When Prehistoric Man desired
Communion with his maid elect,
And arts of suasion left him tired,
He took to action more direct;
Scaring her with a savage whoop or
Putting his club across her head,
He bore her in a state of stupor
Home to his stony bridal bed.

In ages rather more refined,
Gentlemen of the King's highway,
Whose democratic tastes inclined
To easy hours and ample pay,
Would hardly ever hold their victim
Engaged in academic strife,
But raised their blunderbuss and ticked him
Off with "Your money or your life."

So when your miners, swift to scout
The use of reason's slow appeal,
Threaten to starve our children out
And bring the country in to heel,
There's nothing, as I understand it,
So very new in this to show;
The cave-man and the cross-roads bandit
Were there before them long ago.

O.S.