Vell, blow me tight, but here's a go! I can't hardly believe my eyes, It's a rig'lar Bartlemy Fair afloat, vith its stalls, and peep-shows, and t'ys, And vonderful lambs vithout niver a head, and vonderfuller pigs with three; And ships a svimmin' about in the air, instead of on the water, vere they orts to be; And chaps a selling peppermint to keep the cold out, vich is jest the vorst thing under the sun; And people a having their names printed on cards, vot can't read 'em ven they're done; And lads and lasses a dancing and singing, and up to all manner o' queer raps; And fat sheep a roasting whole, but not a bit for us poor amphibilous chaps; And fellers a playing at nine pins on the ice, vot can't stand on their own two; And ticket porters a stopping to see Punch, instead of going on their arrans, as they orts to do; And firemen a cutting about here and there, as big and grand as any lord or squire. Vith their red coats and badges—I s'pose they're afeard o' someb'dy's setting the Thames afire— And booths up and down of all sorts and sizes, till it looks like a Boothia Felix quite, Vith the moniment for the North Pole—that is, ven the fog and smoke'll let you git a sight— And the turnpike men off the warious bridges, vith nothink in the vorld to do all day But go to sleep on their rusty turnstiles, for in course people ain't sitch spoons as to pay To pass thro' their rewolving plate-warmers, ven they can go over the vater free; Vich I don't care so much for the bridge chaps, 'cause they does a good deal o' harm to we.
As for Billingsgate Market, the trade there's downright flat, ruinated and dead; The fine fresh soles can't come up to be cried, and so they cries cast-metal skates instead. I alvays thought sitch things vos regilated by act of parlyment, and proclaimed by the Lord Mayor; I knows a bit o' Burnses's Justice, I does; and my opinion is, it aint a legle fair. It's a nice look out, ain't it, for a young man vot the vater's his only bread? I'm blowed if I don't think I shall cut the river, and take to the land instead, And labour for the adwantage o' science—body-snatching, I mean—for where's the harm, ifegs! Ven their ain't no further demand for skulls, to try to do a little bisness in arms and legs? As for the vind, I think it'll never be nothink but due nor' again: I often looks up at the weathercock, but, bless your heart, it's all in _vane_! Poor fellers! as Shakespear says, our occipation's rig'lar done up, and no mistake, Vot vith von thing or another (vich von misfortin, you know, alvays brings another in its wake).