SAPPHICS OF THE CABSTAND.
Friend of Self-Government.
Seedy Cab-driver, whither art thou going!
Sad is thy fate—reduced to law and order,
Local self-government yielding to the gripe of
Centralisation.
Victim of Fitzroy! little think the M.P.'s,
Lording it o'er cab, 'bus, lodging-house and graveyard,
Of the good times when every Anglo-Saxon's
House was his castle.
Say, hapless sufferer, was it Mr. Chadwick—
Underground foe to the British Constitution—
Or my Lord Shaftesbury, put up Mr. Fitzroy
Thus to assail you?
Was it the growth of Continental notions,
Or was it the Metropolitan police force
Prompted this blow at Laissez-faire, that free and
Easiest of doctrines?
Have you not read Mr. Toulmin Smith's great work on
Centralisation? If you haven't, buy it;
Meanwhile I should be glad at once to hear your
View on the subject.
Cab-driver.
View on the subjeck? jiggered if I've got one;
Only I wants no centrylisn', I don't—
Which I suppose it's a crusher standin' sentry
Hover a cabstand.
Whereby if we gives e'er a word o' cheek to
Parties as rides, they pulls us up like winkin'—
And them there blessed beaks is down upon us
Dead as an 'ammer!
As for Mr. Toulmin Smith, can't say I knows him—
But as you talks so werry like a gem'man,
Perhaps you're a goin' in 'ansome style to stand a
Shillin' a mile, Sir?
Friend of Self-Government.
I give a shilling? I will see thee hanged first—
Sixpence a mile—or drive me straight to Bow Street—
Idle, ill-mannered, dissipated, dirty,
Insolent rascal!