Is the lady I sing
In the following lay.

While I'm shooting the grouse,
Or enjoying the sea,
She takes care of my house
For a nominal fee.

For ten shillings a-week
Does this wonderful woman
Undertake, so to speak,
An existence inhuman.

Like their dwellings the rabbits
Deep in darkling retreats,
This weird widow inhabits
Subterranean seats.

What with humour "contrary,"
Or ironic despair,
She denominates "airey"--
From its absence of air!

It would give _me_ the blues
Household gods to uphold
With a _Lloyd's Weekly News_
Of some fifty days old.

In a Stygian gloom,
Far from sun and ozone,