And half to the North. Hooray!
Low on the wood, and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away."
I say, this is better now, goodness knows,
Than it was but a short time syne.
Oho! my Lord Duke, I am glad to suppose
That much of the credit is thine,
And that I need not go softly and hold my nose,
Or feel sick like a man on the brine.
No scent of rank refuse goes into my blood