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HARVEY _versus_ JARVEY.
A MOLONCHOLY CASE.
Well, here's a fine beginning all along of these here Harveys;
Sure-ly they're getting the whip-hand of all us honest jarvies;
To rob us of our fare is like depriving us of vittle,
And giving us no meat to cut, but leaving us a Whittle.
The watermen are all in tears,—it's fitting you should know,
That the stopping of our going is to them a tale of "Wo;"
And the 'osses stands, quite sad to see, besides the crib in vain,
And wonders whether they shall ever taste a bit again.
Now they're gettin' out of natur, for their raws is all a healing,
And soon they'll be onsenseless brutes, without a bit of feeling.
Or else they'll pine away so fast, the knackers scarce will skin 'em,
For they miss the bits of thrashing just to keep the life within 'em,
And the cuts that makes 'em lively, arter waiting in the street,
For 'tis but being on the stand that keeps 'em on their feet.
Now, blow'd if I can understand this here licensious day.
Unless it means the taking all our licence quite away.
And then, again, for characters, how very hard they use 'em,
Both them as vainly strive to find, and those who'd gladly lose 'em.
The cads look quite cadaverous, to think there's such a fuss
At their stepping from the treadmill, to the step behind a 'bus.
But here's the greatest grief, and sure it makes one choke to put on
A libel to one's neck, just like cheap cag-mag-scrag of mutton;
There's nothing stares us in the face but rueful ruination,
So there's my ticket, and I'll seek some more genteel vocation.