Page:The Yellow Book - 02.djvu/121

 By John Davidson COULDN'T touch a stop and turn a screw, And set the blooming world a-work for me, Like such as cut their teeth—I hope, like you—
 * On the handle of a skeleton gold key.

I cut mine on leek, which I eat it every week:
 * I'm a clerk at thirty bob, as you can see.

But I don't allow it's luck and all a toss;
 * There's no such thing as being starred and crossed;

It's just the power of some to be a boss,
 * And the bally power of others to be bossed:

I face the music, sir; you bet I ain't a cur!
 * Strike me lucky if I don't believe I'm lost!

For like a mole I journey in the dark,
 * A-travelling along the underground

From my Pillar'd Halls and broad suburban Park
 * To come the daily dull official round;

And home again at night with my pipe all alight
 * A-scheming how to count ten bob a pound.

Rh