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 I’ve often guess’d it: now I know— It’s gone an’ topp’d itself up so. Just you look round! On every side Here’s Power lost an’ leakified, There’s good stuff dancin’ to the dogs, Because o’ Power not applied.— An’ springy things ain’t got no sense, Sensible ones ain’t got no spring— An’ things as should be here is hence— An’ promises proves out perverse— An’ every blessin’s got its curse— Ay, somethin’s wrong with everythin’. ....Dunno, now, as I ever saw Even a flower without a flaw? Or, if I did, that’s overcast— ’Cause, now it’s passin’, next it’s past; Very same second, like, it’s sound, Down on the road to rot it’s bound— Its rightness ain’t allowed to last. No! nothin’ but is black’d with blots! Nothin’ too healthy to get ill, Too good but might be better still. —Dash it! Mick said to-day, this rain Was, ’cause the sun hisself has spots!

Folk, just the same. You take the best— Not Missis: in her head she’s smart, But she’ve the shortage in her heart.... Nor Boss: ’cause he’s a meagre lot— Missis, an’ money, ’s all he’s got. Granny?....She liked a drop....Well, there! Wasn’t much halo to her hair; Nor Micky—he ain’t none to spare.