Talk of hups and downs, Charlie! North Devon I found pooty steep, as you know.
But wot's Lynton roads to the Halps, or the Torrs to that blessed Young Frow?
I got 'andy with halpenstocks, Charlie, and never came much of a spill;
But I think, arter all, that, for comfort, I rayther prefer Primrose 'Ill.
But that's ontry nous, dont cher know; keep my pecker hup proper out 'ere.
'Arry never let on to them Swiss as he felt on the swivel—no fear!
When I slipped down a bloomin' crevassy, I did do a bit of a 'owl,
On them glasheers, to keep your foot fair, you want claws, like a cat on the prowl.
Got arf smothered in snow, and no kid, Charlie—guide swore 'twas all my hown fault,