Printed for the Society of Vice

“ The master said to the Schoolboy,
As it fell on a day,
"All the rest are to go,
Frank Fane is to stay.
I set you all free
From the birch and the cane,
Not a boy shall be swished,
Not a boy, but Frank Fane." ”

“ And he handled the Rod,
With a terrible twist,
But muscles grow weary,
And arms lose their powers,
There's an end for all nice things,
For floggings - like flowers.
Shrieks Frank Fane, "I'm dying!" ”

“ Such islands!
Such mountains of weals
And such pretty red rivers
Running down t'wards the heels!
Here's the Master returning,
A cigar 'tween his lips,
Hurrah! for the Master
Who smokes while he whips! ”