Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

If some who prate of paupers' ways, their tantrums, or their love of snuffing,
Their fretting at cold, hard-fast rules, their fancy for sly bacca-puffing,
Could only scan the paupers' past a little closer than their mode is,
They'd learn that still some sparks of soul burn in those broken-down old bodies.
And soul does kick at iron rules, and icy ways. Old blood runs chilly,
And craves the heat, of love, fire, pipe, to warm it up like.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

How would it do if we gave him a nice comfortable easy-chair—something he could sit in of an evening, y' know?
Mr. Sibb. A touchy chap like Porpentine would be sure to fancy we thought he wanted something soft after a hard bench and a plank bed—you can't go and give him furniture!
Mr. Cocker. (with dignity) . There's a way of doing all things. I wasn't proposing to go and chuck the chair at him—he's a sensitive feller in many respects, and he'd feel that, I grant you. He can't object to a little present of that sort just from four friends like ourselves.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Are a number of grizzle-lock'd men, every one is a true 'hoary sire.'
Bowed, time-beaten, grey, yet alert and responsive to kindness of speech;
And see how old eyes can light up if you promise a pipe-charge to each.
For the comforting weed Kingsley eulogised is not taboo in this place,
Where the whiff aromatic brings not cold reproval to Charity's face.
Source: Gutenberg

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