[EXIT JONES.
OILY (to his man). That's a rum customer at any rate.
Had I cut him as short as he cut me,
How little hair upon his head would be!
But if kind friends will all our pains requite,
We'll hope for better luck another night.
[Shop-bell rings and curtain falls.
THE SATED ONE. [IMPROMPTU AFTER CHRISTMAS DINNER.] PUNCH.
It may not be—go maidens, go,
Nor tempt me to the mistletoe;
I once could dance beneath its bough,
But must not, will not, can not, now!
A weight—a load within I bear;
It is not madness nor despair;
But I require to be at rest,
So that my burden may-digest!
SAPPHICS OF THE CABSTAND
[Footnote: See The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-Grinder]
PUNCH.
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
Centralization.
Victim of FITZROY! little think the M.P.s,
Lording it o'er cab, 'bus, lodging-house, and grave-yard,
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?