A month or so gone by;

And I can’t repeat it under this

Or any other sky.

What! has the public never heard

In these benighted climes

That nascent note of my Laureate throat,

That fluty fitte of rhymes

Which occupied about a half

A column of the Times?

54

54

They little know what they have lost,

Nor what a carnal beano

They might have spent in the thick of Lent

If only Daniel Leno

Had sung them Jameson’s Ride and knocked

The Monaco Casino.

Some day the croupiers’ furtive eyes

Will all be wringing wet;

Even the Prince will hardly mince

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