I’m fifty and a little more—rather than little less,
I’m a little barrister, in my little home,
Up to which at Camden Town I from chambers roam;
With my little children climbing up my knee,
As with a mutton chop I make a dinner of my tea.
Though annoyed with little notes demanding little bills,
I do my little utmost to conquer little ills;
But often to my countenance there comes a little smile,
As I think that all our troubles last a very little while.