That skirts the stage, above the foot-light’s glare,
His careless length at evening would he throw,
And gaze upon the girl that dances there.
“Hard by yon bar, now swearing, as in spite,
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove;
Now talking awful wild, like one half ‘tight,’
Of some new ‘mash,’ his latest love!
“One night we missed him ’mong the accustomed bloods’
Within the corner near his favourite she;
Another came; not yet among the ‘gods,’