But I'm too feeble to resist,
And do not like to lie;
And Sixpence, under Schedule D,
Torments me till I cry,
Do please give me a Penny, Sir!
Consols, or Dividends, or Rents
Don't interest _me_ much;
"Goschens," reduced or otherwise,
Are things _I_ may not touch,
Two hundred pounds per year, all told,
Leaves little room for "exes;"
And 'tisn't only _public_ men
That "lack of pence" much vexes.
So please give me a Penny, Sir!
The mysteries of High Finance
I don't presume to plumb;
So year by year my back they shear,
Sure that they'll find _me_ dumb.
But the oft-trodden worm will turn;
"Demand Notes" never slack;
And "Schedule D" fast at twice three,
Breaks the wage-earner's back.
So please give me a Penny, Sir!
The moneyed swells who make "returns,"
Much at their own sweet will,
Don't gauge the poor clerk's scanty purse,
The small shopkeeper's till,
How hard 'tis to make both ends meet,
When hard times tightly nip;
Or how small incomes sorely feel
The annual sixpenny dip.
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