Mr. Punch's Cockney Humour Part 14

_'Arriet._ "_I_ can't 'elp the way yer stand, 'Arry."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: VERY DRY WEATHER.

"'Ooray, Bill! 'Ere's luck! I gorr' 'nother tanner! Leshgobackag'in!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'EARD ON 'AMPSTEAD 'EATH

----"And talk of our bein' be'ind the French in general edication, why all I can say is as it's the commonest thing in Paree, for instance (over fust-cla.s.s restorongs, too, mind yer), to see 'dinner' spelt with only one 'N'!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: DIAGNOSIS.

"I can tell you what _you're_ suffering from, my good fellow! You're suffering from _acne_!"

"_'Ackney?_ Why, that's just what _t'other_ medical gent he told me! _I only wish I'd never been near the place!_"]

THE CAD'S CALENDAR

JANUARY.

January! Tailor's bill comes in.

Blow that blooming snip! I'm short o' tin.

Werry much enjoyed my Autumn caper, But three quid fifteen do look queer paper.

Want another new rig out, wuss luck, Gurl at Boodle's bar seems awful struck, Like to take her to the pantermime; That and oysters after _would_ be prime.

Fan's a screamer; this top coat would blue it, Yaller at the seams, black ink won't do it.

Wonder if old snip would spring another?

Boots, too, rayther seedy; beastly bother!

Lots o' larks that empty pockets "queer."

Can't do much on fifty quid a year.

FEBRUARY.

Febrywary! High old time for sprees!

Now's yer chance the gals to please or tease, Dowds to guy and pooty ones to wheedle, And to give all rival chaps the needle.

Crab your enemies,--I've got a many, You can pot 'em proper for a penny.

My! Them walentines do 'it 'em 'ot.

Fust-rate fun; I always buy a lot.

Prigs complain they're spiteful, Lor' wot stuff!

I can't ever get 'em strong enough.

Safe too; no one twigs your little spree, If you do it on the strict Q. T.

If you're spoons, a flowery one's your plan.

Mem: I sent a proper one to Fan.

MARCH.

March! I'm nuts upon a windy day, Gurls do git in such a awful way.

Petticoats yer know, and pooty feet; Hair all flying--tell you it's a treat.

Pancake day. Don't like 'em--flabby, tough, Rayther do a pennorth o' plum-duff.

Seediness shows up as Spring advances, Ah! the gurls do lead us pretty dances.

Days a-lengthening.

Think I spotted Fan Casting sheep's eyes at another man.

Quarter-day, too, no more chance of tick.

Fancy I shall 'ave to cut my stick.

Got the doldrums dreadful, that is clear.

Two _d._ left--must go and do a beer.

APRIL.

April! All Fools' Day's a proper time.

Cop old gurls and guy old buffers prime.

Scissors! don't they goggle and look blue When you land them with a regular "do"?

Lor! the world would not be worth a mivvey If there warn't no fools to cheek and chivy.

Then comes Easter. Got some coin in 'and, Trot a bonnet out and do the grand.

Fan all flounce and flower; fellows mad Heye us henvious; nuts to me, my lad.

'Ampstead! 'Ampton! Which is it to be?

Fan--no flat--prefers the Crystal P.

n.o.bby togs, high jinks, and lots o' lotion, That's the style to go it, I've a notion!

MAY.

May! The month o' flowers. Spooney sell!

"Rum 'ot with," is wot _I_ likes to smell.

Beats yer roses holler. A chice weed Licks all flowers that ever run to seed.

n.o.bby b.u.t.ton'oler very well When one wants to do the 'eavy swell; Otherwise don't care not one bra.s.s farden, For the best ever blowed in Covent Garden.

Fan, though, likes 'em, cost a pretty pile, Rayther stiff, a tanner for a smile.

Blued ten bob last time I took 'er out, Left my silver ticker up the spout.

Women are sech sharks! If I don't drop 'er.

Guess that I shall come a hawful cropper!

JUNE.

June! A jolly month; sech stunning weather.

Fan and I have lots of outs together: Rorty on the river, sech prime 'unts, Foul the racers, run into the punts.

Prime to 'ear the anglers rave and cuss, When in quiet "swims" we raise a muss.

Snack on someone's lawn upon the quiet.

Won't the owner raise a tidy riot When he twigs our sc.r.a.ps and broken bottles?

Cheaper this than rustyrongs or hottles, Whitsuntide 'ud be a lot more gay If it warn't so near to quarter-day.

Snip turns sour, pulls "county-courting" faces.

Must try and land a little on the races.

JULY.