Part 2 (1/2)

Know me next time when you see me, won't you, old smarty?

Oh, I mean you, old figger-head,--just the same party!

Take out your pensivil, d--n you; sharpen it, do!

Any complaints to make? Lots of 'em--one of 'em's _you_.

You! who are you, anyhow, goin' round in that sneakin' way?

Never in jail before, was you, old blatherskite, say?

Look at it; don't it look pooty? Oh, grin, and be d--d to you, do!

But, if I had you this side o' that gratin', I'd just make it lively for you.

How did I get in here? Well, what 'ud you give to know?

'Twasn't by sneakin' round where I hadn't no call to go.

'Twasn't by hangin' round a spyin' unfortnet men.

Grin! but I'll stop your jaw if ever you do that agen.

Why don't you say suthin', blast you? Speak your mind if you dare.

Ain't I a bad lot, sonny? Say it, and call it square.

Hain't got no tongue, hey, hev ye. O guard! here's a little swell, A cussin' and swearin' and yellin', and bribin' me not to tell.

There, I thought that 'ud fetch ye. And you want to know my name?

”Seventy-Nine” they call me; but that is their little game.

For I'm werry highly connected, as a gent, sir, can understand; And my family hold their heads up with the very furst in the land.

For 'twas all, sir, a put-up job on a pore young man like me; And the jury was bribed a puppos, and aftdrst they couldn't agree.

And I sed to the judge, sez I,--Oh, grin! it's all right my son!

But you're a werry lively young pup, and you ain't to be played upon!

Wot's that you got--tobacco? I'm cussed but I thought 'twas a tract.

Thank ye. A chap t'other day--now, look'ee, this is a fact, Slings me a tract on the evils o' keepin' bad company, As if all the saints was howlin' to stay here along's we.

No: I hain't no complaints. Stop, yes; do you see that chap,-- Him standin' over there,--a hidin' his eves in his cap?

Well, that man's stumick is weak, and he can't stand the pris'n fare; For the coffee is just half beans, and the sugar ain't no where.

Perhaps it's his bringin' up; but he sickens day by day, And he doesn't take no food, and I'm seein' him waste away.

And it isn't the thing to see; for, whatever he's been and done, Starvation isn't the plan as he's to be saved upon.

For he cannot rough it like me; and he hasn't the stamps, I guess, To buy him his extry grub outside o' the pris'n mess.

And perhaps if a gent like you, with whom I've been sorter free, Would--thank you! But, say, look here! Oh, blast it, don't give it to ME!

Don't you give it to me; now, don't ye, don't ye, don't!

You think it's a put-up job; so I'll thank ye, sir, if you won't.