The Emperor of China, who will sometimes look in to tea!
Och! the world we're leaving, Molly, is a world of grief and care,
For even the pigs and potatoes are not the angels that once they were;
But the world we're going to, Molly, is where the giants of ould
Buried—for want of a better bank—their stocking-legs crammed with gould!
It's a world of wonders, Molly, a world without a peer;
For what it has, and what it wants, we've nothing like it here:
But of all its wondrous things, it seems the strangest thing to me
That there the labouring man's the man gets first to the top o' the tree.