Old Spooney, to be sure—
Between you and me and the old blind oss.
And the doctor says there ain't no cure.
D'ye think I care for the blessed Bench?—
From Temple Bar to Charing Cross?
Two mile and better—arf a crown—
Talk of screwing a feller down!
As for poor Bill, it's broke his art.
Cab to the Moon, Sir? Here you are!—
That's—how much?—