In the parlour of the shanty where the lives have all gone wrong, When a singer or reciter gives a story or a song, Where the poet's heart is speaking to their hearts in every line,...
In Windsor Terrace, number four, I've taken my abode, A little crescent from the street, A bight from City Road; And, hard up and in exile, I To many fancies yield; For it was here Micawber lived...
Clerk, corresponding, 'Rooster and Comb', Here I sit idle 'Thinking of home'; I must be grafting, Living to earn, More correspondence, 'Write by return.'
So the days of my tramping are over, And the days of my riding are done, I'm about as content as a rover Will ever be under the sun; I write, after reading your letter, My pipe with old memories rife,...
Sing the song of the reckless, who care not what they do; Sing the song of a sinner and the song of a writer, too, Down in a pub in the alleys, in a dark and dirty hole,...
The Big rough boys from the runs out back were first where the balls flew free, And yelled in the slang of the Outside Track: 'By God, it's a Christmas spree!'...
The Young King fights in the trenches and the Old King fights in the rear, Because he is old and feeble, and not for a thought of fear. The Young King fights for the Future, and the Old King fights for the Past,...