She with her apron wiped the plates, and as she rubb’d the delf
Said I might “go to Jericho, and fetch the beer myself!”
I did not go to Jericho—I went to Mr. Cobb—
I changed a shilling—(which in town the people call “a Bob”)—
It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar child—
And I said, “A pint of double X, and please to draw it mild!”—
When I came back I gazed about—I gazed on stool and chair—
I could not see my little friend—because he was not there!
I peep’d beneath the table-cloth—beneath the sofa too—
I said, “You little vulgar Boy! why, what’s become of you?”