Poem by William Ernest Henley

London Types: Bus Driver

He's called The General from the brazen craft
And dash with which he sneaks a bit of road
And all its fares; challenged, or chafed, or chaffed,
Back-answers of the newest he'll explode;
He reins his horses with an air; he treats
With scoffing calm whatever powers there be;
He gets it straight, puts a bit on, and meets
His losses with both lip and £ s. d.;
He arrogates a special taste in short;
Is loftily grateful for a flagrant smoke;
At all the smarter housemaids winks his court,
And taps them for half-crowns; being stoney-broke,
Lives lustily; is ever on the make;
And hath, I fear, none other gods but Fake.

1. Echoes. 23. The Skies Are Strown with Stars
2. Echoes. 37. Or Ever the Knightly Years Were Gone
3. Rhymes and Rhythms. Epilogue
4. Attadale, West Highlands
5. Echoes. 30. Kate-a-Whimsies, John-a-Dreams

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