A poem for bankers

by Instant Noodle


WHO puts my money in his till,
And when in difficulties will
Employ it to take up a Bill?                        My Banker.

Who cuts a very pretty dash,
By spending other people’s cash,
And ends with a tremendous smash ?                        My Banker.

Who has a pleasant country seat,
With park and grounds and all complete,
And is a thorough going cheat?                        My Banker.

Who goes to church and says his prayers
And gives himself religious airs,
And pawns my bonds, and sells my shares ?                        My Banker.

Who when convinced the house must go
Hints to a friend to let him know,
‘Tis well to keep his balance low;                        My Banker.

Who lives in most recherche style.
And wears the very blandest smile,
Though he’s insolvent all the while ?                        My Banker.

Who my a lesson yet be taught,
And find himself some morning brought
Before the Central Criminal Court ?                        My Banker.

Has there ever been a period of time where people didn’t hate bankers?

(June 1867; in the thick of a major financial crisis triggered by the collapse of Gurneys, a major London bank)