In the Quaker City’s centre,—
Where relaxation’s rife.
’Tis a melting pot and leveler
For the man who has a ‘bump’,
Or the one with trouble burdened
Like a dromedary’s hump.
One finds parry and riposte rare
Unto the nth degree,
And Barney Bright, the Irish wight,
Who orders “darks” for me.