If we're late down to breakfast, he snorts at us.
He worries our lives out with pic-nics and shoots,
And will flourish his Clarets and Ports at us.
My wife likes her ease and her breakfast in bed;
I hate cellar-swagger and scurry.
Entertainment indeed! We're as lumpish as lead
When we're not on the whirl or the worry.
But turn out to-morrow, my BLOGGS? No, not me,
Though I know what your "little hints" signify.
Your "dear DICK" forsooth! Such a noodle as he