There, I thought that 'ud fetch ye. And you want to know my name?
"Seventy-Nine" they call me; but that is their little game.
For I'm werry highly connected, as a gent, sir, can understand;
And my family hold their heads up with the very furst in the land.

For 'twas all, sir, a put-up job on a pore young man like me;
And the jury was bribed a puppos, and aftdrst they couldn't agree.
And I sed to the judge, sez I,--Oh, grin! it's all right my son!
But you're a werry lively young pup, and you ain't to be played upon!

Wot's that you got--tobacco? I'm cussed but I thought 'twas a tract.
Thank ye. A chap t'other day--now, look'ee, this is a fact,
Slings me a tract on the evils o' keepin' bad company,
As if all the saints was howlin' to stay here along's we.

No: I hain't no complaints. Stop, yes; do you see that chap,--
Him standin' over there,--a hidin' his eves in his cap?
Well, that man's stumick is weak, and he can't stand the pris'n fare;
For the coffee is just half beans, and the sugar ain't no where.

Perhaps it's his bringin' up; but he sickens day by day,
And he doesn't take no food, and I'm seein' him waste away.
And it isn't the thing to see; for, whatever he's been and done,
Starvation isn't the plan as he's to be saved upon.

For he cannot rough it like me; and he hasn't the stamps, I guess,
To buy him his extry grub outside o' the pris'n mess.
And perhaps if a gent like you, with whom I've been sorter free,
Would--thank you! But, say, look here! Oh, blast it, don't give it to ME!