'Ot weather at last! Wot a bloomin' old slusher it's bin,
This season! But now it do look as though Summer was goin' to begin.
Up to now it's bin muck and no error, fit only for fishes and frogs,
And has not give a chap arf a chance like of sporting 'is 'oliday togs.
Sech a sweet thing in mustard and pink, quite _reshershay_ I tell you,
old man.
Two quid's pooty stiff, but a buster and blow the expense is my plan;
With a stror 'at and _puggeree_, Charlie, low shoes and new mulberry
gloves.
If I didn't jest fetch our two gals, it's a pity;--and wasn't they
loves?
We'd three chaps in the boat besides me,--jest a nice little party
of six,
But they didn't get arf a look in 'long o' me; they'd no form, them
two sticks.
If you'd seen me a settin' and steerin' with one o' the shes on each
side,
You'd a thought me a Turk in check ditters, and looked on your 'Arry
with pride.
Wy, we see a swell boat with three ladies, sech rippers, in crewel
and buff,
(If _I_ pulled arf a 'our in their style it 'ud be a bit more than
enough)
Well, I tipped 'em a wink as we passed and sez, "Go it, my beauties,
well done!"
And, oh lor! if you'd twigged 'em blush up you'd a seen 'ow they
relished the fun.
I'm dead filberts, my boy, on the river, it ain't to be beat for
a lark.
And the gals as goes boating, my pippin, is jest about "'Arry,
his mark."
If you want a good stare, you can always run into 'em--accident quite!
And they carn't charge yer nothink for looking, nor put you in quod
for the fright.
'Ow we chivied the couples a-spoonin', and bunnicked old fishermen's
swims,
And put in a Tommy Dodd Chorus to Methodys practisin' hymns!
Then we pic-nic'd at last on the lawn of a waterside willa. Oh, my!
When the swells see our bottles and bits, I've a notion some
language'll fly.
It was on the Q. T., in a nook snugged away in a lot of old trees,
I sat on a bust of Apoller, with one of the gurls on my knees!
Cheek, eh? Well, the fam'ly was out, and the servants asleep,
I suppose;
For they didn't 'ear even our roar, when I chipped orf the
himage's nose.
We'd soon emptied our three-gallon bottle, and Tommy he pulled a
bit wild,
And we blundered slap into a skiff, and wos jolly near drownding
a child.
Of course we bunked off in the scurry, and showed 'em a clean pair
o' legs,
Pullin' up at a waterside inn where we went in for fried 'am and
eggs.
We kep that 'ere pub all-alive-oh, I tell yer, with song and with
chorus,
To the orful disgust of some prigs as wos progging two tables afore
us.
I do 'ate your hushabye sort-like, as puts on the fie-fie at noise.
'Ow on earth can yer spree without shindy? It's jest wot a feller
enjoys.
Quaker-meetings be jiggered, I say; if you're 'appy, my boy, give
it tongue.
I tell yer we roused 'em a few, coming 'ome, with the comics we sung.
Hencoring a prime 'un, I somehow forgot to steer straight, and
we fouled
The last 'eat of a race--such a lark! Oh, good lor', _'ow_ they
chi-iked and 'owled!
There was honly one slight _country-tong_, Tommy Blogg, who's a bit
of a hass,
Tried to splash a smart pair of swell "spoons" by some willers we
'appened to pass;
And the toff ketched the blade of Tom's scull, dragged 'im close,
and jest landed 'im _one_!
Arter which Master Tom nussed his eye up, and seemed rayther out of
the fun.
Sez the toff, "You're the pests of the river, you cads!" Well,
I didn't reply,
'Cos yer see before gals, it ain't nice when a feller naps one
in the eye;
But it's all bloomin' nonsense, my boy! If he'd only jest give
_me_ a look,
He'd a seen as _my_ form was O.K., as I fancy ain't easy mistook.
Besides, I suppose as the river is free to all sorts, 'igh and low.
That I'm sweet on true swells you're aweer, but for stuck-ups I
don't care a blow.
We'd a rare rorty time of it, Charlie, and as for that younger gurl,
Carry,
I'll eat my old boots if she isn't dead-gone on
Yours bloomingly,
'ARRY.
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[Illustration: MAKING THE BEST OF IT]
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[Illustration: HINTS TO BEGINNERS