Which means the usual sort of lies
You’ve heard from every swell;
When, bored with every sort of bosh,
You’d give the world to see
A friend whose love you know will wash,
Oh, then remember me!
The funniest burlesque of Wordsworth’s We are Seven, with which we are acquainted, is by Mr H. S. Leigh:
‘I thought it would have sent me mad
Last night about eleven.’
Said I: ‘What is it makes you bad?