POLICE COURT SENSE

When Uncle Edward comes to dine,

He drinks such quantities of wine,

You never know

How far he'll go,

Or what he'll leave unsaid;

He frequently insults his host,

And quotes things from the Winning Post,

Until, with sighs,

His friends arise

And bear him off to bed.

But as they leave him in his bunk,

With what a joy intense

They realise he is not drunk —

In the Police Court sense!

He played bezique with me, one day,

To find that, at the close of play,

He'd lost each game;

The total came

To three pounds seventeen.

He never paid a cent of that,

And took away my new top-hat,

Leaving behind

A hideous kind

Of gibus, old and green.

But still it filled me with relief,

Observing his offence,

To think that he was not a thief —

In the Police Court sense!

The details of his private life,

The way he treats his luckless wife,

Make all aware

That he can care

For nothing but himself;

But what on earth is she to do,

Though snubbed and beaten black and blue?

To sue, of course,

For a divorce

Would be a waste of pelf.

Yet, all the same, my aunt avows,

It saves her much expense

To feel she has a faithful spouse —

In the Police Court sense!