Then that party isn’t Old Bill Bates!
Y’ might guess him fer a chap what wears a pretty stiffish lip,
And he user ter own a one-eyed spotted bitch,
And he’s mostly rags and air-holes—jest the picter of his kip—
So it’s hard ter tell (fer strangers) which is which;
But he’s grit right to the bottom, and the mate what’s tried his sand,
He ’ud swag it back from them ’ere Pearly Gates
With a longish stride, I’ll swear,
If they kep’ no lodger there
By the monniker of “Old Bill Bates.”