"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. 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. "Not I," replied Blueskin. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. “Where am I?” he muttered. Come, come, be reasonable, and listen to me. But, as you perceive, I brought it away with me.
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