The Comic Reciter (1856, Glasgow)/The Two Stammerers
THE TWO STAMMERERS.
While others fluent verse abuse,
And prostitute the Comic muse;
In less indecent manner, I
Her Comic Ladyship will try.
O let my prayer, bright maid, prevail!
Grant inspiration to my tale!
A tale both comical and new,
And with a swinging moral, too!
In a small quiet country town
Lived Bob; a blunt, but honest clown:
Who, spite of all the school could teach,
From habit, stammer'd in his speech;
And second nature, soon, we're sure,
Confirm'd the case beyond a cure.
Ask him to say, Hot rolls and butter;
"A hag-a-gag, and splitter-splutter"
Stopp'd every word he strove to utter.
It happened once upon a time—
I word it thus to suit my rhyme;
For all our country neighbours know
It can't be twenty years ago.—
Our sturdy ploughman, apt to strike,
Was busy delving at his dyke;
Which, let me not forget to say,
Stood close behind a public way:
And, as he lean'd upon his spade
Reviewing o'er the work he'd made,
A youth, a stranger in that place,
Stood right before him, face to face.
"P-p-p-p-pray," says he,
"How f-f-f-f-far may't be
To-o,"--the words would not come on,
"To-o Borough-Bridge, or thereabout?"
Our clown took huff; thrice hemm'd upon't,
Then smelt a kind of an affront.
Thought he—"This bluff, fool-hardy fellow,
A little cracked, perhaps, or mellow,
Knowing my tongue an inch too short,
Is come to fleer and make his sport:
Wauns! if I thought he meant to quarrel,
I'd hoop tbe roynish rascal's barrel!
If me be means, or dares deride,
By all that's good, I'll tan his hide!
I'll dress his vile calf's skin in buff,
And thrash it tender where 'tis tough
Thus, full resolv'd, he stood aloof,
And waited mute, for farther proof.
While t'other, in a kind of pain,
Applied him to his tongue again—
"Speak, friend; c-c-c-c-can you, pray,
Sh-sh-sh-show me—on my—way?
Nay, sp-e-eak!—I'll smoke thy bacon!
You have a t-ongne, or I'm mistaken."
"Yes—that, th-that I-I-I-have;
But not for y-y-you—you knave!"
"What!" cried the stranger, "wh-wh-what!
Dy'e mock me? T-t-take you that!"
"Hugh! you mock—me!" quoth Hob amain,
"So t-t-take you—that, again!"
Then to't they fell, in furious plight,
While each one thought himself i' th' right;
And, if you dare believe my song,
They likewise thought each other wrong
The battle o'er, and somewhat cool—
Each half suspects himself a fool;
For, when to choler folks incline 'em,
Your argumentum baculinum,
Administered in dose terrific,
Was ever held a grand specific.
Each word the combatants now utter'd,
Conviction brought, that both dolts stutter'd;
And each assum'd a look as stupid,
As, after combat, looks Dan Cupid:
Each scratch'd his silly head, and thought
He'd argue ere again he fought.
Hence I this moral shall deduce—
Would Anger deign to sign a truce
Till Reason could discover truly,
Why this mad Madam were unruly,
So well she would explain their words,
Men little use could find for swords.
And prostitute the Comic muse;
In less indecent manner, I
Her Comic Ladyship will try.
O let my prayer, bright maid, prevail!
Grant inspiration to my tale!
A tale both comical and new,
And with a swinging moral, too!
In a small quiet country town
Lived Bob; a blunt, but honest clown:
Who, spite of all the school could teach,
From habit, stammer'd in his speech;
And second nature, soon, we're sure,
Confirm'd the case beyond a cure.
Ask him to say, Hot rolls and butter;
"A hag-a-gag, and splitter-splutter"
Stopp'd every word he strove to utter.
It happened once upon a time—
I word it thus to suit my rhyme;
For all our country neighbours know
It can't be twenty years ago.—
Our sturdy ploughman, apt to strike,
Was busy delving at his dyke;
Which, let me not forget to say,
Stood close behind a public way:
And, as he lean'd upon his spade
Reviewing o'er the work he'd made,
A youth, a stranger in that place,
Stood right before him, face to face.
"P-p-p-p-pray," says he,
"How f-f-f-f-far may't be
To-o,"--the words would not come on,
"To-o Borough-Bridge, or thereabout?"
Our clown took huff; thrice hemm'd upon't,
Then smelt a kind of an affront.
Thought he—"This bluff, fool-hardy fellow,
A little cracked, perhaps, or mellow,
Knowing my tongue an inch too short,
Is come to fleer and make his sport:
Wauns! if I thought he meant to quarrel,
I'd hoop tbe roynish rascal's barrel!
If me be means, or dares deride,
By all that's good, I'll tan his hide!
I'll dress his vile calf's skin in buff,
And thrash it tender where 'tis tough
Thus, full resolv'd, he stood aloof,
And waited mute, for farther proof.
While t'other, in a kind of pain,
Applied him to his tongue again—
"Speak, friend; c-c-c-c-can you, pray,
Sh-sh-sh-show me—on my—way?
Nay, sp-e-eak!—I'll smoke thy bacon!
You have a t-ongne, or I'm mistaken."
"Yes—that, th-that I-I-I-have;
But not for y-y-you—you knave!"
"What!" cried the stranger, "wh-wh-what!
Dy'e mock me? T-t-take you that!"
"Hugh! you mock—me!" quoth Hob amain,
"So t-t-take you—that, again!"
Then to't they fell, in furious plight,
While each one thought himself i' th' right;
And, if you dare believe my song,
They likewise thought each other wrong
The battle o'er, and somewhat cool—
Each half suspects himself a fool;
For, when to choler folks incline 'em,
Your argumentum baculinum,
Administered in dose terrific,
Was ever held a grand specific.
Each word the combatants now utter'd,
Conviction brought, that both dolts stutter'd;
And each assum'd a look as stupid,
As, after combat, looks Dan Cupid:
Each scratch'd his silly head, and thought
He'd argue ere again he fought.
Hence I this moral shall deduce—
Would Anger deign to sign a truce
Till Reason could discover truly,
Why this mad Madam were unruly,
So well she would explain their words,
Men little use could find for swords.