But whoever it is he has no business there,
And he’ll stand a good chance, so help my bob,
For disturbing the good folks of Woburn Square,
To find himself some day in quod.
But whoever he is he is togg’d all in white,
And such antics he plays in the square every night,
Like a long scaffold pole he stands bolt upright,
This naughty Ghost of Woburn Square,
As large as the soup plates is his glaring eyes,
The sight of which puts you in dread,