Oh, the sniffs and sour faces, old fellow, the shudders and shivers, and sighs;
The white lips a-working like rabbits', the sheepish blue-funk in their eyes!
Old Pump Room's a hoctygon building, rum blend like of chapel and bar,
With a big stained-glass winder one side, hallygorical subject! So far
As I've yet made it out, it's a hangel a-stirring up somethink like suds.
"A-troubling the waters," I 'eard from a party in clerical duds.
You arsk, like you do at a bar, for the speeches of lotion you want.
Some say; you git used to the flaviour, and like it! Bet long hodds I shan't.
I've sampled the lot, my dear CHARLIE, Strong Sulphur and Mild, Cold and 'Ot;
And all I can say is, the jossers who say it ain't beastly talk rot.