But when on you my back was turned,
You needs must play such pranks as these.
Mrs. Biggs, of Brunswick square,
If rooms be vacant on your hands,
If footsteps sound not on your stair,
And tenantless your mansion stands,
Go, teach that orphan girl you call
Eliza,—she who cleans the boots,—
The awful fate which waits for all
Who steal their lodgers' best cheroots.