Of brandy, too, I'm quite bereft:
The bottle's dry, and—oh, my stars!
This ends what patience I had left—
You've smoked up all my best cigars!
Mrs. Biggs, of Brunswick Square,
Some meeker lodger you must find;
Though good apartments may be rare,
To quit you I've made up my mind.
You held your course without remorse,
To make me trust you with my keys,