Peter The Wag

Policeman PETER forth I drag     From his obscure retreat:     He was a merry genial wag,     Who loved a mad conceit.     If he were asked the time of day,     By country bumpkins green,     He not unfrequently would say,     "A quarter past thirteen."     If ever you by word of mouth     Inquired of MISTER FORTH     The way to somewhere in the South,     He always sent you North.     With little boys his beat along     He loved to stop and play;     He loved to send old ladies wrong,     And teach their feet to stray.     He would in frolic moments, when     Such mischief bent upon,     Take Bishops up as betting men     Bid Ministers move on.     Then all the worthy boys he knew     He regularly licked,     And always collared people who     Had had their pockets picked.     He was not naturally bad,     Or viciously inclined,     But from his early youth he had     A waggish turn of mind.     The Men of London grimly scowled     With indignation wild;     The Men of London gruffly growled,     But PETER calmly smiled.     Against this minion of the Crown     The swelling murmurs grew     From Camberwell to Kentish Town     From Rotherhithe to Kew.     Still humoured he his wagsome turn,     And fed in various ways     The coward rage that dared to burn,     But did not dare to blaze.     Still, Retribution has her day,     Although her flight is slow:     ONE DAY THAT CRUSHER LOST HIS WAY     NEAR POLAND STREET, SOHO.     The haughty boy, too proud to ask,     To find his way resolved,     And in the tangle of his task     Got more and more involved.     The Men of London, overjoyed,     Came there to jeer their foe,     And flocking crowds completely cloyed     The mazes of Soho.     The news on telegraphic wires     Sped swiftly o'er the lea,     Excursion trains from distant shires     Brought myriads to see.     For weeks he trod his self-made beats     Through Newport- Gerrard- Bear-     Greek- Rupert- Frith- Dean- Poland- Streets,     And into Golden Square.     But all, alas! in vain, for when     He tried to learn the way     Of little boys or grown-up men,     They none of them would say.     Their eyes would flash their teeth would grind     Their lips would tightly curl     They'd say, "Thy way thyself must find,     Thou misdirecting churl!"     And, similarly, also, when     He tried a foreign friend;     Italians answered, "Il balen"     The French, "No comprehend."     The Russ would say with gleaming eye     " Sevastopol!" and groan.     The Greek said, [Greek text],     [Greek text]."     To wander thus for many a year     That Crusher never ceased     The Men of London dropped a tear,     Their anger was appeased     At length exploring gangs were sent     To find poor FORTH'S remains     A handsome grant by Parliament     Was voted for their pains.     To seek the poor policeman out     Bold spirits volunteered,     And when they swore they'd solve the doubt,     The Men of London cheered.     And in a yard, dark, dank, and drear,     They found him, on the floor     It leads from Richmond Buildings near     The Royalty stage-door.     With brandy cold and brandy hot     They plied him, starved and wet,     And made him sergeant on the spot     The Men of London's pet!