Away he scudded—elbowing, perforce,
Thro’ cads, and lads, and many a Hebrew worrier,
With fruit, knives, pencils,—all dirt cheap of course,
Coachmen, and hawkers of the Globe and “Currier;”
Away!—the cookmaid is not such a skurrier,
When, fit to split her gingham as she goes,
With six just striking on the clock to hurry her,
She strides along with one of her three beaux,
To get well placed at “Ashley’s”—now Ducrow’s.
“I wonder if her moon is full to-night!”