Like the Cristial Palluses fountings; A Pilgjian's Projiss is life,
And a Nuss ain't no more _like_ a Nuss than a Wife now resembles a
Wife.

Heigho! Which it's no use a frettin'. But _Fondlings_! Ah, well, I
_did_ think
Our respectable fam'lies, _though_ mixed, from sich ojus demeaning
would shrink,
Which no greater hinsult to _me_, the old reglar, could well be
deviged;
And though I've to live and to learn, I confess as this turn I'm
serpriged.
A Fondling!!! Turned up unbeknownst on a doorstep permiskus, no doubt.
And then to _adopt_ him! Oh dear, wot the plague is our Party about?
Wich to monthly to _it_ were my pride; its legitermit offspring I've
nussed
Many years with the greatest success, but to-day I feels flurried and
fussed,
And my eyes is Saint Polge's fontin with tears, and this brat is their
source;
As it isn't no offspring of _ourn_--of the fam'ly I mean, Ma'am, in
course;
But a Brummagem bantling, picked hup, as were not worth its swaddlin'
and food,
And I never yet knowed any brat from _that_ source as turned out any
good.
Missis G., Mum, it's all a mistake, as you know in your 'art all the
same,
For you turned up your nose at the child when JOE CHAMBERLING give him
a name,