To sit in solemn silence in a dull dark dock, In a pestilential prison, with a life-long lock, Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock, From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block.

Faint heart never won fair lady! Nothing venture, nothing win— Blood is thick, but water’s thin— In for a penny, in for a pound 2 — It’s Love that makes the world go round!

I love my fellow creatures—I do all the good I can— Yet everybody says I’m such a disagreeable man! And I can’t think why!

For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a steamer from Harwich— Which is something between a large bathing machine and a very small second-class carriage.

When you’re lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo’d by anxiety, I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in, without impropriety.

The House of Peers, throughout the war, Did nothing in particular,

Here’s a pretty kettle of fish!

When I went to the Bar as a very young man (Said I to myself, said I).

I often think it’s comical How nature always does contrive That every boy and every gal, That’s born into the world alive, Is either a little Liberal, Or else a little Conservative!

For I’m not so old, and not so plain, And I’m quite prepared to marry again.