London Types: Bus Driver

He's called The General from the brazen craft

And dash with which he sneaks a bit of road

And all its fares; challenged, or chafed, or chaffed,

Back-answers of the newest he'll explode;

He reins his horses with an air; he treats

With scoffing calm whatever powers there be;

He gets it straight, puts a bit on, and meets

His losses with both lip and £ s. d.;

He arrogates a special taste in short;

Is loftily grateful for a flagrant smoke;

At all the smarter housemaids winks his court,

And taps them for half-crowns; being stoney-broke,

Lives lustily; is ever on the make;

And hath, I fear, none other gods but Fake.