Unutterable filth is in the air;
You're much depressed, e'en in the fire-side ingle,
The hag dyspepsia seems everywhere.
Your wild disgust in vain you try to bridle,
Mad as March hare or hydrophobic dog,
You feel, in fact, intensely suicidal:
Such things befall us in a London fog!
The most Loyal of Cup-bearers.—A blind man's dog.