[Illustration]

But it's time that this bunkum was bunnicked, bin fur too much on it
of late--
Us on 'OPKINS's 'Ouse-boat, I tell yer, cared nix for the
ink-spiller's "slate."
_I_ mean doin' them Broads later on, for free fishing and shooting,
that's flat.
If I don't give them dash'd Norfolk Dumplings a doing, I'll 'eat my
old 'at.

Rooral quiet, and rest, and refinement? Oh, let 'em go home and eat
coke.
These fussy old footlers whose 'air stands on hend at a row-de-dow
joke,
The song of the skylark sounds pooty, but "skylarking" song's better
fun,
And you carn't do the rooral to-rights on a tract and a tuppenny bun.

As to colour, and kick-up, and sing-song, our party was fair to the
front;
But we wosn't alone; lots of toppers, in 'Ouse-Boat, or four-oar, or
punt,
Wos a doin' the rorty and rosy as lively as 'OPKINS's lot,
Ah! the swells sling it out pooty thick; _they_ ain't stashed by no
ink-spiller's rot.

Bright blazers, and twingle-twang banjoes, and bottles of Bass, my
dear boy,