Punch, or the London Charivari. Volume 1, July 31, 1841 by Various
page 33 of 65 (50%)
page 33 of 65 (50%)
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the golden fish--who are to chew the fine manchet loaves of Downing-street?
PEEL.--The truth is, my dear Punch-- PUNCH.--Stop. You may put on that demure look, expand your right-hand fingers across the region where the courtesy of anatomy awards to politicians a heart, and talk about truth as a certain old lady with a paper lanthorn before her door may talk of chastity--you may do all this on the hustings; but this is not Tamworth: besides, you are now elected; so take one of these cigars--they were smuggled for me by my revered friend Colonel Sibthorp--fill your glass, and out with the list. PEEL.--(_Rises and goes to the door, which he double locks; returns to his seat, and takes from his waistcoat pocket a small piece of ass's skin._) I have jotted down a few names. PUNCH.--And, I see, on very proper material. Read, Robert, read. PEEL.--(_In a mild voice and with a slight blush._)--"First Lord of the Treasury, and Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir Robert Peel!" PUNCH.--Of course. Well? PEEL.--"First Lord of the Admiralty--Duke of Buckingham." PUNCH.--An excellent man for the Admiralty. He has been at sea in politics all his life. PEEL.--"Secretary for Foreign Affairs--Earl of Aberdeen." |
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