Like a fine Young London Gentleman,
Quite of the present style.
He will say that port and sherry his nice palate always cloy;
He’ll drink nothing but “B. and S.” and big magnums of “the Boy;”
He’s the darling of the Barmaid, and the honest Waiter’s joy,
As he quaffs his Pommery “extra sec,” his “Giesler;” or “Irroy,”
Like a fine Young London Gentleman,
Quite of the present style.
On a Racecourse he imagines that he knows what he is at,
He talks so scornfully of “mugs,” and says he knows a “flat;”