I boast not such lush; but whoever his glass
Does not like, I'll be hanged if I press him!
Upstanding, my kiddies,--round, round let it pass!
Here's to Gentleman George,--God bless him!
God bless him, God bless him!
Here's to Gentleman George,-God bless him!

See, see, the fine fellow grows weak on his stumps;
Assist him, ye rascals, to stand!
Why, ye stir not a peg! Are you all in the dumps?
Fighting Attie, go, lend him a hand!

(The robbers crowd around Gentleman George, each, under pretence of
supporting him, pulling him first one way and then another.)

Come, lean upon me,--at your service I am!
Get away from his elbow, you whelp! him
You'll only upset,--them 'ere fellows but sham!
Here's to Gentleman George,--God help him!
God help him, God help him!
Here's to Gentleman George, God help him!





CHAPTER XI.

I boast no song in magic wonders rife;
But yet, O Nature! is there nought to prize,