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

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 108.

MARCH 23 1895.

TO A BAD SHILLING.

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.