How We Got To The Brighton Reblew

H, Brighton's the place

For a beautiful face,

And a figure that gracefully made is;

And so far as I know

There's none other can show,

At the right time of year--say November or so--

Such a bevy of pretty young ladies.

Such blows on the Down!

Such lounges thro' Town!

Such a crush at Parade and Pavilion!

Such beaches below!

(Where people don't go),

Such bathing!--Such dressing, past Madame Tussaud!--

No wonder it catches the Million!

For bustle and breeze

And a sniff of salt seas

Oh, Brighton's the place!--not a doubt of it;--

But instead of post-chaise

Or padded coupes

If you had to get there a la excursionaise--

(Which Trench

Says is French

For a seat on a bench,

With an even toss up if you frizzle or drench)--

I think you'd be glad to keep out of it!

With their slap dash, crack crash,

And here and there a glorious smash,

And a hundred killed and wounded,--

It's little our jolly Directors care,

For a Passenger's neck if he pays his fare,

So away you go at a florin a pair,

The signal whistle has sounded!

Off at last

An hour past

The time, and carriages tight-full;

Why this should be

We can't quite see,

But of course it's all a part of the spree,

And it's really most delightful!

Crush, pack--

Brighton and back--

All the way for a shilling,--

What'prentice cit

But doesn't admit

Tho' ten in a row is an awkwardish fit,

At the price it's exceedingly filling!

(Chorus of Passengers.)

Crash, crack--

Brighton and back--

All the way for a shilling,--

Tho' the pace be slow

We're likely to go

A long journey before we get back d'you know,

The speed's so remarkably "killing"!

Ho! "slow" you find?

Then off, like the wind--

With a jerk that to any unprejudiced mind

Feels strongly as if it had come from behind--

Away like mad we clatter;

Bang--slap,--bang--rap,--

"Can't somebody manage to see what has hap--?"

There goes Jones's head!--no, it's only his cap!--

Jones, my boy, who's your hatter?

Slow it is, is it? jump jolt,

Slithering wheel and starting bolt,

Staggering, reeling, and rocking,--

Now we're going it!---jolt jump,

Whack thwack, thump bump,--

It's a mercy we're all stuck fast in a lump,

The permanent way is shocking!

Away we rattle--we race--we fly!--

Mrs. Brown is certain she's going to die,

'We've our own ideas on that point, you and I)

But this pitching will make evry one ill,--

Screech scream--groan grunt--

Express behind, and Luggage in front,--

If we have good luck we may manage to shunt

Before we get into the tunnel!

(Chorus of Passengers.)

Jump, jolt--

Engines that bolt--

Brighton and back for a shilling--

Jolt jump--but we've children and wives,

Jump jolt--who value our lives,

Jump--and you won't catch one here again who survives

The patent process of killing!

(Chorus of Directors.)

With our slap dash, crack crash,

And here and there a glorious smash

And a hundred killed and wounded!--

It's little we jolly directors care

For a passenger's limbs if he pays his fare,

So away you go at a florin the pair,

The signal whistle has sounded!!