I take odds you'll exclaim, 'twixt a grunt and a stare,
'Gottferdummi' the beggar's gone mad, I declare,
And his wits must have followed his 'peeper'—not so;
He will give you the wherefore, will William Barlow—
Viz: he's so seedy and blue, he's so deucedly triste,
He's so d——d out of sorts, he's so d——d out of tune,
That for mere consolation he cannot resist
The temptation of holding with Tommy commune.
Then that he should be bothered alone, isn't fair,
So he'll just bother you a bit, pour se distraire,