That good Mrs. Browne grew quite elate;
And Browne, though he muttered, “It’s rather late,”
Replenished the fire, and swept up the grate,
And trimmed the Palmer’s candle.
Thus went the talk,—“Poor Lady Flashe
Has eloped with Captain Sabretasche;
They bolted from Baden-Baden,
While Sir Anthony Flashe their flight ne’er checked,
As it on his rheumatics had no effect;
Like the Jews of old, since he’s grown ‘stiffnecked,’