From the Rubaiyat of Mr. Hennessy

B. P. Four, in “East and West,” Columbia

WHIN I was young I give a lot of t’ought

To all this High Serblime, an’ sich like rot;

And now I know jist what I knew before;

Mebbe it’s thrue, me b’y—mebbe it’s not.

There’s them that lays up threasure in the sky

They’ll never see—they’ll niver git that high.

Ah, Terence, don’t ye listen to no band

Ten blocks away, playin’ “Swate by an’ by.”

Some Dill’s cut plug, a pipe ye’ve smoked before,

A wild young t’ing to kiss behind the door,

An’ now an’ thin an avenin’ wit’ the dhrink—

Sure, what the divil wud ye ask wit’ more?

Fill up the can, thin, an’ we’ll send it back;

Man, don’t be t’inkin’ of all the t’ings ye lack;

Ye know this ain’t no long job, annyway,

An’ any minnit we may get the sack.