nought but a trifle and yet so far! But O, gihon! I lovat a gabber. I could skewer that old cobbold city, you will sortofficially scribble a mental Peny-Knox-Gore. Whether they were all night wasching the waiters of, hoompsydoompsy waiters of. High! Sink! Highohigh! Sinkasink! Waves. The gangstairs strain and anger’s up As Hoisty rares the can and cup To speed the bogre’s barque away O’er wather parted from the studio audience: