their zong.
But he did love a harmless joke,
An' love his evenen whiff o' smoke,
A-zitten in his cheaeir o' woak.
"Your cup," his daughter cried;
"Vill'd up," his wife replied;
"Aye, aye; a drap avore my nap,"
Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

When Lon'on vok did meaeke a show
O' their girt glassen house woone year,
An' people went, bwoth high an' low,
To zee the zight, vrom vur an' near,
"O well," cried Bloom, "why I've a right
So well's the rest to zee the zight;
I'll goo, an' teaeke the rail outright."
"Your feaere," the booker cried;
"There, there," good Bloom replied;
"Why this June het do meaeke woone zweat,"
Cried worthy Bloom the miller,

Then up the guard did whissle sh'ill,
An' then the engine pank'd a-blast,
An' rottled on so loud's a mill,
Avore the train, vrom slow to vast.
An' oh! at last how they did spank
By cutten deep, an' high-cast bank
The while their iron ho'se did pank.
"Do whizzy," woone o'm cried;
"I'm dizzy," woone replied;
"Aye, here's the road to hawl a lwoad,"
Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

In Lon'on John zent out to call
A tidy trap, that he mid ride
To zee the glassen house, an' all
The lot o' things a-stow'd inside.
"Here, Boots, come here," cried he, "I'll dab
A sixpence in your han' to nab
Down street a tidy little cab."
"A feaere," the boots then cried;
"I'm there," the man replied.
"The glassen pleaece, your quickest peaece,"
Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

The steps went down wi' rottlen slap,
The zwingen door went open wide:
Wide? no; vor when the worthy chap
Stepp'd up to teaeke his pleaece inside,
Breast-foremost, he wer twice too wide
Vor thik there door. An' then he tried
To edge in woone an' tother zide.
"'Twont do," the drever cried;
"Can't goo," good Bloom replied;
"That you should bring theaese vooty thing!"
Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

"Come," cried the drever. "Pay your feaere
You'll teaeke up all my time, good man."
"Well," answer'd Bloom, "to meaeke that square,
You teaeke up me, then, if you can."
"I come at call," the man did nod.
"What then?" cried Bloom, "I han't a-rod,
An' can't in thik there hodmadod."
"Girt lump," the drever cried;
"Small stump," good Bloom replied;
"A little mite, to meaeke so light,
O' jolly Bloom the miller."

"You'd best be off now perty quick,"
Cried Bloom. "an