The sun might shine on Hampstead Heath, its rays might fall on Kew,
The sands might scorch on Margate shore, as they are wont to do,
The fare (return) might be reduced to less than half-a-crown;
No briny air or moderate fare could lure me out of town.

For other ears did ’Arry play “Bedelia” on the sands,
And others passed the afternoon entranced by German bands,
For others’ eyes did ’Arriet flaunt her special summer gown;
No latest styles could woo my smiles, for I remained in town.

And when excursion trains returned, invariably late,
And each compartment held a score above its legal freight,
And every face, once wreathed in smiles, was darkened by a frown;
Then I was glad that I had had the sense to stay in town.