“I’ve stood amid the glittering throng”
Of mountebanks at Greenwich fair,
Where I have heard the Chinese gong
Filling, with brazen voice, the air.
I’ve join’d wild revellers at night—
I’ve crouch’d beneath the old oak tree,
Wet through, and in a pretty plight,
But, oh! I’ve NOT forgotten thee!
I’ve earn’d, at times, a pound a week—
Alas! I’m earning nothing now;