Henry Lawson: humorous

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Heather

Henry Lawson: humorous

Post by Heather » Fri May 20, 2016 1:48 pm

Wales The First

A bloated prince of parasites - a libel on the past -
We hail him as the coming king when kings are going fast -
The end of England's royal line - the last perhaps and worst;
We'll set him up on England's throne, and call him "Wales the First".
I'd like to see that future - what changes will it bring?
I think 'twill be a funny time when "Wales the First" is king.

I wonder how the crown will suit the thick head of "Tummy";
I wonder how he'll fit the throne where sits his royal mummy:
I'd like to see him sitting there, for 'twould be royal sport
To see his bulgy eyes upon the "ladies of the court"!
Oh! ladies of the Fancy, fling out your legs and sing
A royal tune for prostitutes, when "Wales the First" is king.

We cannot say he's "Gracious", and neither can we say
The Prince of Wales is "noble", for he isn't "built that way".
We cannot say he's much "inspired with wisdom from above",
And, as for "love", we've had enough of England's royal love:
His poet laureate must make another song to sing;
the "anthem" will not fit the case when "Wales the First" is king.

We're safe to hear the angels weep up there beyond the skies,
We're right for songs of drivel when the "Selfish Woman" dies;
But England's bards must buckle up and chase the Muse around:
They'll need their inspiration when the Prince of Wales in crown'd;
But king he mightn't be, perhaps; the great might feel the sting
Of terrible Democracy ere "Wales the First" is king.


Written in 1892 and first published in Truth

Henry had a good sense of satire and humour. This one is about Bertie, the eldest son of Queen Victoria. He was grotesquely overweight and had bulging eyes and was a notorious womaniser. He later became King George (can't recall the number!)

Neville Briggs
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Re: Henry Lawson: humorous

Post by Neville Briggs » Fri May 20, 2016 2:24 pm

King Edward VII. get it right. :roll:
Neville
Singleton Bush Poets.

Heather

Re: Henry Lawson: humorous

Post by Heather » Fri May 20, 2016 4:38 pm

:roll: Quite right Neville. I did know he was an Edward but the brain is playing tricks on me after seven weeks of solitary confinement and i have done some odd things in the past two days.

Neville Briggs
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Re: Henry Lawson: humorous

Post by Neville Briggs » Fri May 20, 2016 5:09 pm

Heather wrote: i have done some odd things in the past two days
More information !!! :lol:


Henry also wrote a poem on Queen Victoria called The English Queen. Not at all humorous, Henry's socialist and perhaps republican tendencies led him to disdain the royals.
I feel a bit sorry for the British royal family, they are really no worse than a lot of others around or indeed a few of their own predecessors ( e.g. Henry VIII and Elizabeth I).
It's just that they are in the spotlight, where they get bagged, but maybe they are just us writ larger.
Neville
Singleton Bush Poets.

Heather

Re: Henry Lawson: humorous

Post by Heather » Fri May 20, 2016 5:23 pm

Bertie really did deserve this Neville. He was a cad as a Prince of Wales - most Princes' of Wales seem to get a bad reputation - probably due to too much money and time on their hands and the mere title "Prince" seemed to attract artists, actresses and gold diggers! :lol:

Lawson also wrote "The Statue of our Queen" in 1890 which is mildly amusing. A lot of his earlier works reflected his strong socialist and republican tendencies.

Heather

Re: Henry Lawson: humorous

Post by Heather » Fri May 20, 2016 5:48 pm

When You're Bad in Your Inside
(A sequel to When your pants begin to go)

I remarked that man is saddest, and his heart is filled with woe,
when he hasn't any money, and his pants begin to go;
But i think I was mistaken, and there are many times i find
When you do not care a candle if your pants are gone behind;
For a fellow mostly loses all ambition, hope, and pride,
When - to put the matter mildly - he is bad in his inside.

Bobby Burns was down on toothache, and it troubled him no doubt;
But you know a man can always have a molar taken out,
And be all right then, excepting for the duller pain that comes
To the hollow that is hiding like a gully in the gums.
But you can't extract your innards - they must stay within your hide,
And you've got to moan and cuss it - when you're bad in your inside.

You dunno what to take for it - you dunno what to do:
You are puzzled to remember what has disagreed with you,
You lie in all positions - there is none will give you ease;
And you think an aching stomach is the king of agonies.
You feel as though your innards in a double knot are tied,
While the devil ties it tighter - when you're bad in your inside.

Then you send that boy - that Harry - and you tell him to be quick,
For a shilling's worth of brandy, "for a person who is sick",
YOu make him swear to hurry, and he goes off like a shot;
But you wait an hour and suffer, and the brandy cometh not;
Then you look out through the window, and you swear to bust his hide,
For the wretch is playing football, while you're bad in your inside.

Then there's mostly some old woman, with your aunt or mother, too,
And it's really quite indecednt how she cross-examines you.
She insists on giving physic, and will hear of no excuse;
And dilates upon your bowels till you wish her to the deuce.
You wish she'd go and leave you - let you be and let it slide,
And go about her business, when you're bad on your inside.

But she's come to see you through it, and she bustles in and out;
And she talks of private matters that she oughtn't talk about.
She proceeds to pill and dose you, and she vows that you'll be ill
Till you've swallowed evey nostrum - castor oil, and draught and pill,
And you wish, good Lord! that she would pass across the Stygian tide,
And nurse the gory Devil, when he's bad on his inside.

But the hag is interested, and she bustles out and in;
And in various disguises gives you nauseous medicine.
Till she's shifted all obstructions, and has soothed your keenest pain
(Though her remedies may leave you a much sicker man again);
But she's done her best to help you, forher sympathy is wide,
And you'll bless that same old woman when you're right in yopur inside.

Published in the Truth 1896

Bob Pacey
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Re: Henry Lawson: humorous

Post by Bob Pacey » Fri May 20, 2016 7:08 pm

This is my favourite



THE WORLD goes round, old fellow,
And still I’m in the swim,
While my wife’s second husband
Is growing old and grim.
I meet him in the city—
It all seems very tame—
He glances at me sometimes
As if I were to blame.

Oh, my wife’s second husband
Was handsome, young and true;
He had his boyish visions
(I had my visions too).
He made a model lover—
The greenest in the game—
They say, when I was married
That I was just the same.

Though I am ten years older
My hair is dark to-day,
While my wife’s second husband
Is quickly growing grey.
I drank when first he knew me,
And he drank not at all;
I see that he, through drinking,
Is going to the wall.

A sweet ill-treated woman,
A drunken brute (Good Lord!)—
Ah, well, she got her freedom,
And he got his reward.
He’ll fight it out a season,
For Fate will not be forced,
But my wife’s second husband
Shall surely be divorced.

I sympathize, and wonder
What mutual friends would think
If my wife’s second husband
And I should have a drink.
And I a mere bystander—
It almost seems absurd—
Might lay prophetically
My hand on my wife’s third.

But my wife’s second husband
His sorrows shall forget,
We’ll clasp warm hands in friendship
And clink our glasses yet.
We’ll smoke cigars together,
In pure philosophy,
While calmly contemplating
The fate of number three.


Henry Lawson
The purpose in life is to have fun.
After you grasp that everything else seems insignificant !!!

Heather

Re: Henry Lawson: humorous

Post by Heather » Fri May 20, 2016 7:26 pm

That's the one i was going to originally post Bob and probably my favourite so far. It's written by someone who "knows".

Vic Jefferies
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Re: Henry Lawson: humorous

Post by Vic Jefferies » Sun May 22, 2016 10:41 am

The Grog-An'Grumble Steeplechase

'Twixt the coastline and the border lay the town of Grog-an'-Grumble
In the days before the bushman was a dull 'n' heartless drudge,
An' they say the local meeting was a drunken rough-and-tumble,
Which was ended pretty often by an inquest on the judge.
An' 'tis said the city talent very often caught a tartar
In the Grog-an'-Grumble sportsman, 'n' returned with broken heads,
For the fortune, life, and safety of the Grog-an'-Grumble starter
Mostly hung upon the finish of the local thoroughbreds.

Pat M'Durmer was the owner of a horse they called the Screamer,
Which he called "the quickest stepper 'twixt the Darling and the sea",
And I think it's very doubtful if the stomach-troubled dreamer
Ever saw a more outrageous piece of equine scenery;
For his points were most decided, from his end to his beginning,
He had eyes of different colour, and his legs they wasn't mates.
Pat M'Durmer said he always came "widin a flip of winnin'",
An' his sire had come from England, 'n' his dam was from the States.

Friends would argue with M'Durmer, and they said he was in error
To put up his horse the Screamer, for he'd lose in any case,
And they said a city racer by the name of Holy Terror
Was regarded as the winner of the coming steeplechase;
But he said he had the knowledge to come in when it was raining,
And irrevelantly mentioned that he knew the time of day,
So he rose in their opinion. It was noticed that the training
Of the Screamer was conducted in a dark, mysterious way.

Well, the day arrived in glory; 'twas a day of jubilation
With careless-hearted bushmen for a hundred miles around,
An' the rum 'n' beer 'n' whisky came in waggons from the station,
An' the Holy Terror talent were the first upon the ground.
Judge M'Ard – with whose opinion it was scarcely safe to wrestle –
Took his dangerous position on the bark-and-sapling stand:
He was what the local Stiggins used to speak of as a "wessel
Of wrath", and he'd a bludgeon that he carried in his hand.

"Off ye go!" the starter shouted, as down fell a stupid jockey –
Off they started in disorder – left the jockey where he lay –
And they fell and rolled and galloped down the crooked course and rocky,
Till the pumping of the Screamer could be heard a mile away.
But he kept his legs and galloped; he was used to rugged courses,
And he lumbered down the gully till the ridge began to quake:
And he ploughed along the siding, raising earth till other horses
An' their riders, too, were blinded by the dust-cloud in his wake.

From the ruck he'd struggled slowly – they were much surprised to find him
Close abeam of the Holy Terror as along the flat they tore –
Even higher still and denser rose the cloud of dust behind him,
While in more divided splinters flew the shattered rails before.
"Terror!" "Dead heat!" they were shouting – "Terror!" but the Screamer hung out
Nose to nose with Holy Terror as across the creek they swung,
An' M'Durmer shouted loudly, "Put yer toungue out! put yer tongue out!"
An ' the Screamer put his tongue out, and he won by half-a-tongue.
Henry Lawson :

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