Of the palings and the garden wall, where he the carpets shook:
He saw the kitchen fire where oft he’d warm’d his toes,
The footman bent upon his stick, and stood to wipe his nose.
Upon those steps a girl was scrubbing on her knees,
The wind took off her bonnet which flutter’d in the breeze.
She pray’d that it might fall by him, as in the air it rose,
He grinn’d, but lest that she should see, he stood and wiped his nose.
He turn’d and left the place where he had lived a week,
Too youthful was the footman’s heart, tho’ whiskered was his cheek;
Yet he had gain’d that cooky’s love, and banish’d other beaux,