At first my Robin was very kind and gentle, so to speak, He never got drunk and kicked me--not more than twice a week, And of his weekly wages, no matter what else he did, He never would spend on pay-nights more than eighteen bob or a quid. * * * * * And after that--it's a month ago--my Robin got much worse, 'Twould make your hair just stand on end to hear him swear and curse, He never gets drunk as he used to do--that's once or twice in a week-- He's never properly sober, on me all his rage he'll wreak. When he comes home of a morning, it's rarely he goes to bed, He takes to drinking about all day, and hammerin' me instead, And well I know my husband's hand, it's weight I often feel, I wouldn't be lyin' so low, mother, if not for my husband's heel. The brewers' carts and the scavengers' to-morrow will be gay, The horses all with ribands decked will walk in grand array, The Corporation carters and their wives will have a spread, And get their annual dinner 'neath the great Haymarket shed. * * * * * Good-night, dear mother, call me before the day is born; I'd like to see the carters a-marching in the morn; The pubs, are closing early, very early, mother dear, So, if you've got any coppers left, just go for a quart of beer! * * * * * THE MAY QUEEN. (_New Version, adapted to existing Climatic Conditions_). [CONSIDERING apology superfluous, Mr. Punch offers none, as the Poet Laureate will doubtless approve the modification of his beautiful lines, rendered needful by recent meteorological conditions.] YOU must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; To-morrow'll be the tryingest time of all the Spring, this year-- Of all the Spring, this year, mother, the dreariest, dreadfullest day; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. There'll be many a red, red nose, no doubt, but none so red as mine; For the wind is still in the East, mother, and makes one peak and pine: And we're going to have six weeks of it, or so the prophets say say-- And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. I sleep so sound all night, mother, I am sure I shall never wake. So you'd better call me loud, mother, and perhaps you'll have to shake: I shall want some coffee hot and strong, before I'm called away, To shiver as Queen o' the May, mother, to shiver as Queen o' the May. As I was coming home to-night, whom think you I should see But DOCTOR SQUILLS! And he saw that my nose was as red as red could be; And he said the weather was cruel sharp, that I'd better stay away,-- But I'm chosen Queen o' the May, mother, so I must be Queen o' the May.