They chase me up and down with cheques,
They flummox me with orders.

They bolt me to the billiard-room,
Where chaps are playing five-bob snooker;
They see me dodging from the doom,
They heed no threats and no rebuker;
"We've got thee now," they say, "ba goom!"
And pelt me with their lucre.

Vainly I put the prices up
To stem that flowing tide of riches;
The horror haunts me as I sup;
The unknown guest arrives and pitches
His ultimatum in my cup:--
"The people must have breeches."

I shall not see the skylark soar
Nor hear the cuckoo nor the linnet,
When Springtime comes, above the roar
Of folk a-hollering each minute
For yarn at thirty-two times more
Than what I spent to spin it.

Eh me, I cannot help but pine
For days departed now and olden,
When I could drink of common wine,
To powdered flunkeys unbeholden;
Do peas taste better when we dine
Because the knife is golden?