Till (wracked by indecision’s pangs) I see
The last pub close.
[162]
]SAY, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF IT NOW?
Ye comrades in shicker and cobbers in sin,
Ye wrecks from the ranks of life’s crew,
Who’ve tickled each barmaid under the chin
And frivolled with nymphs in the Rue;
Who’ve painted the town a magnificent red
(All impressionist artists, I trow),