Poor wretched Twenty-One’s!

No landed lumps, but frumps and humps,

(Discretion’s Days are far from trumps)

Domestic discord, dowdies, dumps,

Death, dockets, debts, and duns!

If you must drink, oh drink “the King,”

Reform—the Church—the Press—the Ring,

Drink Aldgate Pump—or anything,

Before a toast like this!

Nay, tell me, coming thus of age,