Oh, bust it! Or, rayther, bust _them!_ I've my eye on the pipes o' this House, As might give me the chanst as _I_ wants, but, by gob, it's a regular chouse. Nary bust in 'em yet, as I sees! I ain't none o' yer ornary hands, There isn't a task in my trade but wot smart Plumber JOE understands, And at making a jint I'm daisy. Our trade is a topper, it is, But one arf of the pottrers called plumbers ain't nothink like up to their biz-- Mere poor paltryfoggers, most on 'em, as boggle, and bungle, and botch. 'Tain't _bizness_ the beggars are arter, but more speshul Irish--or Scotch! A copper-bit jint is their utmost, but wot they like most is a splodge Of canvas and white-lead or putty; _their_ work is all fakement and dodge, As won't last a fortnit, not watertight. As to a blow-jint, well did, They jest couldn't take it on nohow--no, not if you tipped 'em a quid. But I'm a certif'cated plumber, a master of shave-hook and solder, Of turn-pin, and mallet, and fire-devil. Plumber who's smarter and bolder With blow-pipe, and lamp-black, and size, you won't find London through if yer try; And at "wiping a jint"--ah!--a pickter--there's none as can wipe JOEY'S eye. Then at sanitry work! Bless yer buttons, yer dashed County Council ain't in it; And as to that there WALLACE BRUCE, wy, I'll jist wipe him up in a minit, Though he _has_ a good fighting name on 'im. Calls me a quack, too, does BILL, And 'ints I dunno my own trade! Wait a bit, and I'll give _him_ a pill. Insanitry aireys, indeed! As a judge of a rookery or slum There ain't ne'er a Cockney C. C. as can sideup with JOEY the Brum; Wot _'e_ doesn't know 'aint _wuth_ knowing. I'll set 'em all right, though,--in time. When England's _all_ Brummagemised, and I'm boss of it, _won't_ it be prime? Meanwhile, I'm a bit out-of-work. Unemployed, so to speak, like a lot, Although I ain't no "Unskilled Labourer." HARDIE talks thunderin' rot, But I thought 'e might make me a hopening. Somehow the fakement was lost. And yet I _should_ be flush o' work, for we've had a unusual frost, As this House, like the rest, must have felt. Wy, I thought they'd ha' bust long ago, Them Guverment pipes, and be blowed to 'em. 'Ere in the sludge and the snow I've bin waiting a tidy long spell, till my toes 'ave like icicles grown. I've bin journeyman quite long enough, and I want to set up "on my own." Pal ARTHUR is all very well, but at bossing a bit of a slob. And when these big pipes do a bust, well--I see a rare charnce of a job! * * * * * FIN DE SIÈCLE.--"New men, new manners." "New women--no manners." * * * * * AN ARTISTIC "FROST."