Only page of title Easy
259
4
He drinks such quantities of wine,
You never know
How far he'll go,
Or what he'll leave unsaid;
He frequently insults his host,
And quotes things from the _Winning Post_,
Until, with sighs,
His friends arise
And bear him off to bed.
But as they leave him in his bunk,
With what a joy intense
They realise he is not drunk --
In the Police Court sense!
To find that, at the close of play,
He'd lost each game;
The total came
To three pounds seventeen.
He never paid a cent of that,
And took away my new top-hat,
Leaving behind
A hideous kind
Of gibus, old and green.
But still it filled me with relief,
Observing his offence,
To think that he was not a thief --
In the Police Court sense!
The way he treats his luckless wife,
Make all aware
That he can care
For nothing but himself;
But what on earth is she to do,
Though snubbed and beaten black and blue?
To sue, of course,
For a divorce
Would be a waste of pelf.
Yet, all the same, my aunt avows,
It saves her much expense
To feel she has a faithful spouse --
In the Police Court sense!
End of title
