When I'm down on my back that's the time for a turn at my dear old D. T.
A party named Robert Buchanan, as always appears on the job,
Was a slating a chappie called Huxley. Thinks I, I'll take stock of friend Bob.
Well, he ain't much account, that's a moral; a ramblinger Rad never wos.
Old Huxley's wuth ten on him, Charlie, though he's rather huppish and poz.
Are men really born free and equal? Ah! that's wot they're harguing hout.
Bob B., he says "Yus;" Huxley, "No;" and Bob's wrong, there's no manner of doubt.
"Free and equal?" Oh, Nebuchadnezzar! how can they talk sech tommy-rot?
Might as well say as Fiz and Four-Arf should be equally fourpence a pot.
Nice hidea, but taint so, that's the wust on it. There's where these dreamers go wrong.