sixteen hounce.

When they git it, a-fume in a tumbler, a-smelling like hegg-chests
gone wrong,
They squirm, ask the snowy-capped gurl, "Is _this_ right?"--"Yes,
Sir. Sixteen ounce, strong!"
Sez the minx with a cold kind o' smile. "Ah--h--h! _per_cisely!"
they smirks, and walks round,
With this "Yorkshire Stinko" in their 'ands--and their 'earts in
their mouths I'll be bound.

Then--Gulp! Oh Gewillikins, CHARLIE! it gives yer the ditherums,
it do.
Bad enough if you 'ave to wolf _one_, but it fair gives yer beans
when 'tis _two_.
The wictims waltz round, looking white, wishing someone would just
spill _their_ wet,
And--there's 'ardly a glass "returned empty" but wot shows its
'eel-taps, you bet!

This is "Taking the Waters" at 'Arrygate! Well, I shall soon take
my 'ook.
Speshal Scotch, at my favourite pub, from that sparkling young
dona, NELL COOK,
Will do me a treat arter this, mate, and come most pertikler A 1.
'Ow I long to be back in "The Village," dear boy, with its bustle
and fun!

Still, the air 'ere's as fresh as they make it, and gives yer a
doose of a peck,