“No buffoonery, if you please, Benjamin Bosky,” cried Uncle Tim.
“Or furiously funny—eh?”
My pipe at your peeper I'll light,
So pop out your jazey so curly;
A jorum of yeast over night,
Will make you next morning rise early!
Arrah I thro' your casement and blind
I'll jist sky a copper and toss one,,
If you do not, Miss Casey, look kind,
Wid your good-natured eye that's a cross one!”