Foine morning! da-da!’ Faith I wish him joy—
He’s forty-three years old—in good condition—
And, positively, he has gained ‘position.’
Gad! what a polish ‘upper-ten-dom’ gives
This executioner of adjectives;
This man who strangles English worse than Thuggists,
And turns ‘the trade’ to trunk-makers or druggists;
Labors on tragic plays that draw no tiers—
Writes under bridges, and tells tales of peers;
His subjects whey—his language sugared curds;