Consols.
At Beulah Spa, where love is law, was my fond heart
beguiled;
I pour'd my passion in her ear—she whisper'd, “Draw
it mild!”
In Clerkenwell you bear the bell: what muffin-man does
not?
And since, my Paul, you've gain'd your p'int, perhaps
you 'll stand your pot.
The Charlie quite, I've, honour bright, sent packing for a