The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

193
Meanwhile a load of guineas ten
I borrowed from a friend so leal.
I got the cash from grandmamma
(Her gentle heart my woes could feel),
But where I went, and what I saw,
What matters? Here I am at Lille.
My heart is weary, my peace is gone,
How shall I e'er my woes reveal?
I have no cash, I lie in pawn,
A stranger in the town of Lille.
II.
To stealing I can never come,
To pawn my watch I'm too genteel,
Besides, I left my watch at home;
How could I pawn it, then, at Lille?
"La note," at times the guests will say,
I turn as white as cold boiled veal:
I turn and look another way,
_I_ dare not ask the bill at Lille.
I dare not to the landlord say,
"Good sir, I can not pay your bill:"
He thinks I am a Lord Anglais,
And is quite proud I stay at Lille.
He thinks I am a Lord Anglais,
Like Rothschild or Sir Robert Peel,
And so he serves me every day
The best of meat and drink in Lille.
Yet when he looks me in the face
I blush as red as cochincal;
And think did he but know my case,
How changed he'd be, my host of Lille.
My heart is weary, my peace is gone.