I do like to hencourage the joskins. One thing though, wos
fiddle-de-dee,
They 'ad a "Refreshment Tent," CHARLIE. 'Oh my! Ginger-ale and
weak tea!
Nothink stronger, old pal, s'elp me bob! Fancy _me_ flopping down
on a form
A-munching plum-putty, and lapping Bohea as wos not even warm!
This 'ere 'Arrygate's short of amusements. There's niggers and
bands on the "Stray"
(Big lumpy old field in a 'ole, wich if properly managed might pay.)
Mysterious Minstrels with masks on, a bleating contralto in black,
With a orful tremoler, my pippin!--yus, these are the pick of the
pack.
Bit sick of "_Ta-ra-ra_" and "_Knocked 'em_;" "_Carissimar_" gives
me the 'ump,
For I 'ear it some six times per morning; and then there's a footy
old pump
Blows staggery toons on a post-'orn for full arf a-hour each day,
To muster the mugs for a coach-drive. My heye and a bandbox, it's
gay!
At the "Crown" we git up little barnies, to eke out the 'Arrygate
lot,
For even the Spa's a bit samesome for six times a week when it's
'ot;
Though they do go it pooty permiskus with pickter-shows, concerts,
and such;
Yus, I must say they ladles it out fair and free, for a sixpenny
touch.
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