggers,
Or to listen to the niggers, when they choose to come to me!

Chorus (to which the singer should sway in waltz-time)

For I'm offully fond of the Sea! – side!
If I'd only my w'y I would de-cide
To dwell evermore,
By the murmuring shore,
With the billows a-blustering be-side!

Second Verse

Then how pleasant of a morning, to be up before the dorning!
And to sally forth a-prorning – e'en if nothing back you bring!
Some young men who like fatigue 'll go and try to pot a sea-gull,
What's the odds if it's illegal, or the bird they only wing?

Chorus– For it's one of the sports of the Sea-side! &c

Third Verse

Then what j'y to go a bything – though you'll swim, if you're a sly thing,
Like a mermaid nimbly writhing, with a foot upon the sand!
When you're tired of old Poseidon, there's the pier to promenide on,