And, what is worse, runs you in debt;
Why—don't I cry her down?
[Vell, I'm blest if ever I see such printing as this: they've let the paper slip, and printed the werses twice over.]
And when Lord Mayor,
The civic chair
With dignity you press,
For very joy, then, don't I cry—
Oh, yes! oh, yes! oh, yes!
[I vishes them there vaits vouldn't make such a nise with their 'arps and 'orns: nob'dy can't 'ear a vord as I says: they're no gentlemen, I'm sure: they might vait vaiting till I've done.]
Then listen all,