His salary, he told me, was lower than before;
And standing at the O.P. wing he strove, and not in vain,
To borrow half a sovereign, which he never paid again.
I saw it but a moment—and I wish I saw it now—
As he buttoned up his pocket with a condescending bow.
And once again we met; but no bandit-chief was there;
His rouge was off, and gone that head of once luxuriant hair:
He lodges in a two-pair back, and at the public near,
He cannot liquidate his “chalk,” or wipe away his beer.
I saw him sad and seedy, yet methinks I see him now,