On that they may bet their last dollar.
It's do, poor old crook, now, or die!
But—I must keep 'un oop to the collar!
"This room is very close!" said Mrs. R., settling herself down to her knitting, which her nephew had furtively unravelled. "Open the window, Tom, and let out the asphyxia."
LINES ON THE AUTHOR OF THE LABOUR BUREAU.
(By a Labourer.)
'Ooray for Mister Mundella,
(Who's under Old Gladdy's umbrella.)