Yet once again I saw her—
It was in the witness-box—
A fashionable bonnet
Adorned her golden locks.
She looked at me a moment,
Then said what she’d to say;
And that is why they sent me
To gloomy Holloway.
III.
It was night in the month of October,
And the stars were alight in the sky,
When a gent as I thought wasn’t sober
The corner I stood at passed by.
I saw that his chain was a gold one;
I guessed that his watch was the same;
And so, as the gent was an old one,
I thought him legitimate game.
I’d got his gold chain in my fingers,
And was going to give it a tug,
When whack came a couple of stingers—
Two beauties—and right on my lug.
Then I’d one that struck stars from my peeper
And another that shifted my jaw—
A regular send-you-to-sleeper—
And that is the last that I saw.
The last that I saw till a peeler,
To fill sorrow’s cup to the brim,
Put my carcase inside a four-wheeler,
And said, “What a flat to try him!”
“Who is he?” I groaned, as in torture
I nervously felt for my face;
And he said, “Well, you tackled a scorcher;
That elderly gent was Jem Mace.”
The Cigarette.
