Won't raise me to three quid a week, the old skinflint. Though travelling's cheap,
It do scatter the stamps jest a few, if you don't care to go on the creep.
Roolette might jest set me up proper, but then, dontcherknow, it might not,
And I fear I should come back cleared out, if my luck didn't land me a pot.
Oh, dash them spondulicks! The pieces is all as I wants for my 'elth.
And then them darned Sosherlist jugginses 'owl till all's blue agin Wealth.
It gives me the ditherums, CHARLIE; it do, dear old man, and no kid.
Wy, they 'd queer the best pitches in life, if they kiboshed the Power of the Quid!
There's Venice again! I could start this next week with a couple o' pals;
But yer gondoler's 'ardly my form, and I never wos nuts on canals.