Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, September 24, 1892

DEAR CHARLIE,—Rum mix this 'ere world is, yer never know wot 'll come next!
Don't emagine I've sent yer a sermon, and treacle this out as my text;
But really life's turn-ups are twisters. You lay out for larks, 'ealth, and tin,
But whenever you think it's a moral, that crock, Unexpected, romps in.
Who'd ha' thought of me jacking up suddent, and giving the Sawbones a turn?
Who'd ha' pictered me Taking the Waters ? Ah! CHARLIE, 'twos hodds on the Urn
With Yours Truly, this time, I essure you. I fancied as Tot'nam-Court Road
Would he trying its 'and on my tombstone afore the green corn wos full growed.
Bad , CHARLIE? You bet! 'Twas screwmatics and liver, old Pill-box declared.
Knocked me slap orf my perch, fair 'eels uppards. I tell you I felt a bit scared,
And it left me a yaller-skinned skelinton, weak, and, wot's wus, stoney-broke.