"Riparian rights? That's the patter of Ahab to Naboth, of course; But 'tis pickles like you make it plausible, louts such as you give it force. You make sweet Thames reaches Gehennas, the fair Norfolk Broads you befoul; You--_you_, who'd make Beulah a hell with your blatant Bank Holiday howl! "Decent property-owners abhor you; you spread your coarse feasts on their lawns, And 'Arry's a hog when he feeds, and an ugly Yahoo when he yawns; You litter, and ravage, and cock-sky; you romp like a satyr obscene, And the noise of you rises to heaven till earth might blush red through her green. "You are moneyed, sometimes, and well-tailored; but come you from Oxford or Bow, You're a flaring offence when you lounge, and a blundering pest when you row; Your 'monkeyings' mar every pageant, your shindyings spoil every sport, And there isn't an Eden on earth but's destroyed when it's 'Arry's resort. "Then monopolist Mammon may chuckle, Riparian Ahabs rejoice; There's excuse in your Caliban aspect, your hoarse and ear-torturing voice, You pitiful Cockney-born Cloten, you slum-bred Silenus, 'tis you Spoil the silver-streamed Thames for Pan-lovers, and all the nymph-worshipping crew!" I've "reported" as near as no matter! I don't hunderstand more than arf Of his patter; he's preciously given to potry and classical charf. But the cheek on it, Charlie! A Stone-broke! I _should_ like to give him wot for, Only Dannel the Dosser's a dab orf of whom 'tain't so easy to score. But it's time that this bunkum was bunnicked, bin fur too much on it of late-- Us on 'Opkins's 'ouse-boat, I tell yer, cared nix for the ink-spiller's "slate." _I_ mean doin' them Broads later on, for free fishing and shooting, that's flat. If I don't give them dash'd Norfolk Dumplings a doing, I'll eat my old 'at. Rooral quiet, and rest, and refinement? Oh, let 'em go home and eat coke. These fussy old footlers whose 'air stands on hend at a row-de-dow joke, The song of the skylark sounds pooty, but "skylarking" song's better fun, And you carn't do the rooral to-rights on a tract and a tuppenny bun. As to colour, and kick-up, and sing-song, our party was fair to the front; But we wosn't alone; lots of toppers, in 'ouse-boat, or four-oar, or punt, Wos a doin' the rorty and rosy as lively as 'Opkins's lot, Ah! the swells sling it out pooty thick; _they_ ain't stashed by no ink-spiller's rot.