That mother lent our dicky to the sweep,
When all of us were weeping and the baby gave up sleeping
Because it was impossible to sleep;
But all the rows that ever raged in any British home
Were never half so horrible as that
Which made the coppers rally to the storming of our alley
When father threw his wages at the cat!"
"Is that out of date?" said I. "If so, I like the old style best.'
He grunted. "It'll pass," he said; "but the other's the business."
"Well, give me pleasure first," said I. "As a true Briton I can always take it sadly."