Comrades, you may pass the rosy. With permission of the chair
I shall leave you for a little, for I'd like to take the air.
Whether 'twas the sauce at dinner, or that glass of ginger beer,
Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little queer.
* * * * *
In my ears I hear the singing of a lot of favourite tunes—
Bless my heart, how very odd! Why, surely there's a brace of moons!
See! the stars! how bright they twinkle, winking with a frosty glare;
Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to despair.
Oh, my cousin, spider hearted! Oh, my Amy! No, confound it!