A poem satirising the participation of the servant classes in railway speculation
|This cartoon accompanied the article in Punch|
Come all ye gents vot cleans the plate¹,
Come all ye ladies maids² so fair--
Vile I a story vill relate
Of cruel Jeames of Buckley Square.
A tighter¹ lad, it is confest,
Neer valked with powder in his air, [Note 553.2]
Or vore a nosegay in his breast,
Than andsum Jeames of Buckley Square.
O Evns! it vas the best of sights,
Behind his Master's coach and pair,
To see our Jeames in red plush¹ tights,
A driving hoff from Buckley Square.
He vel became his hagwilletts,
He cocked his at with such a hair;
His calves and viskers vas such pets²,
That hall loved Jeames of Buckley Square.
He pleased the hup-stairs folks as vell,
And o! I vithered vith despair,
Missis vould ring the parler bell,
And call up Jeames in Buckley Square.
Both beer and sperrits he abhord,
(Sperrits and beer I can't a bear,)
You would have thought he vas a lord
Down in our 'All¹ in Buckley Square.
Last year he visper'd 'Mary Ann,
Ven I've an under'd pound² to spare,
To take a public¹ is my plan,
And leave this hojous Buckley Square.'
O how my gentle heart did bound,
To think that I his name should bear.
'Dear Jeames.' says I, 'I've twenty pound;
And gev them him in Buckley Square.
Our master vas a City gent,
His name's in railroads everywhere,
And lord, vot lots of letters vent
Betwigst his brokers and Buckley Square:
My Jeames it was the letters took,
And read them all, (I think it's fair,)
And took a leaf from Master's book,
As hothers do in Buckley Square.
Encouraged with my twenty pound,
Of which poor I was unavare,
He wrote the Companies all round, [Note 553.1]
And signed hisself from Buckley Square.
And how John Porter used to grin,
As day by day, share after share,
Came railvay letters pouring in,
'J. Plush, Esquire, in Buckley Square.'
Our servants' All was in a rage--
Scrip¹, stock¹, curves, gradients, bull¹ and bear¹,
Vith butler¹, coachman, groom¹ and page¹
Vas all the talk in Buckley Square.
But O! imagine vot I felt
Last Vensday veek as ever were;
I gits a letter, which I spelt
'Miss M. A. Hoggins, Buckley Square.'
He sent me back my money true--
He sent me back my lock of air,
And said, 'My dear, I bid ajew
To Mary Hann and Buckley Square.
Think not to marry, foolish Hann,
With people who your betters are;
James Plush is now a gentleman,
And you--a cook in Buckley Square.
'I've thirty thousand guineas¹ won,
In six short months, by genus rare;
You little thought what Jeames was on,
Poor Mary Hann, in Buckley Square.
I've thirty thousand guineas net,
Powder and plush I scorn to vear;
And so, Miss Mary Hann, forget
For hever Jeames, of Buckley Square.'
The rest of the MS. is illegible, being literally washed away in a flood of tears