



Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,
Ernest Schaal and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net









PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 107.
JUNE 21, 1894.

                               * * * * *

                          A RIVERSIDE LAMENT.

  In my garden, where the rose
  By the hundred gaily blows,
  And the river freshly flows
        Close to me,
  I can spend the summer day
  In a quite idyllic way;
  Simply charming, you would say,
        Could you see.

  I am far from stuffy town,
  Where the soots meander down,
  And the air seems--being brown--
        Close to me.
  I am far from rushing train;
  _Bradshaw_ does not bore my brain,
  Nor, comparatively plain,
        _A B C_.

  To my punt I can repair,
  If the weather's fairly fair,
  But one grievance I have there;
        Close to me,
  As I sit and idly dream,
  Clammy corpses ever seem
  Floating down the placid stream
        To the sea.

  Though the boats that crowd the lock--
  Such an animated block!--
  Bring gay damsels, quite a flock,
        Close to me,
  Yet I heed not tasty togs,
  When, as motionless as logs,
  Float defunct and dismal dogs
  There _aussi_.

  As in Egypt at a feast,
  With each party comes at least
  One sad corpse, departed beast,
        Close to me;
  Till a Canon might go off,
  Till a Dean might swear or