Three Tories retired to their Primrose Lodge―― Left out in the cold when the Cow went down; And the women sate cussing at Countryman Hodge, For going and spoiling the votes of the town. That men should vote――and women should not! But if ever they do, ’twill for Members be hot, So, good-bye to the Dames, and their cadging! _Punch_, December 19, 1885. ―――― THREE FARMERS WENT DRIVING. Three farmers went driving up into the town, Up into the town when the sun was low; Each thought what he’d do when the sun went down, And the women came outward to see them go. For farmers must carry their produce to town To buy themselves clothes and the women a gown, And the neighbours wives are groaning. Three peelers stood out on their lonely beat And swung their staves as the sun went down, They looked at their helmets and looked at their feet, And now and then squinted round through the town: For “cops” must hunt for men who are full, And finding them, ’tis their duty to “pull” Though the prisoners may start howling. Three farmers were locked in a cell that night, Who, loaded with “lush” as the sun went down; Their produce they sold and they soon got tight, And started at once to take in the town. For “cops” will “pull” whenever they see Three farmers together out on a big spree, Whose wives are at home a-growling. _Scraps_, January 1886. ―――― THREE TOPERS. Three topers went strolling out into the East, Out into the East as the sun went down―― Each thought of the liquor that’s brewed with yeast, And not of the wife with the tattered gown―― For men must drink, and women must weep, For there’s little to earn and nothing to keep, When the pot-house bar is groaning. Three wives sat up in a garret bare, And they lit their dips as the sun sank low, And they gazed at the squalor and misery there Till the night-rake comes rolling up stagg’ring slow. For men must drink and women must weep, And storms are sudden when men drink deep, And the pot-house bar is groaning. Three bodies lie out on the shining sands Of the pot-house floor in the morning light, And the women are weeping, and wringing their hands, For there’s murder done in a drunken fight. For men must drink, and women must weep; Oh! would that the Temperance pledge they’d keep, Bid adieu to the bar and its groaning. HYDE PARKER, 1886. ―――― THE THREE POETS.