London Types - XIII. Barmaid

Though, if you ask her name, she says ELISE,     Being plain ELIZABETH, e'en let it pass,     And own that, if her aspirates take their ease,     She ever makes a point, in washing glass,     Handling the engine, turning taps for tots,     And countering change, and scorning what men say,     Of posing as a dove among the pots,     Nor often gives her dignity away.     Her head's a work of art, and, if her eyes     Be tired and ignorant, she has a waist;     Cheaply the Mode she shadows; and she tries     From penny novels to amend her taste;     And, having mopped the zinc for certain years,     And faced the gas, she fades and disappears.     The Artist muses at his ease,     Contented that his work is done,     And smiling - smiling! - as he sees     His crowd collecting, one by one.     Alas! his travail's but begun!     None, none can keep the years in line,     And what to Ninety-Eight is fun     May raise the gorge of Ninety-Nine!     MUSWELL HILL, 1898.