The Punster's Pocket-book

THE RACKET COURT

The counsel in the Irish courts are not always so decorous and attentive as they should be. During the examination of a witness, Lord Norbury had occasion once or twice to request silence; when the man, in a reply to a question from his lordship relative to his occupation, answered that "he kept a racket court." "Indeed," said the judge, and looking archly at the bar, continued, "and I am very sorry to say that I am Chief Justice of a racket court much too often."

POT LUCK

A certain Irish musical amateur, who was very irritable, had a party of vocal and instrumental friends on a particular evening in every week at his own house; when some wags, more desirous of promoting discord than harmony, used to assemble under his windows, making the most hideous noises, or in the Irish phraseology, "giving him a shaloo," upon which the amateur dislodged the contents of a certain chamber utensil upon the heads of some passers by, but unfortunately missed his persecutors. For this assault an action was brought and tried before Lord Norbury, who, in summing up the case to the jury, good humouredly observed, "that the plaintiffs must be considered in the light of uninvited guests, and it could not be denied that they had been treated by the defendant with pot-luck."

In a humorous trial between the rival managers, Messrs. Daly and Astley, respecting the right of the latter to perform the farce of "My Grandmother," at the Peter-street theatre, Dublin, Daly's counsel stated, that the penalties recoverable from the defendant, for his infringement of the rights of the patent theatre, would all be given to that excellent charity the Lying-in Hospital. Mr. Toler, in reply, observed, "That it was notorious, no man in Dublin had contributed more largely, in one way, to the Lying-in Hospital than Mr. Daly; and it was therefore but fair, if he recovered in this action, that he should send them the cash. But," continued the facetious counsel, "although Mr. Daly's attachment to good pieces is proverbial, we do not choose that he shall monopolize all the good pieces in Dublin, from 'My Grandmother' down to 'Miss in her Teens.'"

LORD NORBURY'S EPITAPH.SAID TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY HIMSELF

 
He's dead! alas, facetious punster,
Whose jokes made learned wigs with fun stir:
From heaven's high court, a tipstaff's sent,
To call him to his pun-ishment: —
Stand to your ropes! ye sextons, ring!
Let all your clappers ding, dong, ding!
Nor-bury him without his due,
He was himself a Toler²² too!
 

PUNNING EPIGRAMS

THE SPORTING PUNSTERS

 
Two merry wags, of Cockney land,
Well known at Rhodes's, in the Strand,
Where tavern wits choice puns let fly,
Resolved their dogs and guns to try.
Dress'd cap-a-pee, in sporting suit,
With jacket, belt, and net to boot,
Away they trudge to Hampstead Rise,
To take the pheasants by surprise.
And what will strange appear, though true,
A poor stray'd cock-bird came in view,
Uprising 'tween the punning elves,
Who miss'd the bird, but shot themselves.
Condoling on their hapless gunning,
They yet could not desist from punning:
"Ne'er mind, Tom, peasants each we've hit."
"Why leave the aitch, Ned, out of it?"
"Because," quoth Ned, "I'd fain forget
The aitch that frets my body yet."
"Still pop for pop," quoth Tom again.
Says Ned, "I feel a shooting pain;
But then I've heard, those who aspire
To be good sportsmen must stand fire."
"Agreed," cries Tom, "and in my head
'Tis now engraved in molten lead."
 

By Bernard Blackmantle.

ON SIR THOMAS MORE, LORD CHANCELLOR OF ENGLAND

 
When More had few years Chancellor been,
No more suits did remain;
The like shall never more be seen,
Till More be there again!
 

R.B. SHERIDAN'S EPIGRAM ON PITT

 
The nation is pawn'd! we shall find to our cost,
And the minister since has the duplicate lost.
We shall all be undone by the politic schemer,
Who, though "Heav'n-born²³," will not prove a Redeemer.
 

ON "RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON, BY THE LATE R.C. DALLAS, EDITED BY HIS SON."

 
A mighty DULL ASS is old prosing Dallas,
And quite as dull and prosing is his Son —
What! fifteen shillings for the book! Alas!
No pleasant "Recollection" – I am done.
 

DEAN SWIFT'S BARBER

Dean Swift's barber one day told him that he had taken a public house. "And what's your sign?" said the Dean. "Oh, the pole and bason; and if your worship would just write me a few lines to put upon it, by way of motto, I have no doubt but it would draw me plenty of customers." The Dean took out his pencil, and wrote the following couplet, which long graced the barber's sign:

 
Rove not from pole to pole, but step in here,
Where nought excels the shaving but the beer."
 

G. COLMAN TO MISS M. TREE,

Impromptu, on Miss M. Tree's intended marriage andretirement from the stage

 
You bloom and charm us! – still the bosom grieves,
When Trees of your description take their leaves.
 

TO CAPTAIN PARRY, THE POLAR NAVIGATOR,

On his giving a Fete on board the Hecla

 
Dear Captain Parry, you are right
To give the belles a levee;
God grant your dancing may be light,
For oh! your book is heavy.
 

SAM ROGERS TO CHARLES LAMB

Elia's Pen

 
Says Elia, "Zounds, this pen is hard!"
Quoth Samuel Rogers, "Do not huff;
But write away, my honey bard,
You soon can make it soft enough."
 

FRI v. DAY

 
Good Friday rain'd, Sam Rogers dined
On soles, for fish were all the go;
And Sam allowed the Fri was good,
Although the day was but so so.
 

TO THE LATE MR. COUTTS

Written at Holly Lodge, Highgate, by the Duke of Gordon, and presented in the Drawing-room by the Marquis of Huntley

 
An apple, we know, caused old Adam's disgrace,
Who from Paradise quickly was driven;
But yours, my dear Tom, is a happier case,
For a Melon transports you to heaven.
 

TO MRS. COUTTS, THE GAY WIDOW

 
Her mourning is all make-believe;
'Tis plain there's nothing in it;
With weepers she has tipp'd her sleeve,
The while she's laughing in it.
 

IMPROMPTU, BY LORD ERSKINE TO LADY PAYNE,ON BEING TAKEN ILL AT HER HOUSE

 
'Tis true I am ill, but I need not complain;
For he never knew pleasure who never knew Payne.
 

TO C.J. FOX, ON HIS MARRIAGE

 
God's noblest work's an honest man,
Says Pope's instructive line;
To make an honest woman, then,
Most surely is divine.
 

TO JOSEPH HUME, ON HIS ORATORY

 
You move the people, when you speak,
For one by one, away they sneak.
 

COWPER'S HOMER

 
Any-mad-versions when like this I see,
Animadversions they will draw from me.
 

TO LORD NELSON. BY PETER PINDAR

With his Lordship's night-cap, that caught fire on the Poet's head, as he was reading in bed at Merton

 
Take your night-cap again, my good lord, I desire,
For I wish not to keep it a minute;
What belongs to a Nelson, where'er there is fire,
Is sure to be instantly in it.
 

ON THE COUNTESS OF B – , WHO WAS RUINED AT THE GAMING TABLE

Card-table epitaph

 
Clarinda reign'd the queen of hearts,
Like sparkling diamonds were her eyes;
Till by the knave of clubs' false arts,
Here bedded by a spade she lies.
 

ADAM AND MACADAM

"The Macadamized streets are extremely dusty." —

 

Morning Paper.

 
Adam was made of borrow'd dust;
So says the Bible; and, 'tis plain,
Macadam, to discharge the trust,
To dust turns all the ways of men.
 

THE INQUEST, BY E. KNIGHT, COMEDIAN

A hint to clever men employed on such occasions

 
"Poor Peter Pike is drown'd, and neighbours say
The jury mean to sit on him to day."
"Know'st thou for what?" said Tom. – Quoth Ned, "no doubt
'Tis merely done to squeeze the water out."
 

BY HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF SUSSEX

Royal Pun-Dit

 
Come, lament, all ye Rogers, of punning renown,
Whose praises are sung by the²⁴ Puss sex,
For the pun of all puns that enraptures the town
Is the last by his big Grace of Sus-sex.
 
 
In dispensing last week the Dispensary toasts,
And telling the names of its Patrons,
He stumbled on two, of whom Watling Street boasts,
No matter if spinsters or matrons.
 
 
First came Mrs. Church, and then came Mrs. Bliss:
Said his Grace "Were such joys ever given!
We enter the first – for the way we can't miss:
We enter the second – 'tis Heaven!"
 

TO HOWARD PAYNE, THE COMPILER OF "BRUTUS."

 
Your prose and verse alike are bad,
Methinks you both transpose;
Your prose e'en like your verse runs mad,
And all your verse is prose.
 

DR. WALCOT TO SHIELD THE COMPOSER

The following was sent to Shield, the ingenious Composer, for his Ivory Ticket of admission to a Concert, by his friend Peter Pindar

 
Son of the string, (I do not mean Jack Ketch,
Though Jack, like thee, produceth dying tones,)
Oh! yield thy pity to a starving wretch,
And for to-morrow's treat, pray send thy bones!
 

BY LORD BYRON,

On Southey's house being on fire

 
Pierios vatis Theodori flamma Penates,
Abstulit: hoc Musis, hoc tibi, Phœbe, placet?
O scelus, ô magnum facinus, crimenque deorum,
Non arsit pariter quod domus et dominus.
 

Martial, Lib. xi. Epig. 94.

 
The Laureate's house hath been on fire! the Nine
All smiling saw that pleasant bonfire shine:
But, cruel fate! Oh damnable disaster!
The house – the house is burnt, and not the master!
 

GEORGE TIERNEY, M.P

The Inclosure Bill

 
If 'tis a crime in man or woman,
A goose to pilfer from a common;
What can a parliament excuse,
To steal a common from a goose?
 

ON THE MARRIAGE OF MISS LITTLE,

A lady remarkably short in stature

 
Thrice happy Tom – I think him so;
For mark the poet's song, —
"Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."
 

ON SIGNOR B. OF THE KING'S THEATRE, WHO RAN AWAY FROM HIS CREDITORS

 
His time was quick, his touch was fleet,
Our gold he nimbly finger'd;
Alike alert with hands and feet,
His movements have not linger'd.
 
 
Where lies the wonder of the case?
A moment's thought detects it;
His practice has been thorough-bass,
A chord will be his exit.
 

SHERIDAN AND HIS SON TOM

 
A father and son much addicted to drink,
Sat each quaffing his grog with high glee;
Said the parent, "Why, Tom, thou dost drink mighty deep,
Though you'll say that you take after me."
 
 
"No, father," cried Tom, "I will never say so,
Nor do so, I hope, by St. Paul;
For, 'tis certain, that if I did take after you,
I should drink scarcely any at all!"
 

BY LORD HARBOROUGH

 
If Love's a flame, as ancient poets prove,
Ah, me! how cold's the fire of my Love.
 

ON A PAINTED FAIR

 
Ye ladies who paint, may most safely declare,
With Horace, that dust and a shadow ye are.
 

CURRAN'S DEFINITION OF AN EPIGRAM

 
An epigram, what is it, honey?
A little poem, short and funny;
About four lines in length, – not more:
Then this is one, for here are four.
 

ON A MISER NAMED MORE

 
Iron was his chest,
Iron was his door;
His hand was iron,
And his heart was More.
 

ON THE LATE JOHN KEMBLE

Written during the O.P. contest

 
Actor and Architect, he tries
To please the critics, one and all;
This bids the private tiers to rise,
And that the public tears to fall.
 

MAIDS AND BACHELORS

 
Old maids, in hell, 'tis said, lead apes;
It may be true – but, tarry —
They're bachelors that fill those shapes
Because they did not marry.
 

ON SEEING A SWAGGERING VICAR AND PHYSICIAN ARM IN ARM

 
How D.D. swaggers, M.D. rolls!
I dub them both a race of noddies:
Old D.D. has the cure of souls,
And M.D. has the care of bodies.
Between them both, what treatment rare
Our souls and bodies must endure!
One has the cure without the care,
And one the care without the cure.
 

ONE LAWYER MORE

 
"Pray does one More, a lawyer, live hard by?"
"I do not know of one," was the reply;
"But if one less were living, I am sure,
 

 
Mankind his absence safely might endure."
 

PERCY BYSHE SHELLEY TO A SCOTCH CRITIC

 
In critics this country is rich;
In friendship and love who can match 'em:
When writers are plagued with the itch,
They hasten most kindly to scratch 'em.
 

DAVID DOUBLE'S PETITION TO ONE OF THE INNS OF COURT

 
The Society of Clement's Inn having had iron
bars put up at the entrance to prevent porters,
cattle, or other nuisances from coming in, – it
called forth the following lines from a "fat
single gentleman" to the principal and ancients.
 
 
Ye principal and ancient men, attend
To one of your unfortunate fat lodgers,
Whose studies make him lusty; – oh! befriend!
Or I shall surely call you ancient codgers.
 
 
'Tis true I came here, looking to the bar,
And hop'd to have a call some day unto it;
But at your entrance now there many are,
Indeed so many, that I can't get thro' it.
 
 
"I can't get out," as Sterne's poor starling said,
Unless I ask the porter to unlock it;
This must be alter'd, as I'm so well fed,
Or 'gainst my corpus you must strike a docket.
 
 
This may reduce me to a decent size,
And let me pass your cursed bars of iron;
Put up to keep us from the London cries,
Which now your sanctum sanctorum environ.
 
 
For if I can't be taken in, 'tis clear
I cannot be let out; and that gives trouble.
Ye principal and ancient men, oh! hear!
And let me pass the bar– I'm David Double.
 

ON A MR. HOMER'S BANKRUPTCY

 
That Homer should a bankrupt be
Is not so very Odd-d'ye-see;
If it be true, as I am instructed,
So Ill-he-had his books conducted.
 

WALKING FOR LIFE

On a Gentleman bringing on a severe fit of illness, by an excess in walking exercise, in order to preserve his health

 
Prithee cease, my good friend, to expend thus your breath;
'Tis in vain these exertions you make:
And to "walk for your life" against sure-footed death,
Is the very "worst step you can take!"
 

A SPIRIT ABOVE AND A SPIRIT BELOW

On a Methodist Chapel, the vaults under which were used as wine cellars:

 
There's a spirit above and a spirit below,
A spirit of joy and a spirit of woe:
The spirit above is a spirit divine;
The spirit below is a spirit of wine.
 

THE UPPER ROOMS AND THE OLD ROOMS, BATH

 
Two musical parties to Bladud belong,
To delight the old rooms and the upper:
One gives to the ladies a supper, no song;
The other a song and no supper.
 

ON A LEFT-HANDED WRITING-MASTER

 
Though nature thee of thy right hand bereft,
Right well thou writest with the hand that's left.
 

PRINTER'S KISS

 
Print on my lips another kiss,
The picture of thy glowing passion —
Nay, this wont do – nor this – nor this —
But now – Ay, that's a proof impression.
 

TO A DOUBTFUL MILITARY CHARACTER

 
Though much you're scar'd by Mars in arms,
At fighting much dejected;
Yet Venus, with her naked charms,
Has seen you – More-affected.
 

THE FOUR AGES OF WOMAN

From the French

 
Woman is
In infancy a tender flower,
Cultivate her;
A floating bark in girlhood's hour,
Softly freight her.
A fruitful vine when grown a lass,
Prune and please her;
Old, she's a heavy charge, alas!
Support and ease her.
 

THE FEMALE CARD PLAYER AND HER GARDENER

On a Lady far advanced in years, who was a great Card-player, having married her Gardener

 
Trumps ever rul'd the charming maid,
Sure all the world must pardon her;
The destinies turned up a spade;
She married John the gardener.
 

THE BENCHERS OF THE TEMPLE

The Lamb and the Horse being their Insignia

 
The Lamb, the lawyer's innocence declares;
The Horse, their expedition in affairs;
Hail, happy men! such emblems well describe
The specious cunning of your legal tribe:
For say what client can expect a loss
From Lamb-like lawyers, fleeter than a Horse?
No more let Chancery's ills be endless counted,
Since on the Pegasus of Law ye're mounted.
And ye, poor suitors! mark your simple fate—
The shorn lambs ye – that crowd the Temple gate.
 

ON SIR ISAAC NEWTON

 
"Some demon, sure," says wond'ring Ned,
"In Newton's brain has fix'd his station!"
"True," Dick replies, "you've rightly said,
I know his name, – 'tis demon-stration."
 

TO CERTAIN FAIR MARRIED LIBERTINES

 
Ladies! the stags (as wise men say)
Change horns but once a-year:
Whereas your stags change ev'ry day,
As plainly does appear.
 

ON GRIEVES'S BRUSH

 
Some men brush on, and some brush off,
And some brush out of sight!
While Grieves's²⁵ brush makes thousands rush
To see it every night.
 

ON THE HYDE PARK ACHILLES

 
If on this pedestal we see
Our great Achilles and Protector,
Why then the inference must be,
He whom he vanquished was a Hector.
 

EPIGRAMS BY W. R. V

On reading that Madame Fodor had endangered her life by drinking vinegar to reduce her shape

 
Against Fodor's existence, it may truly be said,
That custom has raised an unnatural strife;
For if she gets fat– she loses her bread;
And if she gets thin– she loses her life.
 

On seeing Mrs. Siddons at Covent-Garden Theatre, on the first night of the appearance of Miss Dance

 
Piozzi, when eighty, at a dance led the first,
But she was mirth's votary through life's pleasant trance,
And though fame knows not age, yet our wonder is just,
Where Melpomene's self comes to welcome the Dance.
 

On seeing Miss Foote in the part of Ariel, so exquisitely played by Miss Tree

 
Where's Ariel? that is, where is Tree?
Whose voice and form so truly suit in't;
Surely the public must agree,
The Manager has put his Foot in't.
 

On the Commons passing the Catholic Bill one day, and on the next throwing out a Toll for passing Blackfriars Bridge

 
England's friendly to all, let folks say what they will,
From Gentile, or Jew, she ne'er was a rover;
Her Commons first passed the Catholic Bill,
And the very next day vote for the Pass over.
 

On reading that Captain Parry embarked on board the "Fury" Discovery Ship early in Passion Week

 
Parry's rage for discovery exceeds all, no doubt,
For both captain and crew in a Fury set out;
But still some excuse will appear for this freak,
When we learn the affair took place in Passion week.
 

On reading in the Paper a supposition that Shakspeare was lame

 
That Shakspeare was lame, from his sonnets you'd gain,
But halt ere such men with weakness you're branding;
An abler hand never guided a pen,
And his works plainly show he'd a strong understanding.
 

ON THE NEW CROWN-PIECE;

The Sovereign's name being cut George IIII. and not as heretofore George IV. with a laurel wreath

 
Pistrucci, in thine art divine,
Thou never wast more clever;
Long may the laurel mark our Sovereign's line,
But may the I.V. never!
 

IMPROMPTU

On Captain Fitz-Clarence's life being preserved by the interposition of Serjeant Legge, at the capture of the Conspirators in Cato Street

 
When war destruction on the soldier deals,
Some seek from death a refuge in their heels;
E'en brave Fitz-Clarence, in the deadly strife,
We find indebted to his Legge for life!
 

MATTHEWS'S APOLOGY FOR A BAD COAT

 
Jack from his box surveys the house around,
Views in the pit a friend with glass erect,
Whose rusty coat with many a gaping wound
First draws the cut oblique, and then the cut direct.
 
 
"How now," cries Will! (whilst all around him heard),
"Cut an old friend! why, Jack, what are you after?
Oh, oh, the coat! 'pon honor that's absurd;
Charles is so droll, I've cracked my sides with laughter."
 

TO A PEDANT WHO WORE A PIGTAIL

 
That U follows Q
Is not always true;
When your pigtail I view,
Then queue follows you.
 

ON THE FILTHY STATE OF THE PAVEMENT DURING THE LATE RAINS

 
When British flags triumphant scour'd the main,
Trade unrestricted bless'd the industrious swain;
But now in vain 'gainst hostile floods he fags.
Oh that the main would scour the British flags!
 

TO THE AUTHOR OF "PEN OWEN."

 
If wit and elegance combined,
With harmless satire glowing,
Can gain applause, or charm the mind,
It is to your Pen-owing.
 

ON BOCHSA'S DELUGE, LED BY SMART

 
When Apollo appears, vain would Discord oppose;
With a "Deluge" of music the house overflows;
His (Boxer) Bochsa beats time, who's forced to impart
Nought but pleasure arising from Harmony's Smart.
 

A SNEER ANSWERED

 
"Leave off your puns," said Jack to Bill,
"Give me a bon mot if you will."
"A what? a bon mot! how absurd!
Whoever gave you a good word."
 

A PUNSTER'S EPITAPH ON HIS DOG

 
Here lies, who living never lied,
A friend sincere, of courage tried;
No slave to wealth, to vice unknown,
Though oft reduced to pick a bone.
Patch'd was his coat, both red and white,
And shaggy too his outward plight;
Yet grateful still his master serv'd,
And from allegiance never swerv'd.
A sportsman true, who at a word
Would point, and oft bring down his bird:
Or fetch, or carry, hunt, or find,
Whate'er was of the feather'd kind.
"By no disease – no blast he fell,
"But, like to fruit that's mellow'd well,
"Dropp'd on the earth, worn out by time,
"As clock that can no longer chime:"
Here Carlo stopp'd – for want of breath,
Outrun at last by Nimrod death.
 

Bernard Blackmantle.

THE PUNSTER'S COURT;

OR,

THE CONTEST BETWEEN JANUS AND PAN

VERSIFIED FROM SWIFT

 
Great Plato and Homer, and half a score sages,
Who flourished as scholars in heathen-like ages,
Have all of them prov'd, if their writings you'll seek,
That Puns were esteem'd both by Hebrew and Greek:
Nay, more, that the gods loved and practised the fun,
And their merriment owed to the mirth-making Pun.
There's Buxtorf, a learned Chaldean, hath told,
That Ptolemæus Philo-punnæus, of old,
Sent for six learned priests, for his principal city,
To propagate punning and make the folks witty:
And so well did the priests with the people succeed,
That their Puns were collected, and thus 'twas decreed;
"In a temple devoted to punning and wit,
"In letters of gold, on the front shall be writ;
"'The shop for the physic to gladden the soul,'" —
Where the sick, sad, and broken of heart are made whole.
Here Janus contended with Pan for the throne,
When his double-faced godship unrivalled shone;
For no matter how wittily Pan punn'd away,
Janus turn'd round his head from the "grave to the gay,"
Till the audience, fill'd with amazement and wonder,
Decided for Janus's double entendre.
 

Bernard Blackmantle.