MR. PUNCH AFLOAT
'ARRY ON THE RIVER
Dear Charlie,
'Ot weather at last! Wot a bloomin' old slusher it's bin,
This season! But now it do look as though Summer was goin' to begin.
Up to now it's bin muck and no error, fit only for fishes and frogs,
And has not give a chap arf a chance like of sporting 'is 'oliday togs.
Sech a sweet thing in mustard and pink, quite reshershay I tell you, old man.
Two quid's pooty stiff, but a buster and blow the expense is my plan;
With a stror 'at and puggeree, Charlie, low shoes and new mulberry gloves.
If I didn't jest fetch our two gals, it's a pity;—and wasn't they loves?
We'd three chaps in the boat besides me,—jest a nice little party of six,
But they didn't get arf a look in 'long o' me; they'd no form, them two sticks.
If you'd seen me a settin' and steerin' with one o' the shes on each side,
You'd a thought me a Turk in check ditters, and looked on your 'Arry with pride.
Wy, we see a swell boat with three ladies, sech rippers, in crewel and buff,
(If I pulled arf a 'our in their style it 'ud be a bit more than enough)
Well, I tipped 'em a wink as we passed and sez, "Go it, my beauties, well done!"
And, oh lor! if you'd twigged 'em blush up you'd a seen 'ow they relished the fun.
I'm dead filberts, my boy, on the river, it ain't to be beat for a lark.
And the gals as goes boating, my pippin, is jest about "'Arry, his mark."
If you want a good stare, you can always run into 'em—accident quite!
And they carn't charge yer nothink for looking, nor put you in quod for the fright.
'Ow we chivied the couples a-spoonin', and bunnicked old fishermen's swims,
And put in a Tommy Dodd Chorus to Methodys practisin' hymns!
Then we pic-nic'd at last on the lawn of a waterside willa. Oh, my!
When the swells see our bottles and bits, I've a notion some language'll fly.
It was on the Q. T., in a nook snugged away in a lot of old trees,
I sat on a bust of Apoller, with one of the gurls on my knees!
Cheek, eh? Well, the fam'ly was out, and the servants asleep, I suppose;
For they didn't 'ear even our roar, when I chipped orf the himage's nose.
We'd soon emptied our three-gallon bottle, and Tommy he pulled a bit wild,
And we blundered slap into a skiff, and wos jolly near drownding a child.
Of course we bunked off in the scurry, and showed 'em a clean pair o' legs,
Pullin' up at a waterside inn where we went in for fried 'am and eggs.
We kep that 'ere pub all-alive-oh, I tell yer, with song and with chorus,
To the orful disgust of some prigs as wos progging two tables afore us.
I do 'ate your hushabye sort-like, as puts on the fie-fie at noise.
'Ow on earth can yer spree without shindy? It's jest wot a feller enjoys.
Quaker-meetings be jiggered, I say; if you're 'appy, my boy, give it tongue.
I tell yer we roused 'em a few, coming 'ome, with the comics we sung.
Hencoring a prime 'un, I somehow forgot to steer straight, and we fouled
The last 'eat of a race—such a lark! Oh, good lor', 'ow they chi-iked and 'owled!
There was honly one slight country-tong, Tommy Blogg, who's a bit of a hass,
Tried to splash a smart pair of swell "spoons" by some willers we 'appened to pass;
And the toff ketched the blade of Tom's scull, dragged 'im close, and jest landed 'im one!
Arter which Master Tom nussed his eye up, and seemed rayther out of the fun.
Sez the toff, "You're the pests of the river, you cads!" Well, I didn't reply,
'Cos yer see before gals, it ain't nice when a feller naps one in the eye;
But it's all bloomin' nonsense, my boy! If he'd only jest give me a look,
He'd a seen as my form was O.K., as I fancy ain't easy mistook.
Besides, I suppose as the river is free to all sorts, 'igh and low.
That I'm sweet on true swells you're aweer, but for stuck-ups I don't care a blow.
We'd a rare rorty time of it, Charlie, and as for that younger gurl, Carry,
I'll eat my old boots if she isn't dead-gone on
Yours bloomingly,
'Arry.
