Afore we was thick with his set, when you snubbed him, and laughed him to scorn,
And heaped naughty names on this kid, as you swore was his nat'ral fust-born.
And now you come dandling, and doddling, and patting the brat on the 'ed,
And forgetting the things as you promiged, and backing on all as you said.
Missis G., you do raly amaze me! This comes of our precious mix-up;
Which the child's no more like one of ourn than a pug's like a tarrier-pup.
In the best-regulated o' fam'lies things will go askew, I'm aweer;
As I says to my friend Mrs. HARRIS, as says to me, "SAIREY, my dear,
You looks dragged, my sweet creetur," she says. "Missis HARRIS," I makes 'er reply,
"When the 'art in one's buzzum beats 'ot, there's excuge for the tear in one's heye.