To The Glasgow Magistrates

(On their Proposal to Banish Barmaids)         May it please your Worships,         For years past, Glasgow has stood in the forefront         As a city given over to the small-pox         And magisterial reform.         It is, I believe,         An exceedingly well-managed city:         In fact, it appears to be managed         Out of all reasonable existence;         Hence, no doubt, it comes to pass         That it was lately visited         By a smart sample of the plague.         I have not the smallest doubt that your Worships         Are sincere and clean-thinking men.         I believe that you do what you do do, so to speak,         Out of sheer public spirit         And with a view to bettering the condition         Of the city over which you preside.         In other words, I impute no motives:         That is to say, no base motives.         But, my dear Worships,         Why, in the name of Heaven, would you abolish         The harmless, necessary barmaid?         Have you never been young?         Have you never known the tender delight         Of whiling away a morning         With your elbow on the zinc         And threepennyworth of Bass before you?         What, may I ask your Worships,         Is Bass without a barmaid?         I grant that, taking them all in all,         The barmaids of Scotland         Are not what you might term         An altogether bewitching lot.         Years ago, when I was young and callow,         Fate threw me into the propinquity         Of a lady of this ilk;         She hailed from Glasgow,         And she was not beautiful;         On the other hand, I was young.         And, out of an income which was even slenderer then         Than it is now,         I purchased for that dear lady of the North         Many bottles of perfume,         Many pairs of kid gloves,         And a Prayer Book or so;         And, when I had consumed innumerable Basses         At her altar,         And the time had, as I thought, become ripe,         I offered her matrimony,         To which she replied, in limpid Doric:         "Gang awa hame to yer mither."         That, my dear Worships,         Is Glasgow!         If you can weed out of Glasgow         All young females         Possessed of this particular kind of temperament,         I am not so sure         But that you would have my blessing.         On the other hand, I am free to admit         That I hae my doots as to your capacity for so doing.         The perfume-bottle,         The kid gloves,         The Prayer Book         And "Na, na, na, I winna,"         Will always remain the prerogatives         Of the Glasgae lassies,         If I know anything of them.         Also, my dear Worships,         One thing is absolutely certain,         That, if the magistrates of all the cities         In the United Kingdom         Would take the step you have taken,         We should have gone a very considerable way         Towards solving the drink problem,         And putting Sir Michael Hicks-Beach         Into a fearful hole for money.         P.S. - I hate Scotch men,         But I sometimes think that Scotch women         Are rather bonnie.