Run home to your Bulgarian home, or I shall scold, Oh, fie!
This is a most improper game for Bulgar Boys to try.”
The mockery in his little eye began again to spring;
His bosom shook with giggling strong—he laughed like anything!
I stooped, and, ’midst his chortling low, I heard him murmur “Bosh!
I haven’t got no Suzerain, so that kibosh will not wash!
“If you into your Bosphorus, to your exceeding joy,
Can land me right, then blow me tight!” (A vulgar Bulgar Boy!)
“And now I’m here, old Pint o’ Beer, it is my fixed intent
To raise to diplomatic rot a lasting monument.”