Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3825/Casus Belli

by R. P. Keigwin

CASUS BELLI.

(For a sensitive Scot.)

Tea-shop, how I loathe thee!
 Our connection's o'er,
Henceforth I don't know thee
 Any more.

'Tisn't that I did not
 On thy pastry dote;
'Tisn't that it slid not
 Down my throat;

'Tisn't that thy crumpets
 Fell a trifle fiat—
If I've got the hump it's
 Not from that.

'Tisn't that the waitress,
 Tried to wink at me,
Or let fall a stray tress
 In my tea;

'Tisn't that I tossed thee
 Tenpence in the till
For a snack that cost thee
Almost nil...

Nay, 'twas this unnerved me—
 Just a scŏne alone,
Which the lass who served me
 Called a scōne.

 

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