When Mogg 'e 'oilers out, "By Jing!
Look, lads, 'ere's summut fresh—
A bloomin' fairy-airy 's got 'isself into the mesh!"
We flashed the lanthorn on to 'im;
I tell you, Sir, 'e lay
A nasty, ugly little limb,
An' yallerer than clay;
An' wicious—Ebenezer Mogg
Wanted to back 'im 'gainst the dog;
But Jim 'e says, "No go;