I'm afraid that in Rats' Rents he mightn't find a place to kneel
Without soiling of his small clothes. Yus, to live in dirt, I feel
Is a 'orrid degradation; but one thing I'd like to know,
Is it wus than living on it? Let 'im answer; it's his go.
"All a blowing" ain't much paternised, not down our Court, it ain't.
Wich we aren't as sweet as iersons, not yet as fresh as paint!
For yer don't get spicy breezes in a den all dirt and dusk,
From a 'apenny bunch o' wallflower, or a penny plarnt o' musk.
Wot do you think? Bless yer 'earts, gents, I wos down some months ago
With a bout o' the rheumatics, and 'ad got so precious low