SIR THEODORE MARTIN.
THE LAY OF THE LOVELORN.
(TENNYSON)
Comrades, you may pass the rosy. With permission of the chair,
I shall leave you for a little, for I'd like to take the air.
Whether 'twas the sauce at dinner, or that glass of ginger-beer;
Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little queer.
Let me go. Nay, Chuckster, blow me, 'pon my soul, this is too bad!
When you want me, ask the waiter; he knows where I'm to be had.
Whew! This is a great relief now! Let me but undo my stock;