Loudly they talked of his money that's gone
And his lady began to upbraid him;
But little he reck'd, so they let him snore on
'Neath the counterpane just as we laid him.
We tucked him in, and had hardly done
When, beneath the window calling,
We heard the rough voice of a son of a gun
Of a watchman "One o'clock!" bawling.
Slowly and sadly we all walk'd down
From his room in the uppermost story;