The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK,
Eminent Caricaturist,
1792-1879.

GALLERY
OF
COMICALITIES;
EMBRACING HUMOROUS
SKETCHES

BY

THE BROTHERS

ROBERT and GEORGE CRUIKSHANK,

ROBERT SEYMOUR,

AND OTHERS.

London:
Charles Hindley,
41, Booksellers' Row, St. Clement Danes, Strand, w.c.

THE
GALLERY OF COMICALITIES.

Most of the "Comicalities" here re-produced in fac simile first appeared in the columns of Bell's Life in London and Sporting Chronicle during the years 1827-8 and 9, and caused an unprecedented increase in the weekly sale of that journal.

As a painter of Life and Nature, in all their truth and eccentricity, George Cruikshank may be truly said to stand unrivalled, and to be only equalled, even in former times by the inimitable Hogarth. The present Series has been principally selected from "Cruikshank's Illustrations of Time and Phrenology," and his Illustrations to Mr. Wright's "Mornings at Bow Street" and the sequel entitled "More Mornings at Bow Street"—works which are replete with wit and humour.

Robert Cruikshank, the elder brother of George Cruikshank, Illustrated many books, &c., including Pierce Egan's, "The Finish to the Adventures of Tom, Jerry, and Logic, in their pursuits through Life in and out of London," 1827. Died March 13, 1856. Aged 65 years.

Robert Seymour, a graphic humourist was born in London, about the year 1800. He was apprenticed to Mr. Thomas Vaughan, a pattern-drawer in Spitalfields, and his practice in that department of art appears to have given him the facility and accuracy of pencil for which he was afterwards so distinguished. Within a very short period of fulfilling his term of apprenticeship, he commenced, on his own account, as a painter in oils, and must have been tolerably expert at that early age, as already in the spring of 1822, we find him exhibiting a picture of some pretensions at the Royal Academy.

He executed various other oil paintings about this period, but the more pressing demand on his talents was for drawings on wood, a mode of book illustration then in great vogue. The various illustrated books and periodicals published for the next ten or twelve years bespeak his popularity and industry in that department.

Although Seymour's hands were full of commissions for drawing on wood, he was always desirous of practice in a more independent department of art, feeling that the engraver, however competent, frequently failed to communicate the full force of his drawing. He, therefore, determined—where possible, on etching or engraving his own designs on copper or steel. He was very successful in full length sketches of public characters, and has left us many life-like portraits of members of the Turf and Drama between 1830 and 1836.

But of all Seymour's various works his "Humorous Sketches" were his prime favourites, and will best perpetuate his name. They were first published between the years 1834 and 1836, in detached prints at 3d. each, by Mr. Richard Carlisle, of Fleet Street. The entire collection was subsequently engraved on steel, and published in 1838, with letterpress description by Crowquill (Alfred Henry Forrester), the popular humourist of the day.

Figaro in London—the popular predecessor of Punch, edited and published by Gilbert A'Beckett from December 1831 to 1836—contains nearly 300 woodcuts after Seymour. They were also published separately as "Seymour's Caricature Gallery," and after his death were all re-published on six large sheets, each containing 20 subjects, as "Seymour's Comic Scrap Sheets."

Seymour's connection with the publication and illustration of the now famous Pickwick Papers is well known to the reading world by the printed statement of Mrs. Seymour, and Charles Dickens' own account of the origin of the Pickwick Papers, to need repetition.

Fourteen
ILLUSTRATIONS
of the
DRAMA
by
Robert Cruikshank.

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.

Will you walk into my parlour? said the Spider to the Fly,

'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did see;

You've only got to pop your head within inside of the door,

You'll see so many curious things you never saw before!

Will you, will you, will you, will you,

Walk in pretty Fly, &c.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. I.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE DRAMA

"WHERE SHALL I DINE."

R. Cruikshank.

Where shall I dine? Would I could tell,

For, hungry, faint, and weary,

It is to me, I know full well,

An all-important query.

Thou Man of Flank! a CUT of thine

Would silence hunger's call;

But a Friend's, CUT alas! is mine,

"The unkindest cut of all."

O for a herring, dainty fish!

Or tender lambkin's fry;

But as in vain for MEAT I wish,

'Tis MEET that I should sigh.

Ere by the freaks of Fortune floor'd,

Such was my former luck,

That under many a friendly board

My trotters I could tuck.

Now, though at dining hour I go,

From house to house I roam,

My rap too well the servants know,

And "Master's not at home."

'Tis getting cold, and wet, and dark,

To fate I must resign;

Duke Humphrey calls me to the Park,

And with his Grace I'll dine.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. II.

"THE PILOT."

R. Cruikshank.

Thou, guardian Pilot of the night,

One favour we would ax—

Tell us, old Cock, and tell us right,

Where we can get some Max?

We need the skilful pilot's aid

Amid the billows' roar,

And pilots still I find, old Blade,

Are handy lads ashore.

Then steer us for a friendly port

And keep the wessel steady,

And you shall have a dram of short—

In brandy, rum, or Deady.

With bread and cheese I'll stow your hold;

I likes a hearty grubber;

But, shiver me, it's getting cold,

So take the helm, you lubber.

Come, Poll, my buxom wench make sail,

I'm one as never fears man,

To reach our port we cannot fail

With such an able steersman.

Then come, old Boy, there's nought to pay,

For I will be your banker;

Nor do I care how long you stay

Wherever we cast anchor.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. III.

"IS HE JEALOUS?"

"O fly with me, my lady fair—

I love and I adore you;

Henceforth the heart and fortune share

Of him who kneels before you.

"Then listen to thy lover's vows,

Nor of vain scruples tell us;

Why care a pin about your spouse—

Confound him!—is he jealous?"

"Go, get you gone, you naughty man,

Nor dare attempt my virtue;

I hide my blushes with my fan,

Yet I've no wish to hurt you."

Then, gay Lothario! persevere—

Still urge thy passion brisker;

Nor dread an interloper here,

Thou man of bushy whisker!

If, armed with poker and with pop,

Poor Spouse should be so rude now

As at this moment in to drop,

Faith! wouldn't he intrude now?

O, married dames! when lovers' sighs

Steal softly on your ear,

Shun the temptation, if you're wise—

The Devil's always near.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. IV.

"MACBETH."

"What fearful vision strikes thy sight,

What phantom haunts thy brain,

That thus thou startest with affright,

Thou sooty-visaged Thane?"

"No dagger stained with blood I view,

To fill my soul with dread;

But SPIRITS pale of RUIN BLUE

Of Deady—not the DEAD—

"To clutch thee how this breast doth throb,

Thou source of purest pleasure,

Fain would I wash my sooty gob

From yon Imperial measure!

"Soon may the cordial MAX be mine,

My sinking heart to cheer;

So my grim soul no more shall pine

On Intermediate Beer.

"And when the FLUID warms my FLUE,

Rous'd by the generous stuff,

I'm —— if I'm the Faker who

Shall first cry, 'Hold—enough!'"

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. V.

"THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL."

R. Cruikshank.

What relish to the tea you sip,

How smoothly it goes down,

If a poor friend has made a slip,

Or suffer'd Fortune's frown.

"Well! these are shocking things I hear,

To doubt I much incline;

At any rate, you know, my dear,

It's no concern of mine.

"But if such courses folks will chose,

And many do not doubt it,

For us, you know, there's some excuse,

If we should talk about it.

"There's something more, I plainly see

Which you don't chose to utter;

Do make a confidant of me—

Do take some bread and butter."

Scandal's a most delightful theme—

A spring that ne'er will fail;

But, Tabitha, you little dream,

You're scalding Pussy's tail!

Like the wild maniac is your breath—

Of all mankind the pest—

Who scatters poison, ruin, death,

Then cries, "'Twas but in jest!"

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. VI.

"EVERY MAN HAS HIS FAULT."

Doctor, thy accents, soft and bland,

Are ever sure to please;

What female bosom can withstand

A Parson on his knees?

"No more will I, with drunken sot,

Carry connubial farce on;

If thou, fond man will share my lot,

And prove an upright Parson.

"With stagg'ring spouse no longer vex'd,

Free from a useless charge,

Henceforward love shall be the text

On which we'll both enlarge."

A parson, naughty people say,

Is but a sinful elf—

Like road-post, pointing out the way

He never takes himself.

"O, come and bless these Reverend arms,

Nor scorn my holy vows;

Why did hard Fate bestow such charms

Upon a drunken spouse.

"O, can it be a fault to love

A lady so divine?

Then, by the powers that reign above,

I own that fault is mine."

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. VII.

"LOVE, LAW, AND PHYSIC."

"But love is blind, and lovers cannot see

The petty follies that themselves commit."

SHAKESPEARE.

"Lady, the Patient's very ill,

"The pulse is sinking fast,

"'Tis really time to make his will,

"I'm sure he cannot last.

"Though, as we bear him to his grave,

"Your grief you cannot smother,

"As one man's life I cannot save,

"I'll soon provide another."

This language we might well suppose,

Would at such time have shock'd her;

But the poor Lady's looks disclose

No wrath towards the Doctor.

Then, Lawyer, all in vain you sue,

For Physic must succeed,

And what, alas! remains for you?

The WILL—without the DEED.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. VIII.

"RAISING THE WIND."

R. Cruikshank.

A long farewell my breeks of shag;

It grieves me to the heart,

To doom thee to a Hebrew's bag—

But you and I must part.

No more thy substance, smooth and warm,

Shall shield me from the weather;

And I must bear the pelting storm,

With bare and breekless nether.

The loss 'tis needless to deplore,

To my hard fate I bow,

I was an Irishman before,

I am a Scotsman now.

Poverty in this vale of woe

Some strange acquaintance brings;

And Poverty full well I know

Makes people do strange things.

Why doth yon Nymph with warming pan

Parade the streets about?

To raise the needful as she can—

To put it up the spout!

How many noble, good, and wise,

Are turn'd in life adrift—

Forced their last SHIRT to sacrifice,

To make another SHIFT.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. IX.

"MEASURE FOR MEASURE."

"Measures, not men, have always been my mark."

Goldsmith.—The Good-Natured Man.

"Die! dastard Snip—that mortal thrust

Shall perforate thy lungs,

And lay thee prostrate in the dust,

Thou proudest of the Dungs!

"No more, among my cross-legg'd band,

Thy schemes shall gender strife;

And ne'er again thy rebel hand

Attempt thy master's life!

"Where, now, are all thy idle boasts?

This blow shall introduce

Thy Spirit where the Tailor ghosts

Eat visionary goose!

"Down, Traitor! to thy native Hell!

Fresh treasons there to plan—

With recreant spectre Snips to dwell—

Thou fraction of a man!

"Ye restless Dungs of spirit rough,

From this example know—

One active measure is enough

To lay a traitor low!"

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. X.

"THE BOTTLE IMP."

Imp of the Bottle! appear, appear,

Arm'd with fresh fluid our souls to cheer;

Thy features with mirth and good humour beaming,

Thy nectar luscious, and bright and creaming—

What is the name of the Bottle Sprite?

The Star of the Colonnade—Charley Wright.

Long be the precious beverage quaff'd!

Open your lips to receive the draught.

The magic power of the bright Champagne

Shall sooth the spirit and fire the brain;

And trouble and grief will vanish quite

From the happy realms of the Bottle Sprite.

To those who have long been estrang'd from mirth,

And weary moments have pass'd on earth;

On whom the storm of adversity lowers,

While, in secret, they sigh for happier hours,

O let not the Bottle Imp whisper in vain;

There's a cure for all care in this bright Champagne;

As the mist on the mountain melts away

At the radiant beams of the God of Day,

So, when the nectar hath brightened the heart,

The shadows of pain and sorrow depart,

And all the Blue Devils must wing their flight,

When a cork is drawn by the Bottle Sprite.

Imp of the Bottle! still gild our hours—

So shall our pathway be strew'd with flowers;

Harmony uninterrupted shall reign,

And the watchword for pleasure be "Wright's Champagne."

And be it our duty as well as delight,

To honour the draughts of the Bottle Sprite.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XI.

"THE RIVALS."

"Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt;

Nothing's so hard but search will find it out."

Robert Herrick.

Fond Youths, ah! how shall I decide

According to your merit?—

Who shall the Seaman's FLESH deride—

Or who, the Parson's SPIRIT?

When the bold Tar proceeds to tell

His tale of amorous pain,

'Tis hard that one who pleads so well

Should ever plead in vain.

And when his suppliant rival sighs,

How can I say forbear!

Who can resist his piercing eyes,

Or scorn a Parson's prayer?

Ah! either lover to refuse

My virgin heart is loth;

And where it is so hard to choose,

'Tis well to cut you both!

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XII.

"LOVE LAUGHS AT LOCKSMITHS."

"Hasty marriage seldom proveth well."

Shakespeare.

"Marriageable foolish wenches are troublesome troops to keep."

Old Saw.

Come to my arms, my blushing maid,

Nor heed the padlock's strength;

Our love defies the Blacksmith's trade,

And I am yours—AT LENGTH!

Anon, the padlock we'll remove,

From where it lately hung;

And, if a scolding wife you prove,

I'll clap it on your tongue!

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XIII.

OTHELLO.

"OTHELLO'S OCCUPATION'S GONE."

R. Cruikshank.

What, Mungo! laid upon the shelf!

You seem in piteous plight,

Like your own broom you're stumpt yourself—

Poor Massa Lilywhite!

You thrive far better in a shower

Than in the sunny shine—

A plague upon the Comet's power,

That makes the days so fine!

Yet strive your drooping heart to raise,

Your sinking soul to cheer;

For muddy streets and dirty days

Will very soon be here.

And when those sloppy hours return,

Wealth shall be yours anon;

Nor poor Othello longer morn

His occupation gone.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XIV.

"HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS."

"Fair Nymph of the perspiring brow,

Let these vain scruples cease,

While on thy rosy lips I now

Imprint the kiss of peace.

"O! let the ardent sighs you hear,

The vows of love I utter,

Steal gently on thy willing ear,

As smooth as melted butter.

"Always spare diet must be wrong—

'Tis weary, stale, and flat;

And having lived on lean so long,

'Tis time I turn to fat."

"O vile, unworthy man! forbear—

Such conduct who can brook?

Thus to desert thy lady fair,

To hug a greasy cook!

"I cannot to such wrongs submit,

But soon will clear the coast—

Hence, vile Sultans of the Spit!

For I will rule the roast.

"And never let me see you more,

As thus I've caught you tripping—

I didn't know my lord before

Had such a love for dripping."

THE
DRUNKARD'S
PROGRESS,
IN
TWELVE STEPS,
FROM
DESIGNS
BY
ROBERT SEYMOUR.
Circa 1829.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XV.

THE DRUNKARD'S PROGRESS.

STEP THE FIRST

Robert Seymour.

The March of Intellect implies

That men begin to think—

I leave their wisdom to the wise,

And sing the March of Drink!

Now let us make it our employ

The Drunkard's course to scan;

And mark the habits in the boy

Which ripen in the man:

Observe! this hopeful Sprig of Snip's

By stealth has seized the gin—

Applies the bottle to his lips,

And sucks the poison in.

Drink deep, thou liquor-loving brat!

Nor spare the cordial drop,

While the old folks enjoy their chat,

And gossip in the shop.

They taught thee first to love the juice,

And prove the maxim true,

That sauce for gander and for goose

Is sauce for gosling too!

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XVI.

STEP THE SECOND.

Robert Seymour.

"My Dear, the morning's cold and raw,

And as I cannot stop,

Make haste, the daffy bottle draw,

And let us have a drop.

"Our little boy all fume and fret

I can't abide to see—

You and I always loved a wet,

And wherefore shouldn't he?

"Cut out for drinking he appears,

The feeling gives me pleasure;

Then never mind his tender years,

But give him ample measure."

And, Mrs. Snip, wet both his eyes;

So shall the lad inherit

His mother's thirsty properties,

And all his father's spirit!

For ways in which a child should go

To train him it is fit;

And as he grows in years, we know

He won't depart from it.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XVII.

STEP THE THIRD.

Robert Seymour.

White Conduit! in thy alcoves green,

While softly sighs the summer gale,

How many Nymphs and Swains are seen

To sip their tea or swig their ale!

And weekly here at Sabbath's close

The Hebrew gay ones still resort—

The taudry Belles and Dingy Beaux

Their party-colour'd togs to sport.

Why should not Snip, our man of measure,

With Spouse and Darling wander here?

To pass a Sunday eve in pleasure,

To blow a cloud and taste the beer!

And let young Hopeful have his fill—

His rising spirit why control?

"I loves," cries Snip, "to see him swill—

It makes the boy so very droll:

"Then seize the jug, and do not spare!

But be awake, thou man of stitches,

Or, by the powers, your hopeful Heir

Will spill the liqour on your breeches."

The rapid course of time we know;

Why waste it then in dry reflection?

Another week, no doubt, will show

Some farther progress to perfection.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XVIII.

STEP THE FOURTH.

Robert Seymour.

Go on and prosper, knowing lads!

In life there's nothing like variety,

To see thee makes my spirit glad,

In such respectable society.

Let every care disperse in smoke,

Each anxious thought in beer be drown'd,

While you enjoy your game, and smoke—

Top-sawyer of the skittle-ground.

"Boy, bring the heavy, for I'm dry,

"And scrape a little ginger in it;

"And now I'm ready for a shy

"At knock 'em down, and bet I'll win it.

"How much more pleasant to be here,

"With friends to drink a social drop

"Of Wyatt's ale, or Barclay's beer,

"Than plodding in a humbug shop!

"'Twas Dad that taught me first to swill,

"(Come pass the pewter pot, and end it),

"And, whilst there's money in the till,

"The ould un knows that I will spend it."

Careers so brilliant why impede?

Vain every effort to instruct you!

But we shall learn as we proceed,

To what these courses must conduct you.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XIX.

STEP THE FIFTH.

"Nymph of the Bar, accept my vows,

And by that glass of cordial Deady,

In me you'll find a faithful spouse

For love and liqour always ready.

"Let those two worthies have a dram,

For, though I'm getting rather mellow,

You'll always find me, as I am,

A d—d good natured jolly fellow.

"Come, keep the chalks all right, old dame,

I've got another glass before me—

If I like max, am I to blame?

Why daddy did the same before me."

"Lauk, sir, you take me by surprise—

But some men have a way so winning—

You guess my wishes by my eyes—

I'm nearly tir'd of liquor spinning.

"I cannot bear to answer—No;

And as it's cold and sloppy weather,

Do let us have, before you go,

A drop of Cherry-bounce together."

Short be your courtship, worthy pair,

With all the happiness you merit;

When both such CORDIAL feelings share,

No doubt it will proceed with SPIRIT.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XX.

STEP THE SIXTH.

Farewell to courtship's happy hours!

Hail to the joys of wedded life—

How soon the sweets have turned to sours!

A drunken Husband—scolding Wife.

Was it for this fair blooming Maid,

This scene of sad, domestic jar,

That, by the wiles of man betray'd,

You left the tap room and the bar?

Why, thou unworthy slave of drink!

Thy partner's peace thus plant a dagger in,

And hastening to destruction's brink,

Steer homeward's nightly drunk and staggering?

"You filthy wretch, what! drunk again—

Too soon will poverty assail us;

Can't you a single night refrain

From tippling in that cursed ale-house?

"You little dream, you worthless sot,

What mischief o'er your head is brewing,

You'll part with everything we've got

And bring your wife and child to ruin."

"Why that I'm fresh can't be denied,

But steady, my good wench, go steady—

For, by that flask you seek to hide,

To RUIN you have got already!"

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXI.

STEP THE SEVENTH.

Robert Seymour.

Old Snip deceas'd, his hopeful heir,

To earn an honest bob,

Has open'd shop for leather ware,

And turned a drunken Snob:

"A pair of dancing slippers bring—

Let them be small enough;

I wish to have them quite the thing,

And let the soles be buff."

"Buff soles I haven't in my shop;

All that were here are gone;

But, Madam, here's a prime buff top—

Do please to try it on."

"How dare you treat a Lady so?

Begone, you saucy brute!

Your conduct all the town shall know—

Try on a fellow's boot!"

"Why, Ma'am, you're somewhat out of tune,

And rather too particular;

I've had a drop this afternoon,

And can't stand perpendicular.

"You see, Ma'am, I'm a jolly dog—

My throat is always dry;

And when I've had my whack of grog,

Why, 'damn the shop!' say I."

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXII.

STEP THE EIGHTH.

Robert Seymour.

Behold our thirsty hero now,

To keep the game up always zealous,

With all his honours on his brow,

And Chairman of the Funny Fellows.

"I humbly move," cries Lawyer Glum,

"That all our glasses charg'd may be—

I can't sit any longer dumb—

'The Chairman's health with three times three.'

"We know him for a jovial boy—

Long may he flourish at our mess,

And still continue to enjoy

Prosperity—Health—Happiness."

"Hurra!" cries Ellwide, "here's his health:

We'll give the bowl of punch no quarter—

Thro' life, in poverty or wealth,

I'll stick to him like bricks and mortar."

"While I've a tanner in my till,

Or in my purse can sport a bob,

I'll vow eternal friendship still,

And share my stock with honest Snob."

Friendship's a most endearing tie,

Unless it comes your cash to borrow,

Then all its bright attractions die

With "Can't you call again to-morrow?"

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXIII.

STEP THE NINTH.

Robert Seymour.

EMBARRASSMENT.

Would you a Sov'reign's value know—

Let this be quickly done;

To some dear friend or neighbour go,

And try to borrow one.

Now drunkenness has had its day,

Snob's ways and means grow taper;

But why not friendship's call obey,

And draw his pal the draper?

"Ellwide, this morning I've dropp'd in—

Our trade is very slack;

For that I shouldn't care a pin,

But I've a bill come back.

"Any loose cash you have to spare,

I wish that you would lend;

In these dilemmas I'm aware

There's nothing like a friend."

Cries Ellwide, while his bag of blunt

He hides from hapless Snob,

"Thro' the whole house if you were to hunt

You wouldn't find a bob.

"I'm sorry it should happen so,

But poverty's no crime;

You're always welcome here, you know—

Look in some other time.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXIV.

STEP THE TENTH.

Robert Seymour.

Oh! many are the ills of life,

Past, present, and to come—

Debt, want of cash, a scolding wife,

And last, not least, a Bum.

Ah! who can tell, but those who know

Of poverty the pangs,

When, floored by fate, to quod we go,

In ruthless Bailiff's fangs?

"And must I, then, to prison go,

"And leave my wife and cub?

"Farewell to larking and to grog—

Farewell my Funny Club.

"The sun of jollity has set,

"And ruin's day has risen;

"Alack a day! that love of wet

"Should drive a man to prison."

Clean'd out, and down upon your luck,

'Tis needless to complain;

And publican and butcher Pluck

Present their bills in vain.

"Now, blow my carcase, things look queer,

"This here's a pretty job;

"Two rare long bills for meat and beer—

"You've done us, Master Snob."

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXV.

STEP THE ELEVENTH.

Robert Seymour.

Oh! how delightful is the hour

That sets the hapless Debtor free;

When, rescued from the Gaoler's power,

He breaths the air of liberty!

Dejected, pale, and worn with grief,

Deserted by each sunshine friend,

Where shall poor Snob obtain relief?

How shall his prison troubles end?

Cheer up thy drooping heart, old boy.

And bid thy partner dry her tears;

On thee hath dawn'd a day of joy—

A brother and a friend appears.

He comes to ope thy prison door,

To save thee in the hour of sadness—

Thy fainting spirit to restore,

And cheer it with the oil of gladness.

With fortune's favours blest again,

Thy sky no more is overcast—

From drink and Funny Clubs refrain,

And take sad warning by the past.

So shall you shun domestic strife,

And discord's angry tongue shall cease;

And brightly, at the close of life,

Your sun shall set in joy and peace.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXVI.

STEP THE LAST.

Robert Seymour.

Can this poor sinking wretch be he

Of Funny Clubs the pride—

The man of cribbage, grog, and glee,

Who ne'er his liquor shy'd?

Farewell to Mirth? Disease and Death

Are staring in his face;

And feebly now he draws his breath—

His pulse declines apace.

The Doctor gives no hopes, alas!

The case admits no doubt,

Thou dropsied victim of the glass,

Thy glass is nearly out.

The star of joy has set in night,

And drink has done for Snob;

And neighbour Coffin, opposite,

Is gaping for a job.

Unhappy man! the game is up;

Thy moments number'd here;

Thy Spouse hath brought the stirrup cup;

Departure's hour is near.

The Drunkard's progress may be slow—

'Tis always insecure;

And, by experience sad, we know

The termination sure.

THE
PUGILIST'S
PROGRESS,
IN
Nine Steps
ROBERT SEYMOUR.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXVII.

THE PUGILIST'S PROGRESS.

STEP THE FIRST.

Robert Seymour.

And, oh! it is a pleasant thing

To mark the dawn of merit,

And the progressive march to sing

Of true pugnacious spirit.

The future Champion first observe,

A thriving lusty sprout,

Boldly and with unshrinking nerve,

Attack his nurse's snout.

Truly 'tis early days to bruise;

Yet manfully he strives

And with effect he seems to use

His little bunch of fives.

Go it, you hardest, hopeful kid!

Bestow another teaser;

Those active mawleys why forbid

To tap your nurse's sneezer?

Go on and prosper in your race—

When childhood's hours are gone,

Your after years will ne'er disgrace

The promise of their dawn.

May milling honours soon be thine—

Soon may you learn to fib;

And may your fame in history shine,

With that of Spring and Cribb.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXVIII.

STEP THE SECOND.

Alas! since Cain and Abel's day,

I tell it with a sigh,

Brothers will cross each other's way,

Turn to, and have a shy.

Where'er we cast our eyes around,

Throughout this vale of tears,

Bones of contention will be found

To set them by the ears.

The bone, as here, may be a taw;

With some, estates or wives;

Some settle their disputes by law,

And others with their fives.

'Tis said, a truly pleasing sight

Are brethren that agree;

But angry brethren matched to fight

Are not so well to see.

How fearlessly our milling sprout

Again has got to work,

And sarving his big brother out,

Has fairly drawn his cork.

Soon in a higher sphere he'll move,

His pluck requires no spur;

And none can doubt that he will prove

An ugly customer.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXIX.

STEP THE THIRD

The force of reason's out of date,

I sing the force of fist,

Which carries with it such a weight,

That nothing can resist.

Then idle is the hackneyed chaff

About the march of mind;

The boxer in his sleeve may laugh—

He leaves that march behind.

To bruising fame aspiring still,

Why should his ardour cool?

Our hero has contrived to mill

The Champion of the School.

And there in triumph he appears,

With victory elate;

While his opponent, drown'd in tears,

Bemoans his hapless fate.

The tribute of our praise receive,

For you have earned it now;

And victory, ere long shall weave

Fresh laurels for your brow.

And as we clearly see your bent,

Be sure throughout your course,

Instead of force of argument,

Your argument is force.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXX.

STEP THE FOURTH.

At the true St. Giles's slang,

Of eloquence the soul,

Few worthies, I believe, can bang

The Men of Dust and Coal.

Go it, your hardest, Dusty Bob,

For once you're not awake;

Our Hero soon your precious nob

Will spoil, and no mistake!

Tho' a mere novice on the town,

I'll bet he beats you hollow;

Two Coveys are already down—

And 'tother soon must follow.

Egad! your topsails must be lower'd,

I think you've caught a tartar;

What! three to one, and yet be floor'd!

My Pinks! what are you after?

Pursue, brave youth, your bold career,

Victorious o'er each foe;

To look at, tho' you're rather queer,

You're very good to go.

Your sturdy frame and courage high

Require a little science—

Then up your Castor you may shy,

And bid the Ring defiance.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXXI.

STEP THE FIFTH.

As candid dealing is my plan,

I mention without blushing,

You'll scarcely meet a fighting man

That isn't fond of lushing.

And whether it is beer or gin,

There cannot be a doubt,

That when the liquor enters in,

Discretion marches out.

Our Hero, from a row or spree

Always the last to shirk,

With a prime Fancy Cove we see

Go manfully to work.

With all his skill and all his strength,

The latter seems distress'd,

And, meeting with his match at length,

Will come off second best.

Then ponder well, you fighting men,

Nor at the yokels scoff,

Or by a novice, now and then,

You may get polished off.

Then persevere, my hero tough,

Your manly course pursue,

For, with a foe, however rough,

Your game must bring you through.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXXII.

STEP THE SIXTH

Hail to the Ring, for I am one

That love the Fancy's freaks,

And Fate preserve the fistic fun,

From Parsons and from Beaks!

For I remember well the time,

The golden age of fight,

When poor old Dan was in his prime,

And Johnson's star was bright:

Then, disregarding punishment,

How boldly they went in,

On victory alone intent,

Each did his best to win!

Then every British Pugilist,

To all foul play averse,

Settled a fight by weight of fist,

And not by weight of purse.

Reviving those good days of old,

Our gallant Hero see,

An English boxer's fame uphold,

And crown'd with victory.

So may you in full splendour shine,

The Stars of fight among,

And may the Champion's belt be thine,

And may you wear it long!

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXXIII.

STEP THE SEVENTH.

Hurrah! the Champion's belt is thine,

So may it long remain!

And when its honours you resign,

Restore it free from stain.

And still your study let it be

To steer a course that's right;

As moderate in victory,

As resolute in fight.

So, when retiring from the Ring,

Your milling days shall end,

Your praise the Laureate's muse shall sing—

You ne'er shall lack a friend.

Let honesty be still your plan,

That when your race is run,

The cheers of every Fancy man

May hail your setting sun.

Tho' of the Pugilistic tree

You've reached the topmost bough,

Fresh honours still in store may be,

To crown your conqu'ring brow.

O, let no crossing, while you live,

Your bright escutcheon dim;

And while this sound advice I give,

I heave a sigh for Jem.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. XXXIV.

STEP THE EIGHTH

Our Hero's fighting race is run,

His course of conquest ends,

The brightness of his setting sun,