There's no longer any room!
So you sit and smoke the surreptitious 'baccy,
And deal in scurril chaff;
Vulgar Jenny boldly flirts with vicious Jacky,
You're too knowing now by half.
They're unchildish imps, these Children of the City,
Bold and blasé, though their life has scarce begun,
Growing callous little ruffians—ah, the pity!—
For the lack of open space, and youthful fun.
Bedford's Bishop says the Cricket pitch is driven