They Left Him Alone in his Glory

Not a sous had he got, not a guinea or note,
And he looked confoundedly flurried,
As he bolted away without paying his shot,
And the Landlady after him hurried; -
We saw him again at the dead of night
As home from the club returning
We twigged the Doctor beneath the light
Of the Gas lamps brilliantly burning.

All bare, and exposed to the midnight dews,
Reclined in the gutter we found him,
And he looked like a gentleman taking a snoose
With his Marshall cloak around him.
The Doctor's as drunk as the devil, we said,
And we managed a shutter to borrow,
We raised him, and sigh'd at the thought that his head
Would dreadfully ache on the morrow.

We bore him home, and we put him to bed,
And we told his wife, and daughter
To give him next morning a couple of red
Herrings with soda water.
Loudly they talk'd of his money that's gone,
And his lady began to upbraid him,
But little he reck'd, so they let him snore on
'Neath the counterpane just as we laid him.

We tuck'd him in, and had hardly done,
When, beneath the window calling,
We heard the rough voice of a son of a Gunn,
Of a watchman "One o'clock" bawling.
Slowly and sadly we we all walk'd down,
From his room in the uppermost storey,
A rushlight we placed on the cold hearth stone,
And we left him alone in his glory.

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Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin