But I preferred pecking and prowling, and spotting the mugs making love.
VI
Don't ketch me a-slinging my legs about arter a beast of a ball
At ninety degrees in the shade or so, Charlie, old chap, not at all.
Athletics 'aint 'ardly my form, and a cutaway coat and tight bags
Are the species of togs for yours truly, and lick your loose 'flannels' to rags.
VII
So I let them as liked do a swelter; I sorntered about on the snap.
Rum game this yer Politics, Charlie, seems arf talkee-talkee and trap.
Jest fancy old Bluebottle letting the 'multitood' pic-nic and lark,
And make Battersea Park of his pleasure-grounds, Bathelmy Fair of his park!
VIII
'To show his true love for the People!' sezs one vote-of-thanking tall-talker,
And wosn't it rude of a bloke as wos munching a bun to cry 'Walker!'
I'm Tory right down to my boots, at a price, and I bellered "'Ear, ear!'
But they don't cop yours truly with chaff none the more, my dear Charlie, no fear!"
IX
Old Bottleblue tipped me his flipper, and 'oped I'd 'refreshed,' and all that. [10]
'Wy rather,' sez I, 'wot do you think ?' at which he stared into his 'at,
And went a bit red in the gills. Must ha' thought me a muggins, old man, [11]
To ask sech a question of 'Arry—as though grabbing short was his plan.