My friend BONES the Butcher too! Moses! wot would my old parlour-chum say
If he saw me a nailing a Notice—but no, that's too horrid a dream.
I must be a 'aving a Nightmare, and things cannot be wot they seem.
I could do with mere Laws—bye or hother-wise—Hacts, jest like Honours, is easy,
But this Memyrandum of RITCHIE's queers BUMBLE, and makes him feel queasy,
Can't pertend as I don't hunderstand it, it's plain as my nose, clear as mud.
I'm responsible for—say Snow-clearing! It stirs up a Beadle's best blood!
And when they can Fine me for negligence, jest like some rate-paying scrub—
Oh! Porochial dignity's bust! I must seek a pick-up at my Pub! [Does so.