Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 69, No. 427, May, 1851. Various

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      "There are three ways in which men take

      One's money from his purse,

      And very hard it is to tell

      Which of the three is worse;

      But all of them are bad enough

      To make a body curse.

      You're riding out some pleasant day,

      And counting up your gains;

      A fellow jumps from out a bush,

      And takes your horse's reins;

      Another hints some words about

      A bullet in your brains.

      It's hard to meet such pressing friends

      In such a lonely spot;

      It's very hard to lose your cash,

      But harder to be shot;

      And so you take your wallet out,

      Though you had rather not.

      Perhaps you're going out to dine,

      Some filthy creature begs

      You'll hear about the cannon-ball

      That carried off his pegs;

      He says it is a dreadful thing

      For men to lose their legs.

      He tells you of his starving wife,

      His children to be fed,

      Poor little lovely innocents.

      All clamorous for bread;

      And so you kindly help to put

      A bachelor to bed.

      You're sitting on your window-seat,

      Beneath a cloudless moon;

      You hear a sound that seems to wear

      The semblance of a tune,

      As if a broken fife should strive

      To drown a cracked basoon.

      And nearer, nearer still, the tide

      Of music seems to come,

      There's something like a human voice

      And something like a drum;

      You sit in speechless agony

      Until your ear is numb.

      Poor 'home, sweet home,' should seem to be

      A very dismal place,

      Your 'auld acquaintance,' all at once

      Is altered in the face —

      But hark! the air again is still,

      The music all is ground;

      It cannot be – it is – it is —

      A hat is going round!

      No! Pay the dentist when he leaves

      A fracture in your jaw;

      And pay the owner of the bear,

      That stunned you with his paw;

      And buy the lobster that has had

      Your knuckles in his claw;

      But if you are a portly man,

      Put on your fiercest frown,

      And talk about a constable

      To turn them out of town;

      Then close your sentence with an oath,

      And shut the window down!

      And if you are a slender man,

      Not big enough for that,

      Or, if you cannot make a speech,

      Because you are a flat,

      Go very quietly and drop

      A button in the hat!"

      "They've built us up a noble wall,

      To keep the vulgar out;

      We've nothing in the world to do,

      But just to walk about;

      So faster now, you middle men,

      And try to beat the ends,

      Its pleasant work to ramble round

      Among one's honest friends.

      Here, tread upon the long man's toes,

      He shan't be lazy here —

      And punch the little fellow's ribs,

      And tweak that lubber's ear,

      He's lost them both – don't pull his hair,

      Because he wears a scratch,

      But poke him in the further eye,

      That isn't in the patch.

      Hark! fellows, there's the supper-bell,

      And so our work is done;

      It's pretty sport – suppose we take

      A round or two for fun!

      If ever they should turn me out,

      When I have better grown,

      Now hang me, but I mean to have

      A treadmill of my own!"

      "It may be so, perhaps thou hast

      A warm and loving heart;

      I will not blame thee for thy face,

      Poor devil as thou art.

      That thing thou fondly deem'st a nose,

      Unsightly though it be,

      In spite of all the cold world's scorn,

      It may be much to thee.

      Those eyes, among thine elder friends,

      Perhaps they pass for blue;

      No matter – if a man can see,

      What more have eyes to do?

      Thy mouth – that fissure in thy face,

      By something like a chin —

      May be a very useful place

      To put thy victual in."