ARRY ON THE ELECTION.

Waikato Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 2379, 8 October 1887, Page 2 (Supplement)

ARRY ON THE ELECTION.

■ ♦ (Bunch.) Hear Charlie, ’()«' goes it, my .Inskin? .Vcnse that remark. dear old bloke, But the cliawliacn life what ynnV leading ain't tit for a 'Ainslcad 'F. aii moke. Rural parts, mate, aic ail tummy rut, and it gives me the needle, dear Ivy, To see you still buiicd d-iwn there, where there's nothing to sec or enj -y. We’ve bin goin’ it proper in London. Flections all over the --hop. And them Rads ’aven’l, ’ad a look in, sir. We've landed them fair on the op. Rave cheered myself orse, I assure yer, bin at it for weeks, day and night, And when ’.Any is straight on the job, things is bound to come out ab mt right, I am a Tory right down to my bluchers and straight up my hack, as yon know, And I think Bvc give (Bad-tone his gruel, and Imnnieked up Brummagem Joe. Leastways, if the town was all ’Arries ami Aristas, Rads and their rot Would be licked to that orfnl extent they would wish thuirscivcs jolly well shot. If there’s any dashed thing ] do hate ivus than work and stall swiz, it's a Rad ; He is mostly a white-feathered Muggins, and a 1 ways .a clod or a cad. So I pal’ed on the Tory Committee, stuck rod silk rosettes in my cat, And went canvassing round a rare buster in search of the workingman’s vote. Sech larks, my dear Charlie, seeh shindies. seen row-de-dow meetings all round 1 Sech turns at the clmcker-out bizness, wich suits me right down to the ground 1 ’Most as funny as ’unting a Welsher. Chap ’isses, that puts up your blood. So you go for him, six on yer, thump him, and leave him to cool in the mud. ’Ben brickbats, though, Charlie, old bloatcrl we ’ad ’em one night, and no kid ; Stopped one with my Sunday best ’at—a bran’ new one as cost arf a quid ; So I drew the line sharp and skedaddled. Won’t run to it, Charlie, dear boy ! And that dashed Cornqi’ Bractices Jfact leaves us very few perks to enjoy. Blarmcd nonsense all that I Ive been working six weeks fur our man, Mark M'Crump, And there’s jest nothing hangs to it, Charlie ; It gives one the fair blooming ’limp.

There's .sumo chat about blankets and souptickets—most of it kibosh, of course; But bedclothes and skilly won't pay me for 'owliug until I get ’orse 1 It’s the company does, old hoystcr, the company 1 Lor it’s A 1 To be took in a Long Acre lando to poll. Then the girls arc good fun. Wy a Primrose League dame—a fair scorcher—as pinned a rosette on my collar, Sez, “ Do your best, dear Mister ’Airy 1” I did, too, you but your last dollar ! I pelted the Radical posters, I guyed all the Radical spouts ; I cockcro’d their candidate crazy, in spite of their wild li Tnni-iiu-honls.” They talk of a citizen’s dooty ; I think, dear old pal, you’ll admit That wot with ins vote, voice, and mudshying, ’Arry done his little bit. We returned him, M’Crump, by three Aggers. (treat Scott! When the poll was declared I thought we’d ’ooray’d all tho roofs off. The Rads all looked sulky and scared ; And as for the pets of the primrose—one snappy young beauty in pink— Well, I thought she'd ’a wept on my shirtfront! Yum-yum, Charlie : wot do you think ? That's Tory Uehaction, my pippin! It warms up a Patriot's ’art. Wot wc want in Old Buglaud’s Protection, and Pluck for to take our own part. To give them dashed furriuvrs toko, with tirrilfs tremcujoiisly hot, And if they rough up and cut didos, to jolly well lick the whole lot 1 Them's my politics, Charlie, packed'audy; and that’s wy I’m Tory right through. Lord Randolph’s my mark ; there's a -Statesman ! As ’ct as they’re made, and True Blue. He’s worth ten Old Midlothian Muddlers, and twenty Brum .lees packed in one. Make him boss of the Show, and by Jingo he'll show the old Jokers some fun. And now I’ve jest heard my dear Charlie, that down in your cbawincoii part You have chucked out the Tories. Oh, scissors ! it cuts a c o e slap to the ’art ! Wot’s the good of Ims starling the game Imp in town in so proper a way. If them turnip-fed j-J.ter heads mucks in, and give Joe the bast of the play V If th it Cow and Throe Acres does fetch him I!.. !go most ’area puddeny chump. Wy, i ! bought we v.-os winning ’ands down, map-. Are me and such swells as M’Crump, To h- s -hi by a Juggins like Giles ! Are our 1) -mes to shed tears and go sad ? Must the Primrose he licked bv the Buttercup'; Charlie, old chap, it’s too bad. Can't believe it, dear boy, can’t believe it. V.-ii give 'em the straight tip from Town If you think my snide patter will help yon, wire up, and Pil jest toddle down. Tins Klection, old pa!, is a Crisis, and one as we Toppers must carry. The Pink Primrose girl told me that —it’s the gospel accordin’ to ’Aukt.