And all the West-end is alive.
The air with Bouquet-Royal laden,
Or Patchouli's oppressive herb,
Plays round the fair-haired high-born maiden,
Whose Clarence draws up at the kerb.
And now the knocker knows no quiet,
But revels in unceasing riot.
The flunkey first awakes the clang
With "Rat-a-tat-tat, bang! bang!! bang!!!"
The doctor greater care observes,