And last, not least, a Bum.
Ah! who can tell, but those who know
Of poverty the pangs,
When, floored by fate, to quod we go,
In ruthless Bailiff's fangs?
"And must I, then, to prison go,
"And leave my wife and cub?
"Farewell to larking and to grog—
Farewell my Funny Club.
"The sun of jollity has set,