Comes the threatening of bills!
Cruel bills!
Pictures of a ruined home inspire the writers’ quills.
’Tis the last, the sorest strait,
And we shrink before the fate
That is bellowed in the menace of their tone.
Cringing now amongst our friends,
See, the humble prayer ascends
For a loan!
And relations--rich relations--
Will they heed our supplications?
They are stone.
They’ve no carking, biting, wearing,
Tearing trouble of their own;
No great horror of despairing
Poverty they’ve ever known.
Are they fathers? Are they mothers?
Have they children, sisters, brothers?--
Have they hearts?
Back the message comes from each.
God! They preach, preach, preach,
Preach
A sermon on our bills,
Purse-proud opulency thrills
With a shudder at the bills,
At the bills,
Saying, “Go, go, go,
Pay the money that you owe.
You are blotted from our wills,
From our wills, wills, wills.
We shall never meet your bills--
Oh dear no, no, no.
Ask the hills, hills, hills
If they’ll help you in your woe--
Beg the sea to pay your bills,
Pay your bills, bills, bills.”
* * * * *
Now the heart-beat slows and stills,
Lost in wilderness of ills;
Drowned in bills, bills, bills.
Oh! the railing of the bills,
Of the bills, bills, bills;
Oh! the wailing of the bills,
Of the bills, bills, bills;
See them patter on his coffin,
As they fill a wretch’s grave
Full of bills, bills, bills--
Cursèd bills!
PRINTED BY
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON
PLYMOUTH