Forbade to make the pot-house chair their throne,
And floor their glass like truncheonless mankind.
Far from the dangerous scenes of London life—
Garottes and Life-Preservers—let them stay,
And past the area-railings, free from strife,
Pursue the harmless tenor of their way.
For me, who for the Crusher snoring laid,
Do in these lines obvious excuses state—
If ever to the Hulks or Portland led
Some pal should kindly ask about my fate—