He darted for the stage door, Her carriage grand, was there, She was about to enter, With all the fuss, and flare, Of mashers buzzing round her; And plunging forth, said he-- "I'm wot was once a Colonel, who went across the sea. "Of course you must remember, The words, I said to you-- 'When on the field of battle, I'd see what I could do.' I never make a promise, But to my word, I stick. The man, who breaks his promise, Is but a broken brick." I'm wot was once a Colonel, And for your love, I strove, To be reduced, into the ranks, For sake of you, my love; I ran away in battle, I several times got drunk, Was challenged to a duel, and purposely took funk. They whittled my commission, into a major's rank, And still I acted badly, and several times I drank, I managed to get nibbled, down to a sergeant then I stole a pint of whiskey, was put amongst the men. [Illustration] "I've been all over Europe, A lookin' out for you, I have eschewed my grammar, To prove my 'eart, was true; I've parted with my surname, That all might well combine, Which now, I'm Private Miggins, of the Seventy-seventh Line. "I've got a vulgar accent, And vulgar sayin's too. I drink, from common pewter. It's all along of you, And generally, my manners, Are much about the styles, You'll find amongst the manners, Of the people of St. Giles. "But here, I say, look, listen! You have not acted straight, But made us yet the victims, Of a lobsided fate; While I've been levellin' downwards, To suit with your degree, You've been, and gone, and levelled up, Contrarywise to me. "You had not ought to take me, So short as this, I say; You've worked a mean advantage, While I was far away. But still, we'll go to-morrow, And make our love complete." "Get out!" she cried, and vanished, In her brougham, down the street. [Illustration] [Illustration: The Spirit that held Him Down] HE was one of the middle age men I wot, A troubadour bedight, Who lost himself, in a lonely wood, An exceptional sort of night, For the moon, was only beginning to wax, And the clouds, were muggy, and black, And there wasn't much chance, of finding his way, To the trail, of the beaten track.