Our Mr. Trim

Mr Trim, commercial traveller, is in town again,
   "Our Mr Trim," you know, debonair and neat;
Landed here this morning on the ten-thirty train;
   Can't you hear him laughing there, half down the street?
A bland man, a breezy man, a man to take the eye;
   With his trolly load of sample tins, his big leather bags.
Men say he's popular; ladies say, "Oo, my!"
   John George Augustus Trim, traveller in bags.

Mr Trim, the traveller, oh, very well-dressed,
   Very much the lah-de-dah; handsome, too, at that;
Flowing, braided frock-coat (material the best)
   Pantaloons of shepherd's plaid, tall shiny hat;
Curly set of "sideboards," big silk moustache,
   Diamond on finger and a rolling eye of brown.
"Oo, such a one!" the ladies say.  "Such a shameless mash,"
   And hearts are all a-flutter when our Mr Trim's in town.

Mr Trim, the traveller, drinking with the boys,
   "Heard the latest yarn, lads?  Got it at the club."
"He's such a card, that Mr trim!  Listen to that noise!
   Such a fav-rite with the fellers," says the lady at the pub.
Mr Trim, with customers, "putting out a line,"
   Feeding them with flattery, indulging every whim.
"Oh, better say two dozen.  Shall I book it for you?  Fine . . ."
   "A useful fellow," says The Firm -- "Our Mr Trim."

Mr Trim, the traveller, married rather well --
   Squatter's daughter, up the north -- heaps and heaps of cash.
Put it in a wholesale house, so the gossips tell;
   Stuck it for a dozen years, and then went smash.
Mr Trim is knocking round somewhere still they say,
   Frock coat and shepherd's plaids drooping, like his hope;
Slightly down-at-heel and bald, cuffs inclined to fray --
   John George Augustus Trim, traveller in soap.