MRS. GRUNDY TO MR. GOSCHEN.
The Three per Cents, the Three per Cents,
Serene but mortal Three,
In view of recent sad events,
Oh! give them back to me.
Oh! GOSCHEN, Sir, kind gentleman,
Hear my polite laments;
Restore this trio, if you can—
Those musical Per Cents.
My income once was safe, if small;
It's larger, but unpaid,
Despite "the quite phenomenal
Development of Trade."
The "Bogus Man" is on the track,
And queer "Financial Gents"
Have promised me in white and black
Their Six and Ten per Cents.
The Three per Cents were regular,
Respectable, and good.
Their health was such that "under par"
They very seldom stood;
They needed no "conversion" rash,
Like Darker Continents;
A sort of Sunday turned to cash
They were, my Three per Cents.
A distant river somewhere rolls,
The wicked River Plate;
Upon its banks there flourish souls
Perverse and reprobate.
Ah, send your missionaries there!
If haply it repents,
I'll not surrender Eaton Square
For Surrey's wild or Kent's.
Not I alone; the best that breathe,
Archbishop, Duke, and Lord,
Your bust with chaplets rare will wreathe,
This boon if you'll accord.
How can we by example shame
The mob who mock at rents,
If we are left to do the same
Without our Three per Cents?
Reft of a carriage, life is poor:
A well-conducted set
Needs ready money to procure
Their butler and Debrett.
The country totters to its fall,
Disgraced to all intents,
Unless you instantly recall
Our solid Three per Cents.