Punch's Pranks

Oh! hearken now to me awhile,A story I will tell youOf Mr. Punch, who was a vileDeceitful murderous fellow:Who had a wife, a child also,—And both of matchless beauty;The infant's name I do not know,Its mother's name was Judy.Right tol de rol lol, &c.

But not so handsome Mr. Punch,Who had a monstrous nose, sir;And on his back there grew a hunchThat to his head arose, sir:But then, they say, that he could speakAs winning as a mermaid;And by his voice—a treble squeak—He Judy won—that fair maid.

But he was cruel as a Turk;Like Turk, was discontented,To have one wife—'twas poorish work—But still the law preventedHis having two, or twenty-two,Though he for all was ready;So what did he in that case do?Oh! sad!—he kept a lady.

Now Mrs. Judy found it out,And, being very jealous,She pull'd her husband by the snout,His lady gay as well as.Then Punch he in a passion flew,And took it so in dudgeon,He fairly split her head in two,Oh! monster!—with a bludgeon.

And next he took his little heir—Oh, most unnatural father!—And flung it out of a two-pairWindow; for he'd ratherPossess the lady of his love,Than lady of the law, sir;And cared not for his child aboveA pinch of Maccabau, sir.

His wife's relations came to town,To ask of him the cause, sir;He took his stick and knock'd 'em down,And serv'd 'em the same sauce, sir.And said the law was not his law,He car'd not for a letter;And if on him it laid its claw,He'd teach it to know better.

Then took to travel o'er each land,So loving and seductive,Three ladies only could withstandHis lessons most instructive.The first, a simple rustic maid;The next, a pious abbess;The third I'd call, but I'm afraid,The tabbiest of tabbies.

In Italy, the dames were worst;In France, they were too clamorous;In England, altho' coy at first,Yet after quite as amorous.In Spain, they all were proud, yet frail;In Germany, but coolish;But further north he did not sail,To do so had been foolish.

In all his course he scrupled notTo make a jest of murder,So fathers, brothers, went to pot:—It really makes one shudderTo think upon the horrid trackOf blood he shed on system;And, though with hump upon his back,The dames could not resist him.

'Tis said, that he a compact sign'dWith one they call "Old Nich'lass;"But if I knew them, I've no mindTo go into partic'lars.To it, perhaps, he ow'd successWherever he might go, sir;But I believe we must confess,The ladies were so so, sir.

At last he back to England came,A jolly rake and rover,And pass'd him by another name,An alias, when at Dover.But soon the police laid a scheme,To clap him into prison:They took him, when he least could dreamOf such a fate as his'n.

And now the day was drawing near,The day of retribution;The trial o'er, he felt but queerAt thought of execution.But when the hangman, all so grim,Declar'd that all was ready,Punch only tipp'd the wink at him,And ask'd after his lady.

Pretending he knew not the useOf rope he saw from tree, sir,The hangman's head into the nooseHe got, while he got free, sir.At last, the Devil came to claimHis own; but Punch what he meantDemanded, and denied the same;He knew no such agreement!

"You don't! (the Devil cried:) 'tis, well;I'll quickly let you know it:"And so to furious work they fell,As hard as they could go it.The Devil with his pitch-fork fought,While Punch had but a stick, Sir,But kill'd the Devil, as he ought.Huzza! there's no Old Nick, sir.Right tol de rol lol, &c.