THE SONG OF THE SHIRT.
THE SONG OF THE SHIRT.
(Very Latest Version.)
["There is a grievance which has taken hold in the last few years, under which we are all groaning and complaining, without, as far as I can see, any present remedy. I allude to the shameful way in which our linen is destroyed and knocked about by the existing race of Washerwomen in the Metropolis."— M. J. G.'s Letter on "London Laundries," in the Daily Telegraph.]
With wristbands grubby and worn,
With collars ragged and frayed,
A man moaned over a shirt all rags,
Cursing the laundress trade.
"Scrub! Scrub! Scrub!