And so it is, CHARLIE, old hoyster. The music is twangly, I own,
And if I've a fancy myself, 'taint hexactly the Great Xylophone;
But the speeches of musical scratch-backs the dancers keep time
with so pat,
In that fairy-like Carnival Bally, fetched POLLY, ah, all round
'er 'at!

That 'at wos a spanker, I tell yer; as big as the Doge's
State-Barge,
And like all the "Four Seasons" in one! "Well," sez POLLY, "I _do_
like 'em large,
Them Venetian pork-pies ain't _my_ fancy, no room for no trimmings
above.
They wouldn't suit Barnsbury Park, though they might do 'The
Castle of Love'!"

Sort o' needled her somehow, I fancy; but, bless yer, I soon put
_that_ straight.
Gals is wonderful touchy on togs! Covent Garden piled high on a
plate
With a blue hostrich-feather all round it, mayn't be man's hidea
of a tile,
But I flattered her taste a rare bat, and soon 'ad her again on
the smile.

Well, "Venice the Bride of the Sea," is wuth more than one visit,
old pal,
And I've got a hengagement next week to go there with the same
pooty gal.