The house where Pip did once reside,
The Fountain where sweet Ruth Pinch waited.
We grasped a massive balustrade—
The date, they said, was Sixteen Thirty—
The way was dark, and I'm afraid
We found the staircase rather dirty.
Those grim old stairs to Harry's Den—
We clomb them gaily, nothing daunted—
They still by Warrington and Pen,
And other pleasant ghosts are haunted!