All over them dear "Good Old Times," as I wish them wos back agen, bless 'em!
Which the new ones ain't much to my mind; there's too many fresh "monthlies" to mess 'em.
No; monthlying ain't wot it were; the perfession's too open, a lump.
Nusses now ain't no more like old SAIREY, no not than the old Aldgit Pump.
Like the Cristial Palluses fountings; A Pilgjian's Projiss is life,
And a Nuss ain't no more like a Nuss than a Wife now resembles a Wife.
Heigho! Which it's no use a frettin'. But Fondlings! Ah, well, I did think
Our respectable fam'lies, though mixed, from sich ojus demeaning would shrink,
Which no greater hinsult to me, the old reglar, could well be deviged;
And though I've to live and to learn, I confess as this turn I'm serpriged.