Poets •
Biographies •
Poems by Themes •
Random Poem •
The Rating of Poets • The Rating of Poems |
||
|
Poem by Marriott Edgar The Jubilee Sov’reign On Jubilee Day the Ramsbottoms Invited relations to tea, Including young Albert’s grandmother- An awkward old . . party, was she. She’d seen Queen Victoria’s accession And `er wedding to Albert (the Good) But she got quite upset when young Albert Asked `er `ow she’d got on in the Flood. She cast quite a damper on’t party, But she warmed up a bit after tea, And gave Albert a real golden sovereign She’d been saving since last Jubilee. It `ad picture of Queen on’t one side And a dragon fight on the reverse, And it smelled of camphor and cobwebs Through being so long in `er purse. Albert `andled the coin, and `e kissed it And `e felt the rough edge with `is tongue; For `e knew by the look of `is father That it wouldn’t be `is very long. ”I`ll show you a trick wi’ that sovereign,” Said Pa, `oo were `overin’ near- And `e took and pretended to eat it, Then brought it back out of `is ear. This magic filled Albert with wonder, And before you could say ”Uncle Dick”, `E’d got the coin back from `is father And performed the first part of the trick. When they all saw where the money `ad gone With excitement the relatives burned; And each one suggested some process For getting the money returned. Some were for fishing with tweezers, While some were for shaking it out; ”If we only got back a few shillings,” They said ”`twould be better than nowt.” They tried `olding Albert `ead downward And giving `is shoulders a clump- `Till his uncle, `oo worked for a chemist Said ”There’s nowt for it but stomach pump.” Well, they `adn’t a stomach pump `andy, But Pa did the best that `e could With a bicycle pump that they borrowed But that weren’t nearly so good. So off they went to the doctor `Oo looked down `is throat with a glass; `E said ”This’ll mean operation- I fear that `e’ll `ave to `ave gas.” ”`Ow much is this `ere goin’ to cost me?” Said Father, beginning to squirm. ”I’m afraid that it comes out expensive- The best gas is eight pence a therm. There’s my time, six shillings an hour; You can’t do these things in two ticks- By rights I should charge you a guinea, But I’ll do it for eighteen and six.” ”Wot, eighteen and six to get sovereign?” Said Father, ”That doesn’t sound sense I’ll tell you, you’d best keep young Albert And give us the odd eighteen pence!” The doctor concurred this arrangement, But to this day he stands in some doubt As to whether he’s in eighteen shillings Or whether he’s eighteen pence out. Marriott Edgar Marriott Edgar's other poems: 1185 Views |
|
English Poetry. E-mail eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |