F. Anstey - Mr Punch's Model Music Hall Songs and Dramas

But when the van was ordered, we found – what do yer think?

That miserable 'orse 'ad been an' took too much to drink!
He kep' a reeling round us, like a circus worked by steam,
And, 'stead o' keeping singular, he'd turned into a team!

Chorus – We must wait awhile o' course,
Till they've sobered down the 'orse.
Just another pot o' porter
Or a drop o' something shorter,
While our good landlady's daughter
Takes him out some soda-warter.
For he's 'ad more than he oughter,
He's 'ad more than he oughter,
'As the poor old 'orse!

So, when they brought the 'orse round, we started on our way:
'Twas 'orful 'ow the animal from side to side would sway!
Young 'Opkins took the reins, but soon in slumber he was sunk —
( Indignantly. ) When a interfering Copper ran us in for being drunk!

Chorus – Why, can't yer shee? o' coursh
Tishn't us – it ish the 'orsh!
He's a whale at swilling water,
We've 'ad only ale and porter,
Or a drop o' something shorter.
You le'mme go, you shnorter!
Don' you tush me till you oughter!
Jus' look 'ere – to cut it shorter —
Take the poor old 'orsh!

Chorus – Why, your wushup sees, o' course,
It was all the bloomin' 'orse!
He would 'ave a pail o' water
Every 'arf a mile (or quarter),
Which is what he didn't oughter!
He shall stick to ale or porter,
With a drop o' something shorter,
I'm my family's supporter —
Fine the poor old 'orse!

He ( these awful examples are usually, and quite properly, anonymous ) was once as nice a fellow as you could desire to meet,
Partial to a pint of porter, always took his spirits neat;
Long ago a careful mother's cautions trained her son to shrink
From the meretricious sparkle of an aërated drink.

Here's a pub that's handy.
Liquor up with you?
Thimbleful of brandy?
Don't mind if I do.
Soda-water? No, Sir.
Never touch the stuff.
Promised mother – so, Sir.

'Tisn't good enough!

Ah, how little we suspected, as we saw him in his bloom,
What a demon dogged his footsteps, luring to an awful doom!
Vain his mother's fond monitions; soon a friend, with fiendish laugh,
Tempts him to a quiet tea-garden, plies him there with shandy-gaff!

Why, it's just the mixture
I so long have sought!
Here I'll be a fixture
Till I've drunk the quart!
Just the stuff to suit yer.
Waiter, do you hear?
Make it, for the future,
Three parts ginger-beer!

By-and-by, the ale discarding, ginger-beer he craves alone.
Undiluted he procures it, buys it bottled up in stone.

From his lips the foam he brushes – crimson overspreads his brow.