Ze German yonder, vy he take ze inches,
And get ze Hel-igoland! Now he quite happy.
I do ze same. _Pom! Pom!_ Zat blast vos thunder!
How he do tear his hair and tvist his features.
He svear, but he vill vat you call "knock under."
_Mr. Bull_. I say, you Portugee, smallest of creatures,
And noisiest for your size, shut up, and hook it!
_Hurdy-gurdy_. _Gr-r-r-r! Gr-r-r-r!_ Zey say zat ze old fool is
skveezable,
Melting in his own heat. Py gar, he _look_ it.
Ze Teuton yonder find zat he vas teaseable
Out of ze "tip," ze big _pour-boire_. He got him,
He go, he grin! Sall I not take ze hint too?
I get him too--_I_ go. But I no let him
Drive me away, as he did SERPA PINTO.
_Gr-r-r-r! Gr-r-r-r!_ I see zat he no like ze grinding.
Soo mooch ze bettare! He sall give mooch money;
Ze _pour-boire_, someveres, he sall soon be finding,
If I keep on. Zeese Eenglish are so funny.
_Tutto_. Ze money for ze Minstrels! Kvick! So sall you
Get rid of us. Like to ze artful gloser
In Mistare SEYMOUR'S sketch, _ve_ "know ze value
Of peace and kvie'ness." Pay us, ve go, Sir! [_Left tootling._
* * * * *
IN THE KNOW.
(_BY MR. PUNCH'S OWN PROPHET._)
Am I going to Goodwood? I answer that question by another. Is it
likely that a race-meeting of any pretensions can possibly do without
one whom even his enemies acknowledge to be the only accurate and
high-minded sporting writer in the world? Those who care (and I
devoutly hope that Mr.
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