English poem
Iv
You nice little madam! you know you’re nice. I remember hearing a parson say You’re a plateful of vanity pepper’d with vice; You chap at the gate thinks t’ other way. On his waistcoat you read both his head and his heart: There’s a whole week’s wages there figured in gold! Yes! when you turn round you may well give a start: It’s fun to a fellow who’s getting old.