I should much like to try Monty Carlo, and 'ave a fair flutter for once,
But I fear it won't run to it, pardner; my boss is the dashdest old
dunce.

_Won't_ raise me to three quid a week, the old skinflint. Though
travelling's cheap,
It do scatter the stamps jest a few, if you don't care to go on the
creep.
Roolette might jest set me up proper, but then, dontcherknow, it might
_not_,
And I fear I should come back cleared out, if my luck didn't land me a
pot.

Oh, dash them spondulicks! The pieces is all as I wants for _my_ 'elth.
And then them darned Sosherlist jugginses 'owl till all's blue agin
Wealth.
It gives me the ditherums, CHARLIE; it do, dear old man, and no kid.
Wy, they 'd queer the best pitches in life, if they kiboshed the Power
of the Quid!

There's Venice again! I could start this next week with a couple o' pals;
But yer gondoler's 'ardly my form, and I never wos nuts on canals.
WAGGLES says _they_'re not like the Grand Junction, as creeps sewer-like
through our parks;
Well, WAGGLES may sniff; I'm not sure, up to now, mate, as Venice means
larks.

'Arf a mind to try Parry once more. It's a place as you soon git to love;
There is always some fun afoot there, as will keep a chap fair on the
shove.