  THE Strand was in a dreadful state, And so was Mary Ann They’d gone and raised the postal rate ’Twixt her and her young man. She might have sent by parcels post Her lover’s Christmas card, But gales were raging round the coast, And it was freezing hard. What was a poor distracted maid To do in such a case, When only half the odds were laid An hour before the race? She had a right to see the rules, According to the law; But as the staff were mostly fools, The time was all she saw. So, losing heart, she gave a groan And, taking off her socks, She dropped them (they were not her own) Inside the pillar-box. (Her socks, as you may shrewdly guess, Were stockings, truth to tell; For as to-day young ladies dress Socks would not look so well.) She left her boots to mark the place, And went to Drury Lane; But there was that in Gus’s face Which filled her heart with pain. He would not pass her to the pit; She said, “I’m on the Press.” She thought he would have had a fit, And burst his evening dress. “If you are on the Press,” he cried, “You ought to wear your shoes But, as there’s room for one inside, I cannot well refuse. He put her in a private box, Which hid her to the knees; And sent to Alias for some frocks, And whispered, “Choose from these.” She chose a page’s trunks and hose, A fairy’s skirt of gauze, And while she dressed Augustus rose And left amid applause. Then back she went a fairy queen Into the G.P.O.; She passed the rows of clerks between, And all were bowing low. They weighed her card with smirk and smile, The stamps with care imposed; The postage was a pound a mile, Because the ends were closed. But in her fairy garment she Did look so sweet a gal, “O.H.M.S.” was put by the Postmaster-General. And ere her card her love unclosed Another knot was tied: The P.M.G. himself proposed, And now she is his bride. MORAL.If information you would ask, When P.O. clerks are pressed, You’ll find it aid you in your task If you go nicely dressed! |
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