Then he fired off a whiff :  Fat Bill gave a sniff : 
“ There’s a curious sort of a scent ! ” 
Alas for Fat Bill !  Such a nosegay may kill ! 
Those words were the last that he uttered ; 
While Bowles gave a laugh like a cunt-stricken calf : 
“ Will you have them with Bovril, or buttered ? ” 
Alas !  The luck’s ill !  The house smashed like Fat Bill, 
And went arse over tip like a lamp ; 
While the rest of us asked : — “ Are our brains 
over-tasked ? 
There’s an odour here !  Can it be damp ? ” 
Our souls went with Bowles to the heavenly goals 
But we asked at the end of the tunnel : —  
“ Is this No.  Seven ?  Or can it be heaven ? ” 
 
He said : — “ I am God and not Stannl.” 
We begged the Lord’s pardon — walked round in 
his garden : 
“This bower don’t smell nice ;  I’ll destroy it.” 
“ The mistake’s on Thy part !  It’s only my fart ! 
I hope J. and the Ghost will enjoy it.” 
 
[124]