You know since I turned Primrose Leaguer I've mixed with the Toppers, my lad;
And one on 'em, pal of the Prince, I believe, got Jack Jolter a pass
For some fine preserved waters; no pay, mate, and everythink fixed up fust-class.
Jack arsked me and Bell Bonsor to jine him, and seein' it didn't mean tin,
And the 'ole thing seemed swell, with good grubbing and lots o' prime lotion chucked in.
I was "on" like a shot. Bell's a bloomer, and Jack, though a bit of a jug,
Is too long in the purse to let slip; so the game looked all proper and snug.
Jack's a straw-thatched young joker in gig-lamps, good-natured, and nuts on the sport.
He turns up with four rods and two bait-cans, and tackle of every dashed sort.
Such rum-looking gimcracks, my pippin; lines coiled up in boxes and books,