She bolted with the plate one night—
You needn’t tell the Governor.
My creditors are growing queer,
Nay, threaten to be furious;
I’ll scan their paltry bills next year,
At present I’m not curious.
Such fellows are a monstrous bore,
So I and Harry Grosvenor
To-morrow start for Gallia’s shore,
And leave duns—to the Governor.