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Bentley's Miscellany, Volume II
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(Between parentheses, and just by way
Of taking breath —sub rosá, I will say
That I like Blind-man's buff, and I confess it,
Bless it!
For, in that playful sport, if you 're inclined,
And your hand sees, though both your eyes are blind,
You may, perhaps, catch the petticoat of Miss
Some one or other,
Or her still-handsome mother,
And snatch a kiss,
Which taken impromptu in that lively way.
In pure Platonic play,
Is pleasant – very!
And makes one merry,
And very easily finds ready pardon.)
Well, by this time, I must be near the Garden?
Yes, there's the smell eternal
Of cabbages infernal,
Those flatulencies vernal!
And there's the Hummums – (which my dear friend Stubbs,
Who speaketh through his nose, calls the Hubbubs!) —
Yes, and although the fog's
Perplexing in th' extreme, this must be Mogg's?
And this the Arcade which the dear Cockneys call
"Pie-hay-sir," – sounds not like the sounds at all!
Corruption villanous! I here denounce it,
And pronounce it
"Pi-atz-za,"
And rhyme it to "Buy hat, sir!"
And there's the Theatre where solemn Siddons,
And that great "last of all the Romans," Kemble,
Made you for pity weep, or with touch'd passion tremble!
And this is Robins's – Robins, whose Darwin powers
In making his poetic flowers
(See his advertisements and auctions) tell —
(While those for sale upon the florists' leads.
Hard by,
"Hide their diminished heads,"
And, envious, die) —
Are known so well!
So far, so good. Hah! here is Gliddon's!
And now I am no longer at a loss
Which way to go;
So, here I'll shoot across
Quick as a fool's bolt from his bow.
'Sblood! what a bump —
Not named in Spurzheim —
This cursed, confounded, and confounding pump,
With its large handle stretch'd out to the nor'ward,
Has suddenly developed on my forehead,
Which nothing hurts him!
How I should like to give some one a thumping!
You little scoundrel! night or day,
Whene'er I pass this way,
You d – d young rascal, you are always pumping!
Take that – and that – and that! —
Och, murder! if I haven't kick'd
(For which I shall get lick'd)
A stout, broad-shoulder'd, five-foot-seven Pat,
Just the unlikeliest chap
To take a given rap!
"Fly, Fleance, fly!" Don't stop to "take
Your change," for Heaven's and England's sake!
Well run, for forty-seven! – a tolerable foot-race!
And now I calmly recollect the place,
Its ins and outs,
And roundabouts,
A batter'd nose and broken shin
Are not too much to pay to win.
Pit-pat!
What's that?
Something that moves soft and slow,
Like graceful dancer in a furbelow! —
What are you? Ho!
A walking Vestris, with a leg to show?
So be it!
Come, come, you all-engrossing Fog,
You're "going the whole hog,"
And hoggishly won't let me see it!
Pit-pat again! encore pit-pat!
Oh, disappointment dire! a vagabond tom-cat!
Here, Paddy that I kick'd, if you can see,
Kick this great mousing brute in lieu of me!
Well, if again I go out in a fog,
May I be call'd a blind man's stupid dog,
A bat, a beetle, "a good-nater'd fellar!"
Headlong I dive – out of it – into the Cider-cellar!
November, 1837.
Punch.
NIGHTS AT SEA;
Or, Sketches of Naval Life during the War
Of taking breath —sub rosá, I will say
That I like Blind-man's buff, and I confess it,
Bless it!
For, in that playful sport, if you 're inclined,
And your hand sees, though both your eyes are blind,
You may, perhaps, catch the petticoat of Miss
Some one or other,
Or her still-handsome mother,
And snatch a kiss,
Which taken impromptu in that lively way.
In pure Platonic play,
Is pleasant – very!
And makes one merry,
And very easily finds ready pardon.)
Well, by this time, I must be near the Garden?
Yes, there's the smell eternal
Of cabbages infernal,
Those flatulencies vernal!
And there's the Hummums – (which my dear friend Stubbs,
Who speaketh through his nose, calls the Hubbubs!) —
Yes, and although the fog's
Perplexing in th' extreme, this must be Mogg's?
And this the Arcade which the dear Cockneys call
"Pie-hay-sir," – sounds not like the sounds at all!
Corruption villanous! I here denounce it,
And pronounce it
"Pi-atz-za,"
And rhyme it to "Buy hat, sir!"
And there's the Theatre where solemn Siddons,
And that great "last of all the Romans," Kemble,
Made you for pity weep, or with touch'd passion tremble!
And this is Robins's – Robins, whose Darwin powers
In making his poetic flowers
(See his advertisements and auctions) tell —
(While those for sale upon the florists' leads.
Hard by,
"Hide their diminished heads,"
And, envious, die) —
Are known so well!
So far, so good. Hah! here is Gliddon's!
And now I am no longer at a loss
Which way to go;
So, here I'll shoot across
Quick as a fool's bolt from his bow.
'Sblood! what a bump —
Not named in Spurzheim —
This cursed, confounded, and confounding pump,
With its large handle stretch'd out to the nor'ward,
Has suddenly developed on my forehead,
Which nothing hurts him!
How I should like to give some one a thumping!
You little scoundrel! night or day,
Whene'er I pass this way,
You d – d young rascal, you are always pumping!
Take that – and that – and that! —
Och, murder! if I haven't kick'd
(For which I shall get lick'd)
A stout, broad-shoulder'd, five-foot-seven Pat,
Just the unlikeliest chap
To take a given rap!
"Fly, Fleance, fly!" Don't stop to "take
Your change," for Heaven's and England's sake!
Well run, for forty-seven! – a tolerable foot-race!
And now I calmly recollect the place,
Its ins and outs,
And roundabouts,
A batter'd nose and broken shin
Are not too much to pay to win.
Pit-pat!
What's that?
Something that moves soft and slow,
Like graceful dancer in a furbelow! —
What are you? Ho!
A walking Vestris, with a leg to show?
So be it!
Come, come, you all-engrossing Fog,
You're "going the whole hog,"
And hoggishly won't let me see it!
Pit-pat again! encore pit-pat!
Oh, disappointment dire! a vagabond tom-cat!
Here, Paddy that I kick'd, if you can see,
Kick this great mousing brute in lieu of me!
Well, if again I go out in a fog,
May I be call'd a blind man's stupid dog,
A bat, a beetle, "a good-nater'd fellar!"
Headlong I dive – out of it – into the Cider-cellar!
November, 1837.
Punch.
NIGHTS AT SEA;
Or, Sketches of Naval Life during the War
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