Young Thornton once slogged a hoff-ball through my winder as cost me two bob,—and I stood it with pleasure.
Seen Grace spank up more than one of 'is centuries, done "while I waited," most kind, like boot-soleing,
I know the old "Surrey Ring," and its chaff; and I'm not a bad judge of a bit of good bowling.
Lor! when the Mayblossom's out, and Grace in, with young Richardson pounding away at 'is wicket,
Jack isn't eager for no blooming fare as will take 'im away from the pick o' the cricket.
Well I remember that blue-gilled old buffer as wanted "King's Cross, and look sharp!" quite stercato
As Tenor Tim calls it. 'E weighed sixteen stun, and 'ad got a round face like a blooming tomato.
"Engaged, Sir!" I arnswers, quite heasy and haffable. Lor! 'ow 'e fumed, did that angry old josser,
Talked to me like a Dutch uncle, 'e did, or some Hemperor snubbin' a fourpenny dosser.