And you, young shaver, what is it you bring?
Razor and soap, like shavers young and old—
The soap to soothe, razor to cut and sting?—
Will wedding-bell be heard, and death-knell toll'd?
You see, my lad, we're anxious as to what you have in store,
For there's still some things to put to rights bequeathed by Ninety-Four.
In Parliament, no doubt, you'll make your game—
In Camp, and Court, and County Council, too?
Make sport of love—make foul an honoured name—
And all the little fun you're wont to do?