She's thin and I'm rather—voluminous;
Our skirts, full and frilly, just cover the knee,
And our hose-play discourages gloominess;
We've a bent for a boot with a soul-stirring spat,
Gilt-buttoned and stubbily toed,
And a top-gallant plume on a tip-tilted hat
When we're ripe for the Park and the road.
The public each week, Mr. Punch, you impress
With your cool-headed wit and ability,
So I wonder you've not had the gumption to guess