Then she turns 'er two lamps on me sparkling. "Of course we're in Limbo," sez she.
Didn't quite like the lay on it, CHARLIE, for Limbo sounds precious like quod:
But she meant Lunar Limbo, dear boy, sort o' store-room, where everythink odd,
Out of date, foolish, faddy, and sech like, is kept like old curio stock.
(Ef yer want to know more about Limbo, read Mr. POPE's Rape of the Lock.)
"So this 'ere is the Moon, Miss!" sez I. "Where's the Man there's sech talk on downstairs?"
She looked at me 'orty. Thinks I, "You're a 'ot 'un to give yourself hairs.
I may level you down a bit later: The Man in the Moon, Miss," I adds.
Sez she, "We don't 'ave Men up here; they are most of them tyrants or cads!"
"Oh," sez I, "on the MONA CAIRD lay, eh, my lady?" Jest then, mate, I looks