1st draft, October-November 1923, I.2§3 draft level 0

MS British Library 47471b 12-13 Draft details

{ms, 012v}

Have you heard of |aa onea| Humptydumpty
How he fell |agot blank fell witha| with a roll & a rumble
and |ahe fel lay lowa| like |aolda| Oliver Crumple

|aBehind |bAback of By the back ofb|a|

the magazine wall

of the magazine wall

|aI'm afraid I'll go baila|, my dairyman darling
All your butt.
Like the blank
I'll go bail like the bull of the Cow

All your butter is

in your horn

He was one time |athe oura| King of |aour thea| Castle
Now he's kicked about like any old parsnip
And from Green street by order of h His Worship

He'll be |ashipped sent toa| the jail of Mountjoy

|aThe To thea| jail of Mountjoy.

Jail him and joy

He had schemes in his head for to bother us
Stage coaches & |awealth parksa| for the populace
|aCow's Mare'sa| for the sick, seven Sundays a week,

Openair love & |aprisons religiousa| reform

& prisons reform

|ahideous in forma|

|aBut why then Arrah whya|, says you, couldn't he manage it.
I'll go bail, my big dairyman darling
Like the |alimping bumpinga| bull of the Cassidy's

All your butter is in your

His butter is in his H horns

Butter his horns
{ms, 013v}

Sure leave it to Hosty, frosty fiddler, leave it to Hosty |ahe's the mana| to |aran runa| the rann, the wran of all ranns.

He was strolling round the
It was in the zoological garden
He was strolling around by the monument
Poor old |ahumpy hippopotamus humpedy Hippopotamusa|
When |ahe theya| opened the backdoor of the omnibus

|aHe And theya| caught his death of fusiliers

His death of fusiliers

And he'll lose his ears

But wait
'Tis a |agreat sorea| pity, so it is, for his |aten littlea| children
But |await till look out fora| his missus legitimate
When she gets a grip of old Earwicker

|aThere'll Won't therea| be earwigs on the green?

Big earwigs on the green

Then we'll have a grand |acelebration band & mass meetinga|
For to sod the bold son Scandinavian
And we'll bury him down,

in Oxmanstown

Where he'll