For any he that wears a nose.
I'll not go lounge out life in Calais,
To dine at half a franc a head;
To hut like rats in lanes and alleys—
To eat an exile's gritty bread.
To flirt with shoeless Seraphinas,
To shrink at every ruffian's shako;
Without a pair of shirts between us,
Morn, noon, and night to smell tobacco;
To live my days in Gallic hovels,