For I must gather my scissors and paste and scraps of the bygone years,
And I'm to be one of the Peers, Vicky, I'm to be one of the Peers.
As I came up the Row, Vicky, whom think you I should see?
Lord Queensberry against a lamp, and singing Tweedle-de-dee:
He thought of that vile play, Vicky, I wrote in bygone years;
But I'm to be one of the Peers, Vicky, I'm to be one of the Peers.
He thought I was a fool, Vicky, for I looked dazed and white;
He took me for a fool, Vicky—by jingo, he was right.
They call me Atheist-hater; but I care not for their jeers,
For I'm to be one of the Peers, Vicky, I'm to be one of the Peers.