"If you'll fergive our blushes, we can stand
The 'earty cheerin' an' the songs o' praise.
The loud 'Osannas uv our native land
Makes us feel good an' glad in many ways.
An' later, when we land back in a mob,
Per'aps we might be arstin' fer a job.
"I'd 'ate," sez Mick, "to 'ave you think us rude.
Or take these few remarks as reel bad taste;
'Twould 'urt to 'ave it seem ingratichude,
Wiv all them 'earty praises gone to waste.
We'll take yer word fer it, an' jist remark
This 'ero racket is a reel good lark.
"Once, when they caught me toppin' off a John,
The Bench wus stern, an' torked uv dirty work;
But, 'Struth! it's bonzer 'ow me fame's come on
Since when I took to toppin' off the Turk.
So, if it pleases, shout yer loud 'Bravoes,'
An' later—don't fergit there's me, an' Rose."
So Ginger writes. I gives it word fer word;
An' if it ain't the nice perlite reply
That nice, perlite old gents would like to've 'eard
'Oo've been 'ip-'ippin' 'im up to the sky—
Well, I dunno, I s'pose 'e's gotter learn
It's rude fer 'im to speak out uv 'is turn.
