Well, by this time, I must be near the Garden?
Yes, there's the smell eternal
Of cabbages infernal,
Those flatulencies vernal!
And there's the Hummums—(which my dear friend Stubbs,
Who speaketh through his nose, calls the Hubbubs!)—
Yes, and although the fog's
Perplexing in th' extreme, this must be Mogg's?
And this the Arcade which the dear Cockneys call
"Pie-hay-sir,"—sounds not like the sounds at all!