his boiling kettle! 

 

 

   TO THE GLASGOW MAGISTRATES 

 (On their Proposal to Banish Barmaids) 

 May it please your Worships, For years past, Glasgow has stood in the forefront As a city given over to the small-pox And magisterial reform. It is, I believe, An exceedingly well-managed city: In fact, it appears to be managed Out of all reasonable existence; Hence, no doubt, it comes to pass That it was lately visited By a smart sample of the plague. I have not the smallest doubt that your Worships Are sincere and clean-thinking men. I believe that you do what you do do, so to speak, Out of sheer public spirit And with a view to bettering the condition Of the city over which you preside. In other words, I impute no motives: That is to say, no base motives. But, my dear Worships, Why, in the name of Heaven, would you abolish The harmless, necessary barmaid? Have you never been young? Have you never known the tender delight Of whiling away a morning With your elbow on the zinc And threepennyworth of Bass before you? What, may I ask your Worships, Is Bass without a barmaid? I grant that, taking them all in all, The barmaids of Scotland Are not what you might term An altogether bewitching lot. Years ago, when I was young and callow, Fate threw me into the propinquity Of a lady of this ilk; She hailed from Glasgow, And she was not beautiful; On the other hand, I was young. And, out of an income which was even slenderer then Than it is now, I purchased for that dear lady of the North Many bottles of perfume, Many pairs of kid gloves, And a Prayer Book or so; And, when I had consumed innumerable Basses At her altar, And the time had, as I thought, become ripe, I offered her matrimony, To which she replied, in limpid Doric: "Gang awa hame to yer mither." That, my dear Worships, Is Glasgow! If you can weed out of Glasgow All young females Possessed of this particular kind of temperament, I am not so sure But that you would have my blessing. On the other hand, I am free to admit That I hae my doots as to your capacity for so doing. The perfume-bottle, The kid gloves, The Prayer Book And "Na, na, na, I winna," Will always remain the prerogatives Of the Glasgae lassies, 

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