145
Punch, or the London Charivari
Volume 107, September 29th, 1894
edited by Sir Francis Burnand
THE INVASION OF WOMAN.
When Strephon shuts the ledger to,Relinquishing his duties,And takes the train from WaterlooFor Clapham's rural beautiesHe dearly loves en route, we read,To smoke the solitary weed.
His hopes, alas, are quickly dashed,For Chloë, maid provoking!Alertly enters, unabashed,The carriage labelled "Smoking";His frown, his powerful cigar,His match—all unavailing are.
Yes, Chloë comes, and brings no doubt,A friend to talk of fashions,While Strephon lets his weed go out,A prey to angry passions,Which, later on, released will beWithin the excellent D. T.
Yet grieve not so, ungallant swain,Nor curse this innovation,Or, even if you do, refrainFrom words like "frequentation,"But really, you should do no lessThan cease to curse, and wholly bless.
For if the charm this female bandFinds in you so immense is,That they contentedly can standThe smell your weed dispenses,A compliment they pay you thenYou will not gain from fellow-men!
A CERTAIN CURE.
["Eating sugarplums is the best cure for mundanesorrows."—A Ladies' Journal, Sept. 19.]
Whatever the sorrows that chasten your life,A cure for them all you will quickly receive,If Phyllis should prove an unsuitable wife,If children undutiful cause you to grieve,Just get at the nearest confectioner's shop,The cheap and the comforting chocolate drop!
If the treatise at which you have constantly worked,(Four volumes portraying "the Growth of Mankind,")By editors still is consistently burked,If publishers still to its merits are blind,You grieve at their foolish perversity; well,There's healing and balm in the sweet caramel.
Perhaps you may find—many do—that
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