"Come," said TIME, with more approval than he had yet shown, "this is better—much better. We need feel no shame is listening to this young lady, at all events. What is she going to give us? Some tender little love-ditty, I'll be bound?"
She sang of love, certainly, though she treated the subject from rather an advanced point of view, and this was the song she sang:—
"True love—you tyke the tip from me—'s all blooming tommy-rot!
And the only test we go by is—'ow much a man has got?
So none of you need now despair a girlish 'art to mash,—
So long as you're provided with the necessairy cash!"
And the chorus was:—
"You may be an 'owling cad;
Or be gowing to the bad;
Or a hoary centenarian, or empty-headed lad;