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"Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, July 17, 1841"

" Thinks I, I may as well pass
the compliment of the day with him; so I creeps under the hackney-coach he
was standing alongside on, intending to surprise him; but just as I was
about to pop out he ran off the stand to un-nosebag a cab-horse. Whilst I
was waiting for him to come back, I hears the off-side horse in the
wehicle make the following remark:--
OFF-SIDE HORSE--(_twisting his tail about like anything_)--Curse the
flies!
NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--You may say that. I've had one fellow tickling me this
half-hour.
OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Ours is a horrid profession! Phew! the sun actually
penetrates my vertebra.
NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Werterbee! What's that?
OFF-SIDE HORSE--(_impatiently_).--The spine, my friend (_whish!
whish!_)
NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Ah! it is a shameful thing to _dock_ us as they
does. If the marrow in one's backbone should melt, it would be sartin to
run out at the tip of one's tail. I say, how's your _feed?_
OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Very indifferent--the chaff predominates--(_munch_)
not _bene_ by any means.
NEAR-SIDE HORSE.


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