|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 1
Sez he, "Wy, the boy is a bone-bag! Wot's that? Converlescent? Oh,
fudge!
He's a slipping his cable, and drifting out sea-wards, if _I_'m
any judge.
I was ditto some twenty year back, BOB, and 'Arrygate fust set
_me_ up.
Wot saved the old dog, brother ROBERT, may probably suit the young
pup.
"Carn't _afford_ it? O'course yer carn't, JENNY; but--thanks be to
'orse-flesh--_I_ can--"
Well, he tipped us a fifty-quid crisp 'un--and ROOSE sent me 'ere;
he's _my_ Man!
Three weeks' "treatment"! Well, threes into fifty means cutting a
bit of a dash;
Good grub, nobby togs, local doctor, baths, waters, and everythink
flash.
"'Appy 'ARRY!" sez you. But way-oh, CHARLIE! 'Arrygate isn't all
jam.
_Me_ jolly? Well, mate, if you arsk me, I carn't 'ardly say as I
ham.
To spread myself out with the toppers is proper, no doubt, bonny
boy;
But--I wish it wos Brighton, or Margit, or somewheres a chap could
_enjoy_.
Oh, them "Waters," old man!!! S'elp me never! yer don't kow wot
nastyness _is_
Till you've tried "Sulphur 'ot and strong," fasting. The Kissing
Gin, taken a-fizz,
Isn't _wus_ than ditch-water and sherbet; but Sulphur!!! It's
eased my game leg;
But I go with my heart in my mouth, and I feel like a blooming bad
hegg.
B-r-r-r-r! Beastliness isn't the word, CHARLIE. Language seems out
of it, slap.
When I took my fust twelve ounces 'ot, from a gal with a snowy
white cap,
And cheeks like a blush-rose for bloominess--well, I'm a gent,
but, yah-hah!
I jest did a guy at the double, without even nodding ta-ta!
Where the Primrose Path leads to, my pippin, I'm cocksure can't
'ave a _wus_ smell.
Like bad eggs, salt, and tenpenny nails biled in bilge water.
Eugh! Old Pump Well?
Wy then let well alone, is my motter, or leastways, it would be,
I'm sure,
But for BLACK--local doctor, a stunner!--who's got me in 'and for
a cure.
I'm not nuts on baths took _too_ reglar; but 'Arrygate baths ain't
'arf bad,
When you git a bit used to 'em, CHARLIE. I squirmed, though fust
off, dear old lad!
They so soused, and so slapped, and so squirted me. Messing a
feller about
Don't come nicer for calling it _massage_. But there, it's O.K.
I've no doubt.
They squat you upon a low shelf, with a sort of a water-can "rose"
At the nape of yer neck, while a feller in front squirts yer down
with a 'ose.
He slaps you as though you wos batter, he kneads you as if you wos
dough,
And gives yer wot for on the spine, till you git in a doose of a
glow.
Then you're popped in a big iron cage, where the 'ose plays upon
you like fun;
A lawn, or a house a-fire, CHARLIE, could not be more thoroughly
done.
Sez I, "I'm _insured_, dontcher know, mate; so don't _waste_ the
water, d'ye 'ear?"
But he didn't appear to arf twig. He seemed jest a bit thick in
the clear.
Then the bars of yer cage bustes out like a lot of scent fountings
a-play--
'Taint _oder colong_, though, by hodds; sulphur strong seems the
local _bokay_.
They call this the "Needle Bath," CHARLIE. It give _me_ the needle
fust off;
'Cos the spray would git into my eyes, and the squelch made me
sputter and cough.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|