And he cried, “Past eleven,” most vociferously.
The hours while she number’d, her anger still slumber’d,
And she thought where the deuce her wild husband could be!
Oh! where is he snoring till this hour of the morning,
Oh! I’m certain he can’t be in good companie.
Sich hours to be keeping, is quite overleaping
The bounds of decorum and all modesty;
I think it is rather improper in a father,
Who might sit quietly at home, in his wife’s companie.
And five in the morning, saw Jenkins returning,