I just ran up my private stairs,
To say the things were getting cold!
But now, farewell, ye pantry steams,
(The sweets of premiership to me),
Ye gravies, relishes, and creams,
Malmsey and Port, and Burgundy!
Full well I mind the days gone by,—
‘Twas nought but sleep, and wake, and dine;
Then John and Pal sang o’ their luck,
And fondly sae sang I o’ mine!