"If you'll write them, I'll illustrate them," observed Hogarth. He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. “It is concerning—our future relations,” Sir John pronounced ponderously. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. Hey.
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