The Punster's Pocket-book Part 26

This is not very complimentary to your wife; but it would be a pretty joke indeed, if a good pun was to be lost for such a trifling consideration.

If you consult decency too much, there's an end of wit. He who digs for diamonds must not be over squeamish about dirt. Here Mrs. ---- may say, "My dear _Tom_, I wish the man would bring up the dinner."

Mr. ----. "_Bring up_ the dinner, my love? Heaven forbid! As Dido says, that's '_sic sic_,' so so[31]."

[31] aen. iv. 660.

You must not be too nice, as I observed before.

(_Mrs. ---- rings the bell._)

_Enter Servant._

_Mrs. ----._ Is dinner ready?

_Mr._ (_Looking round._)--The _chops_ are, I'm sure.

_Adam._ It is dishing now, ma'am.

(_A crash heard as if an accident._)

_Mr. ----._ _Dishing_ indeed--I fear it's _dished_.

_Dinner--all seated._

_Mrs. ----._ Will any body take soup?

_Mr. ----._ What, before grace, you _grace_less rogues. There's no parson here, I see; though we are not without some of _the cloth_. Well, I'll say it--grace at dinner is _meet_.

[A universal laugh. The sight of dinner is a breeder of good-humour.]

Take care to have the salt-cellars put on the table empty.

_Mr. ----._ Why what the devil's this--no salt!

_Mrs. ----._ (As planned.)--You have _salt_ enough, I'm sure, my dear.

_Mr. ----._ "Ego _pun_ior ipse," Ovid. Very well, very well! my wife is not a_miss_: but the salt, Adam.

_Adam._ Sir, the house-keeper's gone out, and I don't know where to get any.

_Mr. ----._ Why an't here four _salt_ sellers?

[The Frenchman does not understand this, but he is to laugh heartily nevertheless.]

_Mrs. ----._ Here, Adam; take this key, and you'll find some in the store-room, at the top of the house.

_Mr. ----._ _Attic salt_, eh! ha, ha, ha! Well, come let's fall to; this meat will _keep_ no longer without salt.

_Mrs. ----._ My dear _Tom_, that rich dish will only give you the gout.

_Mr. ----._ Pooh! "Chacun a son _gout_." Why should not I eat it, as well as another?

_Mrs. ----._ Bless me, how you mangle that duck.

_Mr. ----._ _Mangle_ it, my love. Well, I think that's better than to _wash and iron_ it; but tell me how you'll have it done, and you shall find me _duc_tile.

[Many opportunities will offer of making _obscene puns_, but I give no rules for these; they come naturally to every punster! All I shall say is, that they must _never_ be neglected.]

Let your cook be famous for pancakes. One of your little boys must inquire for some.

_Mr. ----._ My dear, this is Sunday; you know we can't have pancakes till _Fri_-day.

[Many more puns must be introduced. _Champaign_, _real pain_; _after all_ cheese is best, &c.]

The company will, probably, add some, and you may, also, by accident; however, you'll have this advantage over your friends, that you'll be certain of all these while you're with your wife, and at home. Your acquaintance, of course, have _names_, and if they have no other merit, it's very hard if you can't make something of them in the pun way. Any blockhead can do that.

DESSERT.

_Mr. ----._ "Give every man his _deserts_." Shakspeare.

_Mrs. ----._ My love, shall I send you a peach?

_Mr. ----._ Yes, and if it isn't a good one, I'll im_peach_ your judgment.

By connivance with the Frenchman, he must offer you a pinch of Maccuba snuff, saying he's sorry it is not better, but his Tonquin bean has lost its flavour. You then reply--Ay, I see it's one of the _has_-beens.

_Mrs. ----._ Oh! that's too bad.

_Mr. ----._ Why, it's wit at a _pinch_, at any rate; therefore it need not _make you baw--l_, as if I had got into the wrong _box_.--(_Turning to the boys._)--What's Latin for goose, eh!

_Boys._ Brandy, papa!

_Mrs. ----._ You'll kill yourself with that vile liquor.

_Mr. ----._ How can that be--Isn't it eau de _vie_?

_Mrs. ----_, at some time, must call for the nutmeg grater.--You take it, and address your neighbour: Sir, you are a great man, but here is a _grater_.

The sweetmeats will be praised of course.

_Mr. ----._ All my wife's doing. Nancy's a notable woman, I a.s.sure you; but I'm more _not able_ than she is, an't I, my dear?

_Ladies all rise._