And I am driven from this scene,
Of scrub-land.
The mops and pails left on the stairs
I come across, quite unawares,
And break my shins and utter—prayers,
For tub-land.
In clouds of dust I choke and cough,
Such draughts! My hat I dare not doff,
I'd go (if I were not a toff)
To pub-land.