Good gentlemen, she's songs for you—'tis time to drop dissension;
'Tis time to cut the cackle and to close awhile the shop;
For stags shall be in Badenoch, and Kent hath twined the hop.
Yes, songs for every son o' you, and all have silver linings!
Good gentlemen, good gentlemen, it's close, your London air;
If I'm mixing up the proverbs, 'tis because my roads run shining
Through the fret of far-off pine-woods, and I'm wishful to be there;
Or at hand among the hop-poles when the vines are trailing fair.
Good gentlemen, the prologue! Here's a programme most attractive:
She's songs for everyone o' you—oh, rare the tunes and rich!