Many a monthly they've worritted out of her life, almost, with their fractious snarlings,
Though it's most as much as your place is worth to aggerawate 'em—the little darlings!
And this one—well, it would raise a yell you might fancy came from a fog-horn's throttle,
If it wasn't for that there soothing-syrup I've artfully smuggled into its bottle.
It's strongish stuff, and I've dropped enough in the Babby's gruel to prove a fixer;
For this kid's riot you cannot quiet with LAWSON'S Cordial or Caine's Elixir.
Them parties think they can mix a drink as'll take the shine out o' Godfrey or Daffy,
But they're both mistook, they don't know their book, though one is "genial," and t'other chaffy.
They'll raise a row when they find out how I have managed to silence the child, by drugging.
Wot's the use of fuss? Where's the monthly nuss as can manage without a bit of 'umbugging!