Life, 1906-01-04 · page 18 of 48
Life — January 4, 1906 — page 18: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This satirical poem mocks the early automobile craze and the pretensions of the wealthy. Sir Marmaduke, a nobleman, pursues his daughter Gladys (who has eloped with a cook) in a newfangled motorcar driven by his French chauffeur François de Plum. The automobile—temperamental, smelly, and unreliable—breaks down at "Pilkins' Pump," stranding the knight. Local peasants gather to jeer at him, their mockery emphasizing the gap between automobile enthusiasm and reality. The satire targets both the pomposity of the upper class and the mechanical failures of early cars. The archaic language (mock-Shakespearean diction like "forsooth" and "hath") undercuts the modernity of the automobile, suggesting the old world's collision with technological progress. The joke: newfangled machines and their owners deserve ridicule equally.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“1 saw them riding down the road.” The Ballad of Pilkins’ Pump. Ik MARMADUKE, Sir Marmaduke, . O Marmaduke, Sir Marmaduke, Arise thee from thy book— Recall that deep-sworn D. ! Thy daughter Gladys hath eloped With William Jones, the cook! I saw them riding down the road Within a one-horse sha: Wouldst thou sit oofing here, Sir Marm, With such a grudge to pay 2” Sie Marmaduke him up hath And thrice hath smote his head, ») * Francois de Plum, my French chafoor, af thou mine auto red; Mine owlish goggles to me bring, aN And eke my rubber cuat— Mean S Heav'n pity them within that shay When Marmaduke doth mote!” The auto in the road doth pant, A hectic sight to see, And there, I ween, doth gasoline Make odors three times three— In blithely leap our heroes twain, And as the sparks explode Like light ‘They scorch them down the road. sg multiplied by steam Adown the road they niftly scorch Till eke and eft forsooth By Pilkins’ Pump their speed doth slack And direful dawns the Truth ; Down-busted is the whole shebang, O hapless hap, alas! The sparker will not spark because ‘The gasoline won't gas! To snicker at the glowering Knight And some cry, * Git a monkey-wrench !" Such godless word befitteth not A man of familee ; Francois de Plum, down on thy tum Nor grind thy Gallic teeth, Craw! snakelike on the ward and see What hath gone wrong beneath ! 4 4 “Laud in a stack of hay.” \ And now the jocund peasantry Come tripping o'er the sward, From every tarn, from every barn, From every chicken-yard, 4 And mock his v: in remorse, Yet others, '* Git a horse!” comicbooks.com