A Seven Dials pothouse? No fear!
I’ll find heroes, I’ll bet, just as good as you’ll get,
Though perhaps they may owe to their beer
A grain—just a grain—of the courage
That stamps them the bulldogs of war.
“But, lor, where’s the hurt in a pint or a quart?
And, blow you! whoever you are—
“If you rob a pore man of his lotion,
And go turning him out of his pubs,
Whilst, half Sunday, he sits on the kerbstone, and spits,