ANACREONTICS FOR ALL.
SWIG UP THIS (COCOA) CUP!
Air—"Drink of this Cup."
Swig up this cup—you will find there's a spell in
Its depths for the ills and the aches of mortality.
Drink! Of dyspepsia's dire woes you'll be well in
A Yankee split second! (No fudge, but reality).
Would you forget wine, or whiskey, or gin?
Only skim off the film that will gather a-top of it,
('Tis merely the milk in coagulate skin,)
Then stir it up briskly and drain every drop of it!
Swig up this cup, &c.
Never was nectar-cup brewed with such power,
Or philtre; while here nought to injure or hurt is meant.
Of Cocoa this is the pure pick and fine flower.
There's no starch or fat in it (vide Advertisement!).
They who with this have their stomachs well filled,
Are proof against hunger, fatigue, and bad weather.
This wonderful draught is not brewed or distilled,
But it licks all the liquors and cordials together.
Swig up this cup, &c.
And though, perhaps,—but oh! breathe it to no one!—
'Tis stodgy and runs to obesity awfully.
If you've no coat to your tum-tum, you'll grow one!
(The rival advertisements tell us so—jawfully.)
What though it tasteth insipid and tame?
When tea is taboo, and when coffee's forbidden,
Try cocoa from—well, let each fill up the name,
There are fifty at least, and their light is not hidden!
Swig up this cup, &c.
So swig up the cup of—each "'Tiser" is telling
In every paper, with great actuality,
The fame of his brand, with much swagger and swelling,
Other ads. may be fiction, but his is reality.
So swig up the cup when you breakfast, tea, sup,
Of so-and-so's (string of superlatives) cocoa!
(I'd "give it a name," but I daren't try that game,
For fear of severe (editorial) Toko).
Swig up this cup, &c.
Latest From Paris.—"Moore of Moore Hall, with nothing at at all," has not "slain," nor has he "foughten with," nor given any kind of "satisfaction" to, the Dragon of Wantley, represented (as the incident is to be "relegated to the realms of comic opera") on this occasion by the Wictorious "Whistler Coon." It is, however, reported that the impressionist artist, animated by the sportsmanlike desire of getting a shot at something or somebody, the McNeil, or Jacques le Siffleur, would like to engage a Moore for the shooting season. The most recent wire reports, "No Moore at present. J. McN. W." And, probably, here closes the incident.
Last Week's Business.—Everything very much up in the City—especially the pavement in Cannon Street.