True, for our wages, which were somewhere near the "Twenty-ones,"
Great expectations would have been a trifle rash.
Still, as her perquisites, I know, were cent.-per-cent.-y ones,
Ah! how I wish a Chef had fed us for the cash!
Oh! my first Cook! A gem with so much rare and rich in her,
Irreconcileable, impenetrable soul,
How I exulted when she fell against the kitchener,
Urged by a Nemesis (and legs) beyond control.
How, when my fluttered pet, believing her immaculate,
Hied to her aid, and heard, "You ain't a Lady, Mum!"