'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