RHYMES FOR THE TIMES.

Observer, Volume 1, Issue 3, 2 October 1880, Page 19

RHYMES FOR THE TIMES.

Wots hup with them churches, I wonder, Wots a causing this bobbery 'ere, Like the rattle and rumble o' thunder A fillin' the 'hole hatmosphere ? Like dogs all a barkin' an' bitin' In the hymn as I sung when a gal, As was ole Doctor wot's-'is-name's writin', An' were awfully soothing to Sal. Why his the ole 'cathen a ragin' Like a lion as wants to devour, An' why is the parsons ranrpagin', An' the chnrchwardens lookin' so sour, An' why his Sunt Thumases henrpty j An" the people hall gone up the 'ill ? j Have Satan come up fur to tempt ye Fur to work out 'is hown wicked will ? Wich is wot Sally Grundy, she axes, As we sit a drinkin' Bohee, (An' a trifle o' suininat put in it, Fur the day were as 'ot as could be). An' I hup an' I told 'er the story, Wich like'ise I'll tell it to you, As I seed the 'hole thing passafore me Like a grand pandarainiek review, Wich in family 'as seven already As 'spectable kids as can be, An* hain't to be snuffed hout by Freddy An' 'orsewhips an' fiddle de dee. An' thinks as I knows wots my dooty, An' at church alus reg'lar found, An* onct were considered a booty, Wen the spoonies come sparkin' around. An' now haint by no means so dusty W'en I togs myself hout in fal-lal Thankee, Sal,— yes,— l do feel rayther thusty, — Jist a trifle — 'ere's to yer ole gal. Well, Robertshaw, 'c were our preacher Tall, graceful in figger, and that, As onct were a kind o' skool teacher, Wich knowed all the Scriptur quite pat ; An' is vice is that soft like and takin', That a thrill through your bugguni it sends An' sets all the sinners a quakin' An' thinkin' o' their latter bends. Wich he parted 'is 'air in the middle, An' looked like a saint on his knees, An' were alus as fit as a fiddle When persidin' at soshul swoorecs. An' poplar he wus with its ladies, Like'ise with them young uns, you bet An' carried 'is gingham hout alus To pertect any gal from the wet. But sunihow becum too heavengelical, An' 'is sole got inter too *igh a sphere, But jis wen ' c growed quite angelical They sent 'im away to Napier. Wich we ladies was quite broken 'carted, An' sorrowed in sack-cloth and hashes An' mourned for the dearly departed Till Tebbs, (that's 'im at St. Matthey's) Sent down a young man just in orders Wich out of 'is teens hadn't ran Ail' that wuz the move, Sal, that floored us, For, Sairey, we wanted a man. (Not a drop for the world, dear, don't ax me) Well — only a spoonful — era's fortin' Yer knows as the rheumatiz racks me Since that 'ere last shower I were caught in. Bvit a scene I didn't admire For I thought as it were rather tough, Them pert young things in the ch'ire Flounced hout of the church in a 'uff An' grief, and sore tribbylation, An' skissum and hevil contention, 'ad infected the congregation An' more as I don't care to mention. But we thought as a soshul reoonion, With cakes an' tea an' speeches, s ud fetch us inter commooniun An' mend up the 'oles in our breeches, An' when I seed the flirtin' and the smilin* An' the tea was all a steamin 1 , and fun an' piles of cake decrease, I thought as a noo hera had just begun An' we 'ud be united in the 'oly bonds of peace. But disappointment alus is our lot In this weary world o' sorrow An' all my 'opes was sent to pot By the events of the morrow. For they sent a depurtation An' on Mr Tebb it waited, An' roused 'is aggravation By them grievances they stated Fur they pitched it hot and strong An' his tender feelins' riz em 'Cos they said, " jxist send \is Long," Or we'll raise another skissum' Poor Tcbb 'ed lost his glasses, like'ise received a shock, An' being near-sighted, 'c failed to recognise That depurtation party as members of the flock So they went to see the Bishop at the top of Parnell rise, Which were writin' of a sermon, when they came inter the door, An' through being absent-minded he fell into a slip, By givin' back an answer from the play of Pinafore, As he weren't a goin' to meddle with the captain of the ship. Like'ise the grand harmonium, as used to lead the vices, It disapx^eared mysterious, and were not to be found, An' things were fast a coming, a werry ser'us crisis For the chantin' an' the praises 'ad a melancholy soxuid, An' the congregation dwindled, got select and more solecter, There were sin, also backsliding at a werry fearful rate Au' there was looks of sorrow on the face of our collector At the smallness of the hofferins when he carried round the plate. Lawks 'ow the times a goin' its five, I do declare, I'll have to go away and get my old man 'is kai, Take another, did you say ! — I've 'ad four on 'em to-day. Just a trifle— here's to yer— Ta, ta, dear, good by.