Then, la! how they giggle to win my regards,
And I hear them all say, “He’s a gent in the Guards!”
I can sing a flash song, I can blow on the horn,
I like sherry cobblers—am fond of Cremorne;
I love the Cellarius, the Polka I dance,
And I’m rather attached to a party from France.
This gal I adore, is a creature divine,
Though deucedly partial to lobsters and wine;
She was struck with my figure, and caught with a hook,
For I took her to visit “my uncle the Duke.”