Punch, Or The London Charivari, VOL. 103, November 26, 1892 by Various


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Page 10

Mr. ALFRED AUSTIN, in his new poem, _Fortunatus, the Pessimist_, has
hit upon a new notion, to say nothing of a novel rhyme. Sings he:--

"When the foal and brood-mare hinny,
And in every cut-down spinney
Lady's-Smocks grow _mauve and mauver_,
Then the Winter days are over."

This opens a polychromatic vista to the New Poetry. Technical Art
comes to the aid of the elder Muses. The products of gas-tar alone
should greatly regenerate a something time-worn poetic phraseology. As
thus:--

When the poet, Mr. PENNYLINE,
Is inspired by beauteous Aniline,
Products chemical and gas-tarry
Give the modern Muse new mastery.
Mauve _may_ chime with love, and mauver
Form a decent rhyme to lover;
While (and if not, why not?) _mauvest_
Antiphonetic proves to lovest.
(Verse erotic always sports
Tricksily with longs and shorts.
Verbal votaries of Venus
Are an arbitrary genus,
And as arrogant as HOWELLS
In their dealings with the vowels.
_Love, move, rove_, linked in a sonnet,
Pass for rhymes; the best have done it!)
Then again there is Magenta!
Surely science never sent a
Handier rhyme to--well, polenta,
Or (for Cockney Muses) Mentor!
The poetic sense auricular
Can't afford to be particular.
Rags of rhymes, mere assonances,
Now must serve. Pegasus prances,
Like a Buffalo Bill buck-jumper,
When you have a "regular stumper"
(Such as "silver") do not care about
Perfect rhyming; "there or thereabout"
Is the Muse's maxim now.
You _may_ get (bards have, I trow)
Rhyme's last minimum irreducible,
From dye-vat, retort, or crucible.

Verily (as _Touchstone_ says), "I'll rhyme you so, eight years
together, dinners and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted." And if it
is "the right butterwoman's rate to market," or "the very false gallop
of verses," it is at any rate good enough for a long-eared public or a
postulant for the Laureateship.

* * * * *

WAR ON A LARGE SCALE.

(_AN ACCOUNT OF THE CONFLICT, FROM THE DIARY OF AN INHABITANT OF HERNE
BAY._)

_Monday._--Extremely awkward--the entire British Fleet have come
ashore; and, as it is impossible to move them on account of their
enormous tonnage, this will entail a loss of �24,000,000,000!

_Tuesday._--Troubles never come singly! The French, taking advantage
of the temporary suspension of our naval operations, have declared
war. This means the utter ruin of the bathing season, not only at
Herne Bay, but Southend, and the Isle of Thanet.

_Wednesday._--As I expected! The French Fleet are coming up towards
London. They are sure to pepper us as they pass. As every gun carries
several hundred miles, I do not see how books can be uninterruptedly
issued from and returned to the Circulating Library.

_Thursday._--Our first slice of luck! The entire French Fleet during
the mist last night came into collision with the Nore Light, and sank
immediately. I was surprised at their sparing the Reculvers and the
local bathing-machines, but now the mystery is explained.

_Friday._--Just learned that the great gun of Paris, which carries
forty-four thousand miles, is to be tried for the first time
to-morrow. It would have been used earlier, had it not been necessary
to raise a foreign loan to supply funds to load it. Trust it won't
be laid in our direction. This war has already caused the Insurance
Companies to double their charges! Too bad!

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Sat 15th Mar 2025, 22:02