George Gibson - Southerly Busters

Glittering with the P. C. button, redolent of recent mutton,
(Fitting raiment for a glutton) was the garment which he
wore;
And his vast colossal figure, in the pride of manly vigour,
Looming larger, looming bigger, came betwixt me and the
door —
Cutting off my hopes of entrance to my home at number four —
Stood, and stared, and nothing more.

And his features, grimly smiling, calm, unmoved, (intensely
riling)
I betake me to reviling, and a stream of chaff outpour —
"Say, thou grim and stately brother, has thy fond and doting
mother
Got at home like thee another? Art thou really one of four?
Did she, did she sell the mangle? Tell me truly, I implore!"
Quoth the Peeler, "Hold your jawr!"

Long I stood there fiercely glaring, most profanely cursing,
swearing – .
And my right arm I was baring, meaning thus the Trap to
floor —
Straight he grabbed me by the collar, said 'twas worse than
vain to holler,
That his person I must foller to the gloomy prison door;
"'Tell me, Robert," said I sadly, "must I go the Bench
before?"
Quoth the Peeler, "'Tis the lawr!"

"Shall I be with felons banded, by the 'beak' be reprimanded,
And with infamy be branded? – thou art versed in prison
lore —
Say not, Robert, that my bread will 'ere be earned upon the
tread-mill,
That a filthy prison bed will echo to my fevered snore —
Ever echo to the music of my wild unearthly snore!"
Quoth the Peeler, "'Tis the lawr!"

Thought on thought of bitter sadness, dissipating hope and
gladness,
Goading me to worse than madness, crowded on me by the
score;
Ne'er before incarcerated, how that Peeler's form I hated,
Cries for freedom, unabated – 'wrenched from out my bosom's
core' —
Broke upon the midnight stillness, "Robert, set me free
once more!"
Quoth the Peeler, "Never more!"

Never since the days of Julian was there such a mass herculean
Clad in garments so cerulean, with so little brains in store;
And I cursed his name, and number, and his form as useless
lumber
Only fit to snore and slumber on a greasy kitchen floor —
On the slime bespattered boarding of a greasy kitchen floor —
Fit for this and nothing more!

And my heart was heavy loaded with a sorrow which
corroded,
And my expletives exploded with a deep and muffled roar;
But a sudden inspiration checked the clammy perspiration
That 'till now, without cessation, streaming ran from every pore,
And what checked the perspiration that ran streaming from
each pore
Was a thought, and nothing more.

In my pocket was a shilling! Could that giant form be
willing,
Tempted by the hope of swilling beer, to set me free once
more?
Tempted by the lust of riches, and the silver shilling
which is
In the pocket in my breeches, and my liberty restore?
Hastily that garment searching, from its depths I fiercely tore
But a 'Bob,' and nothing more.

Wrenched it from my trousers' pocket,
While his eye within the socket gleamed and sparkled like a
rocket,
Grimly rolled, and gloated o'er,
Glared upon me – vainly mining in my pockets' depths —
repining
That its worn and threadbare lining
IT should press, ah! never more.

Said I, while the coin revealing, "Robert, I've a tender
feeling
For the Force there's no concealing, and thy manly form
adore;
Thee I ne'er to hurt or slay meant; take, oh! take this
humble payment —
Take thy grasp from off my raiment, and thy person from
my door;
Though I like thee past expression, though I venerate the
corps,
Fain I'd bid thee ' Au revoir! '

And I view with approbation that official's hesitation,
For his carnal inclination with his duty was at war;
But that Peeler, though he muttered, knew which side his
bread was buttered,
But a word or two he uttered, and his choking grasp fore-
bore —
And he, when his clutching fingers from their choking grasp
forebore,
Vanished, and was seen no more.

Oft at night when I'm returning, and the foot-path scarce
discerning —
Whiskey-fumes within me burning like a molten reservoir —
In imagination kneeling, oft in fancy I'm appealing
To the kind and manly feeling of that giant Trap once more —
To the tender kindly feeling of the Trap I saw before —
Vanished now for ever more!

Oh! take back the ticket thou gavest,
And give me my watch and my ring,
And may every sixpence thou savest
Be armed with a centipede's sting!

O! uncle, I never expected
Such grief would result from my calls,
When, hard-up, depressed, and dejected,
I came to the Three Golden Balls.

I noticed thy free invitation —
Enticing (though brief) – "Money Lent
I came to thee, oh, my relation,
For succour, for mine was all spent.

Thine int'rest in me was affecting —
I noticed a tear in thine eye,
Without for a moment suspecting
How int'rest would tell by and bye.

It's true I'd been doing the heavy,
And going a trifle too fast;
I've been a most dutiful 'nevvy,' —
But, uncle, I know thee at last;

I brought thee a gun, and a pistol,
And borrowed a couple of pound,
Then exit, and cheerfully whistle
In time to my heart's happy bound.

I thought thee a regular "trimmer,"
I thought thee a generous man;
I drank to thy health in a brimmer,
And pretty nigh emptied the can.

I went with a mob "to do evil,"
I laughed, and I danced, and I sang;
Bid sorrow fly off to the Devil,
And care and depression go hang.

I looked on the vintage that's ruby,
I "looked on the wine" that "is red,"
But 'twasn't mere looking o'erthrew me,
Or made it get into my head.

In spite of the Israelite's warning,
In spite of what Solomon said,
You may look from the dusk to the dawning,
And still toddle sober to bed.

Away with such hollow pretences!
It wasn't from watching the cup
I lost the control of my senses,
Or, falling, I couldn't get up.

Destruction again was before me,
And empty once more was my purse,
But thoughts of mine uncle came o'er me,
And withered my half-uttered curse.

I thought that the mines of Australia
I'd found in the meanest of men,
And, smoking a fearful "regalia,"
I sought thine iniquitous den.

My walk, though a little unsteady,
Was dignity tempered with grace;
I playfully asked for the "ready,"
And smiled in thy villainous face.

I brought thee my best Sunday beaver,
And gorgeous habiliments new;
My watch – such a fine English lever! —
I left, unbe liever , with you.

I brought thee a coat – such a vestment!
'Twas newly constructed by Poole;
I've found it a losing in vestment —
Oh! how could I be such a fool?

I told thee I hadn't a "stiver;"
I said I'd been "cutting it fat,"
And coolly demanded a "fiver," —
How thou must have chuckled at that!