THE LITTLE HALF-SOVEREIGN 
I7 
 
Then to the shrieks of devils 
Writhing in torments keen, 
Sing me the song that tells me 
Ever of Walham Green. 
 
Sing of the little half-sovereign 
Dancing in golden sheen ; 
Leave me in Hell—or, better, 
Leave me in Walham Green. 
 
 
[The occasion of this poem was the meeting of the author 
with a fair and virtuous damsel of pleasant address and 
conversation.  She politely asked him to call at her 
residence on the following Sunday :  but, on his doing so, 
she straightway demanded half-a-sovereign, and proffered 
a shameful equivalent.  The indignant boy went off and 
gave vent to his feeling in the above rhymes.—R. P. L.]