The masses is muck; that's my motter, as who should have learnt it more betterer?
BUMBLE could hopen the heyes of them BOOTHSES, JOHN BURNSES, ancetterer.
Snow? Is it me brings the snow, and the hice, and the peasoupy slushiness,
Making the subbubs one slough? No! The Age is give over to gushiness.
Parties as writes to the Papers is snivellers, yus, every one of 'em,
Barring the few as cracks jokes, though I own as I can't see the fun of 'em.
Look at "UCALEGON," now, him as writes to a cheap daily journal,
Along o' the '"Orrors of 'Ampstead," as he calls hy—wot's it?—"hybernal,"
(Wotever that crackjaw may mean) or that fellow, "INFELIX THE"—blow it.
Sech names you can't write nor yet spell, if you're not a School Board or a Poet.