Except myself.
Each morning, table, chair,
Lamp, hearth, and shelf,

I rearrange, refreshen,
Put all to rights,
Then leave him in possession.
Ah, but the nights,

The nights! Sir, if I dared
But once set eye
To keyhole, nor be scared,
From playing Paul Pry,

I doubt not I should learn
A wondrous thing
Or two; and in return
Go blind till spring.

The light under his door
Is glory enough,
It outshines any star
That I know of.

Wirrah, my lad, my lad,
'T is fearsome strange,
The hints we all have had
Passing the range

Of science, knowledge, law,