EVERY MAN HIS OWN PUNSTER,
BEING
RULES FOR PUNNING,
OR
PUNS FOR ALL PERSONS AND SEASONS
A FRAGMENT
"Comitantibus armis,
PUNica se – attollet gloria." Virg. Æn. iv
Prefatory remarks on the art of punning – its antiquity from Homer's outis, through Sophocles, Cicero, &c. down to Shakspeare, &c. Its advantages over wit. Wit requires wit in the hearer to comprehend it – a lasting and insuperable objection to its universality. Puns, on the contrary, require no wit to make them, nor any to understand them. Prove this by their well-known effect on stupidity in drawing-rooms, theatres, &c. An act to abolish punning would be the destruction of three-quarters of what are called the wits of our times, and fifteen-sixteenths of the dramatic writers.
Under these circumstances of fashion and prevalence, a man might as well go into a gambling house without knowing how to play, as into company without knowing how to make himself agreeable by punning. Rules are necessary for the acquisition of every art. Let what Ovid desired to have said of him, in respect to love, be said of me, with regard to punning – "Magister erat."
In the rules divide thus – puns for every day, in one week, in winter, spring, summer, and autumn. Puns, in these different seasons, for men, and puns for women, varied according to the class of life, and the rank held in the particular establishment, &c. &c.
MASTER OF A FAMILY
First day – Sketch to be filled up
Sunday.– This is a day of rest for all things but women's tongues and puns – they have none. You go to church, of course, to set a good example to your family, but let them attend to the parson, you may be preparing puns against dinner-time, when you expect a party.
The man of the house is nothing without his wife. It is becoming that she should assist you – she is your help-mate. Connive together, and let her put leading questions. Half an hour before dinner – company come. All very stupid as usual. Mrs. – observes, that she fears that the dinner will be rather late, as she was obliged to take Adam, the footman, to the park, on account of the children. The husband immediately remarks, that Adam may be the first of men, but he is a damn slow fellow.
Mrs.– . My dear Tom, you deserve a Cane for that.
Mr.– . Ay, if you were Able to give it to me, who am a host to-day. Perhaps you were on the Eve of saying this; well, there's as much chance in these things as in a Pair o' dice.
(A general laugh.)
Here you are at the end of this excellent subject. I don't know that any thing more can be made of it.
N.B. Hire no man unless his name is Adam, or he will suffer you to call him so.
Let your children enter. Miss Lucy, George, and Theodore, all punsters, but this day is devoted to the father. Call your daughter, Lucy, because, if you are a profound scholar, you can frequently bring in "luce clarior." Your other girl, Sally, ran away with an apothecary. Mrs. – will say this, and you'll exclaim, "Ah, Sal volatile!"
Invite a poor French priest29 to your table at these times. He is always to ask, when your children appear, "Est ce qu'ils sont tous par la même mère?"
When you are to reply – "Yes, I believe they are all by the same mare, but I won't answer for the horse30."
This is not very complimentary to your wife; but it would be a pretty joke indeed, if a good pun was to be lost for such a trifling consideration.
If you consult decency too much, there's an end of wit. He who digs for diamonds must not be over squeamish about dirt. Here Mrs. – may say, "My dear Tom, I wish the man would bring up the dinner."
Mr. – . "Bring up the dinner, my love? Heaven forbid! As Dido says, that's 'sic sic,' so so31."
You must not be too nice, as I observed before.
(Mrs. – rings the bell.)
Enter Servant
Mrs. – . Is dinner ready?
Mr. (Looking round.) – The chops are, I'm sure.
Adam. It is dishing now, ma'am.
(A crash heard as if an accident.)
Mr. – Dishing indeed – I fear it's dished.
Dinner – all seated
Mrs. – . Will any body take soup?
Mr. – . What, before grace, you graceless rogues. There's no parson here, I see; though we are not without some of the cloth. Well, I'll say it – grace at dinner is meet.
[A universal laugh. The sight of dinner is a breeder of good-humour.]
Take care to have the salt-cellars put on the table empty.
Mr. – . Why what the devil's this – no salt!
Mrs. – . (As planned.) – You have salt enough, I'm sure, my dear.
Mr. – . "Ego punior ipse," Ovid. Very well, very well! my wife is not amiss: but the salt, Adam.
Adam. Sir, the house-keeper's gone out, and I don't know where to get any.
Mr. – . Why an't here four salt sellers?
[The Frenchman does not understand this, but he is to laugh heartily nevertheless.]
Mrs. – . Here, Adam; take this key, and you'll find some in the store-room, at the top of the house.
Mr.– . Attic salt, eh! ha, ha, ha! Well, come let's fall to; this meat will keep no longer without salt.
Mrs. – . My dear Tom, that rich dish will only give you the gout.
Mr. – . Pooh! "Chacun à son gout." Why should not I eat it, as well as another?
Mrs. – . Bless me, how you mangle that duck.
Mr. – . Mangle it, my love. Well, I think that's better than to wash and iron it; but tell me how you'll have it done, and you shall find me ductile.
[Many opportunities will offer of making obscene puns, but I give no rules for these; they come naturally to every punster! All I shall say is, that they must never be neglected.]
Let your cook be famous for pancakes. One of your little boys must inquire for some.
Mr. – . My dear, this is Sunday; you know we can't have pancakes till Fri-day.
[Many more puns must be introduced. Champaign, real pain; after all cheese is best, &c.]
The company will, probably, add some, and you may, also, by accident; however, you'll have this advantage over your friends, that you'll be certain of all these while you're with your wife, and at home. Your acquaintance, of course, have names, and if they have no other merit, it's very hard if you can't make something of them in the pun way. Any blockhead can do that.
DESSERT
Mr. – . "Give every man his deserts." Shakspeare.
Mrs. – . My love, shall I send you a peach?
Mr. – . Yes, and if it isn't a good one, I'll impeach your judgment.
By connivance with the Frenchman, he must offer you a pinch of Maccuba snuff, saying he's sorry it is not better, but his Tonquin bean has lost its flavour. You then reply – Ay, I see it's one of the has-beens.
Mrs. – . Oh! that's too bad.
Mr. – . Why, it's wit at a pinch, at any rate; therefore it need not make you baw – l, as if I had got into the wrong box. – (Turning to the boys.) – What's Latin for goose, eh!
Boys. Brandy, papa!
Mrs. – . You'll kill yourself with that vile liquor.
Mr. – . How can that be – Isn't it eau de vie?
Mrs. – , at some time, must call for the nutmeg grater. – You take it, and address your neighbour: Sir, you are a great man, but here is a grater.
The sweetmeats will be praised of course.
Mr. – . All my wife's doing. Nancy's a notable woman, I assure you; but I'm more not able than she is, an't I, my dear?
Ladies all rise
Mrs. – . (Blushing.) – I can take a hint. My dear, pray touch the bell.
Mr. – . (Chucking a young lady under the chin.) – Yes, my love, I'll touch the belle.
Mrs. – . (Going.) – You wag!
Mr. – . No, I think you wag, but – (bowing) – I bow to you.
The ladies gone, the gentlemen need no instructions. They will all have recourse to their mother tongue, and the most ignorant will shine the most. The master must begin with half a dozen obscene puns, to make himself agreeable, and the conversation general32.
THE TEA TABLE
Mr.– . (Entering after all the rest.) – Ah! Mrs. – , what I see you are at home to a t to-night.
Boys. Pa, we have had no tea.
Mr.– . "Sine te juventas." That's wrong. It is right that you should not be left out.
Mrs.– purposely sends a dish of tea to a lady, without sugar, of which she complains.
Mr.– . (Handing the sugar basin.) – Well, ma'am, if you do not like it, you may lump it.
[Miss Lucy plays on the piano-forte, but is to fail in her first attempt.]
Mrs.– . (As planned.) – That comes of playing at sight.
Mr.– . At sight! Why what the deuce would come if she was to shut her eyes?
If any thing like serious or sensible conversation should be introduced, and there's no knowing what some dull fellow may not do, put an end to it at once with a pun. If he talk of war, suppose he means the Pun-ic war, and say that in your battles you are with Livy – "Punctim magìs quam cœsim peto hostem." If he speak of the army, look archly at your wife, and say you expect soon to have a son in arms, &c. Should he mention the Prince of Wales, inquire, which is greater, the Dolphin of France or the Prince of Wales? solving the question immediately with Juvenal's
"Delphinis Balæna Britannica major."
Than Dolphins greater is the British Whale
Now something about going into Bedfordshire and the land of Nod will wind up what is commonly called a very pleasant day, full of wit, humour, and repartee. I must not forget to observe, that, if you can add any practical jokes, which lead to puns, and fall at all short of murder, the treat will be improved.
Viz. Pinch a piece out of a man's arm, to say you did not know there was any harm. Break his shin – that's leg-al. Pull away his chair33 when he is sitting down – you've good ground for it. Run your head against his —two heads are better than one. Overturn the milk-jug on him – then he's in the milky way. So with the urn – then he's in hot water. When he hops about, say he seems in a lame-ntable way. Let the boys knock the candle into some lady's lap – this you may call a wick-ed thing, &c. &c. Intersperse these, with other such amiable pleasantries as these, and all the fools (a commanding majority in every assembly in the country), will shout for joy, extol your wit, and applaud your ingenuity.