Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. 108, March 23, 1895

Vol. 108.
March 23 1895.

I confess, when first I saw your Face, I swore— One or two mild objurgations, Nothing more. When and where I got you I can Not divine, All I do know is the fact that You are mine. Yes, I was an unsuspecting Sort of muff, Everybody else suspects you Fast enough. Bus-conductors, shopmen, cabbies, Booking-clerks All decline you, sometimes adding Rude remarks: You have danced on sundry counters, And advice Not to try it on 's been given me Once or twice. Were you not a paltry bob, but Half-a-crown, You might be of use and save a Nimble brown : For you'd find yourself right quickly In the slot, Were you of the right dimensions— But you're not. I'm beginning to assume a Hang-dog air, For I feel my conduct's hardly On the square. Now I leave church early (though I Get there late), Lest I may be moved to put you In the plate! That last spark of decent feeling I possess, But my character you've ruined, More or less: So it's time, old pewter shilling, We should part, Which—I lose at least a cab-fare— Breaks my heart.
There! I've thrown you in the river, And at last I can thank my stars devoutly, You are passed !
Moral.
Change upon the counter should be Strictly eyed; Afterwards mistakes can not be Rectified.
PRIOR CLAIMS.
Harold. Yes, Auntie Connie, I do love you very much; but I love Mamma best. ( Apologetically. ) You see I met her first!
THE NEW HEN.
( A Fable. )
A New Hen wandering disconsolately in a country farmyard once made the acquaintance of a cock of the old school, when both fell into some discourse concerning the changes of the modes.