CLEMENT W. SCOTT.
Many poems written by this distinguished dramatic critic are chosen for recitation, notably “The Women of Mumbles Head” which is to be found in “Lays of a Londoner” (London, Carson and Comerford, 1886.) A very funny parody of this, entitled “The Wreck of the Steamship ‘Puffin,’” is in Burglar Bill, by J. Anstey, and would form an amusing contrast to the original, in the second part of an entertainment.
Another well-known poem by Mr. Clement Scott was the Tale of the Tenth Hussars, in favour of the late Colonel Valentine Baker, which originally appeared in Punch, and was quoted, with a parody on it, on p. 87, vol. iv. Parodies.
The Garden of Sleep.
(With compliments to Messrs. Clement Scott and Isidore de Lara)
There’s a crib in Whitechapel is used by a heap,
An’ the deppity calls it ’is Garden o’ Sleep!
Where the Heast Hend hexotics are bloomin’ in rows,
An’ the fake an’ the cadger find blameliss repose.
For a double or single you settles the boss,
An’ you dumps down your coppers an’ goes for your doss;
Though if turn out you won’t when your time’s fairly sped,
They’ve a ’abit of lettin’ you down by the ’ead,
An’ a bump on your Barnet you commonly keep
All the day hafter leavin’ the Garden o’ Sleep.
Sleep! sleep! Never mind things wot creep!
Sleep, my dossy ones, sleep!
If you’ve ’tecs on your track there’s but foppence to pay,
You can set in the kitching the ’ole of the day,
Smoke your clay, brile your bloater, or swill down the booze,
While you reads o’ your deeds in the Hecko or Noos,
An’ you splits the bone buttons right orf of your west
Wen they brings you the word of your latest harrest;
An’ you larfs till the water runs out of your heyes
Wen you thinks of the slops goin’ round in disguise,
And the ’andsome reward as no cully won’t reap,
’Cept some pal blows the gaff in the Garden o’ Sleep!
Sleep! sleep! for the slops we’re too deep!
Sleep, my dossy ones, sleep!
Once a swell come a-slummin’ in second-’and slops,
And my pal, which is William, the needle ’e cops,
And ’e twigged ’im a-takin’ down notes on the sly,
An’ arranged for to cure ’im o’ doin’ Poll Pry;
For ’e kep’ on a-sniffin’ and saying, “Ho, dear!
There’s a state o’ things ’ighly deplorable ’ere!”
An’ ’e cussed at the blankits, which all was ’is spite,
As the gent as ’ad used ’em since Wensday fortnite
Was a gifted an’ ’ighly respectable sweep,
As is werry well known in the Garden o’ Sleep!
Sleep! sleep! A respectable sweep!
Sleep, my dossy ones, sleep!
Then my pal an’ me pulls that there swell out o’ bed,
An’ we gets a young lady to set on ’is ’ead,
An’ we searches ’is pockets and collars the mags,
Takes ’is coat an’ ’is weskit, and also ’is bags,
An’ we tenderly pitches ’im out in the street,
Where ’e is copped by the bobby as b’longs to the beat;
An’ we watches an’ watches, but watchin’ is wain,
’Cos that swell ’e won’t never try slummin’ again,
As a fine for disorderly drunks gets ’im cheap
Orf that night as ’e spent in the Garden o’ Sleep!
Sleep! sleep! Two ’arf bulls does it cheap!
Sleep, my dossy ones, sleep!
Judy. November 28, 1888.