There is a race of gentle folk
Who dwell in Chiswick, well content
In houses agéd as the oak,
But not unpleasing at the rent;
They look across the sunny stream
As Dr. JOHNSON used to look,
And all their lives are one long dream,
Though none of them has got a cook,
And there are whispers in the camp,
"It's jolly, but it is so damp."