Lincoln’s Inn.
Comrades, leave me here a minute, for it is not five o’clock,
Leave me here, and when you want me, you will find me at the Cock.
’Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, the smoke-cowls spin,
Dreary gleam the dirty windows, never cleaned in Lincoln’s Inn.
Lincoln’s Inn that from its chambers overlooks a grimy square,
With some blackened stubby bushes, killed by smoke and want of air.
Many a morning from my office, have I heard the dirty boys,
Shouting “Paper” down the area, in the full delight of noise;