Mine is a house at Notting Hill:
The Indian's tum-tum smites my ear;
A crowd enjoys a casual 'mill'
With no policeman lingering near.
The thief attempts the chain and watch
Conspicuous in my spacious vest;
Their balls of brass the tumblers catch,
In soiled and spangled garments dressed.
Around my steps street-organs bring
The dirtiest brats that can be seen;