Where each wan window laced its tub-herbs.
Small wonder had they cried, I wis,
Shedding large tears amongst their mortar,
"We cannot build such streets as this
Without two extra pints of porter!"
But now—ah well! Here is a bard
Long versed in wild extravaganza,
Knowing the foot-rule, and to lard
With purple bits the pounding stanza;
A little weary of the harp,