And the Amazons simpered and sighed, And they ogled, and giggled, and flushed, And they opened their pretty eyes wide, And they chuckled, and flirted, and blushed (At least, if they could, they’d have blushed). But haughty PISH-TUSH-POOH-BAH Said, “ALACK-A-DEY, what does this mean?” And despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH Said, “They think us uncommonly green! Ha! ha! most uncommonly green!” Even blundering DOODLE-DUM-DEY Was insensible quite to their leers, And said good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH, “It’s your blood we desire, pretty dears— We have come for our dinners, my dears!” And the Queen of the Amazons fell To BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO,— In a mouthful he gulped, with a yell, TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO— The pretty QUEEN TOL-THE-ROL-LOO. And neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH Was eaten by PISH-POOH-BAH, And light-hearted WAGGETY-WEH By dismal ALACK-A-DEY-AH— Despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH. And rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH Was eaten by DOODLE-DUM-DEY, And musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH By good little TOOTLE-DUM-TEH— Exemplary TOOTLE-TUM-TEH! BOB POLTER. BOB POLTER was a navvy, and His hands were coarse, and dirty too, His homely face was rough and tanned, His time of life was thirty-two. He lived among a working clan (A wife he hadn’t got at all), A decent, steady, sober man— No saint, however—not at all. He smoked, but in a modest way, Because he thought he needed it; He drank a pot of beer a day, And sometimes he exceeded it. At times he’d pass with other men A loud convivial night or two, With, very likely, now and then, On Saturdays, a fight or two. But still he was a sober soul, A labour-never-shirking man, Who paid his way—upon the whole A decent English working man. One day, when at the Nelson’s Head (For which he may be blamed of you), A holy man appeared, and said, “Oh, ROBERT, I’m ashamed of you.” He laid his hand on ROBERT’S beer Before he could drink up any, And on the floor, with sigh and tear, He poured the pot of “thruppenny.” “Oh, ROBERT, at this very bar A truth you’ll be discovering, A good and evil genius are Around your noddle hovering. “They both are here to bid you shun The other one’s society, For Total Abstinence is one, The other, Inebriety.” He waved his hand—a vapour came— A wizard POLTER reckoned him; A bogy rose and called his name, And with his finger beckoned him. The monster’s salient points to sum,— His heavy breath was portery: His glowing nose suggested rum: His eyes were gin-and-_wor_tery. His dress was torn—for dregs of ale And slops of gin had rusted it; His pimpled face was wan and pale, Where filth had not encrusted it.