As Mr. GILBERT puts it, he determined to enlist;
And so one summer afternoon he started forth in search
Of a Sergeant who perambulates close by St. Martin's Church.
The Sergeant burst out laughing when he'd uttered his request,
And declared that, of a batch of jokes he knew, this was the best;
"'Tis a pity you're too short, my lad," he then went on to say,
"For wid that face ye'd froighten ivery inimy away!"
In a fountain which played handy—it was near Trafalgar Square—
He was rushing off to drown himself, the victim of despair,
When he knocked against a person he'd not seen for quite an age,