[]
Engraved for Edwin's Pills to Purge Melancholy
From Riders profile Likeneſs
Mr. Edwin COMEDIAN.
[...] removed from [...] Drury Lane.
EDWIN's PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY: CONTAINING ALL THE SONGS SUNG BY Mr. EDWIN, OF COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE, SINCE HIS FIRST APPEARANCE IN LONDON; And many DUETS that Mr. EDWIN has a Part in. WITH AN HUMOUROUS ACCOUNT OF Mrs. SIDDONS'S firſt Reception in Dublin; AND A PORTRAIT OF Mr. EDWIN FINELY EXECUTED.
[]The SECOND EDITION, with Conſiderable ADDITIONS.
The ſportive Muſe is my Phyſician,
To cure the Folly, and the Madneſs,
Of Pride, of Envy, and Ambition,
Of Spleen; and melancholy Sadneſs.
Soon as I touch the jocund Lyre,
That Inſtant, driven from their Seat,
The Daemons of the Mind retire,
And go and perſecute the Great.
Crazy Tales
LONDON: PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM HOLLAND, NO. 50, OXFORD-STREET, NEAR BERNER'S-STREET, REMOVED FROM NO. 66, DRURY-LANE. 1788.
ACCOUNT of Mrs. SIDDONS's firſt Reception in DUBLIN.
[]* ON Saturday Mrs. Siddons, about whom all the World has been talking, expoſed her beautiful, adamantine, ſoft, and lovely Perſon for the firſt time at the Theatre Royal, Smock-Alley, in the bewitch⯑ing, melting and all-tearful Character of Iſabella. From the repeated panegyrics in the impartial Lon⯑don News-papers, we were taught to expect the ſight of an heavenly Angel, but how were we ſupernaturally ſurpriſed into the moſt awful [...] at beholding a mortal Goddeſs!
The houſe was crowded with hundreds more than it could hold, with thouſands of admiring ſpectators that went away without a ſight. This extraordinary Phaenomenon of Tragic excellence! this Star of Melpomene! this Comet of the Stage! this Sun of the firmament of the Muſes! this Moon of blank verſe! this Queen and Princeſs of tears! this Donnellan of the poiſoned bowl! this Empreſs Ruſty Fuſty of the piſtol and dagger! this Chao of [vi] Shakeſpeare! this World of weeping clouds! this Juno of commanding aſpect! this Terpſichore of the curtain and ſcenes! this Proſerpine of fire and earthquake! this Katterfelto of wonders, exceeded expectation, went beyond belief, and ſoared above all the powers of deſcription! She was Nature itſelf!—She was the moſt exquiſite work of art! She was the very daiſy, primroſe, tube-roſe, ſweet-briar, ſurze-bloſſom, gilliflower, wall-flower, cauliflower, auricula, and roſemary; in ſhort, ſhe was the Bouquet of Parnaſſus!
Where expectation was raiſed ſo high, it was thought ſhe would be injured by her appearance— but it was the audience who were injured. Several fainted even before the curtain drew up!—but when ſhe came to the ſcene of parting with her. wedding-ring, ah! what a ſight was there! The very ſidiers in the Orcheſtra, albeit, unuſed to melting mood, blubbered like hungry children crying for their bread and butter; and when the bell rang for muſic between the acts, the tears ran from the baſ⯑ſoon player's eyes in ſuch plentiful ſhowers, that they choaked the finger ſtops, and making a ſpout of the inſtrument, poured in ſuch a torrent on the firſt fidler's book, that not ſeeing the Overture was in two ſharps, the leader of the band actually played in one flat.
But the ſobs and ſighs of the groaning audience, and the noiſe of the corks drawn from the ſmelling-bottles, prevented the miſtake between the flats and the ſharps being diſcovered.
One hundred and nine ladies fainted! forty-ſix went into fits! and ninety-five had ſtrong hyſterics! The world will ſcarcely credit [...] when they are told that fourteen children, five old women, a one-handed ſailor, and ſix common-council men, [vii] were actually drowned in the inundation of tears that flowed from the galleries, lattices, and boxes, to encreaſe the briny pond in the pit. The water was three feet deep, and the people that were ob⯑liged to ſtand upon the benches, were in that po⯑ſition up to their ankles in tears!
An Act of Parliament againſt her playing any more will certainly paſs, for ſhe has infected all the Volunteers, and they ſit reading the Fatal Marriage, crying and roaring the whole morning, at the ex⯑pectation of ſeeing this Giant's Cauſeway, this Salmon Leap of wonders at night! An addreſs has been preſented to the good Earl of Charlemont by the principal Volunteers, and backed by Doctor Quin and the Faculty of Dublin, praying him to ſtay at home the evening of her appearance, elſe they are convinced ſhe'll tear his infirm frame in pieces with her terrific ſcreams, when ſhe's dragged from the corpſe of Biron, and they'll loſe the greateſt General that ever headed an army. Nature, muſt aſſuredly, in one of her bountiful moments, in one of her charitable and humane leiſure hours, in one of her ſmiling days, in one of her happy weeping months, and in one of her all-ſorrowing gladſome years, made this human lump of clayey perfection!
Oh! happy Hibernia, bleſſed Ierne, ſanctified land of Saints, what a hearſe load, what a coffin full, what a church-yard tree of the brighteſt ex⯑cellence of excellencies now ſtands on the turf of thy fruitful earth!
From Cork, from Kilarney, from Galway, from Ballinaſloe, from Eyrecourt, from the Eaſt, from the Weſt, from the North, from the South, from Iſland Bridge, from Lazor's-Hill, from the banks of the Canal to the New Road, at the back of [viii] Drumcondra, ſhall millions come to Smock-Alley, to ſee this aſtoniſhing woman!
The ſtreets round the Theatre ſhall be crowded, and the very Gabbards that carry coals to Iſland Bridge ſhall ſtop at the Blind-Quay, and land their unpoliſhed Watermen to ſpend thirteen-pence for a ſeat in the upper gallery when Iſabella is per⯑formed!
O thou univerſal Genius, what pity it is that thy talents are ſo confined to Tragedy alone! No age— nay, the Roman Theatre, the Stage at Conſtantino⯑ple—Nero himſelf never performed the ſcene of madneſs, of grief, of joy, of woe, of diſtreſs, of ſorrow, and of pity, ſo well as Mrs. Siddons!
May the curſes of an inſulted nation purſue the gentlemen of the College, the gentlemen of the Bar, and the Peers and Peereſſes, whoſe wiſdom and diſcernment have been ſo highly extolled, that hiſſed her on the ſecond night. True it is, Mr. Garrick never could make any thing of her, and pronounced her below mediocrity—true it is, the London audience once did not like her; but what of that? Riſe up bright Goddeſs of the Sock and Buſkin, and ſoar to unknown Regions of immortal Praiſe, for
"Envy will merit as its ſhade purſue."
EDWIN'S PILLS, &c.
[]SONG.
Jemmy Jumps, in the FARMER.
LOOK'E, dear Ma'am, I'm quite the thing,
Nattibus hey ! tippity ho!
In my ſhoe I wear a ſtring,
Tied in a black bow, ſo.
Cards and dice! I've monſt'rous luck;
I'm no drake, yet keep a duck,
Tho'not married, yet I'm a buck,
Lantherum ſwaſh, kee-vi,
I've a purſe well ſtock'd with—braſs,
Chinkity hey! tinkity ho!
I've good eyes, but cock my glaſs,
Stare about, ſquintum ho!
In two boots I boldly—walk,
Piſtol, ſword, I never balk,
Meet my a man, and bravely—talk,
Pippity pop, coupee.
[8]
Sometimes mount a ſmart cockade,
Puppydum hey, ſtruttledum, ho!
From High-Park to the Parade,
Cock my cary kee,
As I paſs a ſentry-box,
Soldiers reſt their bright firelocks,
Each about his muſquet knocks,
Rattledum ſlap, to me!
In the Mall, Ma'am gives her card,
Caſhedy me, kiſſady ſhe!
Sit before the ſtable-yard,
Leg-orum lounge a-row;
Pretty things I ſoftly ſay
When I'm aſk'd our chairs to pay,
Yes, ſays I, and walk—away
Pennybus tartum, ho!
At Boulogne I liv'd a week,
Frickaſee hey! trickaſee ho!
There fine French I learnt to ſqueak,
Grinnybuſs ſkiptum, ho!
Slap French clack about, hauteur,
Nevetle chef daeuvre, bon douceur,
En bon point, quel tout mon caeur
Fiddledee foll, hee hee!
Rotten row, my Sunday-ride,
Trottledum hey, tumble off, ho!
[9]Poney, eighteen-pence a ſide,
Windgall, glanderum, ho!
Cricket I fam'd Lumpey nick,
Daddles, ſmouch Mendoza lick:
Up to, ah! I'm juſt the kick,
Allemande cap'rum toe!
SONG.
From the ſame:
GAD-A-MERCY! devil's in me,
All the damſels wiſh to win me;
Like a may-pole round me clutter,
Hanging garlands—fuſs and flutter!
Lilting, cap'ring, grinning, ſmirking,
Pouting, bobbing, winking, jerking;
Kates and Bettys,
Polls and Letties,
All were doating, gentle creatures,
On theſe features.—
To their aprons all would pin me,
Gad-a-mercy! Devil's in me,
All the damſels wiſh to win me:
Pretty damſels, ugly damſels;
Black-hair'd damſels, red-hair'd damſels;
Six feet damſels, three feet damſels;
Pale-fac'd damſels, plump-fac'd damſels;
Small-leg'd damſels, thick-leg'd damſels:
[10]Pretty, ugly, black-hair'd, red-hair'd, ſix feet, three feet,
Pale-fac'd, plump-fac'd, ſmall-leg'd, thick-leg'd, dainty dowdy:
All run after me, Sir, me;
For when pretty fellows, we,
Pretty maids are frank and free.
For their ſtays taking meaſure
Of the ladies, Oh the pleaſure!
Oh, ſuch tempting looks they gi'me!
Wiſhing of my heart to nim me;
Pat and cry, you devil, Jemmy.
Pretty ladies, ugly ladies, &c.
SONG.
DARBY, in the Poor Soldier.
DEAR Kathleen, you, no doubt,
Find ſleep how very ſweet 'tis;
Dogs bark, and cocks have crow'd out,
You never dream how late 'tis.
This morning gay,
I poſt away,
To have with you a bit of play,
On two legs rid
Along to bid
Good-morrow to your nightcap.
[11]Laſt night a little bowſy
With whiſkey, ale, and cyder,
I aſk'd young Betty Blowzy
To let me ſit beſide her.
Her anger roſe
As ſour as ſloes,
The little gipſy cock'd her noſe;
Yet here I've rid
Along to bid
Good-morrow to your nightcap.
SONG.
From the ſame.
SINCE Kathleen has prov'd ſo untrue,
Poor Darby, ah, what can you do?
No longer I'll ſtay here a clown,
But ſell off and gallop to town:
I'll dreſs, and I'll ſtrut with an air,
The barber ſhall frizzle my hair.
In town I ſhall cut a great daſh;
But how for to compaſs the caſh!
At gaming, perhaps, I may win;
With cards I can take the flats in;
Or trundle falſe dice, and they're nick'd;
If found out, I ſhall only be kick'd.
[12]
But firſt to get a great name,
A duel eſtabliſh my fame,
To my man then a challenge I'll write;
But firſt I'll be ſure he won't fight,
We'll ſwear not to part 'till we fall,
Then ſhoot with our powder, and the devil a ball.
SONG.
Motley, in the Dead Alive.
AN actor's a comical dog!
Now friſky, now dull as a log;
So changeable all,
Now ſhort, and now tall,
Now plump, then as ſlim as a frog.
Now Paddy the brogue he puts on,
Then ſtruts with the pride of a Don,
Now a French oui Monſieur,
Then a Dutch yaw Mynheer,
Or bra' Donald the head of his Clan.
How rarely they take in the town,
From one ſhilling up to a crown!
They pant, and they cry,
Fight, tumble, and die!
But laugh when the curtain is down.
SONG.
From the ſame. (BEGGAR'S OPERA.)
[13]OH ponder well! be not ſevere!
Nor beat me like a drum!
A ſtick that makes that ſpeak, I fear,
Would make po—o—r Motley dumb.
SONG.
From the ſame.
AIR.—Cold and Rainy is the Weather.
SEE a nymph ſo briſk and witty,
Nimbly tripping thro' the Park,
Throwing round her eyes ſo pretty,
And ogling every powder'd ſpark;
She'll leer and gaze with fond delight,
Invite you home, and kiſs you too;
Sigh, kneel and ſwear, my angel bright,
Without your caſh, your kiſſing won't do!
With a long purſe ever go to your love,
Chink it, chink it, there, O there!
When you twinkum twankum, tol derol lol derol,
Ha! ha! ha! ſhe'll love you dear.
Who'd refuſe a lad of my inches,
So ſprightly, ſightly, neat, compleat?
But wag-tails lur'd are by gold-finches,
Tho' eyes may roll, and pulſes beat.
[14]They'll leer and gaze with fond delight,
You tip 'em an ogle, they ogle too!
My Dove, my Duck, my Angel bright,
Without your caſh, your kiſſing won't do!
With a long purſe ever go to your love,
Chink it, chink it, there, O there!
When you twinkum twankum, tol derol lol derol,
Ha! ha! ha! then ſhe'll love you dear.
SONG.
From the ſame.
THE world is all nonſenſe and noiſe,
Fantoccini, or Ombres Chinoiſes,
Mere Pantomime mummery,
Puppet-ſhew flummery,
A magical lanthorn confounding the ſight;
Like players, or puppets, we move,
On the wires of ambition and love,
Poets write wittily,
Maidens look prettily,
'Till Death drops the curtain—all's over—good night!
SONG.
Bowkitt, in the Son-in-Law.
WITH an air,
Debonair,
I inſtract the Ladies;
[15]Charming, ſweet, and pretty,
Lovely, fair, and witty,
Suſan, Jane, or Kitty,
I contrive to hit ye:
Come away,
All ye gay,
For the dance my trade is;
Charming, ſweet, and pretty,
Lovely, fair, and witty,
Pr'ythee come away!
See, ſee, ſee!
The dancers are met;
What an elegant ſet;
While in country dance,
Or cotillion they prance,
I regulate their pace.
Ye youths, would you the ſecret know,
Why I'm careſt where'er I go,
With Kitt in hand I draw my bow,
I ſqueeze the hand and point the toe,
And ſlide into their grace.
SONG.
Lingo, in the Agreeable Surpriſe.
SUCH beauties in view, I
Can never praiſe too high;
[16]Not Pallas's blue eye
Is brighter than thine.
Not fount of Suſannah,
Nor gold of fair Dana,
Nor moon of Diana,
So clearly can ſhine!
Not beard of Silenus,
Nor treſſes of Venus.
I ſwear by Quae Genus!
With your's can compare;
Not Hermes' Caduces,
Nor flower-de-luces,
Nor all the Nine Muſes,
To me is ſo fair.
CHORUS.
What poſies,
And roſes,
To noſes
Diſcloſes
Your breath all ſo ſweet!
To the tip
Of your lip,
As they trip,
The bees dip,
Honey ſip,
Like choice flip,
And their hybla forget.
[17]When girls like you paſs us,
I ſaddle Pegaſſus,
And ride up Parnaſſus,
To Helicon's ſtream:
Even that is a puddle,
Where others may muddle;
My noſe let me fuddle
In bowls of your cream;
Old Jove, the great Hector,
May tipple his Nectar,
Of Gods the director,
And thunder above:
I'd quaff off a full can
As Bacchus or Vulcan,
Or Jove the old bull can,
To her that I love.
Chorus
—What poſies, &c.
SONG.
From the ſame.
AIR.—The MOUSE and the FROG.
AMO amas,
I love a laſs,
As a cedar tall and ſlender;
Sweet Cowſlips grace
Is her nom'tive caſe,
And ſhe's of the feminine gender.
[18] CHORUS.
Rorum corum,
Sunt divorum,
Harum ſcarum
Divo!
Tag, rag, merry derry, perriwig and hatband,
Hic, hoc, horum genitivo!
Can I decline
A nymph divine?
Her voice as a flute is dulcis,
Her oculis bright,
Her manus white,
And ſoft, when I tacto, her pulſe is.
CHORUS.
Rorum, corum, &c.Oh how bella
My puella!
I'll kiſs ſecula ſeculorum:
If I've luck, Sir,
She's my uxor,
O dies benedictorum!
CHORUS.
Rorum, corum,
Sunt divorum,
Harum ſcarum
Divo!
Tag, rag, merry derry, perriwig and hatband,
Hic, hoc, horum genitivo!
SONG.
From the ſame.
[19]OF all the pretty flowers,
A Cowſlip's my delight:
With that I'd paſs my hours,
Both morning, noon and night,
To be ſure I would, &c.
This Cowſlip ſmell'd ſo ſweetly,
And look'd ſo freſh and gay,
Says I, you're dreſs'd ſo neatly,
We'll have a little play.
To be ſure we will, &c.
One evening in the dairy,
'Twas lying on the ſhelf,
I kiſs'd the pretty fairy,
And then lay down myſelf.
To be ſure I did, &c.
This flower one morning early
Upon a bed did reſt;
I lov'd to pull it dearly,
And ſtick it in my breaſt.
To be ſure I could, &c.
SONG.
DARBY, in Love in a Camp.
[20]I'LL ſing you a ſong; faith, I'm ſinging it now here;
I don't mean t'front either ſmall or big bow-wow here.
The ſubject I've choſen, it is the canine race,
To prove like us, two-legg'd dogs, they're a very fine race.
Bow, wow, wow,
Fal, lal, la.
Like you and I, other dogs may be counted ſad dogs;
As we won't drink water, ſome might think us mad dogs;
A courtier is a ſpaniel, a citizen's a dull dog,
A ſoldier is a maſtiff, a ſailor's a bull-dow.
Bow, wow, wow,
Fal, lal, la:
When ſilly dogs for property, uncle, ſon, and brother,
Grin and ſnarl mighty gruff, and worry one another;
[21]Should they a bit of equity from Juſtice beg a loan of,
That cunning dog, the lawyer Snap, carries quick the bone off.
Bow, wow, wow,
Fal, lal, la.
An old maid comes from church, to the poor no lady kinder;
A luſty dog her footman, with prayer-book behind her;
A poor boy aſks a farthing, and gets plenty of good kicking,
But little Shock, her lap-dog, muſt have a roaſted chicken.
Bow, wow, wow,
Fal, lal, la.
A Poet's a lank grey-hound, for the public he runs game down,
A Critic is a cur that ſtrives to runs his fame down;
And though he cannot follow where the noble ſport invites him,
He ſlily ſteals behind, and by the heels he bites him.
Bow, wow, wow,
Fal, lal, la.
[22]
You've a choice pack of friends, while to feed 'em you are able,
Your dog for his morſel crouches under your table,
Your friends turn tail in misfortune or diſaſter,
But your poor faithful dog will ne'er forſake his maſter.
Bow, wow, wow,
Fal, lal, la.
As your friends turn tail the moment that you need 'em,
My dog ran away when no longer I cou'd feed him,
This cur, ſo ungrateful, forſook me on my journey,
And for a mouldy cruſt went back to the attorney.
Bow, wow, wow,
Fal, lal, la.
SONG.
La Bruce, in RICHARD COEUR DE LION.
I HAD a wife of my own,
Still with her tongue ſhe chatter'd on;
Never could let me alone,
Clamper'd, ſcolded, and clatter'd on:
[23]Blockhead, aſs, cuckold, and drone,
With theſe ſoft words ſhe flatter'd on;
Not in my body a bone,
But with her knuckles ſhe batter'd on!
Kept me quite under her thumb,
Toſt my hat and wig about,
If I ſaid ought but mum;
Twirl'd me like a gigg about;
Making my body a drum,
Trivally beating and jigg about,
I was oblig'd to go glum,
Like an old grunting pig about.
SONG.
From the ſame.
LET the Sultan's wanton care,
Thouſands of the ſex prepare,
Gentle, friſking, pretty laſſes,
Young and handſome as the graces;
Let him kiſs them one and all,
What then, what then?
This concerns not me at all.
For like ev'ry thirſty ſoul,
I prefer the flowing bowl.
[24]Let the noble Duke or Peer,
Sell his thouſand pounds a year,
Let him quit his graſs and ſtubble,
He'll ſoon find that life's a bubble;
Let him riſe, or let him fall,
What then, &c.
Let the valiant ſoldier go,
Seeking dangers to and fro;
Let him when the trumpets rattle,
Brave the foremoſt of the battle,
Honour fears nor ſword nor ball,
What then, &c.
SONG.
From the ſame.
WHEN Nich'las firſt to court began,
And Blanch approv'd his love;
United time and pleaſure ran,
Like Turtles in the grove:
In joy and ſweet delight,
They paſs'd each day and night.
Chorus. — When Nich'las firſt to court began,
And Blanch approv'd his love;
Happy and gay,
Smiling as May,
Jocund they paſs'd each day and night.
[25]When children bleſs'd the loving pair,
Kind heaven increas'd their ſtore;
Their boys were brave, their girls were fair,
And each a portion bore
Of rural induſtry,
With dance, and ſong, and glee.
Chorus. — When children bleſs'd, &c.
Tho' age their heads with ſilver crown'd,
Affection did increaſe;
Diſſenſion ne'er their hearts cou'd wound,
Nor jealouſy their peace:
And ſtill remembrance ſweet,
Their placid minds would greet.
Chorus. — Tho' age their heads, &c.
SONG.
From the ſame.
LORD! Lord! without victuals and drink,
We poets muſt give up each ſtrain;
It helps us poor devils to think,
And thraſh with more vigour our brain.
Without victuals and drink — Lord, the world were undone,
'Tis the ſoul of the world — 'tis the ſine qua non.
The ſoldier 'midſt battles alarms,
Without it could ill face his foe,
So faint would he handle his arms,
And draw with ſuch weakneſs his bow.
Without victuals, &c.
[26]
What would ladies and gentlemen do,
That ſay ſuch fine things to each other;
They would never be able to coo,
They would never be father and mother.
Without victuals, &c.
Then hey for good victuals and drink,
Who's there that would not carouſe:
Whoever he may be, I think
He's not to be found in this houſe.
Without victuals, &c.
SONG.
From the ſame.
YE topers all, drink to the ſoul,
Of this right honeſt fellow;
Who always lov'd a flowing bowl,
And would in death be mellow.
The lamp of life he kindled up,
With ſpirit ſtout and glowing;
His heart inſpired thus with a cup,
Aſcends where nectar's flowing.
SONG.
From the ſame.
WHEN we plough the furrow'd land,
Two by two the oxen ſtand,
All are coupled two by two.
[27]In the meads and verdant groves,
See the am'rous turtle doves,
How they bill, and how they coo,
As they couple two by two.
With the ſingle lad and laſs,
How the diſmal moments paſs,
'Till they're coupled two by two:
But when each has pledg'd a vow,
Lads and laſſes ſpeed the plough,
When they're coupled two by two.
SONG.
PEDRILLO, in the Caſtle of Andaluſia.
A Maſter I have, and I am his man,
Galloping dreary dun,
And he'll get a wife as faſt as he can,
With a haily
Gaily,
Gambo raily,
Giggling,
Niggling,
Galloping, galloway, draggle-tail dreary dun.
I ſaddled his ſteed ſo fine and ſo gay,
Galloping dreary dun,
I mounted my mule, and we rode away,
With our haily, &c.
[28]
We canter'd along until it grew dark,
Galloping dreary dun;
The nightingale ſung inſtead of the lark,
With her haily, &c.
We met with a Friar and aſk'd him our way,
Galloping dreary dun;
By the Lord, ſays the Friar, you're both gone aſtray,
With your haily, &c.
Our journey, I fear, will do us no good,
Galloping dreary dun;
We wander alone like the babes in the wood,
With our haily, &c.
My maſter is fighting, and I'll take a peep,
Galloping dreary dun;
But now I think better, I'd better go ſleep,
With my haily,
Gaily,
Gambo raily,
Niggling,
Giggling,
Galloping, Galloway, draggle-tail, dreary dun.
SONG.
From the ſame.
A Soldier I am for a lady,
What beau was arm'd compleater?
[29]When face to face,
Her chamber the place,
I'm able and willing to meet her.
Gad's curſe, my dear laſſes, I'm ready
To give you all ſatisfaction;
I am the man
For the crack of your fan,
Tho' I die at your feet in the action.
Your bobbins may beat up a row-dow-dow,
Your lap-dog may out with his bow-wow-wow,
The challenge in love,
I take up the glove,
Tho' I die at your feet in the action.
SONG.
Tom, in Peeping Tom.
EGAD we had a glorious feaſt,
So good in kind, ſo nicely dreſt!
Our liquor too was of the beſt —
I'll tell ye.
One leg of mutton, two fat geeſe,
With beans and bacon, ducks and peaſe,
In ſhort, we'd ev'ry thing could pleaſe
The belly.
[30]
The clock ſtruck twelve in merry chime,
The Prieſt ſaid grace in Saxon rhyme;
Says I to him, here is no time
For playing.
The room was full when I came in,
But ſoon I napkin'd up my chin;
With knife and fork I now begin
To lay in.
Our Curate, who at ſuch a rate
Of dues and tythe-pigs us'd to prate,
In ſilence ſat behind his plate,
A peeping.
Moſt Churchman-like, the Vicar too,
A ſhepherd to his flock below,
Like any wolf, good mutton now
Was deep in.
We nodded health, for no one ſpoke;
The cloth roll'd off, we crack'd a joke,
And drink the King, and ſing, and ſmoke
Tobacco.
Our reckoning out, we call a whip;
I ſteal my hat, and home I trip,
My pretty Maud, your velvet lip
To ſmacko,
SONG.
From the ſame.
[31]AIR.—Kiſſes and Brandy.
WHEN I was a younker, and liv'd with my dad,
The neighbours all thought me a ſmart little lad;
My mammy ſhe call'd me a white-headed boy,
Becauſe with the girls I lik'd to toy,
There was Ciſs,
Priſs,
Letty and Betty,
And Doll;
With Meg,
Peg,
Jenny and Winney,
And Moll.
I ſlatter
Their clatter,
So ſprightly and gay;
I rumble 'em,
Tumble 'em—
That's my way.
One fine, froſty morning, a going to ſchool,
Young Moggy I met, and ſhe call'd me a fool:
Her mouth was my primer; a leſſon I took;
I ſwore it was pretty, and kiſſed the book.
But School,
Fool,
Primer,[32]
Trimmer,
And birch,
And boys for the girls I leave in the lurch,
I flatter, &c.
It's very well known I can dance a good jig,
And at cudgels from Robin I won a fat pig;
I can wreſtle a fall, and the bar I can fling;
And when o'er a flaggon, can ſweetly ſing:
But Pig,
Jig,
Wicket,
And Cricket,
And ball,
I'd give up the wreſtle with Moggy a fall.
I flatter, &c.
SONG.
ETIQUETTE, in Summer Amuſement.
WITHOUT a man to take the lead,
What could a lady do?
No walk in life wou'd e'er ſucceed,
No ſtep could e'er be true:
[33]We point the dance that might perplex,
Look, bright,
Invite,
Excite
Delight,
And comfort all the ſex.
We ne'er, like ſome folks in the land.
Permit our friends to drop,
But take them gently by the hand,
And lead them to the top.
We poſts and places find for all,
Now here,
Now there,
Now e'er-
Y where,
And ſtill keep up the ball.
SONG.
From the ſame.
NEATEST of pretty feet, for dancing intended,
Accept of a partner who always was commended,
Slighting the fineſt dreſs, attentive to merit,
He likes only thoſe that can jig about with ſpirit.
Take me, Madam,
I ſo glad am,
That I'll cut a caper!
Stand firſt couple,
Make no ſcruple,
Strike up there, gut-ſcraper.
[34]Turn about, turn about, that's right, depend on't,
Hands a-croſs, back again, and now there's an end on't.
If it ſtill ſhould be thought that we ſhould encore it,
Permit me to offer you lemonade before it;
Negus will make you hot, and wine is unſteady,
Your fan now will cool us both, ſpeak when you're ready.
Take me, Madam, &c.
SONG.
TRUDGE in Inkle and Yarico.
AIR.—Laſt Valentine's Day.
A Voyage over ſeas had not enter'd my head,
Had I known but on which ſide to butter my bread.
Heigho! ſure I—for hunger muſt die!
I've ſail'd like a booby; come here in a ſquall,
Where, alas! there's no bread to be butter'd at all!
Oho! I'm a terrible booby!
Oh, what a ſad booby am I!
In London what gay chop-houſe ſigns in the ſtreet!
But the only ſign here is of nothing to eat,
Heigho! that I—for hunger ſhou'd die!
My mutton's all loſt, I'm a poor ſtarving elf,
And for all the world like a loſt mutton myſelf;
Oho! I ſhall die a loſt mutton!
Oh, what a loſt mutton am I!
[35]For a neat ſlice of beef, I cou'd roar like a bull,
And my ſtomach's ſo empty, my heart is quite full.
Heigho! that I—for hunger ſhould die!
But, grave without meat, I muſt here meet my grave,
For my bacon, I fancy, I. never ſhall ſave;
Oho! I ſhall ne'er ſave my bacon!
I can't ſave my bacon, not I!
SONG.
From the ſame.
CHRISTIANS are ſo good, they ſay,
Tender ſouls as e'er can be!
Let them credit it who may;
What they're made of let, us ſee.
Chriſtian drovers, charming trade!
Who ſo careful cattle drive;
And the tender Chriſtian maid,
Sweetly ſkinning eels alive.
Tender toniſh dames, who take
Whip in hand, and drive like males;
Have their ponies nick'd—to make
The pretty creatures cock their tails.
Chriſtian boys will ſhy at cocks,
Worry dogs, hunt cats, kill flies;
Chriſtian Lords will learn to box,
And give their noble friends black eyes.
SONG.
From the ſame.
[36]A Clerk I was in London gay,
Jemmy linkum feedle,
And went in boots to ſee the play,
Merry fiddlem tweedle.
I march'd the lobby, twirl'd my ſtick,
Diddle, daddle, deedle;
The girls all cry'd," He's quite the kick!"
O Jemmy linkum feedle.
Hey, for America I ſail,
Yankee doodle deedle;
The ſailor boys cry'd, "ſmoak his tail!"
Jemmy linkum feedle.
On Engliſh belles I turn'd my back,
Diddle, daddle, deedle,
And got a foreign Fair, quite Black,
Oh twaddle, twaddle, tweedle!
Your London girls, with roguiſh trip,
Wheedle, wheedle, wheedle,
Boaſt their pouting under-lip,
Fiddle, faddle, feedle,
My Wows would beat a hundred ſuch,
Diddle, daddle, deedle,
Whoſe under-lip pouts twice as much,
Oh pretty double wheedle!
[37]Rings I'll buy to deck her toes,
Jemmy linkum feedle;
A feather fine ſhall grace her noſe,
Waving ſidle ſeedle,
With jealouſy I ne'er ſhall burſt,
Who'd ſteal my bone of bone-a?
A white Othello, I can truſt
A dingy Deſdemona.
SONG.
'SQUIRE TALLY-HO, in Fontainbleau.
I'M your's at any ſort o' fun,
My, buck I tell you ſo;
A main to fight, a nag to run,
But ſay the word, 'tis done and done!
All's one to Tally-ho.
Upon a ſingle card I'll ſet
A thouſand pounds or ſo;
But name the thing, I'll bind the bett,
And if I loſe, I'll ſcorn to fret—
All's one to Tally-ho.
Suppoſe you challenge in a glaſs,
Sweet Doll, my pretty doe!
And think youtr love could mine ſurpaſs,
I'd ſwallow hogſheads for my laſs—
All's one to Tally-ho.
SONG.
From the ſame.
[38]AIR.— Tally-ho.
IN London my life is a ring of delight,
In frolicks I keep up the day and the night;
I ſnooze at the Hummums till twelve, perhaps later,
I rattle the bell, and I roar up the waiter:
Your honour, ſays he, and tips me a leg,
He brings me my tea, but I ſwallow an egg;
For tea in the morning's a ſlop I renounce,
So I down with a glaſs of the right cherry bounce.
With ſwearing, tearing, ranting, jaunting, flaſhing,
ſmaſhing, ſmacking, cracking, rumbling, tumb⯑ling;
Laughing, quaffing, ſmoking, joking, ſwaggering, ſtaggering;
So thought leſs, ſo knowing, ſo green, and ſo mellow;
This, this, is the life of a frolickſome fellow.
My phaet'n I mount, and the plebs they all ſtare,
I handle my reins, and my elbows I ſquare;
My ponies ſo plump, and as white as a lily,
Through Pall Mall I ſpank it, and up Piccadilly;
'Till loſing a wheel, egad down come I ſmack;
So at Knightſbridge I throw myſelf into a hack;
At Tatterfall's fling a leg over my nag,
Thus viſit for dinner, then dreſs in a bag.
With ſwearing, &c.
[39]
I roll round the garden, and call at the Roſe,
And then at both Play-houſes pop in my noſe;
I lounge in the lobby, laugh, ſwear, ſlide and ſwag⯑ger,
Talk loud, take my money, and out again ſtagger.
I meet at the Shakeſpeare a good-natur'd ſoul,
Then down to our club at St. James's I roll;
The joys of the night are a thouſand at play,
And thus at the finiſh begin the next day.
With ſwearing, &c.
SONG.
From the ſame.
THE morning we're married, how funny and jolly!
The Bridegroom, my honour; the Bride, LadyDolly!
When rous'd by ſweet clamour, we open our peepers,
And Phoebus ſalute in our night-gowns and ſlippers;
Then under our windows muſicians all come,
Play fiddle, ſweet hautboy, ſharp flagelet, drum.
But to my Dolly's amorous ſing-ſong,
All is puff, rattle, ſqueak and ding-dong.
The cymbals they grind, and the baſſes they grum⯑ble,
Pianos and fortes, a delicate jumble.
All joy to your honours! See, ſee how they ſlock,
Whilſt cleaver and marrowbone go nick-y-knock;
[40]Tantivy the horn, tantara the trumpet,
Sound, found—while we ſwallow our coffee and crumpet.
But to my Dolly's amorous, &c.
SONG.
GREGORY, or TIPPOO, in Love and War.
KEEP off if you vex a woman,
'Till ſhe gives her paſſion vent;
In her fury ſhe ſpares no man,
But her tongue goes click and clack;
Click, clack, clack; and tick, ticke, tack,
'Till her rage in noiſe is ſpent.
Women, when the fidgets ſeize 'em,
Ride one like a founder'd nag:
They are gentle, 'till you teize 'em;
Then their tongue goes, click and clack;
Click, click, clack; and tick, ticke, tack,
'Till it can no longer wag.
*SONG.
From the ſame.
POUNDS, ſhillings, pence, and farthings,
Have at my finger's end,
And how to ſell, and how to buy,
To borrow, or to lend;
[41]But this, tho' I ne'er went to ſchool,
My pate has run upon,
Addition be my golden rule,
Ha! Dot, and carry one.
At loſs and gain a ſcholar good,
Right early was I taught
To gain of guineas all I cou'd,
To loſe—the devil a groat:
For fractions and diviſions, when
They practiſe ſword and gun,
Subtract myſelf I will—and then
Ha! Dot, and carry one.
But words no more I'll numerate,
And thus the ſum total lies:
Of war no more I'll ſing, or prate,
Reduction I'll deſpiſe;
And, if cockade and roguiſh eye
Has not my Suſan won,
If ſhe's reſolv'd to multiply,
Ha! Dot, and carry one.
SONG.
PRESTO, in Turk and no Turk.
I Am worſe than poor debtors, coop'd up in their cages:
Board wages I had, now bare boards are my wages.
[42]To get into bad bread ſure I had no call, Sir,
But bad bread is better than no bread at all, Sir!
All, Sir,
Small, Sir,
No bread at all, Sir, oh!
Oh had I a wife, tho' half ſtarv'd like your humble,
There's ſome conſolation in ſomething to mumble;
Yet I'm married, tho' ſingle—I tell you no fibs, Sir,
Here, look at my waiſtcoat—I'm nothing but ribs,
Sir!
Fibs, Sir,
Ribs, Sir,
Nothing but ribs, Sir, oh!
Was ever poor ſervant in ſuch a diſaſter!
I'm maſter'd by ſtarving, and ſtarv'd by my maſter,
I'm in a ſad taking—with nothing to take, Sir!
I'd ſtake all I'm worth to be worth a beef-ſteak, Sir!
Take, Sir,
Steak, Sir,
Take a beef-ſteak, Sir, oh!
SONG.
From the ſame.
LOOK, maids! I cock my hat!
John's but a poor creature;
Sam's ſkinny, Bob's fat,
All fools to little Peter!
[43]Ev'ry girl's chin is cocking,
Twig my leg, and tight ſilk ſtocking;
A'n't I the clean thing?
Tight boy! little Peter!
Speak, maids! before it's late,
You will find none neater;
Fan, Nan, Patty, Kate,
All come to little Peter!
I'm a lad ſo neat and natty,
S'bobs, girls, but I'll be at ye!
Oh! I'm the clean thing!
Tight boy! little Peter!
Mind, maids! I'll pick out one;
Phiz plump, and fineſt feature:
Gad, we'll have rare fun!
Never fear little Peter!
Cold, hot, and all weather,
Jollily we'll jog together,
Zounds! I'm the clean thing;
Tight boy! little Peter!
SONG.
In the Choleric Fathers.
OF ups and downs we daily ſee
Examples, moſt ſurpriſing,
The High and Low, of each degree,
Now falling are, now riſing:
[44]Some up, ſome down, ſome in, ſome out,
Some neither one nor t'other;
Knaves, Fools, Jews, Gentiles, join the rout,
And joſtle one another!
With my heigho!
Gee-up! gee-ho!
Higgledy piggledy!
Truth, honour, honeſty!
Trim tram!
Your honeſty's ſcarce,
Honour's grown a mere farce,
And poor truth! baw! an obſolete whim-wham!
By ups and downs, ſome folks, they ſay,
Among Grandees have got, Sir,
Who were themſelves, but yeſterday,
The Lord knows, who, or what, Sir!
Sans ſenſe, or pence, in Merit's chair
They doſe and dream ſupine-o!
But how the Devil they came there —
That neither you nor I know.
With my heigho! &c.
Your Country-maid comes up to town,
A ſimple, aukward body;
In half a year again goes down.
No Peacock half ſo gaudy!
Lord, ma'am! exclaims the Lawyer's wife,
With ſcandal ever ready,
You ſee the ups and downs of life
Have made our Meg a Lady.
With my heigho! &c.
[45]
Virtue and Vanity are grown
Mere buckets in a well, Sir;
The laſt gets up, the firſt gets down,
As all the World can tell, Sir:
So many downs poor Virtue meets,
Her ups ſo very few, Sir,
'Tis ſaid ſhe's naked met i' th' ſtreets, —
But that is nothing new, Sir.
With my heigho! &c.
Oh! what an age of ups and downs,
Hey! ſeven's the main, my Lord thrice knocks,
Lands, Liberties, Manors, and Towns,
Are rattling in the dice-box!
Up fly the Fools! on ruin bent,
While they are full in feather;
Get pluck'd, then rumbling down are ſent
Whoop! pell-mell all together.
With my heigho! &c.
SONG.
From the ſame.
YOUR Mountain, Sack, your Frontiniac,
Tokay, and twenty more, Sir!
Your Sherry, and Perry, which make men merry,
Are Deities I adore, Sir!
And well may Port
Your praiſe extort,
[46]When from his palace forth he comes!
And glucks and gurgles! fumes and foams!
Old Rum, Arrack, and Coniac,
Are known for men of might, Sir!
Nor ſhall Sir Flaſket Florence lack
A place among my Knights, Sir!
Don Calcavalla
Is a noble fellow!
When from, &c.
Madeira! Monarch! him I ſing!
And Old Hock! lo! another!
Champagne is my Moſt Chriſtian King!
And Burgundy's his Brother!
Bold Bordeaux! too,
Shall have his due!
When from, &c.
If, ſingly, thus, each Champion may
So many laurels gather,
Gods! what a glorious Congreſs, they,
When all are met together!
When, high in ſtate
Each Potentate
Forth from, &c.
SONG.
From the ſame.
A Mercer I am in a very good ſtile,
Neat and pretty by jingo!
[47]I bow and ſmirk,
I noddle and jerk,
Then prick up and perk,
And ſimper and ſmile;
With my hey dong, ding dong, dingo!
Lord, I am quite the thing!
With my hey dong, ding dong, dingo!
At Bagnigge Wells ſometimes I ſip tea,
At Iſlington ſup, good ſtingo;
I ſhut up my ſhop,
And out of town pop,
Then dance at a hop;
He! he! he! he! he!
With my hey dong, ding dong, dingo!
A'n't I quite the thing?
With my hey dong, ding dong, dingo!
SONG.
In the PERUVIAN.
THO' the pye of green truffles
Had ſplit my pantoufles,
I ne'er ſtopt, tho' I well knew the worſt:
Yet the pain in my toe
Was a terrible foe
To the pleaſure I took in the cruſt.
For a fit of the gout,
I'd ſcorn to give out,
[48]Having oft heard the doctors declare,
That when once in the feet,
It is better to eat,
As a ſure means of keeping it there:
With damn'd water-gruel,
Your doctors ſo cruel,
Adviſe me to keep myſelf low;
Yet I cannot refrain,
Tho' I'm twing'd with the pain,
So e'en as it comes it muſt go.
To throb it began ill,
But patience and flannel,
Got through the fatigues of the day;
And while I was able
To ſit at the table,
I eat, drank, and ſwore it away.
Tho' the pye, &c.
SONG.
From the ſame.
WHEN our Mayor, Lord bleſs him, whoſe former delight
Was to make a day's work of being boozy at night,
Is forc'd now e'er noon his full quantum to ſip,
Leſt any thing fall —'twixt the cup and the lip.
Beware of a tip,
Leſt any thing fall, &c.
[49]
In a vis-a-vis Bridget ſurpriſes the town,
Who lately in pattens could trudge up and down;
But 'twas prudent in her to lay pattens afide;
When ſhe found by experience ſhe's ſubject to ſlide.
Oh, fie on her guide!
She found by experience, &c.
Your Patriot; whoſe feelings are wond'rous nice,
And refuſes each place—that is under his price,
Finds his delicate conſcience moſt ready to ſlip,
When the penſions eſcape 'twixt the cup and the lip.
Oh, it gives them the ſlip,
When the penſions eſcape, &c.
The Youth who has charm'd all the clubs with debate,
And to ſhine in the Senate ſpends all his eſtate,
Soon finds from his ſpeeches no produce will come,
And the firſt of all ſpeakers turn Orator Mum!
Yes, 'twas all a hum,
For the firſt of all ſpeakers, &c.
Here am I too, who ſtudied the comforts of life,
Having earn'd a ſnug farm, would poſſeſs a ſnug wife;
But the loſs of my fame all my proſpects will nip,
'Twas a triſle that fell 'twixt the cup and the lip.
Oh, beware of a trip!
Such trifles oft fall, &c.
SONG.
In HARLEQUIN TEAGUE.
[50]AIR.—Fal de ral Tit.
'TWAS I learn'd a pretty, ſong in France,
And I brought it o'er the ſea by chance;
And when in Wapping I did dance
Oh! the like was never ſeen:
For I made the muſic loud to play,
All for to paſs the dull hours away,
And when I had nothing left for to ſay,
Then I ſung fal de ral tit, &c.
As I was walking down Thames-ſtreet,
A ſhipmate of mine I chanc'd for to meet,
And I was reſolv'd him for to treat
With a can of grog, gillio!
A can of grog they brought us ſtraight,
All for to pleaſure my ſhip-mate,
And ſatisfaction give him ſtraight,
Then I ſung fal de ral tit, &c.
The Maccaronies next came in,
All dreſs'd ſo neat, and look'd ſo trim,
And thinking for to ſtrike me dumb.
Some was ſhort, and ſome was tall,
But 'tis very well known that I lick'd them all,
For I dous'd their heads againſt the wall,
Then I ſung fal de ral tit, &c.
[51]
The Landlord then aloud did ſay,
As how he wiſh'd I'd go away,
And if I 'tempted for to ſtay,
As how he'd take the law:
Lord d—me, ſays I, you may do your worſt,
For I've not ſcarcely quench'd my thirſt;
All this I ſaid, and nothing worſe,
Then I ſung fal de ral tit, &c.
It's when I've croſs'd the raging main,
And be come back to Old England again,
Of grog I'll drink galore;
With a pretty girl to ſit by my ſide,
And for her coſtly robes I'll provide,
So that ſhe ſhall be ſatisfied,
Then I'll ſing fal de ral tit, &c.
SONG in OMAI.
JACK BLOCK
WHEN I came back to bonny Shadwell-dock,
In my feathers and jacket ſo airy;
How the girls did ſtare at their friend Jack Block:
With his chip chow,
Cherry chow,
Rolty, ulty, iſty▪ row,
Rowdie, olty, O.
[52]
When with buxom Poll, at the Anchor ſo blue,
I call for a bowl of rumbo;
Says ſhe, Jack, your health; ſays I, here's to you.
With my chip chow, &c.
The purſer he looked at me very big,
And to Poll threw his loving palaver;
But the rumbo I ſluic'd o'er his white chizzel'd wig.
With my chip chow, &c.
His pipe being broke, oh, d—n it how he ſtares,
Says he, you muſt aſk my pardon:
Says I, with all my heart, ſo I kick'd him down
ſtairs.
With my chip chow, &c.
Then ſays Poll, oh Jack, treat me to the play,
We're ſo fine let us go to the boxes;
I like a box, ſays I, ſo we tripp'd it away.
With my chip chow, &c.
Oh! there the Jack-a-dandies clapp'd and encor'd,
Wip'd their boots in the ladies aprons;
Silence, ſays I, and very loudly I roar'd.
With my chip chow, &c.
The link-boy he lighted us clean in the mud,
There he fingered our pockets ſo neatly;
With, your honour, take care—oh d—n his little
blood, With my chip chow, &c.
[53]
Let us drink a health to little England,
To great George and good Queen Charlotte,
May our ſeamen always the ocean command.
With my chip chow, &c.
SONG.
In the Choice of Harlequin.
YE Scamps, ye Pads, ye Divers, and all upon the lay,
In Tothill-Fields gay ſheep-walk, like lambs ye ſport and play,
Rattling up your darbies, come hither at my call,
I'm Jigger Dubber here, and you are welcome to Mill-Doll.
With my tow row, &c.
At your Inſurance-Office the flats you've taken in;
The game you've play'd, my kiddy, you're always ſure to win:
Firſt you touch the ſhiners—the number up—you break,
With your inſuring policy, I'd not inſure your neck.
With my tow row, &c.
The French, with trotters nimble, could fly from Engliſh blows,
And they've got nimble daddles, as Monſieur plainly ſhew:
[54]Be thus the foes of Britain bang'd, ay, thump away Monſieur,
The hemp you're beating now, will make your ſolitaire.
With my tow row, &c.
My peepers, who've we here now! why this is ſure Black Moll;
My ma'am, you're of the fair ſex, ſo welcome to Mill-Doll;
The cull with you, who'd venture into a ſnoozing ken,
Like Blackamoor Othello, ſhould put out the light— and then.
With my tow row, &c.
I think, my flaſhy coachman, that you'll take better care,
Not for a little bub come the ſlang upon your fare:
Your jazy pays the garniſh, unleſs the fees you tip,
Tho' you're a flaſhy coachman, here the gagger holds the whip.
With my tow row, &c.
CHORUS.
We're Scamps, we're Pads, we're Divers, we're all upon the lay,
In Tothill-fields gay ſheep-walk, like lambs we ſport and play;
[55]Rattling up our darbies, we're hither at your call,
You are Jigger Dubber here, and we're forc'd for to Mill-Doll.
With my tow row, &c.
SONG.
RUTTEKIN, in Robin Hood.
I MEND pottles and cans,
Hoop jugs, patch kettles, and pans,
And over the country trudge it—
I ſing without meaſure,
Nor fear loſs of treaſure,
And carry my all in my budget.
Here under the green leav'd buſhes,
O how we'll firk it,
Caper and jerk it,
Singing as blithe as thruſhes.
I'm not plagu'd with a wife,
Live free from conteſt and ſtrife,
Blow high, blow low—Ruttekin ne'er will mind it.
I eat when I'm hungry,
Drink when I'm dry,
Join pleaſure where-ever I find it.
Here under the green-wood buſhes,
O how we'll firk it,
Caper and jerk it,
Singing as blithe as thruſhes.
SONG.
From the ſame.
[56]MARGARETTA firſt poffeſt,
I remember well, my breaſt,
With my row, dow, dow, derro;
With my reſtleſs heart next play'd
Martha, wanton, floe-ey'd maid,
With her tantarararo.
She to Catherine gave place,
Kate to Betſy's am'rous face,
With my, &c.
Mary then, and gentle Anne,
Both to reign at once began,
With their, &c.
Jenny next—a tyrant ſhe,
But Rebecca ſet me free,
With my, &c.
In a week from her I fled,
And took Judith iwith myn her ſtead,
With her, &c.
She poſſeſs'd a wond'rous grace,
But ſhe wanted Suſan's face,
With my, &c.
Iſabella's rolling eye
Eclips'd Suſan's preſently,
With her, &c.
[59]
Brown ſkinn'd Beſs I next obey'd,
Then lov'd Nanny, red hair'd maid,
With her, &c.
None cou'd bind me, I am free,
Yet love all the fair, I ſee,
With my, &c.
SONG
From the ſame.
WE'LL ſeek the bow'r of Robin Hood,
And keep his bridal day,
For cheerfully in blithe 'Sherwood
Brides and bridegrooms play.
Then follow me, my bonny lads,
And we'll the paſtimes ſee,
For the minſtrels ſing,
And the ſweet bells ring,
And they feaſt right merrily.
The humming beer flows round in pails,
With mead that's ſtout and old,
And am'rous virgins tell love tales,
To thaw the heart that's cold.
Then follow me, my bonny lads,
And we'll the paſtimes ſee,
For the minſtrels ſing,
And the ſweet bells ring,
And they feaſt right merrily,
[60]
There dancing ſprightly on the green,
Each light-foot lad and laſs,
Sly ſtealing kiſſes, when unſeen,
And gingling glaſs for glaſs.
Then follow me, my bonny lads,
And we'll the paſtimes ſee,
For the minſtrels ſing,
And the ſweet bells ring,
And they feaſt right merrily.
SONG.
Four and Twenty Fidlers. A Comic Medley.
FOUR and twenty fidlers all in a row,
Four and twenty fidlers, &c.
There was fiddle faddle fiddle, and double demi-ſemi
quibble down below;
This is my lady's birth-day,
Therefore we will keep holiday,
And come for to be merry.
Four and twenty drummers all in a row,
Four and twenty drummers, &c.
And there was I rub a dub, O rub a dub,
And fiddle faddle fiddle, &c. &c.
[61]
Four and twenty trumpeters all in a row,
Four and twenty trumpeters, &c.
There was tantarararo, I rub a dub, O rub a dub, &c.
Four and twenty coblers all in a row,
Four and twenty coblers, &c.
There was coblers and ſtop awls, ſtop awls and coblers,
And tantarararo, I rub a dub, &c.
Four and twenty fencing-maſters all in a row,
Four and twenty fencing-maſters, &c.
There was puſh carte and tierce, down with his
heels and cut him acroſs,
Coblers and ſtop awls, ſtop awls and coblers, &c.
Four and twenty captains all in a row,
Four and twenty captains, &c.
There was d—n him, kick him down ſtairs,
Puſh carte and tierce, &c.
Four and twenty parſons all in a row,
Four and twenty parſons, &c.
There was L—d have mercy upon us,
D—n him, kick him down ſtairs, &c.
Four and twenty taylors all in a row,
Four and twenty taylors, &c.
There was one caught a louſe, another let him looſe;
D—n his eyes, ſays another, knock him down with the gooſe;
Lord have mercy upon us, &c.
[62]
Four and twenty barbers all in a row,
Four and twenty barbers, &c.
There was long wigs, toupees, frizee, frize, powder
and pomatum, two ruffles and never a ſhirt;
d—n'd hard times, walk in your honours—and ſhave for a penny,
One caught a louſe, &c.
Four and twenty quakers all in a row,
Four and twenty quakers, &c.
There was Abram he begat Iſaac, and Iſaac begat
Jacob, and Jacob open'd his generation-box,
—with long wigs, toupees, &c.
Four and twenty Dutchmen all in a row,
Four and twenty Dutchmen, &c.
There were Americanos, Spaniorum, Amſterdam, Rotterdam, and d—nation ſeize them all to⯑gether—Abram he begat Iſaac, and Iſaae be⯑gat Jacob, and Jacob open'd his generation⯑box, with long wigs, toupees, frizee, frize, powder and pomatum, two ruffles and never a ſhirt; d—n'd hard times; walk in your ho⯑nours, and ſhave for a penny—One caught a louſe, another let him looſe—D—n his eyes, ſays another, knock him down with the gooſe, L—d have mercy upon us—D—n him, kick him down ſtairs;—puſh carte and tierce; [63] down with his heels, and cut him acroſs—Cob⯑lers and ſtop awls, ſtop awls and coblers—Tantarararo, I rub a dub, O rub a dub—And fiddle faddle fiddle, and double demi-ſemi quibble down below,
This is my Lady's birth-day,
Therefore we will keep holiday, &c.
SONG.
SUPPOSE I was a country boy,
'Od dang it ſure I knew things;
When girls are ſimple, cold, and coy,
I taught 'em ſoon a few things.
I got ſo fond of frolicking,
My aunty us'd to ſeold me;
To town I ran a rolicking,
The country cou'd n't hold me.
A bottle firſt,
Kick up a duſt,
If fun I find my whim be;
Then Langty Oodle was the game,
And an't I, Sir, the pimby?
With chitterlin ſtuck out ſo ſtiff,
And ruffles o'er my knuckles,
Beau'd out my red ſilk handkerchief,
My watch, and ſilver buckles;
[64]My hat, and eyes, and ſhoes ſo bright,
Full black as any crow's look'd,
My cheek ſo red, my teeth ſo white,
And monſt'rous nice my noſe look'd,
Says I, ho, ho,
Since things are ſo,
A pretty girl the whim be;
Then Langty Oodle was the game,
And, ma'am, an't I the pimby?
My Duck ſhe was a lady fair,
Nor maiden, wife, nor widow;
Says I, ye pleaſe we'll take the air;
To Bagnigge Wells we rid ho!
There ſweet Sal and ſyllabub
So firm I fix'd my heart on,
I ſoon forgot when full o'bub,
Falſe Kathaleen and Carton.
Sweet Sally ſighs,
And panting cries,
Let kiſſing now the whim be;
Then Langty Oodle was the game,
And how do you like the pimby?
SONG.
Sung at the ANACREONTIC SOCIETY.
LET Anchorites boaſt how the world they de⯑ſpiſe
The roundelay joys, for its venom ſupplies;
[65]It admits the bold hero of ev'ry degree,
Who has courage to enter in Tnuc:
It admits the bold hero of ev'ry degree,
Who has courage to enter in the pretty little Tnuc,
Who has courage to enter in Tnuc.
Its a fam'd rendezvous that is open to all,
And pays for whatever you're willing to call;
'Tis a draft of ſuch value e'en Miſer's agree,
There is cent per cent int'reſt in Tnuc.
O the ſweet Roundelay, what with it can vie?
A death ſo delightful, who'd wiſh got to die;
Ev'en Monarchs in rapture to it bend the knee,
Such pow'rful charms has the Tnuc.
The name of this treaſure—'pon honour I ſwear,
I meant for to tell—but it's more than I dare;
However, but aſk when a damſel you ſee,
And ſhe'll tell you the virtue of Tnuc.
But ſhou'd ſhe be prudiſh, and ſay ſhe's afraid,
On her back lay the lovely ſweet bluſhing maid;
Then kiſs her, tho' maid, or widow ſhe be,
And ſhe'll pant till you enter her Tnuc.
When lovely Maria, thus languiſhing lies,
Then gently turn up, and you'll view with ſurpriſe,
A ſight that in tranſports you'll utter with me,
The centre of pleaſure is—Tnuc.
[66]
'Tis a leſſon ſo charming Muſicians agree,
To make it more pleaſant they'd prick it in C;
Piano, now forte, now roſin, d'ye ſee,
To the Sons of Anacreon, here's Tnuc.
SONG.
Sung at the ANACREONTIC SOCIETY.
JUST at the cloſe of ſummer day,
When breezes cool'd the air;
On violet bank Cleora lay,
Delighted receiv'd the fair:
Young Damon with reſpectful fear
Had crept behind a woodbine ſhade,
While one arm here, and one arm there,
Each ſnowy breaſt the breeze diſplay'd.
Fir'd with the ſight, young Damon flew
To preſs the charms he view'd;
The youth full well Cleora knew,
As in her ſight he ſtood;
Reſolv'd the youth's delight to ſhare,
She kindly ſeem'd to ſink to reſt,
With one arm here, and one arm there,
Her boſom heaving to be preſs'd.
Now cloſe beſide her Damon lay,
His near approach to find,
She makes her uſeleſs garments play,
With motions of the wind:
[67]With Damon's joy what can compare,
What language paint his fond ſurpriſe;
When one leg here, and one leg there,
She threw to ſhew her gloſſy thighs,
Her coats now Damon gently raiſed,
When love attracts his eye,
Cleora ſcarce than him leſs pleas'd,
Fir'd at the thought of joy:
And fill'd with luſt, that knows no fear,
She gently ope'd her gliſtening eyes,
While one leg here, and one leg there,
Entranc'd between them Damon lies.
Then Damon drew th' unerring ſhaft,
That points to beauty true,
While new deſires freſh breezes waſt,
He plac'd it in her view:
Pleas'd at the ſight Cleora fair,
Well ſkill'd its merits ſure to ſcan,
With driving here, and wriggling there,
He bleſs'd the Maid, ſhe bleſs'd the Man.
SONG.
LONDON town is juſt like a barber's ſhop,
But by the Lord Harry 'tis wond'rous big;
There the painted doll, and the powder'd fop,
And many a blockhead wears a wig,
[68]And I tickl'd each phiz
With a twiggle and a friz,
With a twiggle, twiggle, twiggle,
And a frizzle.
With a twiggle, twiggle, twiggle,
And a frizzle, frizzle, frizzle,
And I tickl'd each phiz,
With a twiggle and a friz.
A Captain of horſe I went for to ſhave,
Ho! damme, ſays he, with a martial frown,
My razor I pois'd like a barber brave,
I took him by the noſe, but he knock'd me down.
Yet I tickl'd his phiz
With a twiggle and a friz,
With a twiggle, twiggle, twiggle,
And a frizzle,
With a twiggle, twiggle, twiggle,
And a frizzle, frizzle, frizzle,
And I tickl'd each phiz
With a twiggle and a friz.
Then I went to a lawyer, O rare ſport!
Who had a falſe oath that day for to ſwear,
By my ſkill ſome trouble I ſav'd the Court,
My hot iron borrow'd the lawyer's ear.
And I tickl'd, &c.
[69]
I next went to dreſs a fine grand miſs,
Down the lady ſits, and her neck ſhe bares,
But Cupid, or the Devil bid me ſnatch a kiſs,
Ere my iron cool'd I was kick'd down ſtairs.
But I tickl'd, &c.
I next went to dreſs up an old maid's hair,
Wrinkled and bald as a ſcalded pig;
But as ſhe led the dance down with a ſwimming air,
This fine old maiden ſhe dropp'd her wig.
And I tickl'd, &c.
SONG,
In the Pantomime of the Mirror.
CAN'T you ſee by my hunch, Sir,
Faddledy, daddeldy, dino,
I am maſter Punch, Sir,
Riberi, biberi, bino.
Fiddeldy, diddeldy, faddeldy, daddeldy,
Robbery, bobbery, ribery, bibery,
Faddeldy, daddeldy, dino,
Ribbery, bibery, bino.
That merry fellow, Punchinello,
Dancing here, you ſee, Sir,
Whoſe mirth not hell itſelf can quell,
He's ever in ſuch glee, Sir,
Niddlety, noddlety, niddlety,
Noddlety, niddlety, noddlety, nino.
Then let me paſs, old Grecian,
Fiddeldy, daddeldy, dino.
[70]
To the fields Elyſian,
Bibery, bibery, bino.
Fiddledy, diddeldy, faddledy, daddledy,
Robery, bobery, ribery, bibery,
Faddeldy, daddeldy, dino.
Ribery, bibery, bino.
My ranting, roaring Pluto,
Faddledy, daddledy dino,
Juſt to a hair will ſuit, ho,
Bibery, bibery, bino.
Faddeldy, &c.
Each jovial fellow,
At Punchinello,
Will, laughing o'er his cup roar,
I'll rant and revel,
And play the devil,
And ſet all hell in an uproar.
Niddlety, noddlety, nino.
Then let me paſs, &c.
SONG.
ON ſturdy ſtout Dobbin I mounted my ſaddle and canter'd to town,
Where they call'd me the twaddle;
'Till I found out a friend by mere dint of good luck,
Who taught me the tippee, and now I'm a buck.
[71]To ſwallow ſix bottles. I now dare engage,
Then to knock down thoſe watchmen bent double with age;
And if ſpent with fatigue to St. James's I waddle
To ſhew the beau-monde, I'm no longer the twaddle,
No longer the twaddle,
No longer the twaddle;
To ſhew the beau-monde, I'm no longer the twaddle.
Having now learnt to read, why I take in the papers,
And draining a bumper to vanquiſh the vapours,
I ſcan the freſh quarrels 'twixt new married ſpouſes;
To match the debates in both Parliament Houſes;
Where patriots and placemen keep wrangling for ſame,
The Outs are all faultleſs, the Inns are to blame,
Tho' the Outs are the tippee, their brains are all addle,
Yet when they get in you ſoon find 'em the twaddle.
When Britons baſe foes dare preſume to unite,
Old Elliot's the tippee, becauſe he dare fight;
And to poets who live on the floor next the ſky,
Roaſt-beef is a tippee, they ſeldom come nigh—
The Lawyer and Doctor, both ſtrictly agree,
That all is the twaddle, except 'tis their fee,
And when you from Dover to Calais wou'd ſtraddle,
A Balloon is the tippee, the Packet's a twaddle.
[72]Dick Twiſting is now quite the twaddle for tea,
Tho' he once was the tippee for green and bohea;
But then we'd no Tax to turn day into night;
No dire Commutation to block up our light;
"Leaſt ſaid's ſooneſt mended," I hope I'm not wrong,
If I am, pray excuſe, and I'll hence hold my tongue,
Perhaps you may think me a mere fiddle faddle,
Yet, if not quite the tippee, don't ſay I'm the twad⯑dle.
SONG.
HERE lies William of Valence, a right good Earl of Pembroke,
And this is his monument which you ſee I'll ſwear upon a book,
He was Earl Marſhall of England when Henry the Third did reign,
Above five hundred years ago, but never will be ſo again.
Here the Lord Talbot lies, the town of Shrewſbury's Earl,
Together with his Counteſs fair, who was a moſt delicate girl;
Next to him there lieth one Sir Richard Peckſhall hight,
Of whom we only this do ſay, that he was a Hamp⯑ſhire Knight.
[73]Here lies the third King Edward's brother, of whom our records tell
Nothing of note, nor ſay they whether he be in heaven or hell;
This ſame was John of Elderſtone, he was no coſter⯑monger,
But Cornwall's Earl; and here's one died becauſe he could live no longer.
Now think your penny well ſpent, good folks, and that you're not beguil'd,
Within this cup doth lie the heart of a French Ambaſſador's child,
But how the devil it came to paſs, on purpoſe or by chance,
The bowels they lie underneath, but the body is in France.
Here lies Oxford's Counteſs, and there alſo the Lady Burleigh her mother,
And there her daughter a Counteſs too, lie cloſe by one another;
Theſe once were bonny dames, and though there were no coaches then,
Yet cou'd they jog their tails themſelves, or get them jogg'd by the men.
Oh! woe is me, thoſe high-born ſinners that now do pray ſo ſtoutly,
Living they never pray'd at all, yet their ſtatues pray devoutly;
[74]This fair monument which you ſee, I'd have you to underſtand,
It is a virtuous Lady fair who died of a prick in her hand.
In this fair monument which you ſee adorned with ſo many pillars,
Doth lie the Counteſs of Buckingham, and her huſband Sir George Villiers;
This old Sir George was grandfather, and the Counteſs ſhe was granny
To the great Duke of Buckingham, who led by the noſe King Jamy.
Here lies Sir Robert Eatam, a Scotch Knight, this man was ſecretary,
He ſcribbled compliments for two Queens, Queen Ann, and eke Queen Mary;
This ſame was Mary Queen of Scots, whom Bu⯑chanan doth ſo beſpatter,
She loſt her head at Fotheringhay, whatever was the matter.
Henry the Seventh lies here entomb'd with his fair Queen beſide him,
He was the founder of this chapel, Oh! may no ill betide him,
And here they ſtand upright in a preſs, with their bodies made of wax,
A globe and a wand in either hand, and their robes upon their backs.
[75]
To another Chapel now come we, the people fol⯑low, and chat,
This is the Lady Cottington, the people cry, whoſe is that?
Why, Sir Thomas Bromley lieth here, death wou'd not him reprieve,
With his four ſons, and daughters four, that once were all alive.
Here lies Sir John Eullerton, and that is his Lady I trow,
And that is Sir John Pickerton whom none of you did know;
Here lies the Earl of Torrington, the world ne'er ſaw a madder,
His Counteſs fair ſhe lies beſide him, and now you go up a ladder.
Richard the Second lies here entomb'd with his fair Queen, Queen Ann,
Edward the Third lies there hard by, and he was a gallant man;
This is the ſword of John of Gaunt, a blade both true and truſty,
The Frenchmen's blood was ne'er wip'd off, which makes it look ſo ruſty.
Harry the Fifth lies here entomb'd with his fair Queen, Queen Eleanor,
To our firſt Edward ſhe was wife, that's more than you knew before;
[76]Now down the ladder come we again, the man goes firſt with a ſtaff,
Two or three tumble down the ſtairs, and all the people laugh.
Sir Robert Vere lies here entomb'd, who the Spa⯑niards hide ſo curried,
Four Colonels brave ſupport his tomb, and here his body's buried;
That ſtatue up againſt the wall with one eye, is Major General Norris,
He bang'd the French moſt cruelly, as is affirm'd in ſtories.
Here lies Sir John Holles, who was a Major General,
To Sir John Morris that brave blade, and now you may depart all;
For now the ſhow is at an end, all things are done and ſaid,
The citizens pay for their wives, and the apprentices kiſs the maids.
SONG.
DICKY DITTO, in Two to One. TUNE—Yankee Doodle.
ADZOOKS, old Cruſty!
Why ſo ruſty,
Stupid, queer, and mumpy?
Egad, if you don't mend your manners,
Somebody will lump you.
[77]Lumpy, thumpy, thwack and thump,
Pummel you and bump—O!
Humpy, ſtumpy, make you mump,
Kick about your rump—O!
Did little Dicky
Ever trick ye?
No—I'm always civil;
Then why ſhould you, for my politeneſs,
Wiſh me at the devil?
Cruſty, ruſty, flout, and pout,
Did I ever trick ye?
Fuſty, muſty, turn me out?
Oh, poor, civil Dicky!
A receipt I'll give,
But as I live,
I'd rather give him blows, Sir;
At St. Giles's he was bred,
Altho' he wears good cloathes, Sir.
Noodle, noodle, ugly muns!
Here's a pretty rig, Sir!
Daggers, piſtols, ſwords, and guns,
O! I'll hop the twig, Sir.
SONG.
LAZARILLO, in the Spaniſh Barber.
[78]WINE, Wine is the liquor of life;
The heart is conſumed by care:
Good fellows, then end the ſtrife
'Twixt the bottle and deſpair!
Derry down, hey down derry!
Drink and drive care away;
Drink all the night and day,
Drink and be merry!
Briſk Wine, and impertinent Care,
Diſpute the controul of Me;
Let me be thy mas;ter, Deſpair,
Wine, thou ſhalt my miſtreſs be!
Derry down, &c.
SONG.
From the ſame.
YOUR toupee I can twirl,
Your locks I can curl,
And you'll find me in truth,
So expert at a tooth,
I can make, with a touch, every broken old ſtump
In your mouth like the jacks of a harpſichord jump.
[79]At the razor and lancet unrivall'd my trade is;
A beard thick as ſtubble,
I mow without trouble,
And open a vein with a hand like a lady's.
SONG.
RUTTEKIN, in Robin Hood.
DON'T ſhill-I, ſhall-I,
Nor with love rally,
Wilt be my wife?
If thou'rt but willing,
With thee each ſhilling
I'll ſhare through life.
With tippling and rattling,
And ſmiling babes prattling,
Like mamma pretty,
Like daddy witty,
Heart light as feather,
We'll trip together,
From vil to city.
My heart ſo jolly,
From melancholy
Is always free.
Sweet recreation,
Without vexation,
I'll find for thee;
[80]Coats, caps, and fine kirtles,
With pofies and myrtles,
And gowns ſo gay.
At wakes you'll foot it,
Skip, reel, and cut it,
Spruce Queen of May.
Then make me happy
With ſtingo nappy,
I'll chear your mind.
Alas with gazing,
My poor heart's blazing;
Your hand—be kind.
I'm burning to cinder;
My wiſhes like tinder,
The ſpark of your eyes—
Now kindles ſire in;
O with deſiring,
Your true love dies.
SONG.
CRICOLO, in the Siege of Curzola.
MY father he was a good fellow, but yet ſome⯑thing older than me,
My mother a little good woman, and a good little woman was ſhe;
[81]My Dad, becauſe he was a gentleman, tho' with⯑out any great ſtore of pelf,
Bequeath'd me a very long pedigree, and, left me as poor as himſelf.
This daddy he made me a Barber, and well I cou'd powder and ſhave,
I then turn'd gentleman's gentleman, ſo prettily I cou'd behave.
I next went to wait on a lady fine, when ſhe dreſs'd for cards, concert, or jig;
My curling-iron always being ready, it's often I frizzled her wig.
I kiſs'd her one morning, ſhe ſquall'd out, I then was as mum as a mouſe;
Says ſhe he's a very neat barber, but pray kick him out of my houſe.
A Doctor I turn'd in our village, of many good patients cou'd boaſt,
Their pulſes I felt, and their noſes, and cur'd 'em with powder of poſt.
My prentice made up all my bottles, but whether to cure or to kill,
That buſineſs I left to the grave-digger, 'twas mine for to bring in my bill.
[82]
For my country I ſhoulder my muſket, my razor and peſtle I drop,
If an enemy ever invade us, I'll bravely go hide in my ſhop.
SONG.
From the ſame.
THE Captain ſee a ranting blade,
Expert at grand manoeuvre;
My march the pride of our parade,
My bow could grace the Louvre.
In taſte and ton, no travel'd Mac,
Of joint ſhall put my noſe out;
At ſhrug and grin, I've got a knack,
And ſee I turn my toes out.
With a ran tan, tip pop, tweedle,
Full can, tip top, diddle,
Nan fan, hip hop, Fiddle.
Thus we ſkip it up, trip it up, keep it up boys,
And rattle up all before us.
Through Park, or Mall, as I paſs by
Each fair I ſtrike with wonder,
Beneath a hat, or roguiſh eye,
With ogle I peep under.
[83]No tactics dull in peace or war
My ſprightly thought entangle,
And while I hold my ſweet guittar,
My ſword at heels may dangle.
With a ran, tan, pip pop, tweedle,
Full can, tip top, diddle,
Nan fan, hip hop, fiddle.
Thus we ſkip it up, trip it up, keep it up boys,
And rattle up all before us.
My dear and I lead up the ball,
For that's the Captain's due, Sir!
My head is puff'd with Mareſchalle,
I ſport a noble queue Sir!
I ſigh, and ſqueeze my chapeau bras,
No more I block a beaver;
The whiſper runs, how fine—Oh la!
They're right, I'm monſtrous clever.
With my ran tan, pip pop, tweedle,
Full can, tip top, diddle,
Nan fan, hip hop, fiddle.
Thus we ſkip it up, trip it up, keep it up boys,
And rattle up all before us.
SONG.
From the ſame.
[84]THE beacon flames, the Turks are come,
The 'larum bell goes dingle;
We all attend the beat of drum,
Both married men and ſingle.
Our Colonel roars,
They're at our doors;
I give the word,
So take a ſword,
And follow me,
To victory.
You wits, you cits, wife politicians,
Taylors, nailors, great phyſicians,
Of Mahometans turn ſound threſhers,
Philoſophers and haberdaſhers,
The city train bands.
There we all met.
And our valour rag'd ſo high, that we ſwore,
Tol, lol, lol.
Our Colonel, bold as Jacky Daw.
He rode upon his nag by;
With ſpatterdaſh upon each claw,
I follow'd like a magpye.
The bright firelock,
We prime and cock;
[85]With zounds and damn,
We load and ram;
Preſent and kneel,
And fire and wheel.
Then with ſuch ſlight, ſo tight
We fight, like eagles, right
And left wing, fly about.
Like deer now run, like lions how try about,
Enſign, adjutant, and ſcout.
Dying now, and quick recovering,
Facing, chacing, quaint manoeuvering,
Enſign, halbert, pioneer,
Muſter, bluſter, brigadier,
Of city train bands.
Oh! its amazing to think how eager we were to
fight, —or to—
Tol, lol, lol.
The Colonel's lady ſtep'd up then,
And ſwore upon her honour,
She'd take to try thoſe Muſſelmen
The whole command upon her.
Hence threads and ſilk,
And Ammon milk;
And ſolitaires,
And giggiſh airs;
Pam's and loo's,
And how d'ye does.
[86]
'Pon reputation, ma'am I will—wont you,
Certainly—Here dame, girl, wife, widow, maiden!
Quick with flint, ſteel, matches laden;
Billet doux—to flames devote,
Coat of mail for petticoat.
If Cupid comes a ſmiling, tripping,
Give the urchin a good whipping;
Give it with a rouſing damme,
And ſend him ſniveling to his mammy!
We're now the City Bands.
Ladies fince our good men have run away, we'll
ſee what the Turks have got to ſay to our
Tol, lol, lol!
SONG.
TIPPLE, in the Flitch of Bacon.
OH, a gay flaſhy Lord is a woundy fine ſight,
Who is ne'er to be ſeen but with owls in the night,
Then ſo ſlight here behind!
He's blown thro' by the wind;
So cropp'd!
And belopp'd!
Such timber, ſo limber, from top to the toe,
That he wriggles and nods as he Walks to and fro!
[87]I ne'er ſee'd but one in the courſe of my life,
And him I had lick'd but for Bridget my wife;
I laugh'd at his pride,
And the ſpit by his ſide:
Good lack!
His long back,
Like a building ſo weak is, it hardly can ſtand,
But would ſnap ſhort in two like a twig in this hand!
TRIO.
From the ſame.
HOW ſhall we mortals ſpend our hours?
In war!
In love!
In drinking!
None but a fool conſumes his pow'rs
In peace,
In care,
In thinking,
Time, would you let him wiſely paſs,
Is lively!
Briſk!
And jolly!
Dip but his wings i'th' ſparkling glaſs,
And he'll drown dull melancholy!
SONG.
From the ſame.
[88]YE good men and wives
Who have lov'd all your lives,
And whoſe vows have at no time been ſhaken,
Now come and draw near,
With your conſciences clear,
And demand a huge Flitch of our Bacon!
CHORUS.
Ye good men and wives, &c.Since a year and a day
Have in love roll'd away,
And an oath of that love has been taken
On the ſharp-pointed ſtones,
With your bare marrow-bones,
You have won our fam'd Priory Bacon!
CHORUS.
Since a year and a day &c.SONG.
SIR SHENKIN AP GRIFFIN, in Fontainbleau.
TOL lol, de rol, lol,
My Tolly, my Toll,
[89]With me when you canter to Wales;
For petticoat white,
Buff breeches ſo tight,
Away go needles and flails.
Young Taffy throws by hur wheels,
Then Winney kicks up her heels,
With follow
And halloo,
And waddle
And ſtraddle,
So merry to ſee us come;
With fiddle
And diddle,
And giggle
And wriggle,
They give us a welcome home.
The joy ſo great,
So noble we treat,
An oxen is roaſted whole!
And tho' on the lawn
The ſpiggot is drawn
For punch, you may ſwim in the bowl!
We give the ladies a ball,
We foot it away in the hall,
With follow, &c.
Miſs Howell ſo nice,
And Lady ap Rice,
[90]And couſin Sir Evan ap Lloyd,
Parſon Montgomery,
Counſellor Flummery,
Ap Morgon, Ap Williams, Ap Floyd.
Oh, when the ſtocking is thrown,
And lovee and I alone;
Then follow, &c.
DUET.
WOWSKI and TRUDGE, in Inkle and Yarico.
Wowſki.
WAMPUM, Swampum, Yauko,
Lanko, Nanko, Pownatowſki,
Black men—plenty—twenty—fight for me;
White man, woo, you true?
Trudge
Who?
Wouſki.
You.
Trudge.
Yes, pretty little Wowſki.
Wowſki.
Then I leave all, and I follow thee.
Trudge.
Oh, then turn about, my little tawny tight one!
Don't you like me?
Wowſki.
Iſs, you're like the ſnow
If you ſlight one—
Trudge.
Never, not for any white one;
You are beautiful as any ſloe.
Wowſki.
Wars, jars, ſcars, can't expoſe ye
In our grot—
Trudge.
So ſnug and coſey!
Wowſki.
[91]Flowers neatly
Pick'd, ſhall ſweetly
Make your bed.
Trudge.
Coying, toying
With a roſy
Poſey,
When I'm dozey:
Bear-ſkin night-caps too ſhall warm my head.
Both.
Bear-ſkin night-caps, &c. &c.
TRIO.—In Peeping Tom.
MAYOR, TOM, and CRAZY.
AIR.—Iriſh Lamentation.
Tom.
MERRY are the bells, and merry do they ring.
Crazy.
Merry was myſelf, and merry could I ſing.
Mayor.
Merry is your ding-dong.
Crazy.
Happy, gay and free.
Tom.
With a merry ſing-ſong.
ALL.
Merry let us be.
With a merry ding-dong, merry let us be.
Mayor.
Waddle goes your gait.
Tom.
And hollow are your hoſe.
Mayor.
Noddle goes your pate.
Tom.
And purple is your noſe—
(to Crazy)
Mayor.
Merry is your ding-dong, &c.
TRIO.
From the ſame.
[92]TOM, MAYOR, and CRAZY.
TOM
YOUR lordſhip is welcome among us,
Becauſe you are a great man:
Your ladyſhip ne'er did wrong us,
Becauſe you are a great wo-man.
Oh this is joyful news;
We'll ſtick up our houſes with holly!
We'll broach a tub
Of humming bub,
And welcome both with a rub-a-dub;
So, neighbours, let's all be jolly!
CRAZY.
Of our town let it be boaſted,
That you din'd in our Guildhall;
And we'll have an oxen roaſted,
With tail, hoofs, horns and all;
With cuſtards, puddings and pies!
And we'll ſtick, &c.
MAYOR.
[93]With your cheer we'll be delighted,
The bells ſhall ring merrily;
And when by my lord I'm knighted,
Sir Gregory Gooſe I'll be.
Long life to my lord and lady!
So we'll ſtick up our houſes, &c.
SONG.
In the Pantomime of OMAI.
DEAR ladies and gentlemen, cuſtomers, pop, will ye,
Into my neat little, ſweet little, ſhop, will ye?
Walk about, Madam, or ſit down and chat a bit;
Miſs, here's the dice-box, what think you of that a bit?
I don't mean to gamble, or each other fleece,
You ſhall only put in five and three-pence a piece;
This enamel'd gold watch, tick, goes right to a minute,
Theſe lily-white hands, Ma'am, ſurely muſt win it.
Then, Ma'am, will you walk in, and tol de rol diddle,
And, Sir, will you ſtalk in, and tol de rol diddle?
And, Miſs, will you pop in, and tol de rol diddle,
And, Maſter, pray hop in, and tol de rol diddle dee.
[94]When prudiſh to help out your fies and your tuſhes, Miſs,
What if you throw for this bottle of bluſhes, Miſs,
Sal Volatile, when your lover gets ranting,
You'll find that to tip him a faint may be wanting.
Ma'am, a twee that won't leave a grey hair in your brow;
Sir, a wiſe book to read in, that's—if you know how;
Hall's, Benſon's, and Silver's, not ſaunter like drones about,
But all come to Auſtin's, and here knock the bones about.
Then, Ma'am, &c.
Ye Londoners, who would fling ſorrow and caſ [...] away,
Welcome to Margate, in ſalt water daſh away,
Clean as a penny we'll ſouſe, ſop, and pickle ye;
Out of your gold, neat as Brighton, we'll tickle ye.
Says ſpouſy to deary, to Margate we'll trip
In the dog-days, to give little Jacky a dip;
Tho' here in the Dilly gay pleaſure attend ye,
Yet back in the Hoy, poor as Job we'll ſoon ſend ye.
Then Ma'am, &c.
SONG.
In the Poor Soldier.
[95]THO' late I was plump, round and jolly,
I now am as thin as a rod;
Oh! love is the cauſe of my folly,
And ſoon I'll lie under a ſod:
Sing ditherum doodle,
Nagety, nagety, tragedy, rum,
And gooſetherum foodle,
Fidgety, fidgety, nigety, mum.
Dear Kathleen, then why did you flout me,
A lad that's ſo coſey and warm;
O ev'ry thing's handſome about me,
My cabin and ſnug little farm:
Sing ditherum, &c.
What tho' I have ſcrap'd up no money,
No duns at my chamber attend;
On Sunday I ride on my Poney,
And ſtill have a bit for a friend:
Sing ditherum, &c.
The Cock courts his Hens all around me,
The Sparrow, the Pigeon, and Dove;
Oh how all this courting confounds me,
When I look and I think of my love;
Sing ditherum, &c.
SONG.
SHAKLEFIGURE, in the Lady of the Manor.
[96]TOM—ſaid—to—me,
Tim, how very ſlow you move;
I—ſaid—to—he,
Who runs beſt then let us prove.
Per—ad—ven—ture,
Swifteſt foot may loſe the race,
Beſt—ſlow—and—ſure;
And, in truth, it was the caſe,
Sir, depend on't.
Hey—off—we—ſet;
Tom was firſt for half a mile.
How—won—the—bett
May make your worſhip ſmile,
Tom—ran—ſo—faſt,
'Gainſt a ſtone he kick'd his toes:
Leſs—ſpeed—more—haſte;
Tom fell down and broke his noſe.
Mark the end on't.
SONG.
In Midas.
[97]SHALL a paltry clown, not fit to wipe my ſhoes,
Dare my amours to croſs?
Shall a peaſant minx, when Juſtice Midas wooes,
Her noſe up at him toſs?
No; I'll kidnap—then poſſeſs her;
I'll ſell her Pol a ſlave, get Mundungus in ex⯑change;
So glut to the height of pleaſure
My love and my revenge.
No; I'll kidnap, &c.
SONG.
From the ſame.
O WHAT pleaſure will abound,
When my wife is laid in ground!
Let earth cover her,
We'll dance over her,
When my wife is laid in ground.
Oh how happy ſhould I be,
Wou'd little Nyſa pig with me!
How I'd mumble her,
Touze and tumble her,
Wou'd little Nyſa pig with me.
TRIO.
From the ſame.
[98]Midas.
MASTER Pol
And his toll-de-roll-loll,
I'll buffet away from the plain, Sir,
Pan.
And I'll aſſiſt
Your worſhip's fiſt,
With all my might and main, Sir;
Myſis.
And I'll have a thump,
Tho' he is ſo plump,
And make ſuch a woundy racket.
Midas.
I'll bluff,
Pan.
I'll rough,
Myſis.
I'll huff,
Midas.
I'll cuff,
Omn.
And I'll warrant we pepper his jacket.
Midas.
For all his cheats,
And wenching feats,
He ſhall rue on his knees 'em,
Or ſkip, by goles,
As high as Paul's,
Like ugly witch on beſom;
Arraign'd he ſhall be,
Of treaſon to me!
Pan.
[99]And I with my davy will back it;
I'll ſwear,
Midas.
I'll ſnare,
Myſis.
I'll tear,
Omn.
O rare!
And I'll warrant we pepper his jacket.
SONG.
From the ſame.
WHAT the devil's here to do,
Ye logger-heads and gypſies?
Sirrah, you, and huſſey, you,
And each of you tipſey is;
But I'll as ſure pull down your pride as
A gun, or as I'm Juſtice Midas.
CHORUS.
O tremendous Juſtice Midas,
Who ſhall oppoſe wiſe Juſtice Midas?
SONG.
From the ſame.
I'M given to underſtand that you're all in a pother here,
Diſputing whether Pan or Pol ſhall play to you another year:
[100]Dare you think your clumſy lugs ſo proper to de⯑cide, as
The delicate ears of Juſtice Midas.
CHORUS.
O tremendous Juſtice Midas,
Who ſhall oppoſe wiſe Juſtice Midas?
SONG.
From the ſame.
NOW I'm ſeated,
I'll be treated
Like the Sophi on his throne;
In my preſence,
Scoundrel peaſants
Shall not call their ſouls their own.
My beheſt is,
He who beſt is,
Shall be fix'd muſician chief:
Ne'er the loſer
Shall ſhew noſe here,
But be tranſported like a thief.
CHORUS.
O tremendous Juſtice Midas,
Who ſhall oppoſe wiſe Juſtice Midas?
SONG.
THE COMMERCIAL BLESSING. SUNG AT THE ANACREONTIC SOCIETY.
[101]A TREATY of Commerce is now ſet on foot,
Monſieur has agreed to the law;
A Treaty of Commerce is now ſet on foot,
And we ſhall be treated, and cheated to boot:
Mon chere ami,
En tout ma vie,
Je ne jamais fait com ca.
In Eden the exquiſite bleſſing was placed,
Which was form'd in a bottomleſs pit;
In Eden the exquiſite bleſſing was placed,
Which, if like poor Adam, we're tempted to taſte,
'Twill prove as of old,
In hiſt'ry we're told,
The tempter had moſt wit.
St. Dennis is teaching St. How to dance,
Tho' St. George has made him ſkip before;
St. Dennis is teaching St. How to dance,
And St. George now gives leſſons for Boxing in France;
But who'll avail,
That time muſt tell,
So I need ſay no more.
[102]
If the ſtory is true, honeſt Paddy roars out,
Old England has ſtruck a fine ſtroke;
If the ſtory is true, honeſt Paddy roars out,
And Monſieur ſays he'll treat, he'll give Claret no doubt;
And while we agree,
We ſha'n't quarrel d'ye ſee,
So the bargain will hold till its broke.
Cries Sawney, d'ye ken mon, here's mickle bra' news
For a' the blithe bairns o' th' North;
Cries Sawney, d'ye ken mon, here's mickle bra' news,
For breeches we'll barter our phillebags and trews;
And ilka laddie
May doff his pladdie,
And a mon o' the mode ſtrut forth.
Aſtride on a goat, Shon ap Morgan from Wales,
Has canter'd to Town, neat and trim;
Aſtride on a goat, Shon ap Morgan from Wales,
Is peeping to ſee where the ſtupor prevails;
But alas, poor Squire,
He's like his fire,
His eyes at beſt are dim.
[103]
The Founders of Cannon muſt live by their trade,
And we are improvident elves;
The Founders of Cannon muſt live by their trade,
And if we've no call for the goods they have made;
They muſt be ſold,
And 'twill be told
They were bought to beat ourſelves.
Says Jack Tar, will John Bull never come to himſelf?
I think the good fellow's in drink;
Says Jack Tar, will John Bull never come to himſelf?
Muſt I, his beſt Friend, be laid by on the ſhelf?
While Dancing Dog's,
In fringe and frogs,
Enjoy my ſhare of chink.
If Monſieur ſhou'd forget that old excellent joke,
That Britons are Lords of the Main;
If Monſieur ſhou'd forget that old excellent joke,
The Treaty of Commerce will ſurely be broke,
And come to blows, Tout l'autre Choſe;
John Bull's himſelf again.
SONG.
GRIZZLE, in Tom Thumb.
IN hurry poſt haſte for a licence,
In hurry ding dong I came back,
For that you ſha'n't need bid me twice hence,
I'll there be, and here in a crack:
[104]Hey jing! my heart's on the wing,
I now could leap over the moon;
Let the Chaplain but ſet us a grappling,
And we'll ſtock a baby-houſe ſoon.
SONG.
From the ſame.
LONG I will not wear the willow,
Long I will not hug my pillow,
In my breaſt a ſtorm is brewing;
Which ſhall ſpread fire, ſword, and ruin,
O'er theſe deſolated coaſts.
This proud Arthur down ſhall knuckle,
Dollalolla too ſhall truckle,
Huncamunca ſhall knock under,
Her I'll raviſh, them I'll plunder;
In fierce battle, I will rattle,
Sinking, damning, ſlaſhing, cramming,
Ev'ry chink of hell with ghoſts.
SONG.
From the ſame.
MY body is a bankrupt's ſhop,
My cruel Creditor, grim Death;
Who puts to life's briſk trade a ſtop,
And will be paid with this laſt breath.
FINIS
Appendix A CATALOGUE of Books, Pamphlets, and Prints, to be had at Holland's MUSEUM OF GENIUS, No. 50, Oxford-ſtreet, near Berner's-ſtreet, re⯑moved from No. 66, Drury-Lane.
[]LITERATURE. FESTIVAL of Anacreon, containing the ſongs of Captain Morris, Mr. Hewerdine, Captain Thompſon, and other lyric writers, as ſung at the Anacreontic Society, the Beaf-Steak, and Humbug Clubs, with a portrait of Captain Morris, price 3s. 6d. Nimrod's Songs of the Chace, the beſt collection of hunting ſongs ever preſented to the lovers of that delightful ſport, with an animated deſcription of a Fox-Chace, and a ſu⯑perb Print, repreſenting a Stag-hunt near Windſor; the whole compiled from the Hunting Regiſter of the Windſor Nimrod, price 3s. 6d. with the Print in colours 5s. Foundling Hoſpital for Wit, 6 vols. 18s. Aſylum, 2 vols 7s. 6d. Hal's Look⯑ing-Glaſs, preſenting a brilliant ſelection of Bon Mots, Puns, Repartees, ludicrous Tales, and elegant Poetry, delivered at C—ton-Houſe, 2s. 6d. Elements of Nature; or, Free Opinions, ſported in the interior Cabinet of Venus, by Mon⯑taigne, 2s. 6d. Man of Pleaſure's Song Book, 3s. 6d. Exhibi⯑tion of Female Flagellants, in two parts, with 12 ſuperb Quarto Prints, 2l. 2s. plain, or 3l. 3s. in colours; and five other works on the ſame ſubject, with beautiful prints, each of which may be had ſeparate. Triſtram Shandy, with 10 fine Mezzotinto Prints. Geranium and Birth of the Roſe, 6d. Tranſlation of Peryigilium Veneris, with the Tale of the Three Monks and Mrs. Stitch in Clover, by the author of Crazy Tales 3s. 6d. A Poetical Epiſtle from an Officer at Otaheite to Lady G—v—r, 4s. 6d. Crazy Tales;—Moral Tales;—Meurſii;—Kiſſes of Secundas, 5s. Trials for Adultery;—Rocheſter's Poems;—Ovid's Art of Love, 4s. Thereſa, 1l. 1s. La Pucelle d'Or⯑leans; Beckford on Hunting, 7s. 6d. New Vocal Enchantreſs. Life of Count O'Kelly, 2s. Biographia Dramatica; or a Com⯑panion to the Play-houſe, the beſt Hiſtory of the Stage ever publiſhed, 2 vols. 12s. Feſtival of Wit, 3s. and a large collec⯑tion of other literary articles.
N. B. A ſecond Part of the Feſtival of Anacreon, will be ſhortly publiſhed; and a ſecond Volume of the Feſtival of Wit, by the Author of the firſt, is preparing for the Preſs.
PRINTS. Political Banditti, aſſailing the Saviour of India, 4s. Comteſſe de Barre's Whim, 7s 6d Pretty Nurſery Maid, 3s. 6d. A Dilly ſetting out from King's Place with a Guard, 1s. 6d. [] Lady Termagant Flaybum, going to give her ſtep-ſon a taſte of her deſert after dinner, 7s. 6d. Wife and no Wife, 5s. Fanny Hill, 2s. 6d. The Gift of Love, 3s. 6d. Kitty Cut-a-Daſh, 2s. 6d. Tom Jones's firſt Interview with Molly Seagrim, 3s. A Player in London, and a Player in Dublin, 2s. Yorick feel⯑ing the Griſerre's Pulſe, 3s. 6d. Sportſman's Hall, 6s. The Gin Shop, 6s. Wonderful Effects of a Proclamation, 2s. Po⯑liteneſs, 1s. A Cribbage Party in St. Giles's, 1s 6d. The Taylor's Race 1s. The Legacy, 3s. The City Volunteer, 1s. A Sale of Engliſh Beauties in the Eaſt Indies, 6s. Field Day, 1s. The Morning after Marriage, 6s. Shooting Rubbiſh, 2s. A New Way to Pay the National Debt, 5s. Scotch OEco⯑nomy, 1s. Battle between Ward and Johnſon, 1s. Devonſhire Standard, 2s. Biddy's Rump, and Companion, 2s. Man of Feeling, 2s. Harley and old Edwards, with the School Miſ⯑treſs and Grand-children at the Grave of young Edwards, 10s. 6d. Ormond-ſtreet Alexander, 2s. Portrait of Mr. Hewer⯑dine, 2s. 6d. Fal de ral tit, 1s. The Inſect, 1s. Portrait of the Prince of Wales, 2s. 6d. Kenſington Garden Beauty, 1s. Romeo and Juliet, 2s. Lavinia and her Mother, 3s. 6d. John Gilpin's Race, 6d. Miſer's Feaſt, 3s. The Moment of Ima⯑gination, 1s. 6d. Commercial Treaty, 1s. 6d. Eve and her Grand-daughter, 1s. 6d. State of the Nation, 2s. Dog and Duck Bruiſers, 1s. 6d. Edwin, in Bob and Caleb, 2s. Cotil⯑lion in St. James's Market, 2. My Aunt, 2s. 6d. King's Place Beauties of the Buff Squad, 1s. Flowers of Edinburgh, 2s. Mrs. S—s and Mrs. C—d Boxing for the Thea⯑trical Laurel, 2s. Falſtaff and his Prince, and Scrub and Ar⯑cher, 3s. Eloiſa, 3s. 6d. A new Sun riſing in the Aſratie World, 2s. Baccelli, 2s. 6d. Farmer G—and his Wife, 1s. Watering Place in Holland, 2s. Plenipotentiary at a Maſque⯑rade, 2s. Meeting of Parliament, 2s. Meeting of the Female Canvaſters, 2s. and a large collection of Paintings, Drawings, and Prints, for the Moraliſt, the Politician, and the Bon Vi⯑vant.
*⁎* Holland's Caricature Rooms are now open, preſenting a general Exhibition of all the diſtinguiſhed Caricatures that have been publiſhed the laſt Ten Years, with many original Paintings and Drawings of high celebrity.
Admittance ONE SHILLING.
Notes
*
When this whimſical Account firſt appeared in Dublin, the Lady's friends were outrageous againſt the Author. The Hu⯑mouriſt kept himſelf ſnug while a number of Literary Iriſhmen in London and Dublin were claiming the praiſe due to him, which indeed they have continued to do to this hour, though the pleaſant fugitive is now well known to be the offspring of the facetious [...].
*
This song, (written by Mr.O'KEEFE)was firſt introduced in the Peruvian.
- Rechtsinhaber*in
- University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 5207 Edwin s pills to purge melancholy containing all the songs sung by Mr Edwin since his first appearance in London With a humourous account of Mrs Siddons s first reception in Dublin and a. . University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]. https://hdl.handle.net/11378/0000-0005-DC36-7