The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

654
PUNCH.
A don't object at all to War
With a set a fellas like the Fwench,
But this dem wupcha with the Czar,
It gives one's feeling quite a wench.
The man that peace in Yawwup kept
Gives all his pwevious life the lie;
A fina fella neva stepped,
Bai JOVE, he's maw than six feet high!
He cwushed those democwatic beasts;
He'd flog a Nun; maltweat a Jew,
Or pawsecute those Womish Pwiests,
Most likely vewy pwoppa too.
To think that afta such a cawce,
Which nobody could eva blame,
The EMP'WA should employ bwute fawce
Against this countwy just the same!
We all consida'd him our fwiend,
But in a most erwoneus light,
In shawt, it seems you can't depend
On one who fancies might is wight.
His carwacta is coming out;
His motives--which A neva saw--
Are now wevealed beyond a doubt,
And we must fight--but what a baw!
THE LAST KICK OF FOP'S ALLEY.
PUNCH.
Air--"Weber's Last Waltz."
My wawst feaws are wealized; the Op wa is na maw,
And the wain of DONIZETTI and TAPISCHOWE are aw!
No entapwising capitalist bidding faw the lot,