If they hadn’t said “Begone, sir!”
For they guessed his greatest number might
Perhaps, be Number One, sir,
With his bow, wow, wow, sirs.
You can’t make silken purses from
The best ears of a sow, sirs.
Blasts from Bradlaugh’s own Trumpet, by Ion. London: Houlston & Sons.
A Damp Water Party.
I sing a doleful tragedy that gives one quite a shiver, sir,