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diff --git a/old/65524-0.txt b/old/65524-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c85f0fb..0000000 --- a/old/65524-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10084 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Modern Street Ballads, by John Ashton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Modern Street Ballads - -Author: John Ashton - -Release Date: June 6, 2021 [eBook #65524] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN STREET BALLADS *** - - [Illustration: “FIFTY SONGS FOR A FAR-R-R-R-DEN!"] - - - - - MODERN - STREET BALLADS - - BY - JOHN ASHTON - AUTHOR OF “SOCIAL LIFE IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE,” ETC. - - [Illustration] - - _WITH FIFTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS_ - - London - CHATTO & WINDUS PICCADILLY - 1888 - - [_The right of translation is reserved_] - - - - -INTRODUCTION. - - -Over Street Ballads may be raised the wail of “Ichabod, Ichabod, their -glory is departed.” They held their own for many centuries, bravely and -well, but have succumbed to a changed order of things, and a new -generation has arisen, who will not stop in the streets to listen to -these ballads being sung, but prefer to have their music served up to -them “piping hot,” with the accompaniment of warmth, light, beer, and -tobacco (for which they duly have to pay) at the Music Halls; but -whether the change be for the better, or not, may be a moot question. - -These Street Ballads were produced within a very few hours of the -publication of any event of the slightest public interest; and, failing -that, the singers had always an unlimited store to fall back upon, on -domestic, or humorous subjects, love, the sea, etc., etc. Of their -variety we may learn something, not only from this book, but from the -ballad of “Chaunting Benny” of which the following is a portion:-- - - .......... - - “My songs have had a tidy run, I’ve plenty in my fist, Sirs, - And if you wish to pick one out, I’ll just run through my list, Sirs. - - Have you seen “My daughter Fan,” “She wore a wreath of roses,” - And here you see “My son Tom,” “The Sun that lights the roses,” - “Green grow the rushes O,” “On the Banks of Allan Water,” - “Such a getting out of bed,” with “Brave Lord Ullin’s daughter.” - - “Poor Bessie was a Sailor’s bride,” “Sitting on a rail,” Sirs, - “Is there a heart that never loved?” “The Rose of Allandale,” Sirs, - “The Maid of Judah,” “Out of Place,” with “Plenty to be sad at,” - “I say, my rum un, who are you?” with “What a shocking - bad hat,” etc., etc. - -Rough though some of these Street Ballads may be, very few of them were -coarse, and, on reading them, we must ever bear in mind the class for -whom they were produced, who listened to them, and--practical proof of -interest--bought them. In this collection I have introduced nothing -which can offend anybody except an absolute prude; in fact, “My bear -dances only to the genteelest of tunes.” - -There are plenty of my readers old enough to remember many of these -Ballads, and they will come none the worse because they bring with them -the reminiscence of their youth. _Forsan et hæc olim meminisse juvabit._ -They owe a great deal of their charm to the fact that they were -absolutely contemporary with the events they describe, and, though -sometimes rather faulty in their history, owing to the pressure under -which they were composed and issued, yet those very inaccuracies prove -their freshness. - -The majority were illustrated--if, indeed, any can be called -illustrated--for the woodcuts were generally served out with a charming -impartiality, and without the slightest regard to the subject of the -ballad. What previous work these blocks had served, goodness only knows; -they were probably bought at trade sales, and had illustrated books that -were out of date or unsaleable. They vary from the sixteenth century to -Bewick, some of whose works are occasionally met with; but, taking them -as a whole, we must fain confess that art as applied to these Ballads -was at its very lowest. Their literary merit is not great--but what can -you expect for half-a-crown? which was the price which Jemmy Catnach,[1] -of Monmouth Court, Seven Dials, used to pay for their production. -Catnach issued a large number from his press (in fact, his successor, -Fortey, advertised that he had four thousand different sorts for sale), -and his name is used as a “household word” to designate this class of -Ballad. But, in fact, he only enjoyed the largest share of the London -trade, whilst the Provinces were practically independent--Liverpool, -Manchester, Birmingham, Newcastle, Preston, Hull, Sheffield, Durham, -etc., had their own ballad-mongers, who wrote somewhat after the manner -of the author of “The Bard of Seven Dials.” - - “And it’s my plan, that some great man - Dies with a broken head, Sirs, - Vith a bewail, I does detail - His death ’afore e’s dead, Sirs. - And while his friends and foes contends, - They all my papers buy, Sirs, - Yes, vithout doubt, I sells ’em out, - ’Cos there my talent lies, Sirs.” - -The Ballad singers and vendors made money rapidly over any event which -took the popular fancy--a good blood-curdling murder being very -profitable; and the business required very little capital, even that -being speedily turned over. Generally, the singers worked singlehanded, -but sometimes two would join, and then the Ballad took an antiphonal -form, which must have relieved them very much, and the crowd which -gathered round them was the surest proof that their vocal efforts were -appreciated. - -They are gone--probably irrevocably--but a trace of the vendor still -lingers amongst us. One or two still remain about Gray’s Inn Road, -Farringdon Road, and other neighbourhoods; but I venture to say, as they -drop out, they will find no successors. You may know them, if ever lucky -enough to meet with one, by their canvas screens, on which are pinned -the ballads--identical with that immortal screen of which Mr. Silas Wegg -(in Dickens’s “Our Mutual Friend”) was the proud proprietor; but these -modern Ballads are mostly reproductions of Music Hall songs, and have -very little in common with those about which I write. - -I have taken the first fifty years of this century, when this style of -Street Ballad was at its best, but I have liberally interpreted my fifty -years, by extending its margin by a year or two either way--thus, I -include the Mutiny at the Nore in 1798, and the Great Exhibition of -1851, and I have selected those that bear on most, and elucidate best, -the social manners and customs of that period. - - RIGHT - JOHN ASHTON. - -[Illustration: - - J. CATNACH - PRINTER - _and_ - PUBLISHER. -] - - - - -CONTENTS. - - -SOCIAL. - - PAGE - -SALE OF A WIFE 1 - -A WOMAN NEVER KNOWS WHEN HER DAY’S WORK’S DONE 5 - -THE TREATS OF LONDON 9 - -THE INCOME TAX 12 - -STRIKING TIMES 17 - -THE MECHANIC’S APPEAL TO THE PUBLIC 21 - -WOMEN’S SAYINGS 24 - -BOB LOGIC’S DESCRIPTION OF THE NEW BRIGHTON DILIGENCE -FOR INSIDE PASSENGERS ONLY 31 - -PAPER’D-UP HAIR 34 - -I LIKES A DROP OF GOOD BEER 36 - -THE SNOB AND THE BOTTLE 38 - -RORY O’MORE TURNED TEETOTAL 42 - -HURRAH FOR FATHER MATHEW’S MILL 45 - -HOW FIVE AND TWENTY SHILLINGS WERE EXPENDED IN A -WEEK 48 - -THE WAY TO LIVE 52 - -THE CRIES OF LONDON 55 - -THE HONEST POLICEMAN OF MITCHAM 59 - -COOKEY DARLING 62 - -I SHOULD LIKE TO BE A POLICEMAN 64 - -BENDIGO, CHAMPION OF ENGLAND 67 - -THE BOLD IRISH YANKEY BENICIA BOY 71 - -I’M A GENT 75 - -JULLIEN’S GRAND POLKA 77 - -MARGATE HOY 80 - -CRYSTAL PALACE 82 - - -HUMOROUS. - -SHEEP’S EYES FOR EVER 85 - -CAB, CAB, CAB 88 - -THE RUSH LIGHT 91 - -IF I HAD A DONKEY WOT WOULDN’T GO 94 - -SHOVEL AND BROOM 96 - -VILIKINS AND HIS DINAH 98 - -THE EXCISEMAN OUTWITTED 101 - -GILES SCROGGIN’S GHOST 103 - -THE STRANGE MAN 105 - -A SIGHT FOR A FATHER 108 - -HUMOURS OF BARTLEMY FAIR 111 - -GEORGY BARNWELL 116 - -JONATHAN BROWN 119 - -WERY PEKOOLIAR, OR THE LISPING LOVERS 121 - -THE BABES IN THE WOOD 124 - -KATE’S YOUNG MAN 128 - -HE WAS SUCH A NICE YOUNG MAN 131 - -MRS. MONDAY 135 - -ALL TO ASTONISH THE BROWNS 138 - -THE RATCATCHER’S DAUGHTER 142 - -HOT CODLINGS 145 - -THE WONDERFUL CROCODILE 147 - -THE THIEF’S ARM 150 - -CORK LEG 153 - -THE ONE HORSE CHAY 156 - -THE LITERARY DUSTMAN 160 - -THE BILL STICKER 164 - -THINGS I DON’T LIKE TO SEE 167 - -THE BARREL OF PORK 170 - -ALL ROUND MY HAT 173 - -HERE’S THE MAN A-COMING! 175 - -THE NOBBY HEAD OF HAIR 177 - -MISS BAILEY’S GHOST 180 - -HUMPHREY DUGGINS 182 - - -COUNTRY. - -THE HONEST PLOUGHMAN, OR 90 YEARS AGO 184 - -THE NEW FASHIONED FARMER 188 - -PRESENT TIMES, OR EIGHT SHILLINGS A WEEK 192 - -JIG, JIG, TO THE HIRINGS 195 - -COUNTRY STATUTES 199 - -THE BOLD POACHER 202 - -DEATH OF POOR BILL BROWN 204 - -THE JOLLY ANGLER 206 - -THE HUMOURS OF THE RACES 209 - -THE BONNY GREY 212 - -THE KING AND WEST COUNTRYMAN 213 - -HODGE IN LONDON 215 - - -SEA. - -DEATH OF PARKER 218 - -THE BATTLE OF BOULOGNE 221 - -VICTORY 223 - -THE BATTLE OF NAVARINO 225 - -DUKE WILLIAM’S FROLIC 228 - -THE KING AND THE SAILOR 232 - -JACK BINNACLE AND QUEEN VICTORIA 234 - -SWEET WILLIAM 238 - -THE POOR SMUGGLER’S BOY 240 - -THE SMUGGLER’S BRIDE 242 - -THE FEMALE SMUGGLER 245 - -JACK RETURNED FROM SEA 248 - -THE JOLLY ROVING TAR 251 - -YOUNG HENRY OF THE RAGING MAIN 253 - -JACK ROBINSON 256 - -BOLD WILLIAM TAYLOR 259 - -RATCLIFFE HIGHWAY IN 1842 262 - -THE GREENLAND WHALE FISHERY 265 - -THE NEW YORK TRADER 268 - - -THE QUEEN. - -VIVA VICTORIA 271 - -QUEEN VICTORIA 273 - -THE QUEEN’S MARRIAGE 276 - -A NEW SONG ON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE OF WALES 279 - -THE QUEEN AND THE COAL EXCHANGE 281 - -CRYSTAL PALACE 284 - -QUEEN’S VISIT TO FRANCE 287 - -THE QUEEN’S DREAM 290 - -LOVELY ALBERT 294 - - -HISTORICAL. - -BRAVE NELSON 298 - -LORD NELSON 300 - -BATTLE OF WATERLOO 303 - -KING GEORGE IV.’S WELCOME TO SCOTLAND 305 - -THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR ROBERT -PEEL, BART., M.P. 308 - -DEATH OF WELLINGTON 311 - - -POLITICAL. - -THE CHRONICLES OF THE POPE 313 - -THE HAPPY REFORM 318 - -THE OPERATIVES’ MARCH 321 - -A NEW ALPHABETICAL SONG ON THE CORN LAW BILL 322 - -A NEW SONG ON THE CORN BILL 327 - -THE CRISIS 331 - -CHARTISTS ARE COMING 335 - -THE SONG OF THE LOWER CLASSES 338 - -A NEW HUNTING SONG 340 - - -MISCELLANEOUS. - -THE WONDERFUL WONDERS OF TOWN 343 - -LAW 346 - -JIM CROW 349 - -THE WORKHOUSE BOY 351 - -THE WILD ROVER 353 - -THE DIGGINS, O! 355 - -BOTANY BAY 359 - -VAN DIEMAN’S LAND 361 - -FAREWELL TO JUDGES AND JURIES 364 - -MY BONNY BLACK BESS 366 - -LIFE OF THE MANNINGS 368 - -THE LIFE AND TRIAL OF PALMER 371 - -MARY ARNOLD, THE FEMALE MONSTER 374 - -THE UNDERTAKER’S CLUB 377 - -A TIDY SUIT FOR ALL THAT 379 - -THE RAGGED COAT 382 - -THE COLLIER SWELL 385 - -THE LONDON MERCHANT 388 - -RILEY’S FAREWELL 390 - -YOUNG WILLIAM 392 - -THE BROKEN HEARTED GARDENER 394 - -BOXING DAY IN 1847 396 - -ST. JAMES’S AND ST. GILES’S 399 - -THE THREE BUTCHERS 403 - - -[Illustration] - - -_SALE OF A WIFE._ - - Whenever a foreigner used to write that Englishmen sold their wives - in open market, with halters round their necks, they were not - believed in England; but it was nevertheless a fact, and even as - lately as last year a man sold his wife. In two of my books (“Old - Times” and “The Dawn of the Nineteenth Century”) I have given - numerous instances. The halter round the neck was used when the - wife was sold at market, it being considered that, being thus - accoutred, she was on a level with the cattle, and thus could - legally be sold. - - ATTEND to my ditty, you frolicsome folk, - I’ll tell you a story--a comical joke; - ’Tis a positive fact, what I’m going to unfold, - Concerning a woman, who by auction was sold. - - -_Chorus._ - - Then long may he flourish, and prosper through life, - The Sailor that purchased the Carpenter’s wife. - - A carpenter lived not a mile off from here, - Being a little, or rather too, fond of his beer; - Being hard up for brass--it is true, on my life, - For ten shillings, by auction, he sold off his wife. - - The husband and wife they could never agree, - For he was too fond of going out on the spree; - They settled the matter, without more delay, - So, tied in a halter, he took her away. - - He sent round the bellman announcing the sale, - All in the hay-market, and that without fail; - The auctioneer came, with his hammer, so smart, - And the Carpenter’s wife stood up in a Cart. - - Now she was put up without grumble or frown, - The first bid was a tailor, that bid half a crown; - Says he, I will make her a lady so spruce, - And fatten her well upon Cabbage and goose.[2] - - Five and sixpence three farthings, a butcher then said, - Six and ten said a barber, with his curly head; - Then up jump’d a cobbler, said he, in three cracks, - I’ll give you nine shillings, and two balls of wax. - - Just look at her beauty, the auctioneer cries, - She’s mighty good-tempered, and sober likewise; - Damme, said a sailor, she’s three out of four, - Ten shillings I bid for her, not a screw more. - - Thank you, sir, thank you, said the bold auctioneer, - Going for ten--is there nobody here - Will bid any more? Is not this a bad job? - Going! Going! I say--she is gone for ten bob. - - The hammer was struck--that concluded the sale, - The sailor he paid down the brass on the nail; - He shook hands with Betsy, and gave her a smack, - And she jump’d straddle-legs on to his back. - - The people all relished the joke, it appears, - And gave the young Sailor three hearty good cheers; - He never cried stop, with his darling so sweet, - Until he was landed in Denison Street. - - They sent for a fiddler, and piper to play, - They danced and they sung, untill the break of day, - Then Jack to his hammock with Betsy did go, - While the fiddler and the piper played “Rosin, the beau.” - - * * * * * * - - Wives at the market did not fetch good prices; the highest I know - of, is recorded in _The Times_, September 19, 1797: “An hostler’s - wife, in the country, lately fetched twenty-five guineas.” But this - was extravagance, as, with the exception of a man who exchanged his - wife for an ox, which he sold for six guineas, the next highest - quotation is three and a half guineas; but this rapidly dwindled - down to shillings, and even pence. In 1881, a wife was sold at - Sheffield for a quart of beer; in 1862, another was purchased at - Selby Market Cross for a pint; and the _South Wales Daily News_, - May 2, 1882, tells us that one was parted with for a glass of ale. - Sometimes they were unsaleable, as we learn by the following ballad:-- - - -JOHN HOBBS. - - A jolly shoemaker, John Hobbs, John Hobbs; - A jolly shoemaker, John Hobbs! - He married Jane Carter, - No damsel look’d smarter; - But he caught a tartar, - John Hobbs, John Hobbs; - Yes, he caught a tartar, John Hobbs. - - He tied a rope to her, John Hobbs, John Hobbs; - He tied a rope to her, John Hobbs! - To ’scape from hot water, - To Smithfield he brought her; - But nobody bought her, - Jane Hobbs, Jane Hobbs, - They all were afraid of Jane Hobbs. - - Oh, who’ll buy a wife? says Hobbs, John Hobbs; - A sweet pretty wife, says Hobbs. - But, somehow, they tell us - The wife-dealing fellows - Were all of them sellers, - John Hobbs, John Hobbs. - And none of them wanted Jane Hobbs. - - The rope it was ready, John Hobbs, John Hobbs. - Come, give me the rope, says Hobbs; - I won’t stand to wrangle, - Myself I will strangle, - And hang dingle dangle, - John Hobbs, John Hobbs; - He hung dingle dangle, John Hobbs. - - But down his wife cut him, John Hobbs, John Hobbs; - But down his wife cut him, John Hobbs; - With a few hubble-bubbles, - They settled their troubles, - Like most married couples, - John Hobbs, John Hobbs, - Oh, happy shoemaker, John Hobbs! - - -[Illustration] - - -_A WOMAN NEVER KNOWS WHEN HER DAY’S WORK’S DONE._ - - NOW just attend to me, - Married men of all degree, - While I tell you the vicissitudes of life, - There’s nothing, understand, - Half so pleasing to a man, - As a good temper’d, kind, and loving wife. - She is always at her work, - Tho’ sometimes used like a Turk; - Here and everywhere compelled she has to run; - While a man can banish care, - Drown sorrow and dull care, - A woman never knows when her day’s work’s done. - - -_Chorus._ - - Then just attend to me, - To your wives be kind and free, - And never mind the clatter of her tongue, - If you the truth will speak, - You know the live-long week, - A woman never knows when her day’s work’s done. - - That man must be a fool, - Who will strive his wife to rule, - Or drive her, like an elephant, about, - You will find ’ere you begin, - You may knock nine devils in, - But never can you knock one devil out. - We nothing ought to hear, - But “my darling” and “my dear,” - And to please his wife a man should miles run, - Her all indulgence give, - Then happy will he live, - For a woman never knows when her day’s work’s done. - - Every married man should know - They now have made a law, - That if any man should dare ill-use his wife, - Six months he will bewail - In a dark and dismal jail, - With heavy irons on him day and night. - Men, be advised by me, - Use the women tenderly, - And to please her you must always cheerful run, - For you all must know full well, - If the truth you will but tell, - That a woman never knows when her day’s work’s done. - - Married women take advice, - Get you every thing that’s nice, - A little drop of brandy, rum, or gin, - And if your husband should complain, - Give the compliment again, - And whack him with the wooden rolling-pin. - When some women well behaves, - They’re oft used worse than slaves, - And must not dare to use their pretty tongue, - Let the world say what it will, - I will say, and prove it still, - That a woman never knows when her day’s work’s done. - - They must wash and iron on, - They must mangle, starch, and blue, - They must get your victuals ready in a crack, - They must get you tea and toast, - They must frizzle, fry, and roast, - And wash the dirty shirt upon your back. - They must clean the quilt and rugs, - They must hunt the fleas and bugs, - They must nurse your little daughter and your son, - And, like a poor goose, - Get nothing but abuse, - A woman never knows when her day’s work’s done. - - -_Chorus._ - - Men, to your wives be kind, - Thus pleasure you will find, - And happy through the world you will run, - You must surely tell a lie, - If this statement you deny, - A woman never knows when her day’s work’s done. - - -_THE TREATS OF LONDON._[3] - - GOOD folks I will try at a song, - So I hope you will make no wry faces, - Believe me, I’ll not keep you long, - With my budget of public places: - To what I’m about to rehearse, - If you’ll but please to attend, - You will learn from my play-bill in verse, - Where to go, if you’ve money to spend. - - Covent Garden Garden of O.P.[4] renown, - The contest you all may remember; - Old Drury that was burnt down, - And Bartlemy Fair in September. - With the Tower of London so grand, - Where a huge pocket-pistol you see, - And Salmon’s Wax Work in the Strand, - With the Sans Pareil after your tea. - - There’s the Opera House at the West, - A Chalk Farm and a famous Jew’s Harp, - Where, pay well, you may feed on the best, - Then walk in the Regency Park. - A Lord’s Cricket Ground that is new, - With a Tottenham Playhouse so gay, - Hyde Park and the Serpentine too, - For Men Milliners on a Sunday. - - There’s Wigley’s promenade too, I ween, - And Bond Street parade in addition, - With Kensington Gardens when clean, - And the Somerset House Exhibition. - There’s the Wells, and Grimaldi so rum, Sirs, - With Westminster Abbey to range, - A walk in the Temple for Lawyers, - And “All alive in Exeter ’Change.” - - The British Museum’s a treat, - Vauxhall with its fireworks pretty, - Where belles and their sparks you will meet, - And “the Royalty” too, in the City. - A Surrey Theatre there’s too, Sirs, - Where the bow-wow performers so grand, - Played with eclat, and where you may view, - The fine bridge ’twixt Bankside and the Strand. - - A forum there is for debate, - A Fives Court for milling in fun, Sirs, - A Parliament House for the great, - With a cock-pit for cruelty’s sport, Sirs, - With balls, concerts, and masquerades, - And spouting rooms, too, half a score, - With prime song-clubs in the “Shades,” - Knock ’em down with a Bravo! Encore! - - Gas lights too flare in your eyes, - Indian Jugglers deceive in Pall Mall, - Guildhall for a lottery prize, - Astley’s horses, too, still bear the bell. - The Monument, too, a tall post, - And also, without any raillery, - The Londoners’ principal boast, - St. Paul’s and its Whispering Gallery. - - -_THE INCOME TAX._ - - OH! poor old Johnny Bull has his Cup of sorrow full, - And what with underfeeding him, and leeching him, and bleeding him, - Though over-drained before, he must lose a little more, - He’ll now be bled again by the Income Tax. - And _Peel_[5] the state physician, has studied his condition, - And daily, and hourly his own brain racks, - He’s come to the conclusion, that John Bull’s constitution - Is only to be saved by the Income tax. - - -_Chorus._ - - Sevenpence in the pound, is the sum that must be found, - Useless is our grumbling, our grizzling, or mumbling, - Still, had we to our aid, our former roaring trade, - We’d laugh at Bobby Peel and his Income Tax. - - The manufacturers say that they ought not to pay, - Assert ’tis not a fib, but they really can’t contribute. - The manufacturing bands are discharging all their hands, - ’Tis the farmers that should, and ought to pay the Income Tax. - The farmers all declare, that for them to pay be’ant fair, - The cesses, rates, and tithes nearly breaks their backs. - While all the parsons say, their business is to pray, - So, pray, why should they pay the Income Tax? - - The Lawyers all declare it really is unfair, - The Law’s great alteration has brought them ruination, - And if they make compliance, they all must rob their Clients, - By swelling Bills of Costs for the Income Tax. - The Doctors, full of ills, must increase their price of pills, - They are already ruined by Infirmaries and Quacks, - So they’ll all adopt Peel’s plan, of bleeding all they can, - Their patients, (when they get ’em) for the Income Tax. - - The shopkeeper, once gay, who kept his one horse shay, - To drive out on a Sunday, and sometimes on a Monday, - Must now his shay put down, and stick to trade and town, - Because he must so pay to the Income Tax. - His daughters and his wife, obliged to hear his strife, - Stay at home and snivel, and in snarls go snacks, - Their bonnets--those old blue ones--instead of having new ones, - Are turned--and ’tis all through the Income Tax. - - Those folk of middling rank, who have money in the Bank, - And make by pocket’s clearance, a respectable appearance, - And managing complete, to just make both ends meet, - Must cut a bit off one end for the Income Tax. - Oh, then, without a doubt, was their washing all put out, - Now, laundresses are ruined--and these are facts-- - For, wherever you may roam, all the washing’s done at home, - So our wives are always cross through the Income Tax. - - The Bishops, rich and great, and the Ministers of State, - The gayest, the demurest, the Placeman, Sinecurist, - And grumblers, or not, they must all pay their shot, - In their rota, as their quota, of the Income Tax. - And, as a tip-top sample, our Queen’s a high example, - Her Majesty,[6] I wish of rupees had lacs. - The Collector he sallies, to great Buckingham Palace, - Your Majesty, I’ve come for the Income Tax. - - The Lords, and all their train, must do without Champagne, - The Squires--will they bear it? must give up Hock and Claret-- - Tradesmen, no longer merry, think not of or port sherry, - They all are out of spirits through the Income Tax. - So, all ranks through the Nation, must put up with privation, - One foregoes his Brandy--another his Max[7] - The porter can’t regale, he’s obliged to leave off Ale, - And a Teetotaller turn through the Income Tax. - - Just like the tale of old, of the soldier we were told, - Who, while the drummer[8] flogg’d him, writh’d about and jogg’d him, - With torment all on fire, he cried aloud, “Strike higher,” - Sir Robert Peel’s the drummer, with his Income Tax. - The Tax with its fine tales, is like the cat o’ nine tails, - It lashes our bodies--cuts into our backs.-- - Sir Robert Peel he strikes, and cuts us where he likes, - Nobody likes the cuts of the Income Tax. - - - In every civilized society there is an antagonism between employer - and employed, between capital and labour. The men do not often take - thought of the losses their employers have sustained, in order to - keep their factories going and their hands employed; they do not - think that England has to compete with the whole world, and that, - on the Continent, wages are cheaper, and the men are more contented - with their lot, so that when a depression in trade occurs, it is - only fair that they should bear a portion of the burden. There are - plenty of demagogues, who, for pay, will fan the flame of - discontent, and the result is a _strike_, injurious to all parties. - On the other hand, a man has a right to sell his labour as dearly - as he can, or to refuse to sell it at all, if he so pleases, and a - strike is very often the means of his getting an advance of wages - which might not have been otherwise conceded, or at all events - tardily granted. - - Naturally there are many street ballads on this vital subject to - the ballad-singer’s listeners, but I have only selected one, which - appears to me to be fairly typical. As an antidote to the - discontent and privation consequent on bad trade, Henry Russell - wrote, “There’s a good time coming, boys,” which enjoyed immense - popularity, and did much to banish the black spirit of discontent. - - -_STRIKING TIMES._ - - CHEER up, cheer up, you sons of toil, and listen to my song, - While I try to amuse you, and I will not take you long. - The working men of England, at length begin to see, - They’ve made a bold strike for their rights in 1853. - - -_Chorus._ - - _It’s high time that working men should have it their own way, - And for a fair day’s labour, receive a fair day’s pay._ - - This is the time for striking, at least, it strikes me so, - Monopoly has had some knocks, but this must be the blow, - The working men, by thousands, complain their fate is hard, - May order mark their conduct, and success be their reward. - - Some of our London Printers, this glorious work begun, - And surely they’ve done something, for they’ve upset the Sun. - Employers must be made to see they can’t do what they like, - It is the master’s greediness causes the men to strike. - - The labouring men of London, on both sides of the Thames, - They made a strike last Monday, which adds much to their names. - Their masters did not relish it, but they made them, understand, - Before the next day’s sun had set, they gave them their demand. - - The unflinching men of Stockport, with Kidderminster in their train, - Three hundred honest weavers have struck, their ends to gain. - Though the masters find they lose a deal, the tide must soon be turning, - They find the men won’t, quietly, be robbed of half their earning. - - Our London Weavers mean to show their masters, and the trade, - That they will either cease to work, or else be better paid. - In Spitalfields the Weavers worked with joy, in former ages, - But they’re tired out of asking for a better scale of wages. - - The monied men have had their way, large fortunes they have made, - For things could not be otherwise, with labour badly paid; - They roll along in splendour, and with a saucy tone, - As Cobbett says, they eat the meat, the workman gnaws the bone. - - In Liverpool the Postmen struck, and sent word to their betters, - Begging them to recollect that they were men of letters, - They asked for three bob more a week, and got it in a crack, - And though each man has got his bag, they have not got the sack. - - The Cabmen, and their masters, made up their minds last week, - To stop the Cabs from running, now is not that a treat, - The Hackney Carriage Act[9] has proved a very bitter pill, - It’s no use to call out, Cab, Cab,[10] drive off and show your skill. - - The Coopers and the Dockyard Men are all a going to strike. - And soon there’ll be the devil to pay, without a little Mike, - The farming men of Suffolk have lately called a go, - And swear they’ll have their wages rose, before they reap or sow. - - -WE are all familiar with the carefully got up mendicants who infest the -streets of London, with their mournful howls--how that they are -“Frozen-out gardeners,” or “Have got no work to do,” etc., etc.; and in -the early part of the century they were more numerous than now, as the -police were not so efficient. One sample of this style of ballad must -suffice. - -[Illustration] - - -_THE MECHANIC’S APPEAL TO THE PUBLIC._ - - GIVE attention awhile to my rhymes, - Good people of every degree, - I assure you these critical times - Have reduced me to great poverty. - I’m a tradesman reduced to distress, - Dame Fortune on me long has frown’d, - And that is the cause, I confess, - Which compels me to roam up and down. - - -_Chorus._ - - _Then good people attend to my rhymes, - And pity a tradesman reduced; - For appealing to you in these times, - I submissively hope you’ll excuse._ - - I once did in happiness dwell, - With my family around me, at home; - And little, (the truth I will tell) - Did I think I’d have cause for to roam. - But misfortune, she owed me a grudge, - And entered in my Cottage door, - And caused me in sorrow to mourn, - And my misery long to deplore. - - Mechanics are now at a stand, - And trade, in all quarters, is bad, - They’re complaining all over the land, - And their children are hungry and sad. - Travel Britain wherever you will, - You may behold everything dead, - The tradesmen are all standing still, - And their children are crying for bread. - - My family now weep in distress, - With cold and with hunger they cry, - Which grieves me to see, I confess, - No food, nor employment have I. - The Weather is cold and severe, - And I do in sorrow lament; - I have no food for my Children dear, - And my goods are all taken for rent. - - For a tradesman reduced, heave a sigh, - Who in sorrow and agony grieve, - And, good Christians, as you pass him by, - With a little, pray, do him relieve. - A little you never will miss, - To one who in sorrow complain, - And our heavenly Father above, - The same will repay you again. - - Oh, you that distress never knew, - May your breast such affliction ne’er feel, - The sufferings that I do endure, - I cannot to you half reveal. - For subsistence my clothes I have sold, - I wander to look for a friend, - So now my sad troubles are told, - And my tale I am going to end. - - -THERE is a great deal of superstition, and folk-lore, contained in - -_WOMEN’S SAYINGS_. - -[Illustration] - - DRAW near, and give attention, - And you shall hear my rhyme, - The old women’s sayings, in the olden times - High and low, rich and poor, - By daylight or dark, - Are sure to make - Some curious remark; - With some foolish idea - Your brains they will bother, - For some believe one thing, - And some believe another. - - -_Chorus._ - - _These are odds and ends - Of superstitious ways, - The signs and the tokens, - Of my grandmother’s days._ - - The first thing you will see, - At the house of rich or poor, - To keep the witches out, - A horse shoe’s o’er the door. - Bellows on the table, - Cause a row both day and night, - If there’s two knives across, - You are sure to have a fight. - There’s a stranger[11] in the grate, - Or, if the cat should sneeze, - Or lay before the fire, - It will rain or freeze. - - A cinder with a hole - In the middle is a purse, - But a long one, from the fire, - Is a coffin, which is worse: - A spider, ticking in the wall, - Is the death watch at night, - A spark in a candle, - Is a letter sure as life. - If your right eye itches, - You’ll cry till out of breath, - A winding sheet in the candle - Is a sure sign of death. - - If your left eye itches, - You will laugh outright, - But the left or the right, - Is very good at night, - If your elbow itch, - A strange bed fellow found, - If the bottom of your foot itch, - You’ll tread on fresh ground: - If your knee itch, you’ll kneel. - In a church, that’s a good’un, - And if your belly itch, - You’ll get a lot of pudden. - - If your back should itch, - I do declare, - Butter will be cheap, - When the grass grows there: - If the dog howl at night, - Or mournfully cry, - Or if the cock should crow, - Some one will die. - If you stumble upstairs, - Indeed, I’m no railer, - You’ll be married to a snob, - Or else to a tailor. - - A speck on your finger nail, - Is a gift that’s funny, - If your hand itch in the middle, - You will get some money. - Spilling of the salt - Is anger outright, - You’ll see a ghost, if the door - Should rattle in the night. - If your sweetheart - Dreams of bacon and eggs, - She’ll have a little boy - That has got three legs. - - The cat washing her face, - The wind will blow, - If the cat licks her foot - It is sure for to snow. - Put your gown, or your jacket - On inside out, - You will change your luck, - And be put to the rout. - If your nose itches, - You’ll get vexed till you jump; - If your great toe itches, - You’ll get kicked on the rump. - - If a girl snaps one finger, - She’ll have a child it deems, - And if she snaps two, - She’s sure to have twins; - And if she snaps eight, - Nine, ten, or eleven, - It’s a chance if she don’t - Have twenty and seven. - If you lay with your head - Underneath the clothes, - You’ll have an ugly old man, - What has got no nose. - - If you see a star shoot, - You’ll get what you wish, - If a hair get’s in your mouth, - You’ll get as drunk as a fish. - If your little toe itch, - You’ll be lost in a wave, - If you shiver, there’s somebody - Going over your grave. - If you go under a ladder, - You’ll have bad luck and fall, - And some say that bad luck - Is better than none at all. - So to please all outright, - I have told you in rhyme, - The great superstitions - Of the olden time. - - - - BALLADS exemplifying the first half of the present Century would be - incomplete without some mention of coaching. It was essentially a - horsey age, for railways were not, at least during the first - quarter, the first (Stockton and Darlington) being opened September - 27, 1825, so that people were obliged to rely on horses for their - means of locomotion to any distance. Great improvement had been - made in the construction of the stagecoaches, and they were very - well horsed; in fact, with the exception of their being larger, - they were very much like those which now run to Brighton, - Guildford, etc. - - Bob Logic, who is supposed to have written the subjoined ballad, - was the companion of Corinthian Tom and Jerry Hawthorn, whose - pranks were so graphically described by Pierce Egan in his “Life in - London.” The George Shillibeer who is sung in the last verse was a - large coach proprietor, even letting out hearses and - mourning-coaches.--Nay, almost everything on wheels. To him is due - the introduction of the Omnibus, the first of which ran from the - Yorkshire Stingo, Marylebone Road, to the Bank of England, on July - 4, 1829. - - - BOB LOGIC’S DESCRIPTION OF THE NEW BRIGHTON DILIGENCE FOR INSIDE - PASSENGERS ONLY. - -[Illustration] - - BOB LOGIC’S my name, to Brighton I’ve been, - I don’t mean to tell you of all I have seen, - But the _New Diligence_ is so much to my mind, - That to sing in its praise I am fully inclined. - - _Tippy Jack_, whom we all knew, a trump in his day, - Once set off to Brighton, to figure away, - But his gig was upset, so let persons of sense, - Book for Brighton their place in the _New Diligence_. - - There’s nothing so sure, as that pleasure they’ll find, - Secure at all seasons from weather and wind, - And each _Goodman_ will see, when the blasts bitter blow, - The passengers all are secured from the _Snow_. - - For they’re all inside places--no drenching with wet, - In safety and comfort the company set; - As in six hours time they at Brighton arrive, - I am sure that no pleasure can equal the drive. - - The Coupé the first in description must be, - This, in English, means Chariot, and will just hold three; - Here a lord, with his lady, and daughter may ride, - As in their own carriage, in splendour and pride. - - The next is the Coach, this is fitted for six, - And here is the place where Bob Logic would fix. - In company such as he wishes to be, - Obliging and civil, good-natured and free. - - And then comes the Omnibus, four on each side, - Hold you secure in all weathers they ride, - And if it were possible once to upset, - I cannot imagine what harm they could get. - - How different the time, when on the outside, - You held fast by the rail, if you went for a ride, - And the loss of a lynch pin, or crack of a spoke, - Was the too certain signal to have your neck broke. - - As economy now is the rage of the day, - One Guinea a seat is the price of Coupé, - Sixteen shillings the fare in the Coach large and fine, - And the price in the Omni, twelve namesakes of mine. - - ’Tis my fate to suggest, so I’ll just give a hint, - As I mean that my song should be put into print, - The new diligence--_Constitution_ to name, - And King, Lords, and Commons each part of the same. - - Should their majesties then wish to come up to town, - In prime style they’d be at St. James’s set down, - If they take the Coupé, and Lords take the coach, - With the Commons I would in the Omni approach. - - -_PAPER’D-UP HAIR._ - - OF all the gay fashions that are come in vogue, - Since wearing the mantle, or bonny red brogue, - There’s none so praiseworthy--you’ll find--I declare, - As the elegant fashion of papering the hair. - - The modern dames, both abroad and at home, - Have got such a fashion of wearing the comb; - To church or to market, they cannot repair, - But must take an hour to paper their hair. - - When in the evening they chance for to walk, - To see their sweethearts, and with them to talk, - An hour or two they must certainly spare, - To fit in their combs, and to paper their hair. - - From walking at evening these ladies retire, - They draw up their seats, and chat by the fire, - The tongs then to warm, they ready prepare, - To squeeze up the papers quite tight in their hair. - - And when that these ladies give over their talk, - Then up to the looking-glass straight they will walk, - They’ll dance, and they’ll caper, their arms they will square, - To see if the papers look tight in their hair. - - It’s the cheapest of curling that ever was found, - You may do it with pipes, white, black, or brown; - For colour of hair, I suppose they don’t care, - For they tear up the Bible to paper their hair. - - All you young lads that are frisky and trig, - Pray shun the old females that wear a false wig; - To toy with a young one, still make it your care, - Whose delight is to trim up, and paper her hair. - - Should you meet with a female, whose hair is cut - short, - Among other fair ones she is but a sport; - She looks very shabby and out of repair, - When she’s wanting the comb, and the paper’d-up - hair. - - But when they are married, it’s just the reverse, - The paper and combs they quickly disperse; - For nursing and cooking is then their whole care, - They may then bid adieu to the paper’d-up hair. - - -_I LIKES A DROP OF GOOD BEER._ - - COME one and all, both great and small, - With voices loud and clear, - And let us sing, bless Billy the King, - Who bated the tax upon beer. - - -_Chorus._ - - _For I likes a drop of good beer, I does, - I’se pertickler fond of my beer, I is, - And ---- his eyes, whoever he tries - To rob a poor man of his beer._ - - Let Ministers shape the Duty on Cape, - And cause Port wine to be dear, - So that they keep, the bread and meat cheap, - And gie us a drop of good beer. - - In drinking of rum, the maggots will come, - And soon bald pates will appear; - I never goes out, but I carries about, - My little pint noggin of beer. - - My wife and I, feel always dry, - At market on Saturday night, - Then a noggin of beer, I never need fear, - For my wife always says it is right. - - In harvest field, there’s nothing can yield, - The labouring man such good cheer, - To reap and sow, and make barley grow, - And to give them a skinfull of beer. - - The farmer’s board will plenty afford, - Let it come from far, or from near, - And at harvest home, the jug will foam, - If he gives his men plenty of beer. - - Long may Queen Victoria reign, - And be to her subjects dear, - And we’ll wallop her foes, wherever we goes, - Only give us a skinfull of beer. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE SNOB AND THE BOTTLE._ - - GOOD people, attend to my song, - And listen to something that’s witty, - It is not too short, or too long, - But concerning town, country and city. - Advice to all tradesmen I give, - Snips, bakers, snobs, grocers and tanners, - I’m a lady possessed of three outs,[12] - I’ve neither wit, money, nor manners, - So pray of the bottle beware. - - My old man is a ranting old snob, - He looks in the face like a monkey, - All night like a goose he does sob, - And he’s just as much sense as a donkey. - He sold all the old shoes in the shop, - And poured the contents down his throttle, - All day he sits hugging the pot, - And singing success to the bottle. - - He has but one shirt to his back, - And that is all rent into stitches; - He has never a crown to his hat, - He has worn out the seat of his breeches. - An old sack for an apron he wears, - And his nose is as big as a pottle, - Last night he fell over the stairs, - Singing joy and success to the bottle. - - Our bed clothes are all up the spout, - And jigs to the lapstone may whistle, - He the chairs and the tables took out, - His leather, awl, lapstone and bristles. - He sold all the lot for a bob, - And sent the proceeds down his throttle, - Bad luck to the drunken old snob, - May the devil take him and the bottle. - - My gown the old rogue sold for rags, - Though with him I had a good tussle, - My nightcap he sold for a mag, - And three halfpence my bonnet and bustle. - There’s a hump growing out of his back, - Just nine times as large as a wattle,[13] - Last night he woke up in a fright, - And killed the poor cat with the bottle. - - There’s the landlord calls three times a day, - And the butcher and baker, by jingo, - And if the old rogue doesn’t pay, - They’ll shove him for twelve months in limbo, - But they may as well talk to a post, - For the money all goes down his throttle, - Bad luck to the ugly old ghost, - May the devil fetch him and the bottle. - - He says unto me, I am poor, - And call me his dear loving doxey, - And when he gets out of the door, - The boys holloa out after him, “Waxey.” - Enough for to drown a bull, - Every morning he pours down his throttle, - Don’t you think that I’ve got a good pull, - With the ranting old snob and the bottle. - - The bottle has quite ruined me, - Though quiet and easy I take it; - The bottle has robbed me of tea, - And left me both hungry and naked. - The bottle has robbed the old snob, - And burnt all his tripes and his throttle - And, at length, what an excellent job! - Old Nick fetch’d the snob and the bottle. - - -_RORY O MORE TURNED TEETOTAL._ - - YOUNG Rory O More who to London had been, - The fashions to see, and make love to the Queen, - Oft swore by the soul of the shamrock so dear, - That he’d bate the young prince, if his father stood near. - By the powers, if he once in his clutches should come, - He’d give him what Paddy bestowed on his drum: - For Rory had leathered his rivals before, - Och! a broth of a boy was bold Rory O More. - Bad cess to the Queen and the Jarmins says he, - I’ve a nice little sheelah across the salt sea, - Her looks beam so brightly on Erin’s green shore, - I’ll go to sweet Kathleen, cried Rory O More. - - Then he took little Shiel, and old Dan by the hand, - And wish’d them good bye as he sailed from the land, - He twirl’d round his blackthorn when clean out of sight, - And knock’d down the captain for fun and delight. - But a squall coming on, and a terrible breeze, - The sailors cried, Rory, go down on your knees; - Cried Rory, I’m safe if the ship should go down, - For I paid my Insurance before I left town. - Then pull away, haul away, do as you please, - Blow rough, or blow smooth, I will sit at my ease, - And drink to my friends on the shamrock shore, - Success to old Ireland, cried Rory O More. - - Being landed once more at the land of his birth, - The land of shilalieghs, of whiskey, and mirth, - He met Denis Grimes with a face pale and wan, - Och Murther! cried Rory, what’s ailing the man? - Is it temperance you’re being, och! leave off that same, - Come over and take a sly drop of the crame. - Arrah! what do I see? sure my eyes are not clear, - The sign is removed, and there’s Coffee sold here. - Father Mathew[14] himself was passing that way, - And unto bold Rory these words he did say, - For the sake of Hibernia be tipsy no more, - I’ll try my best, father, cried Rory O More. - - Of the hurlings and fightings, no more’s to be seen, - But the daughters of Erin trip light o’er the green; - The gaols are all empty, the judges look blue, - The lawyers are starving with nothing to do, - And Rory O More, and his beautiful Kate, - Wear temperance medals, so dasent and nate. - As he looks on his Kathleen, he says with a smile, - That she shall be Queen of the Emerald Isle. - And the shores of Hibernia with gladness shall sound, - And the green hills of Erin once more shall resound, - And this is the cry that shall sound from the shore, - “God bless the Teetotal,” cried Rory O More. - - -_HURRAH FOR FATHER MATHEW’S MILL._ - - TWO jolly old topers once sat at an inn, - Discussing the merits of brandy and gin, - Said one to the other, I’ll tell you what, Bill, - I’ve been hearing, to day, of Father Mathew’s Mill. - - You must know that this comical Mill has been built, - Of old broken casks, when the liquor’s been spilt, - You go up the steps, and when at the door sill, - You’ve a paper to sign at Father Mathew’s Mill. - - You promise, by signing the paper (I think), - That ale, wine and spirits, you never will drink, - You’ll give up, as they call it, such rascally swill, - And then you go into Father Mathew’s Mill. - - There’s a wheel in this Mill that they call “self denial,” - They turn it a bit, just to give you a trial; - Old clothes are made new ones, and if you’ve been ill, - You’re very soon cured in Father Mathew’s Mill. - - Bill listened, and wondered, at length he cried out-- - “Why, Tom, if it’s true what you’re telling about, - What fools we must be, to be here sitting still, - Let us go and look in at Father Mathew’s Mill.” - - They gazed with amazement, for up came a man, - With disease and excesses, his visage was wan, - He mounted the steps--signed the pledge with good will, - And went for a turn in Father Mathew’s Mill. - - He quickly came out quite the picture of health, - And walked briskly on in the highway of wealth, - And, as onward he pressed, he shouted out still, - Success to the wheel of Father Mathew’s Mill! - - The next that went in were a man and his wife, - For many long years they’d been living in strife, - He had beat and abused her, and swore he would kill, - But his heart took a turn in Father Mathew’s Mill. - - And when he came out, oh how altered was he! - His conduct was changed; and how happy was she! - They no more contended--no, you shan’t--yes, I will, - But together they’re blessing Father Mathew’s Mill. - - Then next came a fellow as grim as a Turk, - To curse and to swear seemed his principal work, - He swore that that morning, his skin he would fill, - And, drunk as he was, he reeled into the Mill. - - But what he saw there, sure I never could tell, - But his Conduct was changed, and his language as well, - I saw, when he turned round the brow of the hill, - That he knelt and thanked God for Father Mathew’s Mill. - - The poor were made rich, the rich were made strong, - The shot[15] was made short, and the purse was made long, - These miracles puzzled both Thomas and Bill, - At length they went in for Father Mathew’s Mill. - - A little time after, I heard a great shout, - I turned round to see what the noise was about, - And a crowd, among which were both Thomas and Bill, - Were shouting hurrah for Father Mathew’s Mill. - - -[Illustration] - - -_HOW FIVE AND TWENTY SHILLINGS WERE EXPENDED IN A WEEK._ - - IT’S of a tradesman and his wife, I heard the other day, - Who did kick up a glorious row; they live across the way; - The husband proved himself a fool, when his money all was spent, - He asked his wife, upon her life, to say which way it went. - - -_Chorus._ - - So she reckon’d up, and told him, and showed him quite complete, - How five and twenty shillings were expended in a week. - - He says my wages are all gone, and it does me perplex, - Indeed, said she, then list to me, my bonny cock of wax. - Continually you make a noise, and fill the house with strife, - I’ll tell you where your money goes; I will upon my life. - - There’s three and twopence house rent; now attend to me she said, - There’s four shillings goes for meat, and three and ninepence, bread, - To wash your nasty dirty shirt, there’s half a pound of soap, - There’s eightpence goes for Coals, old boy, and sixpence wood and Coke. - - There’s fourpence for milk and cream, and one and fourpence malt, - Three halfpence goes for vinegar, one halfpenny for salt; - A penny goes for mustard, a halfpenny for thread, - And you gave threepence the other night, for a piece of pig’s head. - - A red herring every morning is sevenpence a week, - Sometimes you send me out for fish, you say you can’t eat meat, - Last Monday night you got so drunk, amongst your dirty crew, - It cost two pence next morning for a basin of hot stew. - There’s a penny goes for pepper too, as you shall understand, - Twopence soda, starch and blue, and a halfpenny for sand, - Sevenpence for Candles, a halfpenny for matches, - And a penny worth of Corduroy, I bought to mend your breeches. - - A shilling potatoes and greens, with tenpence butter, you see, - Sixpence Coffee, ninepence Sugar, and sevenpence for tea, - There’s a penny goes for this thing, and twopence that and t’other, - Last week you broke a water jug, and I had to buy another. - - There’s sixpence for tobacco, and a halfpenny for pipes, - Seven farthings goes for snuff, and twopence halfpenny swipes; - A penny you owed for shaving, over at the Barber’s shop, - And you know last Sunday morning, you’d a bottle of ginger pop. - - There’s a penny goes for blacking, and eight pence halfpenny cheese, - A three farthing rushlight every night, to catch the bugs and fleas; - And when you go to the public house, and sit to drink and sing, - I pop into the liquor vaults, to have a drop of gin. - - - THE only reason why the subjoined is given, is to show the numerous - small industries by which people could manage to eke out a living - in the first half of the century. - - -_THE WAY TO LIVE._ - - -_Chorus._ - - _A man and a woman got married one day, - And thus unto each other did say, - As we the world must now begin, - We will deal in every following thing._ - - _She._ We will deal in apples, plums and pears, - _He._ We will mend old bellows and bottom old chairs, - _She._ We will buy old metal, rope and bags, - _He._ Yes, and I’ll go out a gathering rags. - - _She._ We will sell red herrings and ginger pop, - _He._ Hot baked sheep’s head and taters hot, - _She._ We’ll keep a school of high degree, - _He._ And learn the children A. B. C, - _She._ We’ll salt fat bacon, butter and lard, - _He._ And great long songs for a penny a yard, - _She._ I’ll sell potash, starch and blues, - _He._ And I’ll go sweeping the chimney flues. - _She._ I’ll make bustles and lady’s frills, - _He._ And I’ll sell mussels and pickled eels, - _She._ We’ll deal in razors, strops and hones, - _He._ And I’ll go out a picking up bones, - _She._ We’ll deal in paper, take in the news, - _He._ And I’ll go a cobbling ladies’ shoes, - _Both._ {And we’ll learn the ladies all complete, - {To dance the Polka at threepence a week. - - _She._ We’ll deal in lollipops, sugar and figs, - _He._ We’ll buy a donkey, ducks hens and pigs, - _She._ We’ll have a mangle, and buy old clothes, - _He._ And I’ll make salve for the ladies’ toes. - _She._ We’ll deal in pickled cabbage and eggs, - _He._ And make tin dishes and wooden legs. - _She._ We’ll deal in sausages, tripe and lard, - _He._ And if we can’t live, ’twill be devilish hard. - - _She._ We’ll deal in Oils, sperm, train and neat, - _He._ And I’ll make stockings for children’s feet, - _She._ We will sell hot muffins and home baked bread, - _He._ Pins and needles, cotton and thread. - _She._ We’ll grind old razors, scissors and knives, - _He._ And keep lodgings for single men and their wives, - _She._ We’ll deal in lobsters, shrimps and sprats, - _He._ And I’ll sell meat for the ladies’ cats. - - _She._ We’ll deal in fish, fresh, boiled, and fried, - _He._ And let out donkeys a penny a ride, - _She._ I will the ladies fortune tell, - _He._ And I’ll cry, Old umbrellas to sell, - _She._ We will take in the blooming ladies bright, - _He._ And sleep in the garret at threepence a night, - _She._ I’ll sing, Come buy my Crockery ware, - _He._ And I’ll go dressing the ladies hair. - - _She._ We’ll sell ripe Cherries, pea soup and milk, - _He._ Oranges, lemons and pickled wilks, - _She._ Wooden rolling-pins at the Royal Exchange, - _He._ And if we can’t get on we may think it strange, - - (The chorus make up the last four lines of this verse.) - - -_THE CRIES OF LONDON._ - -[Illustration] - - OH! what fun is to be seen in town every day, - There is something to pass dull care away, - Some sort of a cry you are sure for to meet, - In winter and summer as the time of year flies, - You will find in London a melody of cries.[16] - - -_Chorus._ - - It’s fun for to hear, as you walk up and down, - The fashionable cries of great London town. - - A strong deal table to be sold to night, - Penny a lot oysters, come run, fetch a light, - Here’s good eating apples, a penny the lot, - Now who’ll buy a cap or a bonnet box; - Clothes pegs, or lines, buy a clothes prop, - Here’s fine Cauliflowers, who’ll buy a Mop? - - Live fleas with a gold chain round their neck, - Here’s fine young peas sixpence a peck, - Songs three yards a penny, Oh! what a lie! - For half of them are not there, what they do cry. - Fine pickled salmon, warranted sound, - And good salt cod, a penny a pound. - - Here’s the last dying speech, I forgot to tell, - Fine Cabbage plants, young lambs to sell, - Do you want any matches, ma’m, to day, - Buy a pit ticket, or a bill of the play, - Good strong laces, a halfpenny each, - Two bunches a penny, spring watercress. - - Clothes, sale clothes the Jews do cry, - Mutton, Apple, Beef, all hot, toss or buy, - Dust O, dust, and sweep soot O, - Fine pickled eels feet, now here’s a go, - Buy a bird cage, fine summer cabbage, - Walk up now, and see the Indian savage. - - Here’s lily white mussels, a penny a quart, - Fine ripe plums, now the blooming sort, - Penny a head celery, a good woman’s cap, - Buy a brush, a hair broom, or a door mat, - Here are mild red herrings, a halfpenny each, - Come move on there, says the New Police. - - Wood three bundles a penny, all dry deal, - Now who’ll buy a good flint and steel, - Buy a walking stick, a good ash stump, - Hearth stones, pretty maids, a penny a lump, - Fine mackerel, penny a plateful, sprats, - Dog’s meat, ma’am, for to feed your cats. - - Twelve a penny walnuts, crack and try em, - Fine barcelonies, now who’ll buy em? - Here are good mealy potatoes from Paddy’s land, - Good burning turf and lily white sand, - I think, good friends, I have kept you too long, - The next cry is, now who’ll buy my song. - - - THE Modern Police is the outcome of the old Watch, which, always - inefficient, had become so much so, as to necessitate its - abolition, and, under the auspices of Sir Robert Peel[17] the “New - Police,” as they were called, were formed, and they commenced their - duties on September 29, 1829. Until a very recent time they wore - swallow-tailed coats and tall hats, and were the subjects of - good-humoured witticisms from all. There is no doubt but that the - change of costume to the tunic and helmet has induced a better - class of men to join the force, and has raised its standard of - efficiency immensely. Whitaker for 1888 gives the number of the - Metropolitan Police as 13,855. - - -_THE HONEST POLICEMAN OF MITCHAM._ - - SOME Policemen are right honest men, - And some we know are gluttons, - Some cookey darling courting goes, - To taste her roasted mutton: - - Some can twirl the rolling-pin - If girls should them draw nigh, sir, - Some are fond of rabbit skins, - And some of rabbit pie, sir. - - [Illustration] - - A house the Sergeant had to keep, - At least for to look after, - He was a guardian of the peace, - And had a wife and daughter. - - The Sergeant in the parlour lived, - And his lady in the kitchen, - And such a game they carried on, - Good lack a day, at Mitcham. - - Such a lot of property was there, - Belonging to Captain Higging, - And so it seems the Sergeant and - His lady went a prigging. - - They took the sofas and the beds, - The blankets and the cradles, - The silver plate, the chamber mug, - Chairs and mahogany tables. - - Two hundred sovereigns worth of goods, - Pianoforte and shawls, sir, - And then for safety placed them in - The hands of Uncle Balls, Sir. - - The neighbours say they had as much - As they could well desire, - And then to hide the wicked deed, - They set the place on fire. - - The Captain of his rights, - They did so nicely fleece him, - But great suspicion fell upon - The Sergeant of Policemen. - - The Sergeant thought to cut his stick, - And bolt across the water, - But Justice the Policeman caught, - His honest wife and daughter. - - Alas! poor Bob has gone to quod, - And that I know won’t suit him, - They know him well at Mitcham, and - In Merton, and in Tooting. - - For soon he will his trial take, - And hard bull beef be munching, - He’ll lose his lantern, coat and cape, - And curse his wooden truncheon. - - To steal another’s goods his hands, - And fingers were a itching - And he will run and look so blue, - About the job at Mitcham. - - Poor Sergeant Bob has gone to quod - A place that does not suit him, - They know him well at Merton round, - In Mitcham and in Tooting. - - - WHEN the present Police force was first organized it was composed - of men decidedly inferior in physique, intelligence, and education, - to those constables whose protection we now enjoy. They were made - the butt of every kind of coarse witticism, and were generally - addressed by some slang name. Above all they were chaffed for their - supposed partiality for the society of Cooks, and I reproduce one - ballad bearing on this subject, a parody of the song of “Katty - Darling.” - - -_COOKEY DARLING._ - - _I’m waiting at the airey, Cookey, darling, - Your fire brims brightly, I can see: - Then hasten to your peeler, Cookey, darling, - For you know, my love, I’m waiting for thee._[18] - You know that ’twas last night you gave me - Only half a leg of mutton and a goose, - Then hasten to your peeler, Cookey darling, - Or on Sunday I shan’t be of any use. - Cookey, stunning Cookey! - - I’m waiting at the airey, Cookey, darling, - Then bring me up something good to eat, - Some lush for my stomach to be warming, - And the grub I’ll put away on my beat. - I can see wine, too, on the table, - Sent down because it was not bright, - To drink it, Cookey, you know I am able, - My love, you know, to put it out of sight. - Cookey, stunning Cookey! - - I can see pies and puddings, Cookey darling, - Veal, ham, and every thing so nice, - I’m sure I shall go mad, Cookey darling, - If off that beef I haven’t a two pound slice. - But I hear the sergeant coming, - Full well I know his power, - Then get the grub ready, Cookey darling, - And I’ll be back in half an hour. - Cookey, stunning Cookey! - - -_I SHOULD LIKE TO BE A POLICEMAN._ - - SOME folks may talk about a trade, - And the joys that from it spring, Sirs, - And after you my words have weighed, - You’ll say it’s no such thing, Sirs. - Though at me you may jeer and laugh, - My joys think to decrease, man, - But I mean to say, (and I do not chaff,) - I should like to be a policeman. - - -_Chorus._ - - Taking up and knocking down, - Your noise and bother cease, man, - O, won’t I come it jolly brown, - When I’m a new Policeman. - - Of the boys, I’d be the terror, mind, - The fruit stalls, too, I’d sell ’em, - And disturbance of every kind, - I with my staff would quell ’em, - A “charge” would be as good as pelf, - My pleasures ’twould increase, man, - For I’d make the “charges” up myself, - When I’m a new Policeman. - - To the kitchen maids like wax I’d stick, - And tho’ I’m not a glutton, - (The thoughts on’t makes me my chops lick) - Oh, I likes a bit of mutton. - When in my toggery I’m arrayed, - From me there’s no release, man, - The boldest of men would be afraid, - If I was a new Policeman. - - A drunken man’s a chance I’d hail, - It would my ear delight, Sir, - To search him well I would not fail, - For right is naught to might, Sir. - I’d turn his pockets inside out, - And quickly would him flay, man, - And who would dare to harbour doubt, - Against a new Policeman. - - The cracksmen too, should tip to me, - Or else I would soon lag ’em, - But if they did, I should not see, - That is I should not “stag” ’em. - And, if amusement I should lack, - Tho’ I’m one that likes the peace, man, - A pate or two, I’d surely crack, - I should like to be a Policeman. - - The prospect does me much delight, - I mount on wings of joy, Sir, - It does to wealth and fame invite, - And pleasure without alloy, Sir, - When I’m established in the force, - I’ll have a bob a piece, man, - From lushy swells, or I’ll lock ’em up, - I should like to be a Policeman. - - - THIS was a famous fight between these two redoubtable heroes, - famous even in the bad old times of the Ring. Caunt was a man of - gigantic height who kept a somewhat disreputable public-house in - St. Martin’s Lane, into which, in my young days, it was hardly safe - to enter. A fire occurred there, and some of his children were - burnt. William Thompson, _alias_ Bendigo, was a native of - Nottingham, and was a professional pugilist from his twenty-first - year of age. - - -_BENDIGO, CHAMPION OF ENGLAND._ - - (_A New Song on the Great Fight between Bendigo and Caunt, for the - Belt and £400, which took place at Witchwood, on Tuesday September - 9th 1845._) - - YE ranting lads, and sporting blades, come listen to my song, - I’m sure that it will please you well, and will not keep you long. - Concerning the great milling match that lately has been fought, - Between great Caunt and Bendigo, two lads of the right sort. - - -_Chorus._ - - So we’ll drink success to Bendigo, who showed such gallant play, - For by his skill, he won the mill, and bore the prize away. - - On the ninth day of September, eighteen hundred, forty five, - To Witchwood for to see the fight, the sporting coves did drive, - While some did laugh, and some did chaff, and of their man did vaunt, - Some bet their ten on Bendigo, and some on giant - Caunt. - - And when the ground was ready, both those champions quickly peeled, - Two braver men on England’s ground did never take the field, - The fancy swore they were top mark,--an honour to the ring, - Two stouter hearts had never met, since Langan and Tom Spring. - - Both men shook hands, and the prize belt, it straightway was brought in, - There let it hang says Bendigo, till the best man does win, - That won’t be little Bendigo, then Caunt he did reply, - For I’ll belt your hide till you’re satisfied, then at him he did fly. - - Is that the way? says Bendigo, here, take it back again, - He made a job of poor Caunt’s nob, and hammered it amain. - This furious work soon drew the cork of Caunt’s poor claret bottle, - While Caunt returned the compliment, made Bendi’s ribs to rattle. - - Twenty four rounds these heroes fought, none could - tell which was the best, - But Bendigo in the next round, struck Caunt on the left breast. - Which made him stagger round the ring, and fall upon the ground, - Says Bendigo, I’ll have the belt, and the four hundred pound. - - But Caunt did boldly come again, and showed some gallant play, - Yet Bendigo would strike a blow, and quickly get away. - Until in round the eighty fourth, he gave some ugly blows, - Which left his mark on the staring part, and fairly spoilt Caunt’s nose. - - Eighty eight rounds were fought, when Caunt he could not rise, - And all declared the Bendy cock had fairly won the prize. - The Tipton Slasher now may come, but soon he’ll get to know, - That he was not quite big enough to wollop Bendigo. - - - THIS fight scarcely comes within the scope of this work, but I - introduce it, because it was supposed to be the last of - Prizefighting. Unfortunately, the brutal sport has been revived, - but it can never attain the dimensions and importance it enjoyed - during the latter part of the reign of George III. and the whole of - that of George IV. Gully was page to that monarch and M.P. for - Pontefract, and Jackson was a gentleman, after his kind. - - Sayers was of Irish extraction, though born at Brighton. Heenan’s - parents were also Irish, although America was the place of his - birth. The fight between these two took place on April 17, 1860, - near Farnborough. They fought thirty-seven rounds in two hours and - twenty minutes. Sayers was all but helpless, and Heenan, although - full of fight--indeed, he ran _amuck_ of every body at last--was - blind, when the police and spectators broke into the ring, and a - more disgraceful scene was never witnessed, even at a prize-fight. - Many noblemen and Members of Parliament attended this fight; in - fact, many of the latter made a subscription in Sayers’ behalf, as - also did the Members of Lloyd’s, the Stock Exchange, and the - brokers in Mark Lane--clogged, however, with the condition that he - should fight no more. Altogether over three thousand pounds were - subscribed and invested for the benefit of his children, he - receiving the interest for life. He became partner and afterwards - proprietor of Howe’s and Cushing’s Circus--at which he lost all the - money he had. He drank fearfully, and shortly afterwards died of - consumption, aged thirty-nine. His tomb may be seen in Highgate - Cemetery. - - -_THE BOLD IRISH YANKEY BENICIA BOY._ - - ATTEND, you sons of Erin, and listen with delight, - To a ditty, ’tis concerning the great and glorious fight, - On the seventeenth of April, when thousands went with joy, - To see the English champion, and the bold Benicia boy. - - -_Chorus._ - - He is young, bold and powerful, no care does him annoy, - He can boldly stand ’gainst any man, and fib away with joy; - And he’ll beat the English champion, will the bold Benicia boy. - - His father, an Irishman, from the King’s County came, - His son is a bold Benicia boy, young Heenan is his name, - The British ring, he did step in, and came up to the scratch, - When Sayers, the English champion, found that he’d got his match. - - It was early in the morning, before the cock did crow, - Unto the scene of action these gallant lads did go. - Both men did fight most manfully, to win each one did try, - But they both appeared determined to conquer or to die. - - At seven in the morning both men were on the ground, - Heenan floored the gallant champion in nearly every round, - The claret flew in torrents,--each other they did fib, - There’s never been such a battle since the days of old Tom Cribb. - - They two hours and six minutes fought--each proved himself a man, - And neither of them would give in while he’d a leg to stand, - But the fight was all in favour of the brave Benicia boy, - When the bobbies bolted in the ring, and did his hopes destroy. - - Tom Sayers said he soon would lick the Yankee doodle doo, - But Tom found out at Farnborough, he’d have his work to do. - I’ll bet a pound to half a crown, and stake it all myself, - If they fight again, the Yankee boy, will carry off the belt. - - When Heenan was in Derbyshire, preparing for the fight, - They hunted him, like bloodhounds, in the middle of the night. - But he was nothing daunted, but to the ring did fly, - Determined that he’d conquer, gain the victory, or die. - - There never were two better men, and none could be more game, - They are both two gallant heroes of honour and of fame. - Then fill a flowing bumper, and jovially drink their health, - May the best man win and conquer, and carry off the belt. - - When Heenan came to England, far from a distant land, - They said he was a fool to come, to face an Englishman, - But they were all mistaken when they saw the glorious battle, - Heenan cooked the champion’s bacon, and made his daylights rattle. - - - OF course, it was only in the nature and fitness of things that - Henry Russell’s extremely popular song, “I’m Afloat,” should be - parodied, and of all that I remember, I think the following was - most sung in the streets. The present _Cad_, or ’_Arry_, is bad - enough in all conscience, but the _Gent_ of those days was worse. - How Albert Smith did scarify him! - -[Illustration] - - -_I’M A GENT._ - - I’M a Gent, I’m a Gent, I’m a Gent ready made, - I roam through the Quadrant and Lowther Arcade, - I’m a registered swell from my head to my toe, - I wear a moustache, and a light paletot. - - I’ve a cane in my hand, and a glass in my eye, - And I wink at the girls, demme! as they go by, - Then lor! how they giggle to win my regards, - And I hear them all say--He’s a gent in the Guards. - - I’m a Gent, I’m a Gent, in the Regent Street style, - Examine my wesket, and look at my tile, - There are gents, I dare say, who are handsomer far, - But none who can puff with such ease, a cigar. - - I can sing a flash song, I can play on the horn, - I like Sherry Cobblers, I’m fond of Cremorne, - I love the Cellarius,[19] the Polka[20] I dance, - And I’m rather attached to a party from France. - - This gal I adore is a creature divine, - Though devilishly partial to lobsters and wine, - She was struck with my figure--and caught--with a hook, - For I took her to visit my uncle the duke. - - - LOUIS ANTOINE JULLIEN was born at Sisteron, Basses Alpes, April 23, - 1812. His father was a band-master, hence probably his love of - music. He knew well how to cater for a popular taste, and to him we - owe not only the Promenade Concerts, which have brought good music - into the amusements of the people, but a vast improvement in the - English orchestra. His band was the best of its time; indeed, he - spared no expense to procure the very best instrumental and vocal - performers. He died March 14, 1860. As a composer, dance music was - his great forte, and he was the first to seize on the Polka, which - was introduced into England about 1844. This dance became an - absolute _furore_. Everything was Polka--Polka jackets, bonnets, - cigars, etc. In fact, as one popular song ran-- - - “Don’t you dance the Polka? - Won’t you dance the Polka? - Joys of earth are little worth, - If you don’t dance the Polka.” - - -_JULLIEN’S GRAND POLKA._ - - OH! sure the world is all run mad, - The lean, the fat, the gay, the sad,-- - All swear such pleasure they never had, - Till they did learn the Polka. - - -_Chorus._ - - First cock up your right leg so, - Balance on your left great toe, - Stamp your heels and off you go, - To the original Polka. Oh! - - There’s Mrs. Tibbs the tailor’s wife, - With Mother Briggs is sore at strife, - As if the first and last of life, - Was but to learn the Polka. - - Quadrilles and Waltzes all give way, - For Jullien’s Polkas bear the sway, - The chimney sweeps, on the first of May, - Do in London dance the Polka. - - If a pretty girl you chance to meet, - With sparkling eyes and rosy cheek, - She’ll say, young man we’ll have a treat, - If you can dance the Polka. - - A lady who lives in this town, - Went and bought a Polka gown, - And for the same she gave five pound - All for to dance the Polka. - - But going to the ball one night, - On the way she got a dreadful fright, - She tumbled down, and ruined quite, - The gown to dance the Polka. - - A Frenchman he has arrived from France - To teach the English how to dance, - And fill his pocket,--“what a chance”-- - By gammoning the Polka. - - Professors swarm in every street, - ’Tis ground on barrel organs sweet, - And every friend you chance to meet, - Asks if you dance the Polka. - - Then over Fanny Ellsler came, - Brilliant with trans-Atlantic fame, - Says she I’m German by my name, - So best I know the Polka. - - And the row de dow she danced, - And in short clothes and red heels pranced, - And, as she skipped, her red heels glanced - In the Bohemian Polka. - - But now my song is near its close, - A secret, now, I will disclose, - Don’t tell, for it’s beneath the rose, - A humbug is the Polka. - - Then heigh for humbug France or Spain, - Who brings back our old steps again, - Which John Bull will applaud amain - Just as he does the Polka. - - -[Illustration] - - A “HOY” was a one-masted vessel, sometimes with a boom to the - mainsail, and sometimes not; rigged very much like a cutter. They - are said to have taken their name from being hailed (“Ahoy”) to - stop to take in passengers. The good people of that date were - rather given to stay at home, or not go farther seawards than - Gravesend. Ramsgate and Margate were long voyages, and in truth - they were so sometimes; in rough weather they were sometimes two - days or more making the passage. But there were other dangers, vide - _Drakard’s Paper_, October 3, 1813:--“The _British Queen_, Margate - Hoy, detained full of passengers, for having accidentally had - communication with a vessel performing quarantine, has been since - released by orders from the Admiralty. The distresses of the - passengers partook of the serio-comic: at first provisions were - very scanty, and they had no prospect but seven weeks of durance. - This to the trippers to the seaside for a week would have been a - serious affair.” - - -_MARGATE HOY._ - - NOW’S the season for laughing and jollity, - Crowding together, all nations and quality, - Margate, a hoi, as I halloa cry, - All come on board while the sea breezes blow.[21] - - Swift as an arrow from bow flies to target, - Or packet from dear little Dublin to Parkgate, - I’ll waft you all safe from London to Margate, - And whistle a wind as we cheerily go. - - Bucks who hunt fashion like quick scented mousers, - Leave town, it exhibits no sport for ye now, sirs, - So pull off your boots, and put on your trousers, - To join the gay throng where the sea breezes blow. - - Pretty men milliners, fresh water sailors, - Smart, ’prentices, aldermen, actors, and tailors, - Let me and old ocean a while be your jailors, - I’ll sing, as he rocks, while you cheerily go. - _Now’s the season, etc._ - - -_CRYSTAL PALACE._ - - BRITANNIA’S sons an attentive ear - One moment lend to me, - Whether tillers of our fruitful soil, - Or lords of high degree. - Mechanic too and artizan, - Old England’s pride and boast, - Whose wondrous skill has spread around - Far, far from Britain’s coast. - - -_Chorus._ - - _For the great world’s Exhibition, - Let’s shout with loud huzza, - All Nations never can forget - The glorious First of May._ - - From every quarter of the Globe - They come across the sea, - And to the Crystal Palace - The wonders for to see; - Raised by the handwork of men - Born on British ground - A Challenge to the universe - It’s equal to be found. - - Each friendly nation in the world, - Have their assistance lent, - And to this Exhibition - Have their productions sent; - And with honest zeal and ardour, - With pleasure do repair, - With hands outstretched and gait erect, - To the world’s great National Fair. - - The sons of England and France, - And America likewise, - With other nations to contend - To bear away the prize. - With pride depicted in their eyes, - View the offspring of their hand, - Oh, surely England’s greatest wealth - Is an honest working man. - - It is a glorious sight to see - So many thousands meet, - Not heeding creed or country, - Each other friendly greet. - Like Children of one mighty Sire - May that sacred tie ne’er cease - May the blood-stained sword of war give way - To the olive branch of peace. - - But--hark--the trumpets flourish, - Victoria does approach, - That she may be long spared to us - Shall be our reigning toast. - I trust each heart it will respond, - To what I now propose. - Good will and plenty to her friends, - And confusion to her foes. - - Great praise is due to Albert, - For the good that he has done, - May others follow in his steps - The work he has begun, - Then let us all with one accord, - His name give with three cheers, - Shout Huzza for the Crystal Palace, - And the World’s Great National Fair. - - -[Illustration] - - -_SHEEP’S EYES FOR EVER._[22] - - SAID Hodge, one day, to his son Ned, - “Good news for Neddy,-- - I think it’s time that thou should’st wed;” - “Woat’s coming now?” thought Neddy. - “Old age, thou see’st, creeps on apace, - Old Time has led me a pretty long chace, - And thou should’st wed to keep up our race.” - “We’ll au’ll do what au con,” says Neddy. - - “There’s farmer Giles’s daughter, Sue,”-- - “Au knows her reet weel,” says Neddy, - “Well, her, my lad, I’d have you woo,”-- - “She’s but so so,” thought Neddy. - “But tell me feythur, when au goa to woo, - Whot au mun say, aun what au mun do, - For if au knowe, au’m a Turk or a Jew, - But au’ll do whot au con,” says Neddy. - - Says farmer Hodge “Come, listen, my son,” - Straight pricked up his ears, did Neddy, - “And I’ll tell thee the way thy mother I won,” - “Now for some fun,” thought Neddy. - “I wink’d, and I blink’d, and I look’d mighty shy, - At her, askance I threw a sheep’s eye, - Till she no longer my suit could deny;” - “Au’ll do it, by Gour,” says Neddy. - - So, early next day, to a butcher he went, - Right full of glee was Neddy, - And three or four shillings in sheep’s eyes he spent, - On the wings of love flew Neddy. - And when to the damsel he came to woo, - Out of his pocket some sheep’s eyes drew, - Which one by one at the damsel he threw, - “Au have hur, cock-sure,” says Neddy. - - The delicate damsel stood with surprise, - Still firing away kept Neddy, - “What the deuce do you mean by these nasty sheep’s eyes?” - “Ask my feythur abewt it,” says Neddy. - The joke was so good, she could not withstand, - And said, “My purse and money are at your command,” - And dropt him a curtsey, and gave him her hand, - “Sheep’s eyes for ever!” cried Neddy. - - -_CAB, CAB, CAB._[23] - - I GOES out a cab driving, - And oft the long day through, - In spite of all contriving, - I scarcely make a do. - A Hansom Cab I’ve got, - A handsome horse to trot, - Cab, Cab, Cab, your honour, Cab, - I’ll take you like a shot. - - Now, If you’ll hear my ditty, - I’ll tell how I was done, - By a fat man in the City, - Of two and twenty stone. - I plied at Holborn Hill, - Says he, to Pentonville, - Cab, Cab, Cab, I want a Cab, - Drive fast and show your skill. - - My horse’s eyes I kivered, - While he got in; you know - If he’d see’d his weight he’d differed - And perhaps refused to go. - To Pentonville I went, - When to me says this here gent, - Cab, Cab, Cab, here’s some mistake, - ’Tis Pimlico I meant. - - To Pimlico I took him, - My horse as you’d suppose, - This job did nearly cook him, - When again the check string goes. - He says to me, Hallo! - Hold hard a bit, go slow, - Cab, Cab, Cab, you’re wrong again, - Turn back and drive to Bow. - - I didn’t like to grumble, - But mounted it once more, - All the way to Bow did trundle, - Where he stopped me as before. - Says he, when there he’d rode, - This isn’t my abode, - Cab, Cab, Cab, I think you’re drunk, - This ain’t the Edgware Road! - - Of course I felt vexatious, - But I my temper kept, - To Edgware Road, good gracious, - I took him every step. - My horse was quite done brown, - And I began to frown, - Cab, Cab, Cab, what are you at? - I live at Horseleydown. - - To Horseleydown I drive him, - When my horse lay down--don’t grin-- - But shelter none would give him, - Think’s I, he’s got no tin! - Where shall I now repair? - To the devil--I don’t care-- - Not there, I guess, says I, unless - You give me my back fare! - - -_THE RUSH LIGHT._[24] - - SIR SOLOMON SIMONS when he did wed, - Blush’d black as a crow, his fair lady did blush light, - The clock struck twelve, they were both tuck’d in bed, - In the chimney a Rush light, - A little farthing Rush light, - Fal, lal, lal, lal, la, - A little Farthing Rush light. - - Sir Solomon gave his Lady a nudge, - Cries he, Lady Simons there’s vastly too much light, - Then, Sir Solomon, says she, to get up you can’t grudge, - And blow out the Rush light - The little Farthing Rush light, - Fal, lal, lal, lal, la, - The little Farthing Rush light, - - Sir Solomon then out of bed pops his toes, - And vastly he swore, and very much did curse light, - And then to the Chimney, Sir Solomon he goes, - And he puff’d at the Rush light, - The little Farthing Rush light, - Fal, lal, lal, lal, la, - The little Farthing Rush light. - - Lady Simons gets out in her night-cap so neat, - And over the carpet my lady did brush light, - And there Sir Solomon she found in a heat, - Puffing at the Rush light. - Then she puff’d at the Rush light, - But neither of them both, - Could blow out the Rush light. - - Sir Solomon and lady, their breath quite gone, - Rang the bells in a rage, determined to crush light, - Half asleep in his shirt then up came John, - And he puff’d at the Rush light, - The little Farthing Rush light, - But neither of the three - Could blow out the Rush light. - - Cook, Coachee, men and maids, very near all in buff, - Came, and swore, in their lives they never met with such light, - And each of the family by turns had a puff, - At the little Farthing Rush light, - The curst Farthing Rush light, - But none of the family - Could blow out the Rush light. - - The Watchman at last went by, crying One, - Here, Watchman, come up, than you we might on worse light, - Then up came the Watchman, the Bus’ness was done, - For he turn’d down the Rush light, - The little Farthing Rush light, - Fal, lal, lal, lal, la, - So he put out the Rush light. - - -_IF I HAD A DONKEY WOT WOULDN’T GO._ - - IF I had a donkey wot wouldn’t go, - D’ye think I’d wallop him? no, no, no! - But gentle means I’d try, d’ye see, - Because I hate all cruelty; - If all had been like me, in fact, - There’d have been no occasion for Martin’s[25] Act, - Dumb animals to prevent being crack’d, - On the head. - - -_Chorus._ - - If I had a donkey wot wouldn’t go, - I never would wollop him, no, no, no! - I’d give him some hay, and cry Gee! who! - And come up, Neddy. - - What makes me mention this, the more, - I see’d that cruel chap, Bill Bore, - Whilst he was a crying out his greens, - His donkey wollop with all his means. - He hit him over the head and thighs, - He brought the tears into my eyes, - At last my blood began to rise, - And I said, etc. - - Bill turned to me and said, “Then perhaps, - You’re one of these Mr. Martin’s chaps, - Wot’s now a seeking for occasion, - All for to lie an information.” - Though this I stoutly did deny, - Bill up and gave me a blow in the eye, - And I replied, as I let fly - At his head, etc. - - As Bill and I did break the peace, - To us came up the New Police, - And hiked us off, as sure as fate, - Afore the sitting Magistrate; - I told his worship all the spree, - And, for to prove my veracity, - I wish’d he would the animal see, - For I said, etc. - - Bill’s donkey was ordered into Court, - In which he caus’d a deal of sport, - He cock’d his ears, and op’d his jaws, - As if he wish’d to plead his cause. - I prov’d I’d been uncommonly kind, - The ass got a verdict--Bill got fin’d; - For his worship and me was of one mind, - And he said, etc. - - -_SHOVEL AND BROOM._ - - THOUGH I’m but a Chimney Sweep I took a ticket - To go on one evening to Dusty Tom’s room, - Who dancing now teaches--he knows how to kick it, - For which he has quitted the shovel and broom, - For bow and the fiddle, pouchette down the middle, - He’s quitted for ever the shovel and broom. - The shovel and broom, the shovel and broom, - He has quitted for ever the shovel and broom. - - I got for my partner, Paulina, the daughter, - Of Master Mount saddle, the Angel Inn groom, - Her red lips and plump figure made my mouth water, - And I fell in love, as ve valtzed round the room. - O, sich a creatur! my eye, vot a creatur! - A partner so fit for a knight of the broom, - The shovel and broom, a knight of the broom, - A partner so fit for a knight of the broom. - - The whole of next morning I thought of her beauties, - And I, my employment could hardly resume, - Neglected, in fact, my professional duties, - And valtzed in the streets, as I’d valtzed in the room. - Till Jack Cragg the Carter, cried, Vot are you arter? - There twisting about with your shovel and broom, - Your shovel and broom, your shovel and broom, - For I valtzed in the mud with my shovel and broom. - - Soon after, her father called me from the Cellar, - To a job at his lodging, a first floor back room, - As Pauline was alone there, I ventured to tell her - My love--but she vondered how I could presume, - In the sphere I was moving, to talk about loving, - And she turned up her nose at my shovel and broom. - My shovel and broom, my shovel and broom, - She turned up her nose at my shovel and broom. - - To implore her I fell on my knees, but by Gemini, - She spurned me and quitted the room in a fume, - So bewildered was I, when my boy left the chimney, - I called him Pauline, as he stood with his broom, - Then ’cos the young beggar did grin like a nigger, - I battered his head with my shovel and broom. - My shovel and broom, my shovel and broom, - I battered his head with my shovel and broom. - - O, this was my first love, and thus I was cross’d, - Ah, scorned by Paulina, how hard is my doom, - I grow moloncolly, this vorld I am lost in, - No more I’ll go valtzing in Dusty Tom’s room. - But think of her scorning, crying sveep of a morning-- - And veep as I vorks vith my shovel and broom. - My shovel and broom, my shovel and broom, - I’ll veep as I vorks with my shovel and broom. - - - THIS ballad was, during its run, as popular as any street song I - remember. It had been forgotten, when Robson, that prince of - genuine comic actors, introduced it into the farce of “The - Wandering Minstrel,” and it fairly took the town by storm. - - -_VILIKINS AND HIS DINAH._ - - OH! ’tis of a rich merchant, - In London did dwell, - He had but one daughter, - An uncommon nice young gal! - Her name it was Dinah, - Scarce sixteen years old, - She had a large fortune - In silver and gold. - Singing Too-ral-loo, etc. - - As Dinah was valking - In the garden vun day, - -Spoken--(_It was the front garden, not the back garden._) - - Her papa came up to her, - And thus he did say, - Go, dress yourself, Dinah, - In gor-ge-ous array - And I’ll get you a husband, - Both val-ly-ant and gay. - Singing Too-ral-loo, etc. - -Spoken--_This is what the infant progeny said to the author of her -being_. - - Oh, papa! oh, papa! - I’ve not made up my mind, - To marry just yet - I do not feel inclined, - And all my large fortune, - I’ll freely give o’er, - If you’ll let me stay single - A year or two more. - Singing Too-ral-loo, etc. - -_This is what the indignant parient replied--I represent the father._ - - Then go, boldest daughter, - The parient replied, - If you don’t consent to be - This here young man’s bride, - I’ll leave your large fortune - To the nearest of kin, - And you shan’t have the benefit - Of one single pin. - Singing Too-ral-loo, etc. - -_Now comes the epiflabbergastrinum of the lovier._ - - As Vilikins vas valking - The garden around-- - -(_The aforesaid front garden_,) - - He spied his dear Dinah - Lying dead on the ground, - A cup of cold pison - It laid by her side, - And a billy dux stating - By pison she died. - -_Taken inwardly_, Singing Too-ral-loo, etc. - - * * * * * - -_This is what the lovier did._ - - Then he kissed her cold corpus - A thousand times o’er, - He called her his Dinah-- - Though she was no more! - He swallowed the pison - Like a true lovier brave, - And Vilikins and his Dinah - Lie a-buried in one grave. - -_Both on ’em_ Singing Too-ral-loo, etc. - - -MORAL. - - Now all you young vimmen, - Take a warning by her, - And never by any means - Disobey the guv’ner: - And all you young fellers, - Mind who you clap eyes on, - Think on Vilikins and Dinah - And the cup of cold pison. - -_Else you’ll be singing_ Too-ral-loo, etc. - - -_THE EXCISEMAN OUTWITTED._ - - TO a village that skirted the sea, - An Exciseman, one midsummer, came, - But prudence, between you and me, - Forbids me to mention his name. - Soon Michael he chanced to espy, - A cask on his shoulder he wore, - With six gallons of brandy, or nigh, - And where is the man can bear more? - - Says th’ Exciseman, let’s see your Permit, - Says Mike, ’Tain’t convenient to show it, - T’other cried, Sir, I’m not to be bit, - For you’ve smuggled that stuff, and you know it. - Your hogs to a fine market you’ve brought, - For seeing you’ve paid no excise, - As Custom has settled you ought, - I seize on your tub, as my prize. - - Now, do not be hard, said poor Mike, - The Exciseman was deaf to complaint, - Why then, take it, said Mike, if you like, - For I’ve borne it till ready to faint. - For miles in hot sunshine they trudg’d, - Till on them, they scarce had a dry rag, - Th’ Exciseman his labour ne’er grudged, - But carefully carried his cag. - - To the Custom House, in the next town, - ’Twas yet some three furlongs or more, - Then says Michael, pray set your load down, - For this here, Sir, is my Cottage door. - ’Tother answered, I thank you, friend, No, - My burden, just yet, I shan’t quit, - Then, says Michael, before you do go - I’ll get you to read my permit. - - Your Permit! Why not show it before? - Because it came into my nob, - By your watching for me on the shore, - That your worship was wanting a job. - Now, I’d need of a porter, d’ye see, - For that load made my bones for to crack, - And so, Sir, I thank you for me, - And wish you a pleasant walk back. - - -_GILES SCROGGINS GHOST._ - - GILES SCROGGIN courted Molly Brown, - Fol de riddle lol, de riddle lido, - The fairest wench in all the town, - Fol de riddle, etc. - He bought her a ring with a posy true, - If you loves I, as I loves you, - No knife can cut our loves in two. - Fol de riddle, etc. - - But Scissars cut, as well as knives, - Fol de riddle, etc. - And quite unsartain’s all our lives, - Fol de riddle, etc. - The day they were to have been wed, - Fate’s scissars cut poor Giles’s thread, - So they could not be mar-ri-ed. - Fol de riddle, etc. - - Poor Molly laid her down to weep, - Fol de riddle, etc. - And cried herself quite fast asleep, - Fol de riddle, etc. - When standing fast by her bed-post, - A figure tall, her sight engross’d, - And it cried, I be Giles Scroggin’s ghost. - Fol de riddle, etc. - - The ghost it said all solemnly, - Fol de riddle, etc. - Oh! Molly, you must go with me, - Fol de riddle, etc. - All to the grave your love to cool, - Says she, I am not dead, you fool, - Says the ghost, says he, vy, that’s no rule. - Fol de riddle, etc. - - The ghost then seiz’d her all so grim, - Fol de riddle, etc. - All for to go along with him, - Fol de riddle, etc. - Come, come, said he, e’er morning beam, - I von’t, said she, and scream’d a scream, - Then she woke, and found she’d dream’d a dream. - Fol de riddle, etc. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE STRANGE MAN._ - - THERE was a man, tho’ it’s not very common, - And as people say he was born of a woman; - And, if it be true, as I have been told, - He was once a mere infant, but age made him old. - _Derry down._ - - His face was the oddest that ever was seen, - His mouth stood across ’twixt his nose and his chin; - Whenever he spoke it was then with his voice, - And in talking he always made some sort of noise. - _Derry down._ - - He’d an arm on each side to work when he pleased, - But he never worked hard when he lived at his ease, - Two legs he had got to make him complete, - And what is more odd, at each end were his feet. - _Derry down._ - - His legs, as folks say, he could move at his will, - And when he was walking he never stood still, - If you were to see him, you’d laugh till you burst, - For one leg or the other would always be first. - _Derry down._ - - And, as people say, if you gave him some meat, - Why, if he was hungry, he surely would eat, - And when he is dry, if you give him the pot, - The liquor most commonly runs down his throat. - _Derry down._ - - If this whimsical fellow had a river to cross, - If he could not get over, he staid where he was, - He seldom or ever got off the dry ground, - So great was his luck, that he never was drowned. - _Derry down._ - - Another misfortune befel this poor yeoman, - For when he was married his wife was a woman, - And if you’ll believe me tho’ he was revil’d, - You may truly aver he was never with child. - _Derry down._ - - And if it be true, as I have heard tell, - When he was sick, he was not very well, - He gave a large gasp, open’d his mouth so wide, - And, by some means or other, this poor fellow died. - _Derry down._ - - But the reason he died, and the cause of his death, - Was owing, poor soul, to the want of more breath, - And now he is left in the grave for to moulder, - Had he lived a day longer, he’d have been a day older. - _Derry down._ - - -[Illustration] - - -_A SIGHT FOR A FATHER._ - - WHAT a pleasure it is to have a good wife, - One that is steady and willing, - To help and to comfort a man through his life, - One who knows how to eke out a shilling. - With my own little wife I can’t grumble at all, - But my family’s a rummy lot, rather, - Thirteen boys and girls I can count, great and small - Now there’s a fine sight for a father! - - There’s Anna Maria, a young woman grown, - How often I wish she would marry! - She goes out every night (I can’t keep her at home) - With a young chap who calls himself Harry. - Out of doors, once, I bolted her tight, - And on the door I put a bar there, - But she said “Let me in, or I’ll stop out all night.” - Now there was a sight for a father! - - Our Tom was so proud, he vowed he would be - Either a Squire or a Knight, Sir, - So to better his fortune he bolted from me, - And for many years kept out of sight, sir. - I stept in a shop to get shaved t’other day, - And my face was covered with lather, - When I found it was Tom who was scraping away, - Now here was a sight for a father! - - On going home once, there was the devil to pay, - My wife she was calling for water, - From the neighbours I learnt some man ran away - With Amelia, my good-looking daughter. - My youngest girl Nance, on the very same day, - Wrote a letter, which made me mad rather, - To say she was in a particular way. - Now here was a sight for a father! - - I’ve three great hulking boys, who in service won’t stop, - They’re too lazy to earn their own victuals, - They only seem happy when in the gin-shop, - And I’m told they’re all sharpers at skittles. - I get up every night to let in the dears, - But as soon as they spy their mamma there, - They jump into my bed, and I sleep on the chairs. - Now there’s a fine sight for a father! - - There’s my last daughter Bet, the worst of them yet, - Her heart must be hard as the path stones, - For she’s run away with a queer-looking chap, - Who goes about selling of hearth stones. - With a bag on her back I met her once plump, - (I couldn’t help wishing her farther) - Crying out, “Hearth stones, a penny a lump.” - Now here was a sight for a father! - - Now all married men, pray take my advice, - And if you would keep your honest right, Sirs, - Don’t let your daughters dress up over nice, - Nor ramble out late of a night, Sirs. - Keep your girls at their needles, your boys at their pens, - I’ve bought my experience dear, rather, - But be sure keep your girls away from the men, - Or, there’ll be a fine sight for a father! - - -_HUMOURS OF BARTLEMY FAIR._ - - COME bustle, neighbour Sprig, clap on your hat and wig, - In our Sunday clothes so gaily, let us strut up the Old Bailey, - O the devil take the rain, we may never go again, - See the shows have begun, O rare O! - Remember, Mr. Snip, to take care of Mrs. Snip, - There’s a little boy from Flanders, and that ’ere’s Master Glanders, - Stand aside, and we’ll have a stare, O! - How full’s the fair, Lord Mayor, - All is flurry, hurry, skurry, - Girls squalling, showmen bawling, - Cats throwing, trumpets blowing, - Rattles springing, monkeys grinning, - Rope dancing, horses prancing, - Sausage frying, children crying, - Dogs of knowledge, come from College, - Slack wire, eating fire, - Learned pigs of pigmy size, - Funny clowns, ups and downs, - Round about, all out, - What a throng, all along, - Politi’s show, all the go, - Just in time, that is prime, - To enjoy all the fun of the fair, O! - -(Spoken) Vaulk up, ladies and gentlemen, here’s the vonderful birds and -beastesses, just arrived from Bengal in the Vest Indies. Vhy, look marm, -at this here beautiful hanimal; no less than two hundred spots on his -belly, but no two alike and every vone different; it’s out of the power -of any body to describe him. Well, positively, I never saw such a -beautiful creature in my life. Did you, Sir? A very fine looking animal, -’pon my soul, mem. Master Showman, how long do you suppose he measures? -Vhy! fifteen feet from the snout to the tail, and only twelve feet from -the tail to the snout. He lives to the advanced age of one hundred -years, grows a inch and a ’arf every hannual year, and never comes to -his full growth. Stir him up with the long pole, keeper--only hear how -he growls. - -Here--here--the only booth in the fair for the greatest curiosity in all -the known world,--the wonderful and surprising Hottentot Venus is here, -who measures three yards and three quarters round her. - - When the fair is at the full, in gallops a mad bull, - Puts the rabble to the rout; lets all the lions out; - Down falls Mrs. Snip, with a monkey on her hip, - We shall all be swallowed up, I declare, O! - Roaring boys, gilded toys, - Lolloypps shilling hops, - Tumble in, just begin, - Cups and balls, wooden walls, - Gin and bitters, apple fritters. - Pudding nice, penny a slice; - Shins of beef, stop thief! - A bang up swing, just the thing, - A dead dog, amongst the mob, - Lost hats, squalling brats, - Lost shoes, kangaroos, - O, Polly, where’s Molly? - Bow-wow, what a row - Is kicked up in Bartlemy fair, O! - -(Spoken) Here, here, show ’em up here, show ’em up here. Now’s your -time, Ladies and Gentlemen--only twopence each, to see that surprising -Conjuror, the emperor of all conjurors, who will forfeit the enormous -sum of one hundred pounds to any one who shall perform the said wonders. -Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am no common sleight of hand man. The -common sleight of hand man, they turn the things up their sleeves, and -make you believe their fingers deceive your eyes. Now, Sir, you shall -draw one card, two cards, three cards, four cards, half a dozen cards: -you look on the card this side, you look on the card that side, and I -say blow, by the abominable-ba-be-bo-fe-jacko-crack-oh-feltho-swiftly -begone-quick-presto-passo-largo-mento-hi-coccolorum, the card is flown. -Where is it gone to? that is the question. Be so kind, Sir, as to stop -that there young woman from getting out of the crowd; I suppose she has -got it under her garter. Come, come, young woman, bring it forward, -bring it forward, and let me hold it up, that all the company may have a -squint at it. - - Now the beasts with angry tooth all attack the booth, - Away affrighted run, birds and eagles of the sun, - Down tumbled trot legg’d Molly, who tips him the hue hollow, - Poor Card is in the mud, O, rare, O. - -(Spoken) Here, here, vaulk up, ladies and gentlemen, here’s the -wonderful Kangaroo, just arrived from Bottomless Bay. Here is the -wonderful large baboon, that danced a padolo, and played at leap-frog -with the celebrated Master Barintar. Here is the wonderful -leopard-spotted tom cat, of the male species, which can as well see in -the dark as without light. Here is the wonderful little marmoza monkey, -just arrived from the Isle of Liliput: hold him up to the company, -master keeper. O dear me, what a little beauty, to be sure, do let me -stroke the dear little creature--la! la! how prodigious tame he is. Yes, -marm, he’s always very tame to the ladies. - -Ye up, guvnor, what’s the name of that large bird there, stuck up in the -corner? Vat! that there vone? Oh! that’s the wonderful Sun eagle, the -hotter the sun is, the higher he flies. There’s the wonderful Cow, that -can’t live on dry land, and dies in the water. Billy, Billy, my boy, go -and stuff a blanket in that ere hole, or the little ones vill peep for -nothing. Here, here, now’s your time, ladies and gentlemen, jest a going -to begin, jest a going to begin. Stand off the steps there, you boys, -and make way for that gentleman with the smock frock and carbuncled nose -to come down. How did you like it, Sir? Oh, it’s all dam stuff. There, -there, only hear what a good character the gentleman gives it. Vaulk up, -ladies and gemmen, now’s your time to see that wonderful wooden Roscius, -Mr. Punch, for the small charge of vone penny. Show your tricks Mr. -Punch. - - -_GEORGY BARNWELL._ - - IN Cheapside there liv’d a merchant - A man he vas of wery great fame, - And he had a handsome prentice, - Georgy Barnwell vas his name. - - This youth he vas both good and pious, - Dutiful beyond all doubt, - And he always staid vithin doors - ’Cause his master vouldn’t let him out. - - And much his master’s darter lov’d him, - She slept in next room to him, ’tis said, - And she bored a hole right through the wainscoat, - To look at Georgy going to bed. - - A vicked voman of the town, sirs, - Hon him cast a vishful eye; - And she came to the shop, one morning, - A flannel petticoat to buy. - - When she paid him down the money, - She gave his hand a wery hard squeeze, - Which so frightened Georgy Barnwell, - That together, he knocked his knees. - - Then she left her card, vereon vas written - Mary Millwood does entreat, - That Mister Barnwell vould call and see her, - At Cummins’s in Dyot Street. - - Now as soon as he’d shut the shop up, - He vent to this naughty dicky bird, - And ven he vent home the next morning, - Blow me if he could speak a vord. - - Now soon this woman did persuade him, - Vith her fascinating pipes, - To go down into the country, - And let loose his uncle’s tripes. - - There he found his uncle in the grove, - Studying hard at his good books, - And Georgy Barnwell vent and struck him, - All among the crows and rooks. - - Ven Milwood found he’d got no money, - Not so much as to buy a jewel, - She vent that wery day and peached him, - Now vas not that ’ere werry cruel? - - The Judge put his three cornered cap on, - And said--vich Barnwell much surprized, - You must hang until you dead are, - Then you must be a-nat-o-mized. - - Now Georgy was hung upon a gibbet, - Molly Milwood died in prison, - At her fate no one lamented, - But every body pitied his’n. - - The merchant’s darter died soon arter, - Tears she shed, but spoke no vords, - So all young men, I pray take varning, - Don’t go vith naughty dicky birds. - - -_JONATHAN BROWN._ - - ’TWAS down in a snug little country town, - A barber once lived, named Jonathan Brown, - A man very tidily settled in life, - For he wanted for nothing excepting a wife. - - A staring large bill in his window, displayed - The various branches he had in his trade, - Such as “shaving and dressing,” and then underneath, - Was “Cupping and bleeding,” and drawing of teeth.[26] - - But he wasn’t like one of your dentists in town, - Who for drawing a grinder would charge you a crown, - For, if you were only to give him the job, - Oh! he’d draw you all over his shop for a bob. - - But he found the advantage of working so cheap, - For customers flock’d to his shop in a heap; - He cut hair for twopence and rubb’d ’em with greas - And he tortured their chins at a penny a piece. - - Thus single he lived, yet thriving his trade, - Yet still to get married, he constantly prayed, - Till a damsel, one day, came to give his mind ease, - And says she, Sir, I want my front dressed, if you please. - - From that moment his heart was in Cupid’s net caught, - She encouraged his visits, but just as he thought - To make her his own, as she’d given her word, - A rival he found in a tailor,--Good Lord! - - One night, unexpected, he popped in to see - How she was, when the tailor was sitting at tea, - Now, Sally, says he, turn him out if you can, - Don’t you know that he’s but the ninth part of a man? - - The Tailor’s blood now, beginning to rise, - He swelled himself up to near double his size, - And he told him he wished that he never might squint, - But he’d pummel him well for his _barbarous_ hint. - - Now, Sally, she said she was sorely perplexed, - To know, which of the two she could fancy the best, - And to see them go quarrel for her she was loth, - For she thought she could very well manage them both. - - They told her, that certainly wouldn’t be right, - But to see which would have her, they’d willingly fight, - Then to settle the job, they went in the next room, - And Sal, with a cobbler, jumped over a broom.[27] - - -_WERY PEKOOLIAR, OR THE LISPING LOVERS._ - - HAVE you e’er been in love,--If you havn’t, I have, - To the little God Koopid I’ve been a great thlave, - He thot in my bothom, a quiver of arrowth, - Like thmall naughty boyth, thoot Cock Robinth and Thparrowth, - My heart wath pure ath the white alabathter, - Till Koopid, my bothom, he did over mathter, - Then tell me, ye Godth! how I love one Mith Thulia, - There wath thomething about her tho vewy pekooliar. - - We firtht met at a ball, where our handth did entwine, - Where I did thweedge her fingerth, and the did thweedge mine; - When for my necth partner, I ventured to preth her, - When I found that the lithped, when the anthered me “Yeth, thir.” - Now in lithping, I think, there ith thomething uncommon, - And I loveth in partickler, the lithph of a woman, - And I’m thure you’d have liked the lithph of Mith Thulia, - There wath thomething about it tho vewy pekooliar. - - Like a beautiful peach, wath the cheek of Mith Thulia, - And then, in her eye, there wath thomething pekooliar, - Thpeaking volumeth, it darted, each glanthe to one’th marrow, - Ath keen and ath thwift, ath the wicked boy’th arrow. - A thlight catht in her eye,--to her lookth added vigour, - A catht in the eye, often tendth to dithfigure: - But not though the catht in the eye of Mith Thulia, - There wath thomething about it tho vewy pekooliar. - - Good friendth, we oft met, midth thmileth and midth tearth, - I courted her nearly for three or four yearth, - I took her to playth, and to ba11th--O! ye Powerth. - How thweetly and thwiftly did then path my hourth; - But oneth--oh, e’en now--I my feelingth can’t thmother, - The danthed, all the evening, along with another, - I didn’t thay nothing that night to Mith Thulia, - Though I couldn’t help thinking ’twath vewy pekooliar. - - I went necth day to thcold her, when the, to my heartth core, - Cut me up by requethting I’d come there no more; - That I thould be affronted, if longer I tarried, - For, necth week, to another, the wath to be married. - “Godth! Thulia,” thaid I, “why you cannot thay tho?” - “Oh yeth, but I do Thir,--tho you’d better go.” - “Well, I thall go,” thaid I, “but you’ll own it, Mith Thulia, - Your behaviour to me hath been vewy pekooliar.” - -(Spoken) Vewy pekooliar, vewy pekooliar indeed; and from that day to -thith, I have never theen Thulia. Her behaviour to me wath thertainly -vewy pekooliar! - - -_THE BABES IN THE WOOD._ - - IT’S a woeful bad tale I’m about to relate, - It happened years back, but I don’t know the date; - It’s a heart rending tale of two babbies so good, - Vot vos starved to death in a blackberry wood. - Ven they vos quite infants, they lost their mamma, - They vos both left alone in the vorld vith their pa, - To attend to his babbies vos alvays his plan, - -(_Chorus._) - - But their nunky he vos such a vicked old man, - Their nunky he vos such a hard hearted man. - - In their daddy’s last moments and on his death bed, - He sent for their nunky, and to him he said, - “I feel I am going, come, tip us your fin, - Look after my babbies, take care of their tin: - But should they both croak, vich I hope they vont do, - The whole of their ochre I give unto you.” - Says he “My dear brother, I’ll do all I can--” - But their nunky he vos a deceitful old man. - Their nunky he vos, etc. - - He’d scarce laid his brother under the ground, - Vhen he sold all the things in the house vot vos found; - He took the two babbies home to his abode, - And he bought ’em some hard bake to eat on the road, - He bought ’em some apples--he bought ’em parched peas, - A new penny loaf, and a ha’porth of cheese; - He blowed out their bags vith all sort of scran, - But their nunky he vos a deceitful old man. - Their nunky he vos, etc. - - Vhen he looked at the kids, he longed for their gold; - In damp sheets he laid ’em, ’cos he thought they’d catch cold; - They both caught the measles, and the whooping cough, - And he prayed every night that it would take em off, - But they got over that, and all other disease - Vich kids mostly have--which it didn’t him please; - So to cook the poor babbies, he thought on a plan, - For their nunky he vos such a vicked old man. - Their nunky he vos, etc. - - He hired two barbers vot vos both out of vork, - To take the two babbies to Norwood to burk, - Now ven they got there, they altered their minds-- - They both cut their sticks--left their babbies behind. - They wandered about, did these infants so good - They ate all the blackberries that growed in the wood, - Vith hips, haws, and sloes, their bellies did cram, - Through their nunky who vos such a vicked old man, - Their nunky he vos, etc. - - They liv’d till next night ven they guv up the ghost, - They vos both on ’em freezed as stiff as a post; - A cock robin vos perched on a tree close by,-- - He vept as he vitnessed those babbies die; - Then he kivered ’em over, as nice as could be, - Vith some cabbage leaves fresh, vot he picked off a tree, - And he hopped, and he twittered, and the song that he sang, - Vos “Their nunky he must be a vicked old man. - Their nunky he vos, etc.” - - Not a vink of sleep, after, nunky he got, - The whole of his body was seized vith the rot, - The whole of his toes dropped off his feet, - And teeth tumbled out of his mouth in the street. - The ghosts of the babbies, next night it is said, - They com’d and they tore all the hair off his head; - And vhen he valked out, the boys arter him ran, - Crying, cruel old nunky, you vicked old man. - Cried after their nunky, etc. - - He dwindled away to a mere bag of bones, - Till the neighbours von night vos alarmed at his groans, - His house on that night vos burned down to the ground, - Not a remnant of nunky vos there to be found. - The ruins so strongly of brimstone did smell, - And the neighbours all round this story do tell; - That the devil that night avay vith him ran, - ’Cos their nunky he vos such a vicked old man. - Cos their nunky he vos, etc. - - -_KATE’S YOUNG MAN._ - - SOME servant girls at Croydon fair, - A dancing with young fellows were, - But there was none among the clan, - So spruce and smart, as Kate’s young man. - They were seen home by Kate’s young man-- - And asked to tea was Kate’s young man-- - And cookey prepared a sop in the pan, - Next day, to give to Kate’s young man. - - As Kate’s young man got talk’d about, - And as the old Misses was going out, - The three young missesses form’d a plan, - To have a peep at Kate’s young man. - They heard the ring of Kate’s young man, - They sent down wine to Kate’s young man, - Then several times in the kitchen they ran, - To have a peep at Kate’s young man. - - With Kate’s young man, so full of glee, - That night below, the street door key - The housemaid got, and then began - Through it to quiz at Kate’s young man. - Upon my honour, a nice young man, - You’re what we call Kate’s young man, - Then, romping round for the key he ran, - And, take it away did Kate’s young man. - - When Kate’s young man went off with the key, - Miss Kate let out her jealousy, - And at the housemaid she began, - For romping about with her young man. - Pray, is he your, or my young man? - Why don’t you get your own young man? - And then they were within a span - Of scratching each other, for Kate’s young man. - - About Kate’s young man, was all this fuss, - When Kate cried out, Where is my purse? - And vere’s my vatch, said Cooky, and Ann - Exclaim’d, confound that Kate’s young man. - I’ve lost my brooch by Kate’s young man, - Oh, he’s taken the things in fun, said Fan, - They thought it so, and then they began - To laugh at the wit of Kate’s young man. - - That very night, as sure as fate, - Some thief got in, and stole the plate, - And the street door key reminded Ann, - It might be done by Kate’s young man. - Oh, Kate, I fear it is your young man, - Oh, my goodness, gracious, Ann! - They call’d the policeman, who began - To ask a deal about Kate’s young man. - - At the office of police, next day, - The servants went to say their say, - When lo! and behold, from the prisoner’s van, - The first who came out was Kate’s young man, - An old offender was Kate’s young man, - And over the water went Kate’s young man. - -(Spoken) And Kate, crying, accused the housemaid of causing his ruin, -’Cos if she hadn’t romp-foozled with the key, as oughtn’t he wouldn’t -have taken it, as couldn’t. When Ann, rather nettled, retorted, with the -following golden maxim, and wished that every missus would have it put -up in every kitchen--that she did-- - - Let servant girls get what they can, - But not get any like Kate’s young man. - - -_HE WAS SUCH A NICE YOUNG MAN._ - - IF pity dwells within your breast, - Some sympathy pray spare, - Of love, that breaks young lady’s rest, - Indeed, I’ve had my share. - His form is ever in my sight, - Forget, I never can, - I’m haunted by him day and night, - He was such a nice young man. - - ’Twas at a ball held at the west, - On me he first did glance, - So gently he my fingers prest, - And ask’d me out to dance, - I blush’d and simpered, No, no, no. - Then, smiling, dropt my fan, - For how could I refuse to dance, - He was such a nice young man. - - The dance now o’er, my hand he took, - And led me to a seat, - And, sighing, gave me such a look, - I ne’er saw one so sweet. - Refreshments beg’d of me to take, - I did the dainties scan, - Alas, I’d lost my appetite, - He was such a nice young man. - - When growing late, about to leave, - It rain’d in torrents fast, - Said he, Dear Miss, I really grieve, - I feel that it will last. - Then, quick he hurried from the room, - And for a coach he ran, - His kindness quite overpowered me, - He was such a nice young man. - - As through the hall we went along, - He begg’d for my address, - I gave it him, not thinking wrong, - He was in such distress. - His card emboss’d he handed me, - With “Captain,” Miss, I am, - My stars, thought I, Oh here’s a chance, - He was such a nice young man. - - Next morning, drest, and breakfast done, - Heart beating with desire, - The hall door bell was loudly rung, - Enough to break the wire. - I thought I should have died with fright, - Up came our servant Anne, - A gentleman, Miss, waits below, - He is such a nice young man. - - Almost I’d sunk, ’twixt hope and fear, - I wish’d I was afar, - Guess my surprize him now to hear - Conversing with Mamma. - Such language elegant he used, - He did her heart trepan, - She said she no objection had, - He was such a nice young man. - - Now, stop and dine with us, you must, - I will not take denial. - Excuse me ma’am, this visit first, - Is far too great a trial. - Well, call again whene’er you please, - For visit here you can, - I’ll call again to-morrow, ma’am, - Said my very nice young man. - - From th’ house he was scarcely out of sight, - When, from the lower rooms, - A servant maid came in a fright, - And cried, He’s stole the spoons! - Ah! fetch him back, Mamma she cried, - Off ran our footman Dan, - Who brought him back, we found the spoons, - Yes, upon this nice young man. - - A caution, ladies, give I must, - The moral I well know, - ’Tis never the appearance trust, - Of any dashing beau. - For this is what I should have done, - When to notice he began, - But, who’d have thought he was a thief? - He was such a nice young man. - - -[Illustration] - - -_MRS. MONDAY._ - - ONE Sunday I went out, and as I walk’d up Holborn Hill, - (I like to be particular,) the streets were very muddy, - When just about the half way up, quite shock’d I stood stock still; - A lady slipt down flop before me, fat and plump, and ruddy. - She was in the kennel sprawling, - To me for assistance calling, - Quick was I pulling, hauling; - She did wish to shun day. - The mud had spoil’d her Sunday dressing, - “Dear,” she said, “’tis quite distressing. - Lawk! I am a pretty mess in; - Look,” said Mrs. Monday. - - As soon as she recover’d, she return’d her thanks so free, - And in my ears no voice was e’er so sweet, tho’ she did tumble; - She said, that when she started, she was going out to tea, - But stopt by this unfortunate and unlucky tumble. - Mobs of people now surrounded, - She and me were both confounded; - Low lived jokes and jeers abounded, - Tho’ it was a Sunday. - Heeding not their taunts and titters, - I ask’d her if my taste would fit her’s. - Would she have some brandy-bitters, - “I will,” said Mrs. Monday. - - We both went in to Thompson’s then, and had a glass a piece, - The people still were grinning all, to see her clothes so dirty; - Her face with perspiration look’d, as if ’twere dipp’d in grease; - Her age was, I suppose, about some two or three and thirty. - Her face look’d just like one that’s muddled, - Clothes on her were completely huddled, - All at once she got quite fuddled; - Shocking for a Sunday! - Thank’d me for my being so handy, - Declar’d that I was quite the dandy, - Drank three glasses more of brandy; - Shocking! Mrs. Monday. - - What was I to do? egad! I could not get away, - She stuck to me as tight as wax, and liquor drank the faster; - And every glass she swallow’d down, she call’d on me to pay, - And then compell’d to see her home, safe out of her disaster. - Thro’ the streets by jeers saluted, - Mob at every step recruited, - While they halloo’d, laugh’d, and hooted, - Shocking! for a Sunday; - Ev’ry step made mis’ry double, - Took her home through every hubble, - And got, for all my care and trouble, - Blow’d up by Mr. Monday. - - -_ALL TO ASTONISH THE BROWNS._ - - THERE liv’d, and maybe living still, - In one of the streets of the town, - A respectable man who was call’d - By the neighbours, “Gentleman Brown.” - Very grand parties he gave, - At which in champagne, you might drown, - Now he cut such a dash, all the street, - Was jealous of Gentleman Brown. - Jokery, jeering, quiz, - To the story I’m telling, oh list, - How happy we mortals might be, - If jealousy did not exist. - - The Caggs’ who resided next door, - Were ever in sneers and in frowns, - And bursting with spleen when they saw - Such fine goings on at the Browns. - One night Mrs. C. said to Caggs, - “Some husbands are such stingy clowns, - Or they would give dinners and balls, - And show off as well as the Browns.” - Jokery, jeering, quiz. - In the course of your life, find you may, - That a man has no power, when his wife - Is determined to have her own way. - - “Consider my income!” said Caggs, - “Don’t talk in that way, Mr. C. - I warrant I’d make it suffice, - If you would but leave it to me. - Last Monday, I saw, well enough, - When the tradesmen were going their rounds, - Although they had money from us, - I’m sure they had none from the Browns.” - Jokery, jeering, quiz. - It’s one of the greatest of ills, - When tradesmen will send in their bills, - And nothing else but their bills. - - Caggs submitted to his better half, - Or rather two thirds, I should say, - And she soon sent her orders about, - Determined to make a display. - Her daughters were full of delight, - On Sunday they sported new gowns, - And exclaimed, as they went to the church, - “How we shall astonish the Browns!” - Jokery, jeering, quiz. - What pleasures arise in the breast, - When we, as we walk through the streets, - Are conscious of being well dressed! - - Preparations were made for a feast, - Tinted cards, highly glazed and embossed, - Invited the neighbours, who came, - And many in wonder were lost. - Champagne, Ices, Claret, Milk punch, - And cakes ornamented with crowns, - Soups, jellies, and scented pastilles, - And all to astonish the Browns. - Jokery, jeering, quiz, - Most people are fond of a feast, - And they love them that give ’em the most, - More than those folks who give ’em the least. - - One party soon drew on another, - And, then, to continue the game, - As the Browns were a going to the races, - The Caggs must, of course do the same. - “Lauk! how surpriséd they will be, - When they see us appear on the Downs, - We will go in a carriage and four, - And we shall so astonish the Browns.” - Jokery, jeering, quiz, - The neighbours said “Caggs was clever, - But as sure as eggs be but eggs, - Such things won’t continue for ever.” - - Whatever was done by the B’s, - The C’s tried to do more than equal, - But as they had not the same means, - They failed, as you’ll see by the sequel. - They were forc’d to run off from the street, - For fortune looked on them with frowns, - And, what was more galling than all, - It did not astonish the Browns. - Jokery, jeering, quiz, - Many folks in this world’s ups and downs, - Very often astonish themselves, - When they try to astonish the Browns. - - My tale I’ll conclude with a proverb, - In which there’s a great deal of sense, - Your pounds may be left to themselves, - If you will take care of the pence. - In this you’ll discover my moral, - A moral worth mitres and crowns, - If you would save silver and gold, - You must always beware of the Browns. - Jokery, jeering, quiz, - Be cautious in great London town, - Or, in trying to do, you’ll be done, - And not only done--but done brown. - - -_THE RATCATCHER’S DAUGHTER._[28] - - IN Westminster not long ago, - There lived a Ratcatcher’s Daughter. - She was not born at Westminster, - But on the t’other side of the water. - Her father killed rats and she sold sprats, - All round, and over the water, - And the gentlefolks, they all bought sprats, - Of the pretty Ratcatcher’s Daughter. - - She wore no hat upon her head, - Nor cap, nor dandy bonnet, - Her hair of her head it hung down her neck, - Like a bunch of carrots upon it. - When she cried sprats in Westminster, - She had such a sweet loud voice, Sir, - You could hear her all down Parliament Street, - And as far as Charing Cross, Sir, - - The rich and poor both far and near, - In matrimony sought her, - But at friends and foes she cocked her nose, - Did this pretty little Ratcatcher’s daughter. - For there was a man cried “Lily white Sand,” - Who in Cupid’s net had caught her, - And over head and ears in love, - Was the pretty little Ratcatcher’s daughter. - - Now, “Lily white Sand” so ran in her head, - When coming down the Strand, oh, - She forgot that she’d got sprats on her head, - And cried “buy my lily white Sand oh!” - The folks, amazed, all thought her crazed, - All along the Strand, Oh, - To hear a girl with sprats on her head, - Cry, “buy my lily white Sand, oh!” - - The Ratcatcher’s Daughter so ran in his head, - He didn’t know what he was arter, - Instead of crying “Lily white Sand,” - He cried “Do you want any Ratcatcher’s daughter.” - His donkey cocked his ears and brayed, - Folks couldn’t tell what he was arter, - To hear a lily white sand man cry, - “Do you want any Ratcatcher’s daughter?” - - Now they both agreed to married be, - Upon next Easter Sunday, - But the Ratcatcher’s daughter had a dream, - That she shouldn’t be alive next Monday, - To buy some sprats, once more she went, - And tumbled into the water, - Went down to the bottom, all covered with mud, - Did the pretty little Ratcatcher’s daughter. - - When Lily white Sand he heard the news, - His eyes ran down with water, - Says he in love I’ll constant prove, - And, blow me if I live long arter, - So he cut his throat with a piece of glass, - And stabbed his donkey arter, - So there was an end of Lily white Sand, - His ass, and the Ratcatcher’s daughter! - - -[Illustration] - - -_HOT CODLINGS._ - - A LITTLE old woman, a living she got, - By selling hot codlings, hot, hot, hot! - Now this little old woman, as I’ve been told, - Though her codlings were hot, she was monstrously cold, - So to keep herself warm, she thought no sin, - For to go and take a small drop of gin, - Fol-de-rol, etc. - - Now this little old woman went off in a trot, - To get a quartern of hot, hot, hot! - She swallowed a glass, and it was so nice, - That she tipped off another, all in a trice, - She fill’d the glass till the bottle it shrunk, - And this little old woman I’m told got drunk. - - Now this little old woman, while muzzy she got, - Some boys stole her codlings, hot, hot, hot! - Put powder in the pan, and ’neath it round stones, - Cried this little woman, these apples have bones. - The powder and the pan up they did send, - This little old woman on her latter end. - - Now this little old woman went off in a trot, - All in a fury, hot, hot, hot! - Sure such boys as these never were known, - They never will let a poor woman alone, - There’s a moral from this, so round let it buz - If you want to sell codlings, you must never get muz. - - This song, was, as far I can find, introduced by Grimaldi in Thos. - J. Dibdin’s famous Pantomime of “Mother Goose,” which in 1806-7 had - the unprecedented run of a hundred and fifty nights, and was a - favourite for very many years. When Pantomimes were Pantomimes, and - not mere spectacles, the clowns were real clowns (the Shakesperian - and French hybrids not having been born), and the names of - Grimaldi, Matthews, and others will go down to posterity. No - Pantomime was complete without the clown singing this song, which - was always encored, and, as a substitute, invariably was given - “Tippetiwitchet,” of which the theme was an intoxicated man. - Perhaps, if revived, Modern Society would not appreciate them, but - forty or fifty years ago tastes were not so superfine, and these - clowns and their songs afforded hilarious amusement. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE WONDERFUL CROCODILE._ - - NOW list, ye landsmen, all to me, - To tell you the truth I am bound, - What happen’d to me, by going to Sea, - And of the wonders which I found. - Shipwrecked I once was off Perouse, - And cast upon the shore, - So I resolved to take a cruise, - The Country to explore. - - But far I had not scudded out, - When close alongside to the ocean, - I saw something move, which at first I thought, - Was all the earth in motion. - But steering up alongside, - I found ’twas a Crocodile, - And from his nose to the tip of his tail - He measured five hundred mile. - - This Crocodile, I could plainly see, - Was not of a common race, - For I was obliged to climb a very high tree - Before I could see his face. - - And when he lifted up his jaw, - Though perhaps you'll think 'twas a lie, - It reach'd 'bove the clouds for miles three score, - And his nose nearly touched the sky. - - Whilst up aloft, and the stream was high, - It blew a gale from the south, - I lost my hold, and away did fly, - Right into the Crocodile's mouth. - He quickly closed his jaws on me, - And thought to grab a victim, - But I ran down his throat d'ye see, - And that's the way I tricked him. - - I travell'd on for a month or two, - Till I got into his maw, - Where I found of rum kegs not a few, - And a thousand bullocks in store. - Of life I banish'd all my cares, - For in grub I was not stinted, - So in this Crocodile I lived ten years, - Very well contented. - - This Crocodile being very old, - One day, alas! he died, - But he was three years a getting cold, - He was so long and wide. - His skin was ten miles thick, I'm sure, - Or very near about; - For I was full six years or more, - Cutting a hole for to get out. - - But now once more I’ve got on earth, - And resolv’d no more to roam, - So in a ship that pass’d, I got a berth, - And now I’m safe at home. - And lest my story you should doubt, - Should you ever travel the Nile, - Just where he fell, you’ll find the shell, - Of this wonderful Crocodile. - - -_THE THIEF’S ARM._ - - I SING of a man to some well known, - Who went and listed in the King’s Own, - For he was tall, and mighty grown, - Full six feet high of flesh and bone. - Ri lol, lol, lay, etc. - - Now this man to battle did go, - The balls flew thick, and whistled so, - There was one came straight and gave him a blow, - And knocked off his arm above his elbow. - - When the surgeon came to look at the wound - A noted thief lay on the ground, - Quite dead, but still he’d a perfect arm, - So he sawed it off while it was warm. - - Now this arm he spliced to our hero’s stump, - And bound it fast, wasn’t he a trump? - And in a short time it got well, - As many of that brave corps can tell. - - This man he turned out a thief, - And was discharged for stealing beef, - For with this cursed thief’s arm he got, - He could let nothing be too heavy or hot. - - Then up to London he did repair, - To see if advice he could get there, - And all the way that he did jog, - The arm was at work, and found him in prog. - - And when he got there he walked along, - And strove to bustle through the throng, - But the arm kept diving in every one’s pocket, - He tried all he could, but he couldn’t stop it. - - It stole him watches, gold and rings, - And many other precious things, - And one night he found he’d wealth in store, - For Bandanna wipes, he had a score. - - He robbed the Bank and Treasury, - Likewise a Poet at the play, - And, one night, ’tis really said, - He stole a glass eye from an old woman’s head. - - Now this arm had such a propensity - For stealing, that it could not stay, - It robb’d a regiment of its baggage, - Likewise a tailor of all his cabbage. - - Long time he carried on the trade, - Until he had a fortune made, - But for a crime he was afterwards taken, - And sent by the Judge to be hung up like bacon. - - And when he came to the gallows tree, - With the Parson’s watch he did make free, - And as Jack Ketch was tying the knot, - He pick’d his pocket of all he’d got. - - Now this man, he was buried, as you may suppose, - And after that the arm arose, - And join’d a body-snatching knave, - Who stole his master out of his grave. - - -_CORK LEG._ - - A TALE I tell now without any flam, - In Holland there dwelt Mynheer von Clam, - Who, every morning, said, I am - The richest merchant in Amsterdam. - Ri too ral, etc. - - One day he had stuffed him as full as an egg, - When a poor relation came to beg, - But he kick’d him out without broaching a keg, - And in kicking him out he broke his leg. - - A surgeon, the first in his vocation, - Came, and made a long oration, - He wanted a limb for anatomization, - So he finished the job by amputation. - - Said Mynheer, said he, when he’d done his work, - By your sharp knife, I lost one fork, - But on two crutches I’ll never stalk, - For I’ll have a beautiful leg of cork. - - An artist in Rotterdam ’twould seem, - Had made cork legs, his study and theme: - Each joint was as strong as an iron beam, - The springs a compound of clockwork and steam. - - The leg was made and fitted tight, - Inspection the artist did invite, - The fine shape gave Mynheer delight, - And he fixed it on and screwed it tight. - - He walked through squares, and past each shop, - Of speed he went to the utmost top, - Each step he took with a bound and a hop, - And he found his leg he could not stop. - - Horror and fright were in his face, - The neighbours thought he was running a race; - He clung to a gas-post to stay his pace, - But the leg wouldn’t stop, but kept on the chace. - - Then he call’d to some men with all his might, - “Oh! stop this leg or I’m murdered quite.” - But though they heard him aid invite, - He, in less than a minute was out of sight. - - He ran o’er hill and dale, and plain, - To ease his weary bones he’d fain; - He threw himself down, but all in vain, - The leg got up, and was off again. - - He walk’d of days and nights a score, - Of Europe he had made the Tour, - He died!--but though he was no more, - The leg walked on the same as before. - - In Holland, sometimes it comes in sight, - A skeleton on a cork leg tight: - No cash did the artist’s skill requite, - He never was paid, and it served him right. - - My tale I’ve told both plain and free, - Of the rummest merchant that ever could be, - Who never was buried, tho’ dead we see, - And I’ve been singing his L E G.[29] - - -_THE ONE HORSE CHAY._ - - MRS. BUBB was gay and free, fair, fat, and forty three, - And blooming as a Peony in buxom May, - The toast she long had been of Farringdon Within, - And she fill’d the better half of a one horse chay. - - Mrs. Bubb said to her lord, “you can, Bubb, well afford, - Whate’er a Common Councilman in prudence may; - We’ve no brats to plague our lives, and the soap concern it thrives, - Let us take a trip to Brighton in the one horse chay.” - - Mr. Bubb said to his wife, “now, I think upon’t, my life, - ’Tis three weeks, at least, to next boiling day; - The dog days are set in, and London’s growing thin, - So I’ll order out old Nobbs, and the one horse chay.” - - Now Nobbs, it must be told, was rather fat and old, - Its colour was white, and it had been gray, - He was round as a scot, and, when roundly whipt, would trot, - Full five miles an hour in a one horse chay. - - When at Brighton they were hous’d, and had stuff’d and carous’d, - O’er a bowl of arrack Punch, Mr. Bubb did say, - “I’ve ascertained, my dear, the mode of dipping here, - From the ostler who is cleaning up my one horse chay. - - You’re shut in a box, ill convenient as the stocks, - And eighteen pence each time are obliged to pay; - Court corruption here, says I, makes everything so high. - And I wish I had come without my one horse chay.” - - “As I hope,” says she, “to thrive, ’tis flaying folks alive, - The king and these extortioners are leagued, I say; - ’Tis encouraging of such, to go and pay so much, - So we’ll set them at defiance with our one horse chay. - - Old Nobbs I’m sure and sartin, you may trust with gig or cart in, - He takes every matter in a very easy way; - He’ll stand like a post, while we dabble on the coast, - And return back, and dress in our one horse chay. - - So out they drove, all dress’d, so gaily, in their best, - And finding in their rambles, a nice little bay; - They uncased at their leisure, paddled out at their pleasure, - And left everything behind in their one horse chay. - - But while so snugly sure, that all things were secure, - They flounced about like porpoises, or whales at play; - Some young unlucky imps, who prowl’d about for shrimps, - Stole up to reconoitre the one horse chay. - - Old Nobbs in quiet mood, was sleeping as he stood, - (He might possibly be dreaming of his corn, or hay): - Not a foot did he wag, as they whipt out every rag, - And gutted all the contents of the one horse chay. - - When our pair were sous’d enough, and returning in their buff, - Oh, there was the vengeance, and Old Nick to pay; - Madam shrieked in consternation, Mr. Bubb he swore damnation. - To find the empty state of the one horse chay. - - “Come, bundle in with me, we must squeeze for once,” says he, - “And manage this here business, as best we may, - We’ve no other way to choose, not a moment must we lose, - Or the tide will float us off in our one horse chay.” - - So noses, sides, and knees, altogether they did squeeze, - And pack’d in little compass, they trotted it away; - As dismal as two dummies, head and hands stuck out like mummies, - From beneath the little apron of the one horse chay. - - Mr. Bubb ge-upp’d in vain, and strove to jerk the rein, - Nobbs found he had his option to work or play; - So he wouldn’t mend his pace, though they fain would have run race, - To escape the merry gazers at the one horse chay. - - Now, good people laugh your fill, and fancy if you will, - (For I’m fairly out of breath, and have had my say;) - The trouble and the rout, to wrap and get them out, - When they drove to their lodgings in their one horse chay. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE LITERARY DUSTMAN._ - - SOME folks may talk of sense, egad! - Vot holds a lofty station; - But, tho’ a dustman, I have had - A liberal _hedication_. - And tho’ I never vent to school, - Like many of my betters, - A turnpike man, vot varnt no fool, - He larnt me all my letters. - - -_Chorus._ - - They calls me Adam Bell, ’tis clear, - As Adam vos the fust man, - And by a co-in-side-ance queer, - Vy! I’m the fust of Dustmen! - - At sartin schools they makes boys write, - Their Alphabets on sand, Sirs, - So I thought dust vould do as vell, - And larnt it out of hand, Sirs, - Took in the _Penny Magazine_,[30] - And _Johnson’s Dictionary_, - And all the Pe-ri-odi-cals, - To make me _literary_. - - My dawning genus fust did peep, - Near Battle Bridge[31] ’tis plain, Sirs, - You recollect the cinder heap, - Vot stood in Gray’s Inn Lane, Sirs?[32] - ’Twas there I studied pic-turesque, - Vile I my bread vos yearnin’, - And there inhalin’ the fresh breeze,[33] - _I sifted out my larnin_. - - Then Mrs. Bell, ’twixt you and I, - Vould melt a heart of stone, Sirs, - To hear her, pussy’s wittals cry, - In such a barrow tone, Sirs. - My darters all take arter her, - In grace and figure easy, - They larns to sing, and as they’re fat, - I has ’em taught by _Grizi_. - - Ve dines at four, and arter that, - I smokes a mild Awanna, - Or gives a lesson to the lad, - Upon the grand pianna: - Or vith the gals valk a _quod-rille_, - Or takes a cup of corf-fee, - Or, if I feels fatig’d or ill, - I lounges on the _sophy_. - - Or arter dinner reads a page, - Of Valter Scott, or Byron, - Or Mr. _Shikspar_ on the stage, - Subjects none can tire on; - At night ve toddles to the play, - But not to gallery attic, - Drury Lane’s the time o’ day, - And quite _aristocratic_. - - I means to buy my eldest son - A commission in the Lancers, - And make my darters, every one, - Accomplished Hopra dancers. - Great sculptors all conwarse with me, - And call my taste diwine, Sirs, - King George’s _statty_ at King’s Cross,[34] - Vos built from my design, Sirs. - - And, ven I’m made a Member on, - For that I means to try, Sirs, - Mr. Gully fought his way,[35] - And verefore shouldn’t I, Sirs. - Yes, ven I sits in Parliment, - In old Sir Steven’s College, - I means to take, ’tis my intent, - The taxes off of knowledge. - - -_Chorus._ - - They call me Adam Bell, ’tis true, - ’Cause Adam was the fust man, - I’m sure its very plain to you, - I’m a _litterary dustman_. - - -THE BILL STICKER. - - I’M Sammy Slap, the Bill Sticker, and you must all agree, Sirs, - I stick to bus’ness like a trump, and bus’ness sticks to me, Sirs, - The low folks call me Plasterer, and they desarves a banging, - Becos, genteely speaking, vhy, my trade is Paper-Hanging. - - -_Chorus._ - - With my paste! paste! paste! - All the world is puffing, so I paste! paste! paste! - - Round Nelson’s statty, Charing Cross, vhen any thing’s the go, Sirs, - You’ll always find me at my post, a sticking up the Posters, - I’ve hung Macready twelve feet high,--and though it may seem funny, - Day after day against the valls, I’ve plastered Mrs. Honey! - - Now often, in the vay of trade, and I don’t care a farden, - Arter I have been veil paid to hang for Common Garden, - Old Drury Lane has called me in, with jealousy to cover ’em, - And sent me round vith their own bills, to go and plaster over ’em. - - In search of houses, old and new, I’m always on the caper, - And werry kindly gives ’em all, a coat or two of paper; - I think I’ve kivered all the valls round London, though I preach it, - If they’d let me kiver old St. Paul’s, so help me Bob, I’d reach it. - - I’m not like some in our trade,--they desarve their jackets laced, Sirs, - They stick up half their master’s bills, and sells - the rest for vaste, Sirs, - Now, honesty’s best policy, vith a good name to retire vith, - So vot I doesn’t use myself, my old gal lights the fire vith! - - I’m proud to say there’s Helen Tree, the stage’s great adorner, - I’ve had the honour of posting her in every hole and corner, - And Helen Faucit--bless her eyes! ve use her pretty freely, - And paste’s Madam Vestris bang atop of Mr. Keeley! - - Sometimes I’m jobbing for the Church, vith Charitable Sermons, - And sometimes for theatres, vith the English and the Germans; - To me, in course, no odds it is, as long as I’m a vinner, - Vhether I works for a Saint, or hangs up for a Sinner. - - The paste I use, I makes myself, and I’ll stick to this, however, - That vhen my bills, I’ve put ’em up, they’ll face both vind and veather, - I comes the fancy work, though they’re up, mind, in a twinkle, - I never tucks the corners in, nor leaves a blessed wrinkle, - - Then, surely, you vill all allow, I am a man of taste, Sirs, - I arn’t no Pastry-cook, although I deals in puffs and paste, Sirs, - Vhenever you may have a job, to show how I desarve you, - About the town through thick and thin, I’ll brush along to sarve you! - - -THINGS I DON’T LIKE TO SEE. - - WHAT a queer set of creatures we are, I declare, - What one person likes, why another can’t bear, - It was always a plan when I went to school, - To like everything good, like the Lord Mayor’s fool. - Some like to look thin, some like to look fat, - Some like to see this, some like to see that, - But, if you’ll be silent, and listen to me, - I’ll just tell you the things that I don’t like to see. - - -_Chorus._ - - You may call me a quiz, you may call me a pry, - But I cannot bear things that look queer to the eye - If _you_ like to see them, it’s nothing to me, - I tell you there are things I don’t like to see. - - Now I don’t like to see little boys with cigars, - They’re better at home with their pas and their mas - I don’t like to see folks in misery sunk, - And I don’t like to see a teetotaller drunk. - I don’t like to see ugly women use paint, - Nor a grey headed sinner pretend he’s a saint, - Nor a swell, in a dicky[36] tied over a rag, - Nor a fop with mustachios who’s not worth a mag. - - I don’t like to see ladies picking their gums, - Nor a boy at sixteen always sucking his thumbs, - I don’t like to see women drink to excess, - Nor a girl in black stockings and white muslin dress, - I don’t like to see a coat fit like a sack, - Nor a man pinch his belly for the sake of his back, - I don’t like to see a man whopping his moke, - It shows that his brotherly feeling’s a joke. - - I don’t like to see frosty weather in May, - Nor a man wear his church-going tile every day, - I don’t like to see people sulk at their meals, - Nor a girl with great taters stuck out at her heels; - I don’t like to see people shooting the moon,[37] - Nor a chap buttoned up on a hot afternoon, - I don’t like to see peelers drunk on their beat, - Nor young ladies bustles fall off in the street. - - I don’t like to see people pay twice for once, - Nor a man about thirty, a thick-headed dunce; - I don’t like to see folks eat more than their whack, - Nor a swell with his hair just a yard down his back, - I don’t like to see yellow wipes round the throat, - Nor a man wipe his nose on the sleeve of his coat, - I don’t like to see a pretty girl pout, - Nor young ladies sending their rags up the spout. - - I don’t like to see women drest Fal de ral, - Nor a boy about twelve, sticking up to a gal; - I don’t like to see parsons go to the play, - Nor a swell in white ducks, on a pouring wet day, - Now I don’t like to see sorrowful faces, - And I hope another night, you’ll here take your places; - For I don’t like to see empty streets, I declare, - And I think that my pocket agrees with me there. - - -THE BARREL OF PORK. - - TWO Israelite brothers in New York once dwelt, - And, in all kind of Merchandize freely they dealt, - They were thought to be wealthy, between me and you, - And each brother was really as rich as a Jew. - - No creditor e’er went away from their door, - Till death call’d on Moses to settle his score; - No mortal can ever evade such a call, - So Moses, he slept, Sirs, his last sleep of all. - - Then Isaac, his brother, exclaimed, lucky elf, - All his goods and his monies belong to myself, - Ah! but stop, dere’s his will, I must just read it through, - To see what poor Moses would have me to do. - - The Will it ran thus, when I shall cease to live, - All my cash, and my goods, to my brother I give, - Upon this condition, that hard he shall toil - To bury my body in real English Soil. - - Isaac tried every Captain, but could not prevail, - For none would agree with the body to sail, - But, not to be baulked, he set quickly to work, - And embarked it at last as a barrel of pork. - - Mo was cut up in pieces with chopper and knife, - He had never been cut up so much in his life, - Isaac wrote to his agent to tell him his plan, - And begged of him to bury the poor pickled man. - - Some months after this, as he walked on the wharf, - He met with the Captain, a yellow fac’d dwarf, - Vell, goot Captain, he cried, looking steadfastly round - You delivered my barrel, I hope, safe and sound? - - Said the Captain, Friend Isaac, I’m sorry to say, - That during our trip, we were near cast away, - When in sight of old England, we lay a sheer hulk, - As provisions were scarce, we were forced to break bulk. - - Preak pulk! roar’d out Isaac, you’re worse than a Turk, - Put, surely, you ne’er proke my parrel of pork? - Indeed, but we did, cried the Captain, don’t huff, - For I’ll pay a good price, though ’twas devilish tough. - - Ach! mein Gott! cried poor Isaac, as I am a sinner, - You have eaten my poor proder Moses for dinner; - Your brother! why zounds! then myself and my crew, - Have feasted three days on a piece of tough Jew. - - But come, now, my friend Isaac, to finish this work, - I’ll pay you for your brother, as if he’d been pork; - No, no, replied Isaac, though we cheat one another, - Our law won’t permit us to sell our own prother. - - In his purse back, the Captain was putting his gold, - Which Isaac, espying, cried, Goot Captain, hold, - Though I can’t touch the cash, for that proder of mine - You can pay me, you know, for the parrel and prine. - - - IN the “thirties” of this century, this was one of the most popular - of street songs, and is well worth reproducing among the humorous - ballads, as it is utterly unknown to the present generation. - - -_ALL ROUND MY HAT._ - - -_Chorus._ - - ALL round my hat I vears a green villow, - All round my hat for a twelvemonth and a day, - If any one should ax it, the reason vy I vears it, - Tell them that my true love is far, far away. - - ’Twas going of my rounds in the streets I did meet her, - Oh, I thought she vas an hangel just come down from the sky, - (Spoken) _She’d a nice wegitable countenance, Turnip nose, - Redish cheeks, and Carroty hair_. - And I never heard a woice more louder and more sweeter, - Vhen she cried, buy my Primroses, my Primroses come buy. - (Spoken) _Here’s your fine Colliflowers!_ - Oh, my love she vas fair, and my love she vas kind, too, - And cruel vas the judge vot my love had to try, - (Spoken) _Here’s your precious Turnips!_ - For thieving vas a thing she never vas inclined to, - But he sent my love across the seas, far, far away. - (Spoken) _Here’s your hard hearted Cabbages!_ - - For seven long years my love and I are parted, - For seven long years, my love is bound to stay, - (Spoken) _’Tis a precious long time ’fore I does any trade to-day_. - Bad luck to the chap vot’d ever be false hearted, - Oh, I’d love my love for ever, though she’s far away. - (Spoken) _Here’s your nice heads of Sallary!_ - - There is some young men as is so precious deceitful, - A coaxing of the young girls they wish to lead astray, - (Spoken) _Here’s your Valnuts, crack ’em and try ’em, - a shillin’ a hundred!_ - As soon as they deceive ’em, so cruelly-ly they leave ’em, - And they never sighs nor sorrows, ven they’re far avay. - (Spoken) _Do you want any Hinguns to day, marm?_ - - Oh, I bought my love a ring, on the werry day she started, - Vich I gave her as a token all to remember me, - (Spoken) _Bless her heyes_. - And vhen she does come back, oh, ve’ll never more be parted, - But ve’ll marry, and be happy, oh, for ever and a day. - (Spoken) _Here’s your fine spring Radishes!_ - - -[Illustration] - - -_HERE’S THE MAN A-COMING!_ - - IN Lunnon town each day, strange sayings will be springing, - But, if you list to me, a new one I’ll be singing, - As you go through the town, the people will be funning, - One cries out, “Put it down, here’s the man a-coming!” - - ’Twas only t’other day, as sure as I’m a sinner, - A leg of pork I bought, to have a slap up dinner; - When, half way down the street, a young scamp came by, running, - Says he “Guv’ner, drop that meat, here’s the man a-coming!” - - Young married folks, I fear, to extremes often dash on, - They’re always in a fright, through studying the fashion; - Each day with fear and dread, the tradesmen they are shunning, - “Jem, get under the bed, here’s the tally man a-coming!” - - There’s lots of ups and downs, and lots of rummy dodgings, - But I do it quite brown, in taking furnish’d lodgings: - I own I’m very poor, to pay there is no fun in, - So I always bolt the door, when I hear the landlord coming! - - It’s pleasant, in this place, to see your smiling faces, - And, gents, too, I presume, you’re in your proper places; - Now, there’s one stands there so sly, I know he’s very cunning, - I say, “Mind what you’re at, here’s the man a-coming!” - - -_THE NOBBY HEAD OF HAIR._ - - YOU’VE called on me to sing a song, I’ll try what I can do, - I don’t say whether good or bad, for that I’ll leave to you, - The subject’s now before you, and I firmly do declare. - There’s no one in this street can sport such a nobby head of hair. - - Perhaps you think I’m bragging, but the proof it is most clear, - If you only twig the company that stands around me here, - But something I’ll tell you,--now, pray don’t at me stare,-- - There’s nothing half so handsome--as a nobby head of hair. - - When an infant I a wonder was, but, upwards as I grew, - At school, I so surprized the boys, they in mobs around me flew; - But when a young man I had grown, my mother said, if I took care, - I soon should catch an heiress, with my nobby head of hair. - - I go to all places of amusement, and everything that’s new, - Balls, Plays, White Conduit Gardens, and the Eagle Tavern too, - I feel prouder than Prince Albert, when the ladies see me there, - To hear the buz of admiration at my nobby head of hair. - - Although my hair is elegant, it oft gets into scrapes, - At the Zoological, the other day, ’twas well pull’d by the apes; - And, in making my escape from them, I was grappl’d by a bear, - It fancied that I was it’s cub, by my nobby head of hair. - - Not liking this brute treatment, from the gardens I did roam, - I caught a lady ogling me,--I ask’d to see her home, - Her husband, we met on the road, he asunder did us tear, - Then he dragg’d me through a horse pond, by my nobby head of hair. - - He left me near dead with affright, and wet through to the skin, - A mob soon came around me--they did nought but jeer and grin, - A policeman took me in custody, and solemnly did swear, - I, a member of the swell mob was, by my nobby head of hair. - - To the Magistrate, my innocence I pleaded, but in vain, - He said, to prison you must go, your guilt it is quite plain; - So to the treadmill I was sent,--but on the silent system there, - But what griev’d me most, they cut off all my nobby head of hair. - - I thought it would have drove me mad, but it grew again so fast, - It put me in such spirits, that I soon forgot the past, - The Mill, it dragg’d down all my fat, I look’d quite lean and spare, - My friends, they knew me only, by my nobby head of hair. - - But now that I am free again, I’m happy as a king, - That’s one reason why to night, you see, I have come here to sing; - But this is a fact you can’t deny, it is a thing most rare-- - To see a handsome chap like me, with such a nobby head of hair. - - -_MISS BAILEY’S GHOST._ - - A CAPTAIN bold, in Halifax, who dwelt in country quarters, - Seduced a maid, who hang’d herself, one morning, in her garters, - His wicked conscience smited him, he lost his stomach daily, - He took to drinking ratafee, and thought upon Miss Bailey. - Oh, Miss Bailey! unfortunate Miss Bailey. - - One night betimes he went to rest, for he had caught a fever, - Says he, “I am a handsome man, but I’m a gay deceiver;” - His candle just at twelve o’clock began to burn quite palely, - A ghost stepp’d up to his bed side, and said, “behold Miss Bailey.” - Oh, Miss Bailey! unfortunate Miss Bailey. - - “Avaunt, Miss Bailey” then he cried, “your face looks white and mealy,” - “Dear Captain Smith,” the ghost replied, “you’ve used me ungenteely; - The Crowner’s Quest goes hard with me, because I’ve acted frailly, - And parson Biggs won’t bury me, though I am dead Miss Bailey.” - Oh, Miss Bailey! unfortunate Miss Bailey. - - “Dear Corpse,” said he, “since you and I accounts must once for all close, - I’ve really got a one pound note in my regimental small clothes; - “’Twill bribe the sexton for your grave,”--The ghost then vanish’d gaily, - Crying, “Bless you, wicked Captain Smith, remember poor Miss Bailey.” - Oh, Miss Bailey! unfortunate Miss Bailey. - - -[Illustration] - - -_HUMPHREY DUGGINS._ - - OLD Humphrey Duggins, he wanted a wife, - Resolving to lead a sober life; - A batchelor, he would have been a great rake, - So courting he went, for conscience sake. - - The old Widow Warmpurse, she wanted a spouse, - No children had she, but she had a large house, - Six children had Duggins, though not very small, - So, thinks he, the large house will just hold them all. - - So to court the widow, old Duggins began, - Says she, I’ve been told you’re a sad naughty man, - He replied, it ain’t true, and the widow knew not - That he’d one piccaninny, much less a whole lot. - - When he’d married the widow, my dear, says he, - No doubt we shall have a large family, - I hope we shall, she then to him did say, - So the six little Duggins came home the next day. - - The three Master Duggins, they made her a bow, - The three little Misses, they curtsied, How! - Says she, what means this? Why, said he, my old lass, - It’s only my little ones come home from grass. - - You wicked deceiver, quoth she, I am dish’d; - Says he, for a great many children you wish’d, - And, as no one is certain their wishes to have, - I thought you might fancy a few ready made. - - - IT is the privilege of the aged to carp at modern doings, and to - contrast them with things as they were in their youth. Farming, as - it used to be carried out, could never pay now. In war time the - farmers did well; in January, 1801, wheat was 137s. per quarter, - and rose higher. But according to the Earl of Warwick, in a speech - in Parliament (November 14, 1800), they did not benefit much by - it--it was _light come, light go_, with them. “He wondered not at - the extravagant style of living of some of the farmers, who could - afford to play guinea whist, and were not contented with drinking - wine, but even mixed brandy with it.” The small farms, with their - little fields, cut even smaller by the huge hedges and ditches, - soil undrained, no machinery, the earth merely scratched by the - plough, could never grow wheat to sell at 32_s._ or 34_s._ per - quarter, or to rear beef and mutton, to compete against imported - meat. - -[Illustration] - - -_THE HONEST PLOUGHMAN, OR 90 YEARS AGO._ - - COME all you jolly husbandmen, and listen to my song, - I’ll relate the life of a ploughman, and not detain you long, - My father was a farmer, who banished grief and woe, - My mother was a dairy maid--that’s 90 years ago. - - My father had a little farm, a harrow and a plough, - My mother had some pigs and fowls, a pony and a cow, - They didn’t hire a servant, but they both their work did do, - As I have heard my parents say, just 90 years ago. - - The rent that time was not so high by far, as I will pen, - For now one family’s nearly twice as big as then were ten, - When I was born, my father used to harrow, plough and sow, - I think I’ve heard my mother say, ’twas 90 years ago. - - To drive the plough my father did a boy engage, - Until that I had just arrived to seven years of age, - So then he did no servant want, my mother milk’d the cow, - And with the lark, I rose each morn, to go and drive the plough. - - The farmer’s wives in every way themselves the cows did milk, - They did not wear the dandy veils, and gowns made out of silk, - They did not ride blood horses, like the farmer’s wives do now, - The daughters went a milking and the sons went to the plough. - - When I was fifteen years of age, I used to thrash and sow, - Harrowed, ploughed, and in harvest time I used to reap and mow, - When I was 20 years of age, I could manage well the farm, - Could hedge and ditch, or plough, and sow, or thrash within the barn. - - At length when I was 25, I took myself a wife, - Compelled to leave my father’s house as I had changed my life, - The younger children, in my place, my father’s work would do, - Then daily, as an husbandman, to labour I did go. - - My wife and me, though very poor, could keep a pig and cow, - She could sit and spin and knit, and I the land could plough. - There nothing was upon a farm, at all, but I could do, - I find things very different now,--that’s many years ago. - - We lived along contented, and banished pain and grief, - We had not occasion then to ask for parish relief, - But now my hairs are grown quite grey, I cannot well engage, - To work as I had used to do, I’m 90 years of age. - - But now that I am feeble grown, and poverty do feel, - If, for relief I go, they shove me into a Whig Bastile,[38] - Where I may hang my hoary head, and pine in grief and woe, - My father did not see the like, just 90 years ago. - - When a man has laboured all his life to do his country good, - He’s respected just as much when old, as a donkey in a wood, - His days are gone and past, and he may weep in grief and woe, - The times are very different now to 90 years ago. - - Now I am 90 years of age, if for relief I do apply, - I must go into a Whig Bastile to end my days and die, - I can no longer labour, as I no longer have, - Then, at the last, just like a dog, they lay me in my grave. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE NEW FASHIONED FARMER._ - - GOOD people all, attend awhile, - Whilst I relate a story, - How the farmers in old England, - Did once support their glory. - When masters liv’d as masters ought, - And happy in their station, - Until at length, their stinking pride, - Has ruined all the Nation. - - -_Chorus._ - - Let’s pray that hungry bellies may - Be fill’d when they are empty, - And where a servant gets ten pounds, - I wish he may get twenty. - - A good old fashioned long grey coat, - The farmers us’d to wear, Sir, - And on old Dobbin they would ride, - To market or to fair, Sir, - But now fine geldings they must mount, - To join all in the chace, Sir, - Dressed up like any lord or ’squire, - Before their landlord’s face, Sir. - - In former times, both plain and neat, - They’d go to Church on Sunday, - And then to harrow, plow, or sow, - They’d go upon a Monday. - But now, instead of the plough tail, - O’er hedges they are jumping, - And instead of sowing of their corn, - Their delight is in fox hunting. - - The good old dames, God bless their names, - Were seldom in a passion, - But strove to keep a right good house, - And never thought on fashion. - With fine brown beer their hearts to cheer, - But now they must drink swipes, Sir, - It’s enough to make a strong man weak, - And give him the dry gripes, Sir. - - The farmer’s daughters used to work - All at the spinning wheel, Sir, - But, now, such furniture as that, - Is thought quite ungenteel, Sir. - Their fingers they’re afraid to spoil, - With any such kind of sport, Sir, - Sooner than handle mop or broom, - They’d handle a piano-forte, Sir. - - Their dress was always plain and warm, - When in their holiday clothes, Sir, - Besides, they had such handsome cheeks, - As red as any rose, Sir. - But now, they’re frilled and furbelowed, - Just like a dancing monkey, - Their bonnets and their great black veils, - Would almost fright a donkey. - - When wheat it was a guinea a strike,[39] - The farmers bore the sway, Sir, - Now with their landlords they will ride, - Upon each hunting day, Sir. - Besides, their daughters they must join - The ladies at the Ball, Sir, - The landlords say, we’ll double their rents, - And then their pride must fall, Sir, - - I hope no one will think amiss, - At what has here been penned, Sir, - But let us hope that these hard times - May speedily amend, Sir. - It’s all through such confounded pride, - Has brought them to reflection, - It makes poor servants’ wages low, - And keeps them in subjection. - - -[Illustration] - - -_PRESENT TIMES, OR EIGHT SHILLINGS A WEEK._[40] - - COME all you bold Britons, where’er you may be, - I pray give attention, and listen to me, - There once was good times, but they’re gone by complete, - For a poor man lives now on Eight Shillings a week. - - Such times in old England there never was seen, - As the present ones now; but much better have been, - A poor man’s condemned, and looked on as a thief, - And compelled to work hard on Eight Shillings a week. - - Our venerable fathers remember the year, - When a man earned three shillings a day, and his beer. - He then could live well, keep his family neat, - But now he must work for Eight Shillings a week. - - The Nobs of “Old England,” of shameful renown, - Are striving to crush a poor man to the ground, - They’ll beat down their wages and starve them complete, - And make them work hard for Eight Shillings a week. - - A poor man to labour (believe me ’tis so), - To maintain his family is willing to go - Either hedging, or ditching, to plough, or to reap, - But how does he live on Eight Shillings a week. - - In the reign of old George, as you all understand, - Here then was contentment throughout the whole land, - Each poor man could live, and get plenty to eat, - But now he must pine on Eight Shillings a week. - - So now to conclude and finish my song, - May the times be much better, before it is long, - May every labourer be able to keep - His children and wife on Twelve Shillings a week. - - - THERE are very few Statute, or hiring, fairs now in existence, and - perhaps it is as well, as a great deal of drunkenness and - immorality used to occur at these meetings. The servants stood in - groups according to their callings, each bearing some token of - their employment; for instance, the carters carried a piece of - whipcord. Employers of labour came and personally interviewed them, - wages were agreed upon, and the hiring was for a year certain. - -[Illustration] - - -_JIG, JIG, TO THE HIRINGS._ - - YOU Farmers, Servants, far and near, - Who do reside in ---- land - Unto my song attend a while, - These verses will cause you to smile. - Now ---- land hirings are come again, - The lasses gay and smart young men, - Drest in their best, all jig away - To see the fun on the hiring day. - - When at the hirings they do arrive, - Like bees a swarming in a hive, - The servants they come flocking in, - Until the hirings do begin. - There’s pretty Sally, and pug nosed Poll, - There’s slender Kate and dumpy Doll, - With farmer’s daughters short and long, - To ---- land hirings jig, jig along. - - They now roll in, both thick and thin, - Jack, Bob, Harry, Tom, and Jim, - Waggoner Dick with his white smock, - He swears he’ll smash his Sally’s clock. - Ploughboy Jim, with whip so long, - Among the lasses soon does throng, - He finds his dear, and makes her sup, - And afterwards the dance keeps up. - - Masters and Mistresses enquire. - Of Servants, if they want to hire, - And when good servants they have found, - They try and run the wages down. - They offer such small wages, oh dear! - Will scarce serve you throughout the year, - They want servants, the greedy elves, - To work for nought, and find themselves. - - Says John, I ask twenty pound a year, - I’ll take no less I do declare, - There is plenty of work, they say, - For years to come, on the Railway. - So let each servant lad, and man, - Stand up for wages when you can, - For wages they must rise I’m told, - Or else they’ll go to the Railroad. - - Then John and Moll walk to and fro, - They take a peep into the show, - John buys her nuts, and cakes, and wine, - With a few yards of ribbon fine. - Then off they go to the Dancing room, - The fiddler he strikes up a tune, - And then, good Lord, what noise and rout, - With John and Molly’s jigging about. - - With fiddling, dancing, rum and beer, - Both John and Moll feel rather queer, - John squeezes her hand and looks so sly, - Whilst Molly winks her funny eye. - Then towards home they cross the hill, - They soon forget the Poor Law Bill, - And love plays up a rattling, - While John and Molly jig it again. - - So Maids, don’t jig, jig, lest you rue, - Lads, to the lasses be kind and true, - And when jig, jig you wish to play, - To the Hirings jig, jig away. - There, if you give the Parson his fee, - You’ll find quite ready he will be, - To hire you both so neat and trig, - Then send you home to jig, jig. - - - -_COUNTRY STATUTES._ - - COME all you lads of high renown, and listen to my story, - For now the time is coming on, that is to all your glory, - For Jumping Nan is coming here, the Statutes to admire, - To see the lads and lasses standing all, a-waiting for their hire. - - -_Chorus._ - - Lo, to Hiring we have come, all for to look for places, - If the master and we can agree, and he will give good wages. - - The master that a servant wants, will stand now in a wonder, - You all must ask ten pounds a year, and none of you go under, - It’s you then, must do all the work, and what they do require, - So now, stand up for wages, lads, before that you do hire. - - There’s Rolling Jane the hemp will spin, and Sal will mind the dairy, - And John will kiss his mistress when his master is a-weary, - There’s Tom will reap and mow, they’ll thrash, and never tire, - They’ll load the cart, and do their part, so they’re the lads to hire. - - There’s Carter John, with whip so long, rises early in the morning, - He’s always ready at his work, before the day is dawning, - Hey up, gee wo, the plough must go, till he is almost weary, - But a jug of ale, both stout and stale, it will soon make him merry. - - There’s Poll so red, will made the bread, likewise good cheese and butter, - And Bet so thick, will tread the rick, she’s never in a flutter: - She’ll feed the sows and milk the cows, and do what she is able, - Although she’s mean, she’s neat and clean, when waiting at the table. - - There’s black eyed Fan, with the frying pan, will cook - your eggs and bacon, - With beef and mutton, roast and boiled, if I am not mistaken, - She’ll made the puddings fat and good, all ready for your dinner, - But, if you grumble when she’s done, she’ll cure you with the skimmer. - - The farmer’s wife so full of pride, must have a lady’s maid, Sir, - All for to dress and curl her hair, and powder it beside, Sir, - But the girl of heart, to dress so smart, they call her charming Nancy, - She can wink and blink in such a style, she’s all the young men’s fancy. - - And when the mop it is all o’er, you that are young and hearty, - Must take your girl all in your hand, and join a drinking party. - But, when you are returning home, enjoying sweet embraces, - With love and honour spend the night, at statutes, fairs, or races. - - So all you pretty lasses gay, I do not wish to shame you, - Nor yet do I intend at all, by any means to blame you; - But I doubt next year you’ll want no places, - If you care for yourselves going home from the races. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE BOLD POACHER._ - - WHEN I was bound ’prentice in fair Lincolnshire, - I served my master for nearly seven year, - Till I got up to poaching, as quickly you shall hear, - It was my delight in a shiny night, in the season of the year. - - As I and my bold comrades were setting of a snare, - The game keeper was watching us, for him we did not care, - For I could wrestle, or fight, my boys, or jump over any where, - It was my delight in a shiny night, in the season of the year. - - As I and my bold comrades were setting four or five, - And going to take them up again, we found a hare alive, - I have her in the bag, my boys, and through the woods we steer, - It was my delight in a shiny night, in the season of the year. - - I hung her over my shoulder, and rambled into the town, - I callèd at a neighbour’s house, and sold her for a crown, - I sold her for a crown my boys, but I’ll not tell you where, - It was my delight, in a shiny night, in the season of the year. - - Here’s to every poacher that lives in Lincolnshire, - And here’s to every gamekeeper, that wants to buy a hare, - But not every keeper that wants to keep his deer, - It was my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year. - - - THIS ballad shows that there are two sides to a poacher’s life. - - -_DEATH OF POOR BILL BROWN._ - - YE Gentlemen both great and small, - Game keepers, poachers, sportsmen, all, - Pray listen to my simple clown,[41] - I’ll sing you the death of poor Bill Brown, - I’ll sing you the death of poor Bill Brown. - - One stormy night as you shall hear, - (It was in the season of the year,) - We went to the woods to catch a fat buck, - But ah! that night we had bad luck, - Bill Brown was shot and his dog was stuck. - - When we got to the wood our sport begun, - I saw the Game keeper present his gun, - I call’d on Bill to climb the gate, - To fetch the fat buck, but it was too late, - For there he met his untimely fate. - - Then, dying he lay upon the ground, - And in that state poor Bill I found, - And when he saw me, he did cry, - “Revenge my death,” I will, said I, - For many a hare we’ve caught hard by. - - I knew the man that shot Bill Brown, - I knew him well and could tell his clown, - And to describe it in my song, - Black jacket he had, and red waistcoat on, - I knew him well, and they called him Tom. - - I dressed myself up, next night in time, - I got to the wood and the clock struck nine, - The reason was, and I’ll tell you why, - To find the game keeper I’ll go try, - Who shot my friend, and he shall die. - - I ranged the wood all over and then - I looked at my watch, and it was just ten, - I heard a footstep upon the green, - And I laid down for fear of being seen, - For I plainly saw that it was Tom Green. - - Then I took my piece fast in my hand, - Resolved to fire if Tom did stand; - Tom heard the noise, and turn’d him round, - I fired, and brought him down to the ground, - My hand gave him his deep death wound. - - Now, revenge, you see, my hopes have crown’d, - I’ve shot the man that shot Bill Brown, - Poor Bill no more these eyes will see, - Farewell, dear friend, farewell to thee, - For I’ve crowned his hopes and his memory. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE JOLLY ANGLER._ - - O, THE jolly angler’s life is the best of any, - It is a fancy void of strife, and will be lov’d of many, - It is no crime at any time, but a harmless pleasure, - It is a bliss of lawfulness; it is a joy, ’tis not a toy; - It is a skill that breeds no ill; it is sweet and complete; - Adornation to our mind; it’s witty, pretty, decent, pleasant; - Pastime we shall sweetly find, if the weather prove but kind, - We will have our pleasure. - - In the morning up we start, as soon as daylight’s peeping, - We take a cup to cheer the heart, and leave the sluggard sleeping, - Forth we walk, with merry talk to some pleasant river, - Near the Thames’ silver streams; there we stand, rod in hand, - Fixing right, for a bite; but if the bait the fish allure, - They come bobbing, nipping, biting, skipping, - Dangling on our hooks secure; with such a pastime sweet and pure. - We could fish for ever. - - Various objects to be seen, O, what pleasure there is, - Can there be a purer joy--if so--tell me, where is? - Birds they sing, and flowers spring; full of delectation, - A whistling breeze runs through the trees, there we meet meadows sweet; - Flowers sweet, the mind unbent; here is scent, of sweet content. - Living, giving, easing, pleasing; by those sweet refreshing bowers, - Vitals from those herbs and flowers, rais’d up by those falling showers, - For man’s recreation. - - As thro’ the shady forest, where echo there is sounding, - Hounds and huntsmen roving there, in their sports abounding; - Hideous noise, in all their joys, not to be admired; - Whilst we fish, to gain a dish; with a hook, in the brook, - Watch our float, spare our throat, while they’re sult’ring to and fro; - Twivy, Twivy, Twivy, hark the horn does sweetly blow, - Hounds and huntsmen all in a row, - With their pastime tired. - - We have gentles in our horns, we have worms and paste, too; - Landing net and floats we have, with hooks of all sizes; - We have line and choice of twine, fitting for the angle; - If they don’t show, away we’ll go, seeking out chub or trout, - Eel or pike, or the like, dace or bleak, these we seek, - Barbel, jack, and many more, gudgeons, perches, tenches, roaches; - Here’s the jolly angler’s store; we have choice of fish galore, - We will have our angle. - - If the sun’s excessive heat, should our bodies sulter, - To some house or hedge retreat, for some friendly shelter: - But, if we spy a shower nigh, or the day uncertain, - Then we flee beneath a tree; then we eat our victuals sweet, - Take a coke, smoke and soak; then again, to the same, - But, if we can no longer stay, we come laughing, joking, - quaffing, smoking, - So delightful all the way; thus we do conclude the day, - With a cup at parting. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE HUMOURS OF THE RACES._ - - GOOD people all draw near, and listen to my ditty, - A song to you I’ll sing, that is both short and pretty, - There’s countrymen and maids, with their sweet and ruddy faces, - Link’d in each other’s arms,--they’re coming to the races. - - Here’s Coaches and Tandems, there’s Gigs and Carts likewise, Sir, - And ladies grandly dress’d, with dandy cap beside, Sir, - They have a cabbage net to cover o’er their faces - With a footman at their heels, they’re coming to the races. - Now look at the Grand Stand, where the gentlemen are sitting, - Whilst the horses run the course, hundreds of them are betting, - Some win a handsome sum, and others pull wry faces, - - As they are going home, wish they’d never seen the races. - The time it being arrived, the bell it is rung loudly, - The horses are well bred, they walk the course so proudly, - The gentlemen in red, so gallant in their places, - The course for to keep clear always at the races. - - The horses then do start, O! what a row and pother, - They push and shove away, one tumbling o’er another, - Here’s girls upon the course, with their fine rings and lockets, - But while the horses run, I’d have you mind your pockets. - - There’s spruce Eliza Long, and Polly, Kate, and Sukey, - Besides, there’s Molly Ruff, remarkable for beauty; - There’s pretty lasses gay, who are fond of men’s embraces, - But if you don’t take care, they’ll make you curse the races. - - And when the heat is o’er, into the booth they’ll toddle, - They drink of gin and ale, till it affects their noddle: - While your money lasts, they’ll use you very civil, - But when your blunt is gone, they’ll kick you like the devil. - - The next unto the shows, the people are advancing, - The show folks on the stage like puppets are a dancing, - The showman bawls aloud, “Come in and take your places, - I’ll show you Punch and Nan, now you’ve come to the Races.” - - Here’s wheelbarrows with nuts, here’s pies and tarts likewise, Sir, - All for to please your taste, if you’re inclin’d to buy, Sir; - Here’s the best of beef and ham, and muffins too, and crumpets, - Lark whistles, rattles, drums, and also wooden trumpets. - - When the races they are o’er, and money growing short, Sir, - There’s many a luckless wight may with reason curse the sport, Sir, - The finest race you’ll see, when the horse races are over, - Will be unto the house where three balls the door hangs over. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE BONNY GREY._ - - COME, you cock Merchants, far and near, - Did you hear of a cock battle happened near, - Those Liverpool lads, I’ve heard them say, - The Charcoal Black, and the Bonny Grey. - - We went to Jim Ward’s and call’d for a pot, - Where this cock battle was fought; - Twenty guineas a side these cocks did play, - The Charcoal Black, and the Bonny Grey. - - Then Lord Derby came swaggering down, - Bet ten guineas to a crown, - If this Charcoal Black it gets fair play, - He will rip the wings of your Bonny Grey. - - O, these two cocks, they came to the sod, - Cries the Liverpool lads, how now? what odds? - The odds the Prescot lads did say, - The Charcoal Black and the Bonny Grey. - - The cock battle it was fought, - Whilst the Charcoal he lay dead at last, - The Liverpool lads gave a loud huzza, - And carried away the Bonny Grey. - - - -_THE KING AND WEST COUNTRYMAN._ - - THERE was an old chap in the west country, - A flaw in his lease the lawyers had found, - It were all about felling of five oak trees, - And building some houses upon his own ground. - - -_Chorus._ - - Ri tooral, looral, looral, looral, Ri tum looral i, do. - - Now this owd chap to Lunnon did go, - To tell the King a part of his woe, - Likewise to unbosom to him his grief, - In hopes King George would give him relief. - - When this owd chap to Lunnun had come, - He found the King to Windsor had gone, - But, if he’d a known he’d not been at home, - He dom’d his buttons, if ever he’d come. - - Now this owd chap to Windsor did stump, - But the gates were barred, and all secure, - So he knocked and thumped with his oaken clump, - There’s room for I within, to be sure. - - Pray, Mr. Noble, show I the King, - What’s, that the King, as I see there? - If that chap’s a king, I vow and declare, - I’ve seen finer Kings at Bartlemy Fair. - - Pray, Mr. King, how do you do? - I’ze gotten for you, a bit of a job, - Which, if you’ll have the kindness to do, - I’ve got a summut for you in my fob. - - The King, he took the lease in hand, - To sign it he was likewise willing, - And the farmer, to make him some little amend, - He lugged out his bag, and gi’ed him a shilling. - - The King, to carry on the joke, - Ordered ten pounds to be paid down, - Likewise ten shillings, and half a crown, - For years and years after for ever more. - - The farmer, he stared and looked very funny, - But to take up the cash, he was likewise willing - But, if he’d a known, he’d half so much brass, - He dommed his wig if he’d gi’en him the shilling. - - - -_HODGE IN LONDON._ - - JOHN HODGE bid his dad and his mammy good bye, - And he set off for London his fortune to try, - For he, by a great many folks had been told, - That in London the streets were all paved with gold. - - But, when he came there, to his great surprise, - Like a duck against thunder, he rolled up his eyes; - He search’d all around, but the devil a one, - Could poor Johnny find, but was paved with stone. - - Now, in London, says John, I have heard people say, - That your pockets they’ll pick in the midst of the day! - I’ll take pretty good care that they shall not pick mine, - If they do, not a penny in them will they find. - - One guinea I’ve got, and of that will take care, - I’ll put it in my mouth, for they can’t find it there, - So deceived was poor Johnny, this caution he took, - For a boy overheard every word that he spoke. - - Now the boy being determined the guinea to gain, - Tumbled down on the stones, and then called out amain, - Stop that thief, said the boy, that clod hopping ninny, - He has knocked me down, and ran off with my guinea. - - When the people they heard the poor boy so take on, - They scampered away, and soon overtook John, - What mean you? you rascal, they all then did cry, - You’ve robb’d the boy, though the theft you deny. - - Then John he stood trembling and quaking for fear, - Crying, I ne’er touched the boy, nor his guinea, I swear, - But the boy coming up, still a lie he bawled out, - For you know that my guinea, you’ve got in your mouth. - - Then they opened John’s mouth, where the guinea was found, - Which was presently shewn to the people all round, - ’Twas given to the boy, who off with it did run, - And he laugh’d for to think how the Bumpkin he’d done. - - Then John, he stood roaring, just like a great calf, - Whilst those standing by, did heartily laugh, - The people all thought that the boy he did rob, - Says John, from this time I’ll ne’er do such a job. - - - ALTHOUGH the Mutiny of the Fleet at the Nore does not properly - belong to this century, yet it so nearly approached it (1797), and - was of such national importance for the time being, that I venture - to insert a ballad respecting it. The Navy was in a bad state. Many - men had been impressed; they were badly paid and badly fed; and - their punishment, for the slightest infraction of discipline, was - fearful, 50 to 500 lashes, according to the temper of the captain, - being no infrequent punishment for very venial offences. Early in - the year the men sent in very respectful memorials to Lord Howe, - telling him of their grievances. No notice was taken of it, and the - men, probably ignorantly, committed a gross breach of discipline in - combining together and opening communications with each other - throughout the Fleet. They plotted to seize the ships and expel the - officers; but it became known, and the Admiral gave orders to sail - to sea. The men refused to do so, until their grievances had been - looked into and redressed. This was promised and granted, but still - the men were suspicious that faith would not be kept with them, and - they set some of their officers ashore. Lord Howe, however, went to - the Fleet at St. Helen’s, and showed them an Act of Parliament, - granting their demands, and this pacified that portion of the - Fleet. - - But at the Nore there was open mutiny; they blockaded the entrance - to the Thames, and fired on several ships entering or departing. - This could not be endured, and the Admiralty removed the buoys. - Provisions ran short, and some men-of-war were sent alongside, with - orders to sink those ships that did not surrender. They gave in one - by one, and the chief ringleader, Richard Parker (a man of some - education), and several others were hanged; but they were long - regarded as martyrs. Parker was buried in the churchyard of St. - Mary Matfelon, Whitechapel. - - -[Illustration] - - -_DEATH OF PARKER._ - - YE Gods above, protect the widow, - And with pity look down on me, - Help me, help me out of trouble, - And out of all calamity. - For by the death of my brave Parker, - Fortune hath prov’d to me unkind; - Tho’ doom’d by law, he was to suffer, - I can’t erase him from my mind. - - Parker he was my lawful husband, - My bosom friend I lov’d so dear; - At the awful moment he was going to suffer - I was not allowed to come near. - In vain I strove, in vain I asked, - Three times, o’er and o’er again, - But they replied, you must be denied, - You must return on shore again. - - First time I attempted my love to see, - I was obliged to go away, - Oppress’d with grief, and broken hearted, - To think that they should me stay. - I thought I saw the yellow flag flying, - A signal for my husband to die, - A gun was fired, as they required, - As the time it did draw nigh. - - The boatswain did his best endeavour, - To get me on shore without delay, - When I stood trembling and confounded, - Ready to take his body away. - Though his trembling hand did wave, - As a signal of farewell, - The grief I suffered at this moment, - No heart can paint, or tongue can tell. - - My fleeting spirit I thought would follow, - The soul of him I love so dear, - No friend, nor neighbour would come nigh me, - For to ease me of my grief and care. - Every moment I thought an hour, - Till the law its course had run, - I wish’d to finish the doleful task, - His imprudence had begun. - - In the dead of night, ’tis silent, - And all the world are fast asleep, - My trembling heart that knows no comfort, - O’er his grave does often weep, - Each lingering minute that passes, - Brings me nearer to the shore, - When we shall shine in endless glory, - Never to be parted more. - - - -_THE BATTLE OF BOULOGNE._ - - ON the second day of August, eighteen hundred and one, - We sail’d with Lord Nelson to the port of Boulogne, - For to cut out their shipping, which was all in vain, - For to our misfortune, they were all moored and chained. - - Our boats being well mann’d, at eleven at night, - For to cut away their shipping, except they would fight, - But the grape from their batteries so smartly did play, - Nine hundred brave seamen killed and wounded there lay. - - We hoisted our colours, and so boldly them did spread - With a British flag flying at our royal mast-head, - For the honour of England, we will always maintain, - While bold British seamen plough the watery main. - - Exposed to the fire of the enemy she lay, - While ninety bright pieces of cannon did play, - Where many a brave seaman then lay in his gore, - And the shot from their batteries so smartly did pour. - - Our noble commander, with heart full of grief, - Used every endeavour to afford us relief, - No ship could assist us, as well you may know, - In this wounded condition, we were toss’d to and fro. - - And you who relieve us the Lord will you bless, - For relieving poor sailors in time of distress, - May the Lord put an end to all cruel wars, - And send peace and contentment to all British tars. - - -[Illustration] - - -_VICTORY._ - - I AM a youthful lady, my troubles they are great, - My tongue is scarcely able my grievance to relate, - Since I have lost my true love that was ever dear to me, - He is gone to plough the Ocean, on board the Victory. - - Many a pleasant evening my love and I have met, - He clasp’d me round my slender waist, and gave me kisses sweet, - I gave to him my hand and heart, he vow’d he’d marry me, - But I did not know that my love would go on board the Victory. - - My parents could not endure my love, because he was poor, - Therefore he did not presume to come within the door; - But, had he been some noble lord, or man of high degree, - They ne’er had sent the lad I love, on board the Victory. - - Thirteen of the pressgang did my love surround, - And one of the cursed gang, he laid bleeding on the ground, - My love was overpowered, but he fought most manfully, - Till he was obliged to yield, and go in the Victory. - - Each night, when in my slumbers, I can’t find any rest, - Love for my lad so dearly reigns within my burning breast, - Sometimes I dream I do enjoy my love’s sweet company, - And closely locked in my arms, on board the Victory. - - His teeth were white as ivory, his hair in ringlets hung, - His cheeks like blooming roses, all in the month of June, - He is lively, tall and handsome, in every degree, - My heart lies in his bosom, on board the Victory. - - Here’s success unto the Victory, and crew of noble fame, - And glory to the noble lord, bold Nelson, was his name, - In the battle of Trafalgar, the Victory cleared the way, - And my love was slain with Nelson upon that very day. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE BATTLE OF NAVARINO._[42] - - YOU’VE heard of the Turks and the Greeks, - For all Europe’s been told their bad habits, - How they cut down each other like leeks, - And the Turks slaughter children like rabbits: - But John Bull could bear it no more, - Said he, you death dealers, I’ll stop you, - And if you don’t both soon give o’er, - I swear by St. George, that I’ll whop you. - - But the Turks supposed John was in jest, - Or concluded he was but a Green-o, - So they mustered their fleet all the best, - And lay in the Port Navarino. - Death and famine they carried before’t, - And shot the poor Grecians by flocks, Sir, - Said our Tars, “We’ll go join in the sport, - And bring down a few Turkey Cocks, Sir.” - - Then our Admiral boldly went in, - Said he, “Mr. Turk, just a word here,” - But they answered him with a foul grin, - And a dirty trick something like murder. - Then Codrington proudly arose, - Said he, “Do they take us for dull logs? - Well, since they’re determined on blows, - Go at ’em, my brave British bull dogs.” - - Now the Turk thought our ships were his prey, - And hoped soon to take them in tow-a, - The Asia then led on the way, - And next came the brave ship Genoa! - The Tars then bang’d into the Turks, - As they do to all foes that would wrong us, - The Musselmen cried, “Here’s your works! - Oh Mahomet! The Devil’s upon us.” - - The French took a share in the fun, - The Russians proved willing and able, - In three hours the business was done, - And the turkeys dished up for the table. - They were cooked to their heart’s full desire, - ’Twas not a mere frizzle or toasting, - But it seems they’d too much of the fire, - And were d----ly burnt in the roasting. - - Then success to our lads of true blue, - Be they found upon sea or on shore, - And hurrah for the staunch gallant crew - That manned the brave ship the Genoa! - While we fight in humanity’s cause, - Success all our efforts must crown, Sir, - And the tyrant that treads on her laws, - May the first honest man knock him down, Sir. - - -[Illustration] - - -_DUKE WILLIAM’S FROLIC._[43] - - DUKE WILLIAM and a Nobleman, heroes of England’s nation, - One morning, nigh to two o’clock, did take their recreation; - Into the country they did go, in sailor’s dress from top to toe, - Said Duke William, now let us go and know, how they use the brave sailors. - - Dressed all in their sailor’s trim, they straightway hastened to an inn, - And when they were there, they made all the people stare - at their manly appearance; - The landlady viewed them; by good words they assail her, - Said she, come in, be not afraid, I love the jolly sailor. - - Then up the stairs they did go, and in a room did enter, - The duke did say, Landlady, please, bring wine both white and red, - Before the wine was drunk out, a press-gang bold and stout, - In the lower rooms for sailors bold did look and search about. - - The landlady said, go upstairs, if sailors you are seeking, - But one’s so fat that I believe, you’ll hardly care to ship him; - Ne’er mind, the Press-gang they did say, and went without delay, - We’re jolly sailors, brothers, from what ship are you, we pray? - - We do belong to George, said Will; said they, Where’s your protection? - We’ve none at all, they did reply, don’t cast on us reflection; - The lieutenant then did say, brothers, come without delay, - They shall not make you a prey, our warrant is for sailors. - - They led them to their leader then, the captain did them meet, - The duke, he said, Kind gentleman, take great care of your sheep. - With that the Captain he did swear, I am your shepherd, I declare, - We’ll make you know you saucy are, get down among the sailors. - - The Nobleman he did go down, but the duke, he refused, - At which the officers did frown, and sadly him abused: - Where must I lie? his highness said, may I not have a feather bed, - You’re fat enough, they all replied, pig in amongst the sailors. - - Then straight below the duke did go, unto his comrade, Sir, - How he did swear, to see the fate of many a brisk young blade, Sir; - Below he tore his trousers, and calling for some tailors, - The Captain said, you saucy blade, there’s no one here but sailors. - - For your bold airs, the Captain said, you’ll surely get a flog, Sir, - Quick to the gangway him convey, and whip him like a dog, Sir, - Come, strip, he cried; the duke replied, I do not like your law, Sir, - I ne’er will strip for to be whipped, so strip me if you dare, Sir. - - Then instantly the boatswain’s mate began for to undress him, - But, presently, he did espy the star upon his breast, sir; - Then on their knees they straight did fall, and for mercy soon did call, - He replied, You’re base villains, thus using us poor sailors. - - No wonder that my royal father cannot man his shipping, - ’Tis by using them so barbarously, and always them a-whipping, - But for the future, sailors all, shall have good usage, great and small, - To hear the news, together all cried, May God bless Duke William. - - He ordered them fresh officers that stood in need of wealth, - And with the crew he left some gold, that they might drink his health, - And when that they did go away, the sailors loud huzzaéd - Crying, blessed be that happy day whereon was born Duke William. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE KING[44] AND THE SAILOR._ - - IN Portsmouth town, at the sign of the Ship, - A jolly Jack Tar sat drinking his flip, - A messmate was there, who spun him a yarn, - That we’d a new King, he’d soon give him to larn. - - Says sailor Ben to sailor Jem, - He’s a King, and a sailor trim, - And ’bout him there’s no palaver or fuss, - Acause, don’t you see, he is one of us. - - Says sailor Ben to his messmate Jem, - He knows that I’ve sailed under him, - And when our ship’s paid off at Chatham, - I’ll go and have a good stare at ’em. - - Now Ben Block he arriv’d at the Park, - And soon the King and Queen did mark, - Says Ben, says he, I’ll bet you a tanner, - He hails me in a Kinglike manner. - - Ye ho! says Ben, and he soon brought to, - And his boatswain’s whistle out he drew, - When the King turn’d round with pride and joy, - Halloo! says he, what ship ahoy? - - Now Ben, he answered with a grin, - The Royal Charlotte I’ve sailed in, - She was nam’d arter your royal mother, - Whose great and glorious son you are. - - The King the hand of Ben he shook, - And said at that time I was a Mid, - Then Ben lugged out his ’bacca box, - And said to the King, _come take a quid_. - - If you won’t, the Queen may like a bit, - Mayhap, like one of the Indian squaws; - So he scrap’d up to her, and offered his box, - No thank ye, says she, _I never chaws_. - - The King he gave promotion to Ben - So he thought that he’d steer back again, - But the Queen, he thought he first would tell her - That her husband the king, was a d----d good fellow! - - -[Illustration] - - -_JACK BINNACLE AND QUEEN VICTORIA._[45] - - JACK BINNACLE just come from sea, - As jolly a tar as ever could be, - Hearing with many a joyous smile, - That Queen Victoria ruled our isle, - Weighed anchor for her palace soon, - With honest ardour just in time, - Declaring loudly, with a grin, - That he’d have a shake at the Royal Fin. - - -_Chorus._ - - Gaily push the grog about, - With mirth we’ll make each cabin shout - Let pleasure everywhere be seen, - Long life to Britain’s youthful Queen! - - Away Jack Binnacle then sped, - With natty hat upon his head, - With slacks and jacket blue, so trim, - No tar look’d half so well as him. - With shiners too, his purse was stor’d, - Besides, he had some grog aboard; - He reach’d her palace gates with joy, - Where loud he shouted--“Ship, Ahoy!” - - The guards, amazed, without delay, - All sought to drive the tar away; - Avast! ye lubbers! then he cries, - And spits his quid into their eyes, - To see her Queenship, I’ve come afar, - I know she’ll not despise a tar; - Because, don’t ye see, don’t make a fuss, - Her uncle Bill was one of us. - - In vain they tried to hinder Jack, - He bolted into the palace, smack! - Pass’d all the Yeomen on the stairs, - And on to the state chamber steers. - With wonder each one did him view, - Jack hitch’d his slacks--cried how d’ye do? - All right I hope,--no harm I mean, - I’ve come to see our Royal Queen. - - The Courtiers did not like this rout, - And would have put the Jack Tar out, - But our good Queen with friendly glance, - Desir’d our hero to advance, - “What! are YOU Victoria?” Jack then cries, - “Lord love your pretty twinkling eyes, - Exactly like my Poll, that’s flat, - Only as how you’re not so fat. - - Avast!--my jaw I must belay, - I hopes you’ll pardon what I say, - I sailed with your good Uncle Bill, - Whose memory I do honour still, - So, as I’ve heard, you’re Captain now, - I thought I’d come and make my bow, - And, as I have got lots of prog, - Would your Queenship take a glass of grog?” - - Our lovely Queen seemed to enjoy - The joke, which did her guests annoy; - For Queen Victoria, who can blame, - Loves all her subjects just the same. - Jack full an hour there did stay, - Then cried, as he rose to go away, - Poking a quid between his jaws, - “I s’pose your Majesty never chaws?” - - Then off went Jack, to the sign of the Ship, - And ordered a galore of flip, - Declaring loudly he did mean - To swim in grog to the health of the Queen. - Many a tar then joined hand, - Cans were filled, hands grasp’d each hand, - So then they shouted with such glee, - To Queen Victoria--three times three. - - -[Illustration] - - -_SWEET WILLIAM._ - - AS I was a walking along the sea shore, - Where the breezes blow cool and the billows do roar, - A ship I espied on the proud swelling main, - That brought me my true love to England again. - - The boat came on shore and my true love did land, - With his tarpawling jacket, and bundle in hand; - Saying presents I’ve brought you from East and from West, - Because you’re the maiden that I love the best. - - I have shawls and rich laces, and fine golden rings, - And rubies and pearls, and fifty fine things; - For since you’ve proved loyal and constant to me, - I have come back to England to marry with thee. - - Oh, then round her fair neck his arms he did throw, - And glad tears of joy from her eyelids did flow, - Saying William, dear William, thou’rt welcome to me, - For many long months have I watchéd for thee. - - O, come my dear Sailor, and let us begone, - My father and mother are waiting at home, - To see my dear sailor how glad they will be, - For they prayed for your safety while you were at sea. - - Then come, my dear girl, to the Church let’s away, - And we shall be wedded without more delay, - I’ve riches in store, love, when thou art my wife, - To make us contented and happy for life. - - -_THE POOR SMUGGLER’S BOY._ - - ONE cloudy morning, as I abroad did steer, - By the wide rolling ocean that runs swift and clear, - I heard a poor creature, that in sorrow did weep, - Saying, O, my poor father is lost in the deep. - - My father and mother once happy did dwell, - In a neat little cottage they rearéd me well; - Poor father did venture all on the salt sea, - For a keg of good brandy, for the land of the free. - - For Holland we steer’d while the thunder did roar, - And the lightning flash’d vivid when far, far, from shore, - Our ship, mast, and rigging, were blown to the wave, - And found, with poor father, a watery grave. - - I jump’d over board in the troubléd main, - To save my poor father--but all was in vain, - I clasp’d his cold clay, for quite lifeless was he, - Then forc’d for to leave him, sink down in the sea. - - I clung to a plank, and so gained the shore, - With sad news for mother, and father no more, - For mother, with grief broken hearted did die, - And I was left to wander--so pity poor I. - - A lady of fortune, she heard him complain, - And shelteréd him from the wind and the rain, - She said, I’ve employment,--no parents have I, - I will think of an orphan, till the day that I die. - - He well did his duty, and gained a good name, - Till the lady she died, and he master became, - She left him 2000 bright pounds, and some land, - So, if you’re ever so poor, you may live to be grand. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE SMUGGLER’S BRIDE._ - - ATTENTION give and a tale I’ll tell, - Of a damsel fair that in Kent did dwell, - On the Kentish coast, when the tempest rolled, - She fell deep in love with a smuggler bold. - - Upon her pillow she could not sleep, - When her valiant smuggler was on the deep, - While the winds did whistle she did complain, - For her smuggler ploughing the raging main. - - When Will arrived on his native coast, - He would fly to her that he valued most, - He would fly to Nancy, his lover true, - And forget all hardships he’d lately been through. - - One bright May morning the sun did shine, - And lads and lasses all gay and fine, - Along the coast they did trip along, - To see the wedding, and sing a cheerful song. - - Young Nancy then bid her friends adieu, - And to sea she went with her lover true, - In storms and tempests all hardship braves, - With her valiant smuggler upon the waves. - - One stormy night when the winds did rise, - And dark and dismal appeared the skies, - The tempest rolled and the waves did roar, - And the valiant smuggler was driven from shore. - - Cheer up, cries William, my valiant wife, - Says Nancy--I never valued life, - I’ll brave the storms and the tempests through, - And fight for William with sword and pistol too. - - At length a cutter did on them drive, - The cutter on them did soon arrive, - Don’t be daunted, though we’re but two, - We’ll not surrender--like Britons true. - - Cheer up, says Nancy, with courage true, - I will fight, dear William, and stand by you, - They like Britons fought, Nancy stood by the gun, - They beat their enemies and quick made them run. - - Another cutter now hove in sight, - And joined to chase them with all their might; - They were overpowered, and soon disarmed, - It was then young Nancy and William were alarmed. - - A shot that moment made Nancy start, - Another struck William to the heart, - This shock distressed sweet Nancy’s charms, - When she fell and died in William’s arms, - - Now Will and Nancy to life bid adieu, - They lived and died like two lovers true, - Young men and maidens, now faithful prove, - Like Will and Nancy, who lived and died in love. - - -_THE FEMALE SMUGGLER._ - - COME, attend a while, and you shall hear, - By the Rolling Sea lived a maiden fair, - Her father followed the smuggling trade, - Like a warlike hero that was never afraid. - - In Sailor’s clothing, young Jane did go, - Dress’d like a sailor from top to toe, - Her aged father was the only care - Of the female smuggler who did never despair. - - With her pistols loaded, she went on board, - By her side hung a glittering sword, - In her belt, two daggers, well arm’d for war, - Was the female smuggler, who never fear’d scar. - - Not far they sailéd from the land, - When a strange sail put them all to a stand; - Those are the robbers, this maid did cry, - The female smuggler will conquer or die. - - Close along side these two vessels came, - Cheer up, said Jane, we’ll board the same, - We’ll run all chances to rise or fall, - Cried the female smuggler, who never fear’d a ball. - - They beat the robbers, and took their store, - And soon return’d to old England’s shore, - With a keg of brandy she walk’d along, - Did the female smuggler, and sweetly sang a song. - - Not far she travell’d, before she espied, - A Commodore of the blockade, - He said, Surrender, or you must fall, - But the female smuggler said, I never fear a ball. - - What do you mean? said the Commodore. - I mean to fight, for my father’s poor, - Then she pull’d the trigger, and shot him through, - Did the female smuggler, and to her father flew. - - But she was followed by the blockade, - In irons strong they put this fair maid, - But when they brought her to be tried, - The young female smuggler stood dress’d like a bride. - - The Commodore against her appeared, - His health restored, and from danger cleared, - But, when he found, to his great surprize, - ’Twas a female smuggler had fought him in disguise. - - He to the Judge and Jury said, - My heart won’t let me prosecute that maid, - Pardon I beg for her on my knees, - She’s a valiant maiden, so pardon, if you please. - - If you pardon this maid, said the gentleman, - To make her my bride is now my plan, - Then I’d be happy for ever more, - With my sweet smuggler, said the Commodore. - - Then the Commodore to her father went, - Though he was poor, to ask his consent, - He gained consent, so the Commodore, - And the female smuggler are joined for evermore. - - -[Illustration] - - -_JACK RETURNED FROM SEA._ - - HERE am I, poor Jack, - Just come home from Sea, - With shiners in my sack, - Pray what do you think of me? - Eight long years I have been - Cruising the wide world over, - Many a droll sight have I seen, - But I wish the War was over. - - I’ve sailed in many a flood, - Where cans of grog did pour, - Fought up to my knees in blood, - Where bullets flew in showers, - Where the French cried out parblue, - The Dutch cried out Peccavi. - The Danes and Spaniards too, - Went tumbling to old Davy. - - Sailors have mann’d the gales, - Let it rain, blow or fog, - The purser often fails - To serve us out with grog. - I’ve crossed th’ Equinoctial line, - Where the sun would scorch your nose off, - I’ve sailed in such a clime, - Where the frost would bite your toes off. - - It was off the coast of Spain, - Coming from a six months’ cruise, - Little did I think to hear - Of such glorious news. - I heard our people tell, - Talking of an invasion, - But that I knew full well, - Was all a botheration. - - I next was at the Nore, - We cast anchor in the night, - Looking towards the shore, - A boat appeared in sight. - - As on the yard we lay, - Our topsails for to furl, - I heard our pilot say - There’s peace with all the world.[46] - - I wish it was a peace, - And all our men on shore, - With the shiners in my sack, - And go to sea no more. - And should war come again, - Damme if I don’t enter, - And, like a jolly tar, - Both life and limb, - I’ll venture. - -[Illustration] - - -_THE JOLLY ROVING TAR._ - - IT was in the town of Liverpool, all in the month of May, - I overheard a damsel, alone as she did stray, - She did appear like Venus, or some sweet lovely star. - As she walked the beach, lamenting for her jolly roving Tar. - - O, William, gallant William, how can you sail away? - I have arrived at twenty one, and I’m a lady gay, - I will man one of my father’s ships, and face the horrid war, - And cross the briny ocean for my jolly roving Tar. - - Young William looked so manly, drest all in his sailor’s clothes, - His cheeks they were like roses, his eyes as black as sloes, - His hair hung down in ringlets, but he is gone afar, - And my heart lies in the bosom of my jolly roving Tar. - - Come all you jolly sailors, and push the boat ashore, - That I may see my father’s ships and see they are secure, - Provisions we have plenty, and lots of grog in store, - So drink good health you sailors, to my jolly roving Tar. - - She quickly jumped into the boat and merrily left the land, - And as the sailors rowed away, she wav’d her lily hand, - Farewell ye girls of Liverpool, I fear no wound nor scar, - And away went pretty Susan to her jolly roving Tar. - - -[Illustration] - - -_YOUNG HENRY OF THE RAGING MAIN._ - - ON a summer’s morn the day was dawning, - Down by the pleasant river side, - I saw a brisk and lovely maiden, - And a youth called “England’s Pride”! - He was a tight and smart young sailor, - Tears from his eyes did fall like rain, - Saying, adieu, my lovely Emma, - I’m going to plough the raging main. - - Cried Emma--Henry will you leave me - Behind, my sorrow to complain? - For your sweet features, lovely Henry, - I may ne’er behold again! - See, Emma dear, our ship’s weighed anchor, - Tis folly, Love, for to complain, - Though you I leave, I’ll ne’er deceive you, - I’m bound to plough the raging main. - - Said Emma, Stay a little longer, - Stay at home with your true love, - But, if you enter, I will venture, - I swear by all the powers above! - I’ll venture with my lovely Henry, - Perhaps great honour I may attain, - She cried, I’ll enter and boldly venture - With Henry on the raging main. - - Cried Henry,--Love, don’t be distracted, - Perhaps you may be cast away, - ’Tis for that reason, cried young Emma, - That behind I will not stay. - I’ll dress myself in man’s apparel, - So, dearest Henry, don’t complain, - In jacket blue, and tarry trousers, - I will plough the raging main. - - Then on board the brig Eliza, - Henry and his Emma went; - She did her duty like a sailor, - And with her lover was content. - Her pretty hands, once soft as velvet, - With pitch and tar appeared in pain, - Though her hands were soft, she went aloft, - And boldly ploughed the raging main. - - The Eliza brig was bound for India, - And ’ere she had three weeks set sail, - From land, or light, one stormy night, - It blew a bitter, and heavy gale. - Undaunted, up aloft went Emma, - ’Midst thunder, lightning, wind and rain, - With courage true, in a blue jacket, - Did Emma plough the raging main. - - Twelve hours long the tempest lasted, - At length quite calm it did appear, - And they proceeded on their voyage, - Emma, and her true love dear. - When just two years they’d been sailing, - To England they returned again, - And no one did suspect young Emma, - Ploughing on the watery main. - - - IN England, and, for the matter of that, on the Continent as well, - since this century was born, some trifle has tickled the people, - and has been reiterated, until every catch-word has become a - nuisance. In the early part of the century, for instance, “Has your - mother sold her mangle?” “Does your mother know you’re out?” and, - “Before you could say Jack Robinson” (which has passed into a - recognized saying), were in everyone’s mouth. It is not often that - these catch-words can be traced to their origin, but the latter - seems to have arisen in the Ballad of - - -_JACK ROBINSON_. - - THE perils and the dangers of the voyage past, - And the ship at Portsmouth arrived at last. - The sails all furled and the anchor cast, - The happiest of the crew was Jack Robinson. - For his Poll he had trinkets and gold galore, - Besides Prize Money quite a store, - And along with the crew, he went ashore, - As Coxwain to the boat, Jack Robinson. - - He met with a man, and said, “I say, - Perhaps you may know one Polly Gray? - She lives somewhere hereabout:” the man said, “nay, - I do not indeed,” to Jack Robinson. - So says Jack to him, “I have left my ship, - And all my messmates, they gave me the slip. - Mayhap you’ll partake of a good can of flip? - For you’re a good sort of fellow,” says Jack Robinson. - - In a public-house, then, they both sat down, - And talked of Admirals of high renown, - And drank as much grog as came to half a crown, - This here strange man and Jack Robinson. - Then Jack call’d out the reckoning to pay, - The landlady came in, in fine array, - “My eyes, and limbs, why here’s Polly Gray! - Who’d thought of meeting here?” says Jack Robinson. - - The landlady staggered against the wall, - And said, at first, she didn’t know him at all, - “Shiver me,” says Jack, “why here’s a pretty squall, - D----n me, don’t you know me? I’m Jack Robinson! - Don’t you remember this handkerchief you giv’d me? - ’Twas three years ago, before I went to sea, - Every day I’ve looked at it, and then I thought of thee, - Upon my soul, I have,” says Jack Robinson. - - Says the lady, says she “I have changed my state.” - “Why! you don’t mean,” says Jack, “that you’ve got a mate? - You know you promised----” Says she, “I could not wait, - For no tidings could I gain of you, Jack Robinson, - And somebody, one day, came up to me and said, - That somebody else, had somewhere read - In some newspaper, as how you were dead.” - “I’ve not been dead at all,” says Jack Robinson. - - Then he turn’d his quid, and finish’d his glass, - Hitch’d up his trousers, “Alas! alas! - That ever I should live to be made such an ass! - To be bilked by a woman,” says Jack Robinson. - “But to fret and to stew about it’s all in vain, - I’ll get a ship and go to Holland, France and Spain, - No matter where, to Portsmouth I’ll ne’er come again.” - And he was off before you could say Jack Robinson. - - - HERE is a variation, such as I never met with before, of the - time-honoured Ballad of - - -_BOLD WILLIAM TAYLOR_.[47] - - I’LL sing you a song about two lovers, - Who from Lichfield town did come, - The young man’s name was William Taylor, - The maiden’s name was Sarah Naylor. - - Now for a Sailor William enlisted, - Now for a Sailor William’s gone, - He’s gone and left his charming Sally, - All alone, which made her mourn. - - She dressed herself in man’s apparel, - Man’s apparel she put on, - And set out to seek her own true lover, - For to find him she is gone. - - One day she was exercising, - Exercising among the rest, - A silver locket flew from her jacket, - And exposed her milk-white breast. - - O, then the Captain stept up to her, - And asked her, what brought her there - All for to seek for my own true lover, - For he has proved to me severe. - - If you are come to find your lover, - You must tell to me his name, - His name it is bold William Taylor, - And from Lichfield town he came. - - If your lover’s name is William Taylor, - He has proved to you severe, - He is married to a rich lady, - He was married the other year. - - If you’ll rise early in the morning, - In the morning by break of day, - There you’ll see bold William Taylor, - Walking with his lady gay. - - Then she called for a brace of pistols, - A brace of pistols I command, - And then she shot bold William Taylor - With his bride at his right hand. - - O, then the captain was well pleaséd, - Well pleaséd with what she’d done, - And soon she became a bold commander, - On board a ship of all her own men. - - Then the Captain loved her dearly, - Loved her dearly as his life, - And it was but three days after, - Sarah became the Captain’s wife. - - -[Illustration] - - -_RATCLIFFE HIGHWAY IN 1842._ - - YOU jolly sailors list to me, - I’ve been a fortnight home from sea, - Which time I’ve rambled night and day, - To have a lark on the Highway. - - -_Chorus._ - - Listen, you jovial sailors gay, - To the rigs of Ratcliffe Highway. - - Some lasses their heads will toss, - With bustles as big as a brewer’s horse, - Some wear a cabbage net called veil, - And a boa just like a buffalo’s tail. - - I married a lass with her face so red, - She eat three salt herrings and a bullock’s head, - She danced a jig, then began to sing, - Drank a gallon of beer, and a pint of gin. - - I have sailed, indeed, all over the world, - And never before my flag unfurled, - In India, China, and Bungo bay, - As the spot we call Ratcliffe Highway. - - One night a lady did me drag, - To have a spree at the Lamb and Flag. - There she got drunk, and got in a row, - And sold her shoes at the Barley Mow. - - There is eels and shrimps as black as fleas, - And a covey a selling blue grey peas, - There’s ugly Bet, and Dandy Jane, - At the King William in Gravel Lane. - - Yes! you’ll see some girls as smart and neat, - As the Dowager Queen of Otaheite, - There’s every colour, indeed ’tis true, - Green, black and purple, yellow and blue. - - I went one night to have a reel - At the Angel tap in Blue Coat Fields, - I danced, and capered, and sung a song, - And married a lady they call Miss Long. - - I fell in with a lady so modest and meek, - She eat thirteen faggots, and nine pigs feet, - Three pounds of beef, and to finish the meal, - Eat eight pounds of tripe, and a large cow heel. - - I met with another borne down with fear, - She guzzled down thirteen pots of beer, - She threw up her heels and play’d the deuce, - And broke her nose at the Paddy’s Goose. - - You jovial sailors, one and all, - When you in the port of London call, - Mind Ratcliffe Highway and the Damsels loose, - The William, the Bear, and the Paddy Goose. - - -_Chorus._ - - You sailors bold my song obtain, - And learn it on the raging main. - - -_THE GREENLAND WHALE FISHERY._ - - WE can no longer stay on shore, - Since we’re so deep in debt, - So a voyage to Greenland we will go, - Some money for to get--brave boys. - - Now, when we lay at Liverpool, - Our good-like ship to man, - ’Twas there our names were all wrote down, - And we’re bound for Greenland--brave boys. - - In eighteen hundred and twenty-four, - On March the twenty third, - We hoisted our colours up to our mast head, - And for Greenland bore away--brave boys. - - But when we came to Greenland, - Our good-like ship to moor, - Oh, then we wished ourselves back again - With our friends upon the shore--brave boys. - - The boatswain went to the mast-head, - With his spy-glass in his hand, - Here’s a whale, a whale, a whale, he cried, - And she blows on every spring--brave boys. - - The Captain on the quarter deck, - (A very good man was he,) - Overhaul, overhaul, your boat tackle fall - And launch your boats to sea--brave boys. - - The boats being launch’d, and the hands got in, - The whale fishes appeared in view, - Resolved was the whole boat’s crew, - To steer where the whale fish blew--brave boys. - - The whale being struck, and the whale paid on, - She gave a flash with her tail, - She capsized the boat, and lost five men, - Nor did we catch the whale--brave boys. - - Bad news unto our captain brought, - That we had lost the ’prentice boys, - He, hearing of this dreadful news, - His colours down did haul--brave boys. - - The losing of this whale, brave boys, - Did grieve his heart full sore, - But losing of his five brave men, - Did grieve him ten times more--brave boys.[48] - - Come, weigh your anchors, my brave boys, - For the winter star I see, - It’s time we should leave this cold country, - And for England bear away--brave boys. - - For Greenland is a barren place, - Neither light, nor day to be seen, - Nought but ice and snow where the whale-fish blow, - And the daylight seldom seen--brave boys. - - -_THE NEW YORK TRADER._ - - TO a New York Trader, I did belong, - She was well built, both stout and strong, - Well rigg’d, well mann’d, well fit for sea, - Bound to New York in America. - - On the first of March then did we sail, - With a sweet, and a pleasant gale, - Like hearts undaunted, we put to sea, - Bound to New York in America. - - Our cruel Captain as we did find, - Left half of our provisions behind, - Our cruel captain, as we did understand, - Meant to starve us all, before we made the land. - - At length our hunger grew very great, - We had but little on board to eat, - And we were in necessity, - All by our Captain’s cruelty. - - Our Captain in his cabin lay, - A voice came to him, and thus he did say, - Prepare yourself and ship’s company, - For to-morrow night with me you shall lay. - - Our Captain woke in a terrible fright, - It being about the first watch of the night, - Aloud for the boatswain, he straightly did call, - And to him related the secret all. - - Boatswain, said he, it grieves me to the heart, - To think that I’ve acted a villain’s part, - To take what was not my lawful due - To starve my passengers and the ship’s crew. - - There’s one thing more I have to tell, - When I in Waterford town did dwell, - I killed my master, a merchant there, - All for the sake of his lady fair. - - I killed my wife and children three, - All through that cursed jealousy, - And on my servant I laid the blame, - And hang’d he was, all for the same. - - Captain, said he, if that be so, - Pray, let none of your ship’s crew know, - But keep the secret within your breast, - And pray to God to give you rest. - - Early next morning a storm did rise, - Which our seamen did much surprize. - The sea was over us, both fore and aft, - That scarce a man on deck was left. - - Then the boatswain he did declare - That our Captain was a murderer, - It so enraged all the ship’s crew, - They overboard the Captain threw. - - When this was done, a calm was there, - Our good-like ship homeward did steer, - The wind abated and calmed the sea, - And they sailed safe to America. - - When we came to anchor there, - Our good-like ship for to repair, - The people wondered much to see - What a poor distress’d big wreck were we. - - -_VIVA VICTORIA._ - - ROUSE ye lovers of peace and order, - Of true freedom, with honour united, - Rally round the old banner of union, - And its glory shall never be blighted. - We have bold hearts in British dominions, - Who dare all a freeman should dare, - But the Throne and the Queen be our watchword, - And let traitors and foemen beware. - Viva Victoria! Viva Victoria! - Strength to the throne! health to the Queen! - Viva Victoria! - - We’ll have peace, but it must be with honour, - We have no need of new names in story, - But if war sounds the tocsin, then Britain, - Still has heroes enough for her glory. - Shame the Brawlers, who trade in sedition, - Misleaders, who traffic in lies, - And beware, lest those self-seeking martyrs, - Would-be-lions, prove wolves in disguise. - Viva Victoria! etc. - - By the head, or the hand, if it toileth, - May the honest man live by his labour, - But the drone who can work and won’t work, - Shall not rest on the strength of his neighbour. - To the Throne, as the safeguard of freedom, - By our birthright allegiance we swear, - For the Queen is the Monarch of Freedom, - To the King of all be our prayer. - Viva Victoria! etc. - - -_QUEEN VICTORIA._[49] - - WELCOME now, VICTORIA! - Welcome to the throne! - May all the trades begin to stir, - Now you are Queen of England; - For your most gracious Majesty, - May see what wretched poverty, - Is to be found on England’s ground, - Now you are Queen of England. - - While o’er the country you preside, - Providence will be your guide, - The people then will never chide - Victoria, Queen of England. - She doth declare it her intent - To extend reform in Parliament, - On doing good she’s firmly bent, - While she is Queen of England. - - Says she, I’ll try my utmost skill, - That the poor may have their fill; - Forsake them!--no, I never will, - When I am Queen of England. - For oft my mother said to me, - Let this your study always be, - To see the people blest and free, - Should you be Queen of England. - - And now, my daughter, you do reign, - Much opposition to sustain, - You’ll surely have, before you gain - The blessings of Old England. - O yes, dear mother, that is true, - I know my sorrows won’t be few, - Poor people shall have work to do, - When I am Queen of England. - - I will encourage every trade, - For their labour must be paid, - In this free country then she said, - Victoria, Queen of England; - That poor-law bill, with many more, - Shall be trampled on the floor-- - The rich must keep the helpless poor, - While I am Queen of England. - - The Royal Queen of Britain’s isle - Soon will make the people smile, - Her heart none can the least defile, - Victoria, Queen of England. - Although she is of early years, - She is possess’d of tender cares, - To wipe away the orphan’s tears, - While she is Queen of England. - - With joy each Briton doth exclaim, - Both far and near across the main, - Victoria we now proclaim - The Royal Queen of England; - Long may she live, and happy be, - Adorn’d with robes of Royalty, - With blessings from her subjects free, - While she is Queen of England. - - In every town and village gay, - The bells shall ring, and music play, - Upon her Coronation-day, - Victoria, Queen of England. - While her affections we do win, - And every day fresh blessings bring, - Ladies, help me for to sing, - Victoria, Queen of England. - - -_THE QUEEN’S MARRIAGE._[50] - - A SUBJECT I want for a song, do you see, - So Her Majesty, look you, my subject shall be; - Nay there I am wrong, so my Muse here avers, - _My_ “subject” she can’t be, because I am _hers_! - Forgive me, I beg, if with words I do play, - And hear a plain man in his own queer plain way, - And still to my errors in mercy pray lean, - While the wedding I sing of our glorious Queen! - - -_Chorus._ - - Our cups to the dregs in a health let us drain, - And with them a long and a prosperous reign, - Like good loyal subjects in loud chorus sing, - Victoria’s wedding with Albert her King. - - Many suitors the Queen’s had of class, clime, and creed, - But each failed to make an impression, indeed; - For, for Albert of Coburg, the rest off she packs, - Thus “giving the _bag_” each, and keeping “the Saxe!” - A fortunate fellow he is, all must say, - And right well his _cards_ he has managed to play, - The _game_ he has won, and no wonder, I ween, - When he played “Speculation,” and turn’d up _the Queen_. - - A hundred thousand a year he may get, - For taking the Queen, which is something to wit; - _I_ myself had “proposed” had I known it, that’s flat, - For I’d willingly take her for much less than that. - Even yet, if her Majesty _should_ chance to scoff - At the bargain she’s made, and the matter break off, - I’ll instantly seek her, and lay my mind down, - And offer to take her, at just--_half a crown_! - - Since the Queen did herself for a husband “propose,” - The ladies will all do the same I suppose; - Their days of subserviency now will be past, - For all will speak _first_, as they always did _last_! - Since the Queen has no equal, “obey,” none she need, - So, of course, at the Altar, from such vow she’s freed; - And the women will all follow suit, so they say-- - “Love, honour,” they’ll promise, but never “obey.” - - Those will now wed, who ne’er wedded before, - Those who always wedded, will now wed the more; - Clerks will no time have, to lunch, dine, or sup, - And parsons, just now will begin to _look up_! - To churches, indeed, this will be a God-send, - Goldsmiths be selling off _rings without end_! - For now you’ll not find from Castle to Cot, - A _single_ man living, who _married_ is not. - - But hence with all quibbling, for now I have done, - Though all I have said has been purely in fun; - May the Queen and the King shine like Venus and Mars, - And Heaven _preserve_ them without any _jars_! - Like Danaë of old may we see it plain, - Till time is no more, these bright _sovereigns rain_:[51] - May pleasure and joy through their lives know no bounds, - So let’s give them a _toast_, and make it _three rounds_. - - -_A NEW SONG ON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE OF WALES._[52] - - THERE’S a pretty fuss and bother both in country and in town, - Since we have got a present, and an heir unto the Crown, - A little Prince of Wales so charming and so sly, - And the ladies shout with wonder, What a pretty little boy! - - He must have a little musket, a trumpet and a kite, - A little penny rattle, and silver sword so bright, - A little cap and feather with scarlet coat so smart, - And a pretty little hobby horse to ride about the park. - - Prince Albert he will often take the young Prince on his lap, - And fondle him so lovingly while he stirs about the pap, - He will pin on his flannel before he takes his nap, - Then dress him out so stylish with his little clouts and cap. - - He must have a dandy suit to strut about the town, - John Bull must rake together six or seven thousand pound, - You’d laugh to see his daddy, at night he homewards runs, - With some peppermint or lollipops, sweet cakes and sugar plums. - - He will want a little fiddle, and a little German flute, - A little pair of stockings and a pretty pair of boots, - With a handsome pair of spurs, and a golden headed cane, - And a stick of barley sugar, as long as Drury Lane. - - An old maid ran through the palace, which did the nobs surprize, - Bawling out, he’s got his daddy’s mouth, his mammy’s nose and eyes, - He will be as like his daddy as a frigate to a ship, - If he’d only got mustachios upon his upper lip. - - Now to get these little niceties the taxes must be rose, - For the little Prince of Wales wants so many suits of clothes, - So they must tax the frying pan, the windows and the doors, - The bedsteads and the tables, kitchen pokers, and the floors. - - -_THE QUEEN AND THE COAL EXCHANGE._ - - YOU lads and you lasses so gay, - Now keep yourselves tidy and sober, - And never forget the grand day, - The thirtieth day of October.[53] - When the QUEEN and Prince ALBERT so grand, - With their dear little sons and their daughter, - Will all get in a boat at Whitehall, - And go down to the city by water, - To open the New Coal Exchange. - - To tell you about the concern, - It is Queen VICTORIA’S desire then, - Her pocket is got very low, - Through her journey to Scotland and Ireland.[54] - To see them along go so gay, - Throw open your doors and your windows, - A coal shed they’ve took, so they say, - To retail Newcastles and cinders, - A coal porter Albert will be. - - Such a sight sure there has not been seen, - Believe me my friends there has never, - As there is to see England’s Queen, - In a collier so gay on the river. - Not a gun must be fired that day, - Not a barge nor a boat must be stopping, - But they must be all cleared away, - Three miles and a half below Wapping. - Won’t that be a glorious sight! - - The Dukes, Lords and Ladies so gay, - Will whistle and sing when they’ve started, - And when they arrive near the key, - They will anchor near Billingsgate Market. - And then all on shore they will go, - To be gazed at by wise folk and simple, - Where they’ll have a good blow out of crabs, - Of oysters, red herrings and winkles. - Move on and get out of the way. - - To receive them will be the Lord Mayor, - And his lady, as sweet as a myrtle, - Lots of Aldermen too will be there, - To treat her with salmon and turtle. - At the Custom House Pier they will stand, - And the citizens gay will receive her, - And make ALBERT, as we understand - An out and out stunning coalheaver, - Such wonders we never did see. - - To the brim they will fill up a sack, - And drink a good health to the nation, - Then clap it on Prince ALBERT’S back, - What a change it will be in his station. - There will be dukes and earls too, - Coal merchants, silk weavers and wasters, - When AL will put on his smock frock, - Knee breeches, white stockings and gaiters, - A coal porter ALBERT will be. - - Let us hope they will have a good trade, - And be able to flare up like flinders, - There’s many a fortune been made - By wetting the coals and the cinders. - Prince ALBERT will not be compelled - To carry the sacks, but he’d rather, - And the young PRINCE OF WALES will be there, - For to measure the coals for his father. - Seven pounds for a penny, good weight. - - So now to conclude, my good friends, - If it won’t be a sight, it’s a pity, - The QUEEN and her husband so fine, - And her children, all down in the City. - The colliers drest all in their best, - At the Custom House wait to receive her, - Here’s a health to Victoria so grand, - And Prince ALBERT the slashing coalheaver, - A dealer in Newcastle coals. - - -_CRYSTAL PALACE._ - - BRITANNIA’S sons an attentive ear - One moment lend to me, - Whether tillers of our fruitful soil, - Or lords of high degree. - Mechanic too, and artizan, - Old England’s pride and boast, - Whose wondrous skill has spread around, - Far, far from Britain’s coast. - - -_Chorus._ - - For the World’s great Exhibition, - Let’s shout with loud huzza, - All nations never can forget, - The glorious first of May. - - From every quarter of the Globe, - They come across the sea, - And to the Chrystal Palace - The wonders for to see; - Raised by the handiwork of men - Born on British ground, - A challenge to the Universe - It’s equal to be found. - - Each friendly nation in the world, - Have their assistance lent, - And to this Exhibition - Have their productions sent. - And with honest zeal and ardour, - With pleasure do repair, - With hands outstretch’d, and gait erect, - To the World’s Great National Fair. - - The Sons of England and France - And America likewise, - With other nations to contend, - To bear away the prize. - With pride depicted in their eyes, - View the offspring of their hand, - O, surely England’s greatest wealth, - Is an honest working man. - - It is a glorious sight to see - So many thousands meet, - Not heeding creed or country, - Each other friendly greet. - Like children of one mighty sire, - May that sacred tie ne’er cease, - May the blood stain’d sword of War give way - To the Olive branch of Peace. - - But hark! the trumpets flourish, - Victoria does approach, - That she may long be spared to us - Shall be our reigning toast. - I trust each heart, it will respond, - To what I now propose-- - Good will and plenty to her friends, - And confusion to her foes. - - Great praise is due to Albert, - For the good that he has done, - May others follow in his steps - The work he has begun; - Then let us all, with one accord, - His name give with three cheers, - Shout huzza for the Chrystal Palace, - And the World’s great National Fair!! - - -_QUEEN’S VISIT TO FRANCE._[55] - - YOU bonny pretty English Girls-- - Your Mammas I am going to harrass, - What a lark I lately have had, - Among the young bucks of Paris. - A son and daughter I shall have, - As fine as ever were seen-y, - The boy shall Napoleon be called, - And the little girl nam’d Eugenie. - - -_Chorus._ - - I’ve been to France to learn to dance, - With Frenchmen we were mingling, - Now Vic and Albert have returned - Once more to bonny England. - - From Osborne boldly we set sail, - Our hearts did beat in motion, - The wind it blew a pleasant gale, - And glorious looked the ocean. - And when we landed at Boulogne, - Napoleon loud did roar, there, - Three times he kiss’d me on the cheek, - Then sang “God bless Victoria.” - - The guns did fire, the bells did ring, - The cannon balls did rattle, - Young men and maids did sweetly sing, - Then the soldiers had a battle. - The snips and snobs, so help my bobs, - Were mounted on French ponies, - Me and Albert had a fracasee, - Then a stumping Macaroni. - - There were blazing lights all through the night, - The doors broke off their hinges, - When all the pretty maiden’s knees - Were covered over with fringes. - The men had all got hairy lips, - Then whistled sweet marblue, Sirs, - They cheered me gaily all the way, - Then halloed Parley Vous, Sirs. - - The Frenchmen used me very well, - And shewed me sights and wonders - My Albert, he was frightened, and, - Eugenie’s bed crept under; - I thought with her he was in love, - I thought he did adore her, - I thought that he had run away, - And left his own Victoria. - - Well, now we’ve had a grand flare up, - The like was seen not never, - The kind French folk did laugh and joke, - With “Anglais for ever.” - The sights I’ve seen, believe your Queen, - So sweetly did delight her, - She went to France to learn to dance, - And Bull must pay the piper. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE QUEEN’S DREAM._ - - GOOD people give attention, and listen for a while, - To an interesting ditty, which cannot fail to make you smile, - So all draw near, and lend an ear, while I relate a theme, - Concerning of Victoria, a strange and funny dream. - - -_Chorus._ - - So these are dreams and visions - Of old England’s blooming Queen. - - At the Isle of Wight, the other night, as Vic lay in her bed, - Strange visions did to her appear, and dreams came in her head; - She drew Prince Albert by the nose, and gave a dreadful scream, - Oh, dear, she said, I’m filled with dread, I’d such a dreadful dream. - - Says Albert, Vic, what are you at? you’ve made my nose quite sore, - I’m in a mind, for half a pin, to kick you on the floor, - Such dreams for me will never do, you pepper’d me with blows. - I never knew a wife to dream, and pull her husband’s nose. - - O, don’t be vex’d, the Queen replied, you know I love you well, - So listen awhile dear Albert, and my dreams to you I’ll tell: - Last night, she said, I had a dream, as soon as I lay down, - I thought Napoleon had come o’er, to steal away my crown. - - The vision of Napoleon appeared at my bed side, - He said that by my subjects he had been greatly belied, - But now, said he, I’ll be revenged, I’ll quickly make you rue, - And I’ll take away the laurels that were won at Waterloo. - - When the vision of Napoleon, from my view did disappear, - To escape the French, I thought that we came to lodge here, - I thought that we were so held down, by cursed poverty, - That I was forc’d to labour hard in a cotton factory. - - Prince Albert, he stood quite amazed, and listened to the Queen, - And said, dear Vic, I little thought that you had such a dream, - Cheer up your heart, don’t look so sad, you need not be afraid, - For I’m sure the French will ne’er attempt, Old England to invade. - - The Queen to Albert then replied, I have not told you all, - For I dream’t that Lord John Russell, altho’ but very small, - Just like a Briton bold, then so nobly did advance, - And with his fist, knocked out the eye, of the Emperor of France. - - I dreamed that I was weaving on a pair of patent looms, - And I thought that you were going through the streets a-selling brooms, - And I thought our blooming Prince of Wales was selling milk and cream, - But, Albert dear, when I awoke, it was nothing but a dream. - - Indeed, said Albert, dream no more, you fill my heart with pain, - And I hope that you will never have such frightful dreams again, - We’ve English and Irish soldiers, we can conquer all our foes, - So, whenever you dream again Vic, pray don’t you pull my nose. - - -_LOVELY ALBERT._[56] - - THE Turkish War, both near and far, - Has played the very deuce then, - And little AL, the royal pal, - They say, he has turned a Russian; - Old Aberdeen, as may be seen, - Looks woeful pale and yellow, - And Old John Bull has his belly full - Of dirty Russian Tallow. - - -_Chorus._ - - We’ll send him home and make him groan, - Oh, AL, you’ve played the deuce then, - The German lad has acted sad, - And turned tail with the Russian. - - When AL came here, you’re all aware, - He brought with him no riches, - He had scarce a rag upon his back, - And great holes in his breeches; - Oh, England on him pity took, - And chang’d his sad condition, - And soon he plann’d, you understand, - The National Exhibition. - - The Cobourgs came from far and near, - With their Dispatches, all dirt, - A begging for the Russian Bear, - To blooming lovely Albert, - To keep old Nick, the devil’s limb, - And on to Turkey lead him, - To massacre the innocent Turks, - And rob them of their freedom. - - Last Monday night, all in a fright, - Al, out of bed did tumble, - The German lad was raving mad, - How he did groan and grumble! - He cried to Vic, I’ll cut my stick, - To Petersburgh, go right slap, - When Vic, ’tis said, jumped out of bed, - And whopp’d him with her night cap. - - There, with the bolster round the room, - Vic gave him dreadful lashes, - She scratched his face and broke his nose, - And pull’d out his moustaches. - You German dog, you shall be flogg’d, - She halloed like a Prussian, - How could you dare to interfere - And turn a cursed Russian? - - Bad luck they say, both night and day, - To the Cobugs and all humbugs, - The Wirtembugs and Scarem bugs, - And all the German house bugs. - And the old bug of Aberdeen, - The Peterbugs and Prussians, - May Providence protect the Turks, - And massacre the Russians. - - You jolly Turks, now go to work, - And show the Bear your power-- - It’s rumoured over Britain’s isle, - That A---- is in the Tower, - The Postmen some suspicion had, - And openéd two letters, - ’Twas pity sad, the German lad, - Should not have known much better. - - Well, now, my friends, to made an end, - From tyrants guard your own coast, - I’ll tell you what ’tween you and I, - The Tower-ditch and the gate post: - I think that AL has been used well, - Since first he came to England, - And had no cause to obstruct the laws, - Or in politics be mingling. - - Let France and England set to work, - Shun Austrians and Prussians, - Assist the poor and injured Turks, - And smother all the Russians. - Chain up the Bear, and make him stare, - And so I take my Davy, - We’ll sing Old England, three times three, - The Army and the Navy. - - -_Chorus._ - - I tell thee AL, we never shall, - Although you play’d the deuce then, - Allow the Turks to be run down, - By the dirty, greasy Russian. - - -_BRAVE NELSON._ - - THE twenty-first day of October, - It being a glorious day, - The combin’d fleets of Spain and France, - They met at Buzeray. - Their number it being thirty three, - Bertram chanced them to see. - There is twenty seven of them for me, - Said brave Nelson. - - We form’d a line of battle, - Our cannons loud did roar, - Some we sent into the air, - And others down below. - But Nelson on the deck so high, - Aloud unto his men did cry, - This day we conquer or we die, - Said brave Nelson. - - On the twenty first of October, - At the rising of the sun, - We form’d the line for action, - At twelve o’clock begun. - We manned our rigging and shot away, - Besides some thousands on that day, - Were killed and wounded in the ’fray, - With brave Nelson. - - Our ship was numbered twenty seven, - Her cannon loud did roar, - We ships, in number twenty seven, - Took from the Spanish shore. - But when we’d victory on our side, - A musket ball his life destroyed, - And in the midst of glory died, - Our brave Nelson. - - To view this hero dying, - With his last parting breath, - He prayed for England’s glory, - At the moment of his death. - Farewell my lads, my glass is run, - This day will be my setting sun, - And providence it must be done, - Said brave Nelson. - - Fare you well brave Nelson, - Old England shed a tear, - The bravest of her heroes, - Has lost his life so dear. - Did he not merit much applause, - He fought for liberty and laws, - He bled and died for England’s cause - The brave Nelson. - - -_LORD NELSON._ - - COME all gallant seamen that unite a meeting, - Attend to these lines that I’m going to relate, - And, when that you hear, it will move you with pity, - To hear how Lord Nelson, he met with his fate. - For he was a bold and undaunted commander, - As ever did sail on the ocean wide, - And he made both the French and the Spaniards surrender, - By always pouring into them a broadside. - - -_Chorus._ - - Mourn, England, mourn; mourn and complain, - For the loss of Lord Nelson, who died on the main. - - From aloft, to aloft, where he was commanding, - All by a French gun he received a ball, - And, by the contents, he got mortally wounded, - And that was the occasion of Lord Nelson’s fall. - Like an undaunted hero, exposed to the fire, - As he gave the command, on the quarter deck stood, - And to hear of his actions, you would much admire, - To see the decks covered all with human blood. - - One hundred engagements he had been into, - And never, in his time, was he known to be beat, - For he had lost an arm, likewise his right eye, sir, - No powers on earth could ever him defeat. - His age, at his death, it was forty and seven, - And as long as I live, his great praises, I’ll sing, - For the whole navigation was given unto him, - Because he was loyal and true to his king. - - Then up steps the doctor in a very great hurry, - And unto Lord Nelson these words he did say, - Indeed, then, my lord, I am very sorry, - To see you lying and bleeding this way, - No matter, no matter whatever about me, - My time it has come, I’m almost at the worst, - And there’s my gallant seamen who’re fighting so boldly, - Go and discharge your duty to them first. - - Then, with a loud voice he called out to his captain, - Pray let me know how this battle does go, - I think that our guns continue to rattle, - Though death approaches, I very well know. - The antagonists ship has gone to the bottom, - Eighteen we’ve captured, and brought them on board, - And there are two of them quite blown out of the ocean, - So that is the news I have brought you, my Lord. - - Come all gallant seamen that unite a meeting, - Always let Lord Nelson’s memory go round; - For it is your duty, when you unite a meeting, - Because he was loyal and true to the Crown; - So now to conclude, and to finish these verses, - My time it is come, I am quite at the worst, - May the heavens go with you, and ten thousand blessings, - May rest in the Fleet with you, Lord Collingwood. - - -_BATTLE OF WATERLOO._ - - TWAS on the 18 day of June[57] Napoleon did advance, - The choicest troops that he could raise within the bounds of France; - Their glittering eagles shone around, and proudly looked the foe, - But Britain’s lion tore their wings, on the plains of Waterloo. - - With Wellington we’ll go, with Wellington we’ll go, - For Wellington commanded us on the plains of Waterloo; - The fight did last from ten o’clock until the dawn of day, - While blood and limbs, and cannon balls in thick profusion lay. - - The number of the French, that at Waterloo were slain, - Was near sixty thousand, all laid upon the plain; - Near forty thousand of them fell upon that fatal day, - Of our brave British heroes who their prowess did display. - - It’s now the dreadful night comes on, how dismal is the plain, - When the Prussians, and the English found above ten - thousand slain, (_sic_) - Brave Wellington, and Blucher, bold, most nobly drove their foes, - And Buonaparte’s Imperial Crown was taken at Waterloo. - - We followed up the rear till the middle of the night, - We gave them three cheers as they were on their flight, - Says Bony, d----n those Englishmen, they do bear such a name, - They beat me here at Waterloo, at Portugal and Spain. - - Now peace be to their honoured souls who fell that glorious day, - May the plough ne’er raise their bones, nor cut the sacred clay; - But let the place remain a waste, a terror to the foe, - And when trembling Frenchmen pass that way, they’ll think of Waterloo. - - - THE visit of George IV. to Scotland was purely one of pleasure. - There being no railways, and posting being fatiguing, he went by - sea, embarking at Greenwich on August 10, 1822, and arriving at - Leith on the 14th, not landing, however, till the next day. His - visit was not remarkable for anything except the multiplicity of - his costumes. He embarked dressed as a private individual; he - landed as an Admiral; he dined in full Highland costume (when Sir - Walter Scott acted as principal Steward); and at another dinner - posed as a Field Marshal. He did very little during his stay, - leaving Scotland on August 29, arriving at Greenwich on September - 1. - - -A NEW SONG CALLED - -_KING GEORGE IV.’S WELCOME TO SCOTLAND_. - - LANG time we’ve waited for our king, - That he might caper, rant and fling, - And lightly dance and gladly sing, - You’re welcome, Royal Geordie. - - -_Chorus._ - - But oh! you’re lang a-coming, - Lang, lang, lang a-coming, - O dinna be so lang a-coming, - Come awa, King Geordie. - - Than Glasgow town there is not one, - In a’ your great and glorious lan’, - Who’d turn out a truer ban’, - To guard their Royal Geordie. - - And, by the powers aboon, we swear - If any traitor come you near, - The fause loon we’ll in pieces tear, - A’ for our love to Geordie. - - For weel we ken your title’s gude, - And shall maintain it with our blude, - If any foreign foemen should - Dispute the right of Geordie. - - Then haste ye, Geordie, come awa-- - We’ll dress our wives and weans fu’ braw, - They’ll rend the lift wi’ loud huzza - To welcome their ain Geordie. - - In Edinbro’ too, time will pass sweet, - Frae far and near they’ll Geordie greet, - And you shall get braw lodgings meet, - To house ye, Royal Geordie. - - Your Court you’ll haud in Holyrood, - Where aft your ancestors have stood, - All anxious for the public good, - As now is Royal Geordie. - - The Castle’s ancient wa’ you’ll view, - The old Scotch Crown and Sceptre too, - To wear them nane has right but you, - So come awa, King Geordie. - - And at Dalkeith with Duke Buccleugh, - Your people a’ will round ye bow, - Wi’ hearty love and fealty true - To you their ain kind Geordie. - - In Perthshire ye’ll get Athole Brose, - And Muir fowl frae the great Montrose, - Wi’ us, my lad, ye’ll be jocose, - So haste ye here, King Geordie. - - And, by my troth, there’s not a belle, - Even ’mangst the rare ones of Pall Mall, - To match the ladies of Dunkeld, - Then hie ye north, King Geordie. - - And we shall dance a Highland Reel, - ’Twill please you weel my Royal Chiel, - On Scotia’s heath to shake your heel, - Wi’ some braw lass, King Geordie. - - Then haste, my cock, and come awa,’ - We’ll welcome you with loud huzza! - And auld and young shall crouseley craw, - “Long live our ain King Geordie.” - - -_THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR ROBERT PEEL, BART., M.P._ - -BORN FEBRUARY, 1788; DIED JULY 2, 1850, AGED 62. - - BRITANNIA! Britannia! what makes thee complain, - O, why so in sorrow relenting, - Old England is lost, we are borne down in pain, - And the nation in grief is lamenting. - That excellent man--the pride of the land, - Whom every virtue possessed him, - Is gone to that Home, from whence none return, - Our dear friend, Sir Robert, God bless him. - - The Rich and the Poor all did him adore, - Admired, beloved, and respected, - For his Country’s right, he struggled with might, - And nothing by him was neglected. - He nobly guided the Helm of State, - The poor long have praised and blessed him, - Now tears wet each eye, while in sorrow they sigh, - He is gone, is Sir Robert, God rest him. - - Sad, sad was the day, when misfortune that way, - From health, strength and vigour had tossed him, - Upon the hard ground, to receive his death wound.[58] - Oh mourn! mourn! Britannia, we’ve missed him. - His equal again sure we never shall find, - For every goodness possessed him, - Britannia shall weep by the tomb where he sleeps, - The patriot, Sir Robert, God rest him. - - Our Queen sighed in tears, when the tidings she heard, - And her children, with hearts full of sorrow, - Saying England is done, oh! where shall we run - To meet with his equal to-morrow? - He’s not to be found upon England’s ground, - Already, already, we’ve missed him, - Britannia deplore, we’ll behold him no more, - The Glory of England, God rest him. - - Talk of Canning and Pitt, for their talents and wit, - And all who upheld that high Station, - Oh! has there been e’er, such a noble Premier, - As Sir Robert before, in the Nation? - He’d by no one be led, he’d by no one be said, - No Government feared to trust him, - In every way, he carried the sway, - For the good of his country: God rest him. - - At Sixty-two years of Age, cruel death did engage, - Britannia to move from her station, - From her councils and land, called that excellent man, - Sir Robert the pride of the nation. - Oh! the tears that were shed by Sir Robert’s death bed, - Some hours before life had left him, - Caused hearts to complain, in grief sorrow and pain, - He is gone, is Sir Robert, God rest him. - - In the tomb where he sleeps, many thousands will weep, - And his virtuous deeds lay before ye, - And he will receive, in the regions of bliss, - A coronet braided with glory. - Though we part from him with pain, it’s no use to complain, - He is for ever gone, and we’ve missed him, - In peace may he sleep, while Britannia does weep, - For her servant, Sir Robert, God bless him. - - -_DEATH OF WELLINGTON._[59] - - ON the 14th of September, near to the town of Deal, - As you may well remember, who have a heart to feel, - Died Wellington, a general bold, of glorious renown, - Who beat the great Napoleon, near unto Brussels town. - - -_Chorus._ - - So don’t forget brave Wellington, who won at Waterloo, - He beat the great Napoleon, and all his generals, too. - - He led the British Army on through Portugal and Spain, - And every battle there he won, the Frenchman to restrain, - He ever was victorious in every battle field, - He gained a fame most glorious because he’d never yield. - - He drove Napoleon from home, in exile for to dwell, - Far o’er the sea, and from his home, and all he lov’d so well, - He stripped him quite of all his power, and banish’d him away, - To St. Helena’s rocks and towers, the rest of his life to stay. - - Then on the throne of France he placed Louis, the King, by right, - In after years he was displaced all by the people’s might; - But should the young Napoleon threaten our land and laws, - We’ll find another Wellington should ever we have cause. - - He’s dead, our hero’s gone to rest, and o’er his corpse we’ll mourn, - With sadness and with grief oppress’d, for he will not return, - But we his deeds will not forget, and should we, e’er again, - Follow th’ example that he set, his glory we’ll not stain. - - - THE following, although not a ballad, was popularly sold in the - streets, and will serve as a good introduction to the question of - Reform. I have omitted passages which were irrelevant to the - matter. I find Reform _Street_ Ballads very scarce. - - -_THE CHRONICLES OF THE POPE._ - -1 NOW it came to pass that the land had rest for seventeen years. - -2 For the Britons had subdued their enemies, even the French, and -restored peace to all the Continent. - -3 Nevertheless the people groaned by reason of oppression, and of the -multitude of taxes which was laid upon them to support the rich and the -great with pensions and rewards. - -4 And they cried and petitioned for redress, but their prayers were not -heard. - -5 And George the Fourth was gathered to his fathers, and William reigned -in his stead. - -6 Now there was at this time a mighty man of renown called Arthur. - -7 And he gained the confidence of the King, and abused his ear with -falsities respecting the people. - -8 And the people were much displeased with the power of this man of war, -for he ruled them as he had done his soldiers. - -9 And their eyes were turned towards a certain nobleman whose -possessions lieth north of the Tyne. - -10 Arthur feeling that he could rule no longer, resigned his authority, -and the King elected that nobleman, even Grey, whose possessions lieth -north of the Tyne, to be ruler under him over the people. - -11 And he stood before the King, and said, O King, live for ever, thy -people have been long afflicted with heavy burdens which they cannot -bear, and their cries and lamentations ascend to heaven. - -12 And the King was troubled in his mind at these sayings, and he caused -the records of the realm to be brought before him, and then he found -that his subjects were not fairly represented; and he was in much -agitation of mind, and trembled exceedingly and cried with a loud voice, -What shall I do? - -13 And the noble, even Grey, said unto him, We must endeavour to amend -these things; and, oh King, if thou wilt give me permission, such a law -shall be framed that all the land will rejoice. - -14 And the King said, Do as it pleaseth thee best in this matter. - -15 Then Grey called all the representatives of the people together, and -shewed them the new law which he had framed for the people’s benefit. - -16 But several of those who were interested with regard to money, lifted -up their voices against it. - -17 Nevertheless the thing did prevail, in that house, the Assembly of -the People, called the House of Commons. - -18 But when this same law was brought before the Lords, they laughed it -to scorn, saying amongst themselves, Shall we be deprived of all the -good things we have enjoyed so long? Shall we divide the spoil amongst -those we despise? And, as it were, with the voice of one man, they said, -No! - -19 Now the High Priests of the nation consulted amongst themselves, and -said, Alas! what will become of us if this law passeth? We must then bid -farewell to all that we have held so dear. - -20 And the lamentation amongst the High Priests was very great, for -every one of them lamented as if he had lost his first born. - -21 And they came unto the Council of the Nation, even the House of -Lords, and said, We will not have this law to pass. - -22 For, although we are paid, and well paid, to teach the people, yet in -our wisdom it seemeth good unto us to keep them ignorant. - -23 For, be it known unto you, that, unless they are kept ignorant, and -deprived of power, no man can govern them. - -24 And the Lords listened unto these speeches, and would not allow the -good law to pass. - -25 Then stood the great and good noble, even Grey, before the King, and -said, thou knowest thy nobles and the high priests of the land will not -allow this law to pass. - -26 Therefore I lay my commission at thy feet. - -27 And the king answered and said, do as it seemeth best to thee. - -28 And Grey bowed himself to the earth, and departed from the presence -of the King. - -29 And the King was troubled in spirit, and he sent in haste for Arthur, -even the mighty man of renown. - -30 And Arthur arose, and girded up his loins, and stood before the King. - -31 And the King said unto him, Arthur, I know thee to be a man in whom -is the spirit of wisdom and of valour, I am sorely troubled in mind -respecting this affair. What shall I do? - -32 Arthur answered and said, be not troubled, neither let thy spirit be -cast down, for I can rule these people easily, and with a rod of iron -must they be ruled: grant unto me the commission, and I will make them -obedient. - -33 And the King said, do as seemeth good in thine own eyes. - -34 But when the people heard these things they were sorely grieved; and -became exceedingly enraged. - -35 And said, shall this man of war, who is an enemy to liberty, reign -over us? - -36 And the people from the land’s end, even unto Johnny Groat’s house, -rose up, as it were with one consent; and in every village, and every -city, and in every town, did they rise up and meet together in the open -air to shew their hatred of Arthur, and of his oppression, and their -determination to be free. - -37 And the multitudes were exceeding great, that no man might number -them, and they bore banners, having on them painted various devices. - -38 And the cry of the people was great, and the noise of their shouting -was like the sound of many waters. - -39 And they cried, if Arthur is to rule us, to thy tents, O, Britons! - -40 Now, the great, and the just men, and the good amongst the people, -stood up, and spake with a loud voice, saying, - -41 Be it known unto you, O, Britons, that Arthur can do nothing without -money, therefore refuse you to pay taxes till you are made free. - -42 And the people shouted, and cried, We will give no money till we are -free; and having sung a war-like song, every man went to his own house. - -43 Now, when the king heard of these things he was sore afraid, and he -told Arthur to depart from his presence, and he called Grey before him. - -44 And he said, thy wisdom is great, get this bill passed, else we be -all dead men. - -45 And the thing was done in haste, for great fear and trembling had -fallen upon them. - -46 And the Nobles and the high priests agreed unto the bill, for they -were sore afraid, and quaked much. - - -_THE HAPPY REFORM._ - - LET us sing this aloud to the joy shouting crowd, - That once were going to arm; - Let all parties rejoice, and sing with one voice, - And join in the Happy Reform. - - My name is John Bull, and with joy I am full, - I have something to say that will charm; - Come, Sandy, along, and with Pat join my song, - Let us sing of the Happy Reform. - - Brother Pat, you and Sandy, I know are quite handy - To assist your John Bull in a storm: - Brothers Sandy and Paddy, you’ll now be as ready - To join me and sing the Reform. - - But a few years ago, we durst not sing so, - Such a song, then, was counted a harm; - But now we may sing, O, long live our King, - Who has joined in the Happy Reform. - - But this I must shew, for some do not know, - It is proper I should them inform, - So I will explain to them in my strain, - What’s meant by the present Reform. - - O, it is to ease, and the people to please, - And to keep them from raising a storm: - ’Tis that all Ten pound Renters may choose Parliamenters, - To give us the happy Reform. - - This sure they will do, as their hearts will be true, - When bribery can do us no harm; - They will shew with true spirit what the Corn Bill does merit, - And turn it to Happy Reform. - - Rotten Boroughs all now ’a tottering must fall, - And the Corn Bill, the great eating worm; - And the bull must be fell’d, and the despots expell’d, - To give way to the Happy Reform. - - Oppressions hard grip will soon get the slip, - Which a long time has done us much harm: - O, then we will rise from the taxes and tithes, - To enjoy all the Happy Reform. - - This to all will soon give, a good way to live, - And the farmer will have a cheap farm; - Then the rents will come down in the country and town, - By the brave and the Happy Reform. - - This will happiness bring to the subject and king, - And save all from dreadful alarm-- - Which once gave a peep--but now is asleep - In the bosom of Happy Reform. - - Our king in the fray, the Sceptre did sway, - And our foes did completely disarm; - Wellington and great Peel to the left he did wheel, - For joining us not in Happy Reform. - - Grey, Russell, and Brougham, our thanks we give to them, - For fighting for us in the storm; - Round them and our king, we will dance in a ring, - And sing--Success to the Happy Reform. - - Reformation of Laws we will hail with applause, - With a hearty grand welcome so warm; - And with Heaven to save King William the Brave, - For joining us all in Reform. - - We now need not fear, while the helm he does steer, - With a heart for our welfare so warm; - For his colours now fast he has nail’d to the mast, - And is bound for the Happy Reform. - - -_THE OPERATIVES’ MARCH._ - - MARCH! march! Comrades in Freedom now, - On let us march to the music of Order! - Arms we have none--for no one can need ’em now-- - Peace is the word from John Groat’s to the Border. - - Long have we wearied, and waited to see it, - Now it is come--with its blessing and pride; - In the hearts of our Sons unforgotten shall be it, - The King and the Country are both on our side. - Our banners are glancing--our section advancing, - The pipe and the trumpet are pealing above, - Shout with the voice of men--yet once again! again! - The Cause--and the King that a People can love. - March! March! etc. - - A cheer for the Queen too, and one--be it seen to-- - For Sussex, who ne’er was to Freedom untrue; - Shout away--shout away! ’tis for Russell and Grey, - And Lord Harry--and all of our Admiral’s crew! - We vow to stand by them--their foes we defy them-- - For, honestly--firmly--they’ve weathered the storm; - And these were their watch words, as they’ll be our catch words, - The cause of the People, the King, and Reform! - March! March! etc. - - - AT Manchester, on September 18, 1838, an Association called the - “Anti-Corn-Law League” was formed, having for its object the - abolition of the duties on the importation of corn, avowedly to - cheapen the food of the people. The principal agitators were - Richard Cobden, John Bright, Charles Villiers, etc., and by holding - meetings all over the country, lecturing, and distributing - handbills and ballads, the Corn Importation Bill was eventually - passed, June 26, 1846, when, there being no further occasion for - its existence, the League was dissolved. Cobden was richly rewarded - for his efforts, as a national subscription was raised for him, - which realized nearly £80,000. - -[Illustration] - - -_A NEW ALPHABETICAL SONG ON THE CORN LAW BILL._ - - GOOD people draw near as you pass along, - And listen awhile to my alphabetical song. - A. is Prince Albert once buxsom and keen, - Who from Jermany came and got spliced to the Queen. - - -_Chorus._ - - For their all a spinning their cause in triumph springing, - And the poor man he is a singing since the Corn bill is repailed. - - B. Stands for Smith O Brien, he an Irishman so true, - He hammered at Coersion till he beat them black and blue. - When he got out of prison that bill he did oppose, - With the fright he gave old welington, he fell and broke his nose. - - C. is brave cobden one night it is said, - Threw a quarter Loaf at old Buckinghams hed, - Concerning the Corn laws he laid it down strong, - And he spun out yarn seventeen hour long. - - D. for the duncomb who helpt the plan, - To give full and plenty to each true the land. - E. Stands for Evans who would Starve us again, - Because he beat 40 thousand old woman in Spain. - - F. Stands for ferrand a protectiones Tool, - He spoke seven hours and raved like a fool; - G. Stands for graham who early and late, - Breaking seals at the post office a repealer for to take. - - H. is old hume he is clever do you see, - He subtracted 2 from 1 and got the corn duty free; - I. is bob Inglis against free trade Blue and blast, - He was seven hours in the stericks when the corn bill did pass. - - J. Stands for jerry who spoke till he was hoarse, - In the middle of the fight his fair daughter he lost; - She followed a soldier, and off she went slap, - With gun and a nap-sack slung over her back. - - K. is for Kelly, he kept up the jaw, - Till he got the corn Free and brought into law; - L. Stands for lindhurst with his Brushes, Paints and Pots, - Guess how he was born or how that he was got. - - M. Is Lord Morpeth who nobly fought, - Each night in succession for the corn law; - N. is old nosey who opposes him its true, - For to loose 15 thousands he is quite in the blues. - - O. Is O Connell to them told the Law, - And is still bideing time for old Erin Gobraugh. - P. Stands for Peel who is acting upright, - And between you and me he has got a long sight. - - Q. Is the question of Coersion they say, - So their stuck in the trap bob cut away. - R. Is Lord Russell whoes making all haste, - To run down to Windsor to fill Boby’s place. - - To ride in Peel’s saddle he’l find it a job, - For he shakes on his legs like a staggering bob. - S. is Lord Stanley, who shaking with fear, - For his tenants payed him their rent with a bullet this year. - - And swore if they catch him he’ll never elope, - Till they well oil his body with flails of good oak. - T. Is the teasel that comb them all down, - U. is for uxbridge who wonders have done. - - V. Stands for Villiers whom the farmers detest, - For to Slaughter the corn law he did do his best; - For free trade he struggled by day and by night, - He is next in command to cobden and bright. - - W. Stands for wakley a docter so bold, - Who swore on the corn bill an Inquest he’d hold; - When the Jury he charged he let them all see, - A verdict was returned for the corn to be free. - - X. Is a letter which puts me in mind - Of a ship load of land lords that sail’d against wind; - Now over the ocean they must all away - To spend their last days in botane bay. - - Y. Stands for york the archbishop so big, - Who loves for to dine on a little tithe pig: - Free trade on last Sunday (_did_) so him perplex, - That he sang rule britania and thought it the text. - - Z. Is for Zetland an old English pere, - Who swore he (_’d_) have bread and potaties so dear. - The corn bill is past the landlords are very bad, - They must be muzeled in the dog day for fear they - might go mad. - - -[Illustration] - - -_A NEW SONG ON THE CORN BILL._ - - HURRAH, my boys, a bumper fill, - And drink success, with heart and will, - To those that pass’d the Corn Bill, - Long may they be victorious. - Cheap food from every foreign shore, - In shiploads will sail in galore, - The landlords now are wounded sore; - They’ll have to sell both sow and boar, - To keep their great big paunches up - They’ll scarcely have a bite or sup; - Too long, my boys, they’ve sucked the honey cup, - But soon they’ll lose the swarm. - Hurrah, etc. - - The landlords cry, Oh, Bobby P----l, - You have a heart as hard as any steel, - Sure, for the landlords you should feel, - And not be so hard hearted. - Oh dear, oh dear, the landlords cry, - The time is fast approaching nigh, - When neither barley, oats, nor rye, - The merchants will not from us buy, - For they can get both flour and grain - From France, America and Spain, - Enough to rack us on the brain, - And set John Bull distracted. - Hurrah, etc. - - The bread will shortly get a fall, - The bakers will go to the wall, - No ’taters they must use at all, - But sell the best and cheapest. - Too long it has been on the rise, - But now they’re struck with much surprise - They’ll have to look with both their eyes, - And with the poor man compromise. - Good bread will be a penny a pound, - And beef and mutton safe and sound, - Well earned, too, that I’ll be bound, - Will daily be imported. - Hurrah, etc. - - The monopolists have cause to weep, - They cannot lull themselves to sleep, - Their rams, and wethers, yews, and sheep, - They may send off to market. - Too long they have fattened on the spoil, - They’d fain to work your bones to oil, - Their greasy pots did often boil - Upon the poor man’s sweat and toil. - The time is now approaching fast, - Free trade will fly on every mast, - The bonded stores will then, at last, - Cry out, the ports are open. - Hurrah, etc. - - Tom Duncombe, Cobden, and Dick Bright - In Parliament, on Thursday night, - They did kick up the devils fight, - And chased the Duke of R----d - Poor B----m he did lose his wig, - Old Nosey gave him such a dig, - And called him an old grunting pig, - And Bobby danced the Polka jig; - Says Bob, I surely will resign, - I tell you, Arthur, now in time, - You’d better get a piece of line, - And hang the Duke of R----d. - Hurrah, etc. - - May Cromwell’s ghost, of whom they talk, - Come jumping with a piece of chalk, - And mark a road for Bob to walk, - Right to the town of Tamworth. - Sure, little John, I’ve heard it said, - Is planted now in Bobby’s stead, - He’ll give you plenty of cheap bread - For ten years after you are dead. - The whigs are getting into power, - The tories are all looking sour, - The very thoughts of foreign flour - Will make them cut their wison. - Hurrah, etc. - - Now to conclude and end my song, - I hope to see before it’s long, - The corn-brokers in a throng - All sailing to Hanover. - For now they cry out wirnstrew, - And damn the duke of Waterloo. - Oh dear, oh dear, what shall we do? - Free trade will surely make us rue. - So, ladies, all come shout huzza, - For now comes on the glorious day - When plenty of cheap bread, beef, and tea, - Will make you smile so charming. - Hurrah, etc. - - - THE following is given as a specimen of contemporary “flapdoodle.” - - -_THE CRISIS._ - -1846. - - WHEN fell corruption’s bands conspire - To legalize injustice dire; - To rob a people, brave and free, - What shall resist the Tyranny? - To counteract the vile intrigue, - The God of truth upraised THE LEAGUE, - - When grasping Tyrants--greedy elves-- - Make laws which but enrich themselves; - Who shall their power and force withstand, - And stay the ’curst oppressor’s hand? - THE LEAGUE!--the people’s chosen band, - Shall stay the ’curst oppressor’s hand. - - Tho’ meddling Dukes of vast renown - Would cast a noble people down; - (The silly tribe affect affright, - Tho’ proxies[60] fill their pockets quite.) - THE LEAGUE shall lead (as soon ’twill be) - A people firm--a people free! - - What boots it, that we laurels gain - On crimson’d field, or on the main, - If selfish senators befool us, - If the domestic spoilers rule us? - THE LEAGUE on such has kept its eye, - And _Registration_ is the cry. - - When a “bold peasantry” decays; - When want creeps in a thousand ways; - When tenant farmers struggling hard - Thro’ toilsome years get--_no reward_. - THE LEAGUE will rescue--come what may; - Nor care they for the landlord’s bray. - - When drooping trade declines its head; - When starving thousands cry for bread; - When sorrowing age seeks death’s kind gate, - And children wail their hapless fate. - THE LEAGUE _must_ to the throne appeal, - While millions cry “Repeal--Repeal.” - - Names which were once the nation’s blight, - Fair York and Lancaster[61]--unite; - Old feuds forgotten--now their pride - Is to march _onward_ side by side. - THE LEAGUE--their boast--their hope--their joy; - Pure sterling ore without alloy. - - When clouds hung o’er the drama’s name, - What gave to Covent Garden Fame? - When Stage, Pit, Gallery, Boxes, all - Echoed each voice at Freedom’s call; - THE LEAGUE supplied each honour’d name - That gave to Covent Garden[62] fame. - - “Give us our daily bread” pray we; - “Stop, stop,” cries vile _monopoly_, - “Before _you_ wants are well supplied, - For all _my sons_ you _shall provide_.” - THE LEAGUE--the monster doth expose, - And burns a torch beneath its nose. - - ALBION--thy wrongs shall disappear; - SCOTIA--hold on--be of good cheer; - ERIN--thy griefs removed shall be, - Justice, tho’ late, shall visit thee. - THE LEAGUE doth its assistance lend; - Of none the foe--of all the friend. - - ’Ere long, fair knowledge will unfold - Her ample page--brighter than gold; - Ere long, the Laws which tyrants used - Shall yield to those which Heaven diffused. - THE LEAGUE shall then its work have done, - And all rejoice o’er victories won. - - Ye powers divine--who care for all - That breathe on this terraqueous ball, - FREE TRADE and every blessing give! - “O teach the nations _how_ to live!” - Still shall EACH LEAGUER’S motto be, - “Justice, Love, Peace, Humanity.” - - - AFTER any great National movement, the ferment takes some time to - subside. Many agitators find their occupation gone, and look around - for some other strife to stir up. There is always an advanced - Radical school in every nation, and after the Reform Bill was - settled, “the People’s Charter” took its place. What was required - were the six following “Points”:--_Universal Suffrage, Vote by - Ballot, Annual Parliaments, Payment of the Members, the Abolition - of the Property Qualification, and equal Electoral Districts_. In - 1838 they made armed demonstrations in several parts of the - country, and rioting took place in 1839. In 1848 monster petitions - in its favour were presented to Parliament, and on April 10 of that - year 200,000 men were invited to assemble on Kennington Common, and - march to the Houses of Parliament. About one-tenth of them - appeared, and, having full knowledge of the number of troops and - special constables who would oppose their progress, they thought - “discretion the better part of valour” and dispersed to their - homes. This was the last of “the Charter.” - - -_CHARTISTS ARE COMING._ - - WHAT a row and a rumpus there is I declare, - Tens of thousands are flocking from every where, - To petition the Parliament, onward they steer, - The Chartists are coming, oh dear, oh dear, - To demand equal justice, their freedom and right, - Pump handles and broom sticks, lawk, how they can fight! - The nation they say is o’erwhelmed with grief; - A peck loaf for twopence, and four pounds of beef. - - -_Chorus._ - - Hurrah for old England and liberty sweet, - The land that we live in and plenty to eat, - We shall ever remember this wonderful day, - See the Chartists are coming, get out of the way. - - Such a number together was never yet seen, - Hurrah for the Charter, and God save the Queen! - And when that the Charter, Old England has got, - We’ll have stunning good beer at three halfpence a pot: - A loaf for a penny, a pig for a crown, - And gunpowder tea at five farthings a pound: - Instead of red herrings, we’ll live on fat geese, - And lots of young women at two pence a piece. - - The bakers and grocers, look how they do laugh, - With dustmen and coal heavers armed with a staff. - Five thousand old women, oh, how they do sing, - With frying pans, fenders, and big rolling pins. - There’s Russell, and Bobby, old Nosey, and Hume, - With pistols and bayonets, muskets and brooms, - Load away, fire away, chatter and jaw, - Shoot at a donkey and knock down a crow. - - See the lads of old Erin for liberty crow, - Repeal of the Union and Erin-go-bragh! - Peace and contentment, then none can we blame, - Plenty of labour, and paid for the same; - Some are rolling in riches, and luxury, too, - While millions are starving with nothing to do; - Through the Nation prosperity soon will be seen, - Hurrah for the Charter, and God save the Queen! - - Such constables there are in London, now mark, - Tailors and shoemakers, labourers and clerks, - Gas light men, pick pockets, firemen too, - Green grocers, hatters, pork butchers, and Jews: - Lollipop merchants, and masons a lot, - And the covey what hollows “Baked taters all hot.” - They are sworn to protect us, and keep well the peace, - To frighten the Chartists and help the police. - - - THIS is the sort of stuff that was disseminated among the people at - the time of the agitation for “the Charter,” and, looking at the - convulsion of 1848, which shook Europe to its centre, it speaks - volumes for the good sense of the lower classes that they were not - stirred up to acts of violence by such inflammatory rubbish as the - following. - - -_THE SONG OF THE LOWER CLASSES._ - -By ERNEST JONES. - -Music by John Lowry. This song can also be sung to the air of “The Monks -of Old.” - - WE plough and sow--we’re so very, very low - That we delve in the dirty clay, - Till we bless the plain--with the golden grain, - And the vale with the fragrant hay. - Our place we know,--we’re so very low, - ’Tis down at the landlord’s feet: - We’re not too low--the bread to grow, - But too low the bread to eat.[63] - - Down, down we go,--we’re so very low, - To the hell of the deep sunk mines, - But we gather the proudest gems that glow, - When the crown of a despot shines. - And whenever he lacks--upon our backs - Fresh loads he deigns to lay: - We’re far too low to vote the tax, - But not too low to pay. - - We’re low--we’re low--mere rabble, we know, - But, at our plastic power, - The mould at the lordling’s feet will grow - Into palace and church and tower. - Then prostrate fall--in the rich man’s hate, - And cringe at the rich man’s door; - We’re not too low to build the wall, - But too low to tread the floor. - - We’re low--we’re low--we’re very very low, - Yet from our fingers glide - The silken flow--and the robes that glow - Round the limbs of the sons of pride. - And what we get--and what we give-- - We know, and we know our share; - We’re not too low the cloth to weave, - But too low the Cloth to wear! - - We’re low--we’re low--we’re very very low, - And yet when the trumpets ring, - The thrust of a poor man’s arm will go - Thro’ the heart of the proudest King. - We’re low--we’re low--our place we know, - We’re only the rank and file, - We’re not too low--to kill the foe, - But too low to touch the spoil. - - -_A NEW HUNTING SONG._ - - NOW those that are low spirited I hope won’t think it wrong, - While I sing to you a verse or two of a new hunting song; - For the hunting season has set in, or else just now begun, - Our heroes all will have their fun with the dog and gun. - - -_Chorus._ - - And a hunting they will go, will go, - And a hunting they will go, will go! - They’ll use all means, and try all schemes, - For to keep the poor man low. - - With one of our brave huntsmen, I’m going to commence, - His name it was bold Bonaparte, he was a man of sense; - He hunted off from Corsica upon a game of Chance, - And hunted until he became the Emperor of France. - - The next huntsman was Wellington, he’d the best of luck, - He hunted from lieutenant, till he became a Duke, - His men did fight well for him, and did his honour gain, - He done his best endeavours to have their pensions taken. - - As for our hero Nelson, he hunted well for fame, - He was as bold a huntsman as e’er hunted on the main; - And for his warlike valour, he always bore the sway, - Till a cannon ball caused his downfall, all in Trafalgar Bay. - - Prince Albert to this country came hunting for a wife, - He got one whom he loved dear as his own life; - Oh yes, a blooming little Queen for to dandle on his knee - With thirty thousand pounds a year paid from this country. - - O’Connell he went hunting all through old Ireland’s vale, - And says he’ll go on hunting until he gets repeal. - They swear they’ll have a Parliament in Dublin once more, - And make the trade to flourish all round green Erin’s shore. - - John Frost in Wales a hunting went, and well knew how to ride - He had a fine bred Chartist horse, but got on the wrong side, - If he had held the reins quite firm in his own hand, - They’d ne’er have hunted him into Van Diemans Land. - - The Queen she went a hunting thro’ Scotland and France, - She hunted foreign countries through to learn the Polka dance; - Bobby Peel, he’s a huntsman bold, was never known to fail, - He hunted up the Income Tax, and then the Corn Law Bill. - - They’re hunting up the poor man, he’s hunted every day, - And hawkers too, if they do not a heavy licence pay. - They won’t allow the poor to beg, it is a crime to steal, - For the one there’s the Union, for the other there’s the gaol. - - So to conclude my hunting song, I hope you’ll all agree - While the poor are starved and hunted down, the rich - will have their spree. - To complain is quite a crime, for poor you’re to remain, - The Parson says, if you’re content, Heaven you’re sure to gain. - - -_THE WONDERFUL WONDERS OF TOWN._[64] - - GOOD neighbours, pray listen--nay do but come round, - I’ve a tale that shall puzzle your heads I’ll be bound; - From London I’ve ’scap’d pretty glad to get down, - And tell you the wonderful wonders of town. - - The streets ’luminated I walked every night, - And the devil a bit could I see for the light; - Such pictures, lamps, feathers, stars, anchors, and jokes, - With Boney, the devil, and all sorts of volks. - - Lords, pickpockets, ladies, lamplighters, girls, boys, - I didn’t think Peace could have made such a noise. - Push’d, bump’d, lump’d, and thump’d, when I tried to retire, - I was out of the frying pan into the fire. - - Then the Emperor’s fist was at every one’s call, - Till princes and kings went for nothing at all; - And, English good manners to show so polite, - We pulled ’em and hauled ’em, from morning till night. - - Then the Cossack Horse Soldiers as fought with our foes, - We kill’d ’em with kindness, as all the world knows, - And gave ’em such welcome and hearty good cheer, - They’d no time to get shav’d all the time they were here. - - Two jolly old lions we must not forget, - To Platoff and Blucher, how much we’re in debt; - The Mob cried, Come out, like wild beasts, ’twas so droll, - I expected to see ’em stirred up with a pole. - - The Sarpentine river, it looked if so be, - All the cock boats i’ Lunnun had put out to sea; - Grown up to great ships their gay canvas now swells, - As big, pretty near, as at Saddler’s Wells. - - You never see’d yet a procession so fine, - As when into the City the Kings went to dine; - I gap’d with mouth open, like many an elf, - Till no dinner I got to put in it my self. - - Next Peace were proclaimed, when King Charles on his horse, - Counts the coaches as start from the old Golden Cross; - And the Herald, so call’d who cried down wars alarms, - Looked like the Kings Head stuck a top of his Arms. - - Now safely return’d, for lost time I’ll make up, - So down with the bacon, and round wi’ the cup; - And I’ll drink may _Peace_ also the Yankees subdue, - And turn their _Merry ca_, into our merry cue. - - One word more--of all sights that in town I did see, - There was one sight worth all the whole bundle to me, - Great Wellington’s self who has made the world ring, - With glory, God bless him, and God save the king. - - -_LAW._[65] - - COME, listen to me a minute, - A song, I’m going to begin it, - There’s something serious in it, - So, pray attention draw, - A serious thing I thought it, - Experience, I have bought it, - Will you, or not be taught it, - I sing the charms of Law. - L--A--W. Law, - It’s met with the deuce of a claw. - - -_Chorus._ - - If you’re fond of pure vexation, - And a long procrastination, - You’re just in a situation, - To enjoy a suit at law. - - When your cause is just beginning, - You only think of winning, - Attornies slyly grinning, - While your cash they draw. - With brief and consultation, - Bill and replication, - Latin and botheration, - While the Counsel loudly jaw, - J--A--W. Jaw, - Is a very great thing in law - - Snail like your cause is creeping, - It hinders you from sleeping, - Attornies only reaping, - While your cash they draw. - D--R--A--W Draw, - It’s the mainspring of the Law. - Misery, toil, and trouble, - Makes up the hubble bubble, - And leaves you nothing but stubble, - And makes you a man of straw. - L--A--W. Law. - It divides the wheat from the straw. - - When your case is just near ending, - Your case is no wise mending, - Expense each step attending, - And then they find a flaw. - Then the Judge, like any Jackdaw, - Oh, he lays down, what is law, - In a rotten stick your trust is, - And though you don’t get Justice, - You’re sure to get plenty of Law. - L--A--W. Law. - It leaves you not worth a straw. - - So, if life’s all sugar and honey, - And fortune has always been sunny, - And you want to get rid of your money, - I’d advise you to go to law. - Like ice in a rapid thaw, - Your cash will melt awa’, - Comfort, ’tis folly to care for, - Life is a lottery--therefore, - Without a why, or a wherefore, - I’d advise you to go to Law. - L--A--W. Law, - Oh! ’twill like a blister draw. - - -_JIM CROW._ - - I CAM from ole Kentucky, - A long time ago, - Where I first larn to wheel about, - And jump Jim Crow. - - -_Chorus._ - - Wheel about and turn about, - And do jis so, - Ebry time I wheel about - I jump Jim Crow. - - I us’d to take him fiddle, - Ebry morn and afternoon, - And charm the sole Buzzard, - And dance to the Racoon. - - I landed fust at Liverpool, - Dat place of ships and docks, - I strutted down Lord Street, - And ask’d de price of Stocks. - - I paid my fare den up to town, - On de coach to cut a dash, - De axletree soon gave way, - And spilt us wid a smash. - - I lighted den upon my head, - All in de nassy dirt, - Dey all thought dat I war dead, - But I laughed and wasn’t hurt. - - Dis head you know, am pretty tick, - Cause dere it make a hole, - On de dam macadmis road, - Much bigger dan a bowl. - - When I got into Lunnon, - Dey took me for a savage, - But I war pretty well behaved, - So I ’gaged with Mr. Davidge. - - Dem young Jim Crows bout de streets - More like a Raven rader, - Pray good people, don’t mistake, - Indeed, I’m not dare fader. - - Dem urchin’s what sing my song, - Had better mind dar books. - For any how dey can’t be Crows, - You see d’ar only Rooks. - - I have purposely refrained from giving any Nigger songs, although - they belong to Street melody, except in the case of “Jim Crow,” - which was the first of the flood which has been let loose upon us. - There were many versions, but I have here given the copyright - words, as sung by the author, and original “Jim Crow,” Thomas D. - Rice, or, as he was better known, “Adelphi Rice.” He introduced it, - in 1836, into a play called “A Flight to America,” and it so - tickled the ears of the groundlings that it became the most popular - of all modern street ballads. We may wonder what merit our - grandfathers and fathers found in it, but it created an absolute - furore. - - -_THE WORKHOUSE BOY._ - - THE cloth was laid in the Vorkhouse hall, - The great-coats hung on the white-wash’d wall; - The paupers all were blithe and gay, - Keeping their Christmas holiday, - When the Master he cried with a roguish leer, - “You’ll all get fat on your Christmas cheer!” - When one by his looks did seem to say, - “I’ll have some more soup on this Christmas-day.” - Oh the poor Vorkhouse Boy, etc. - - At length, all on us to bed vos sent, - The boy vos missing--in search ve vent: - Ve sought him above, ve sought him below, - Ve sought him vith faces of grief and woe; - Ve sought him that hour, ve sought him that night; - Ve sought him in fear, and ve sought him in fright, - Ven a young pauper cried “I knows ve shall - Get jolly vell vopt for losing our pal.” - Oh the Poor Vorkhouse Boy, etc. - - Ve sought in each corner, each crevice ve knew; - Ve sought down the yard, ve sought up the flue; - Ve sought in each kettle, each saucepan, each pot, - In the water-butt look’d, but found him not. - And veeks roll’d on;--ve vere all of us told, - That somebody said, he’d been burk’d and sold; - Ven our master goes out, the Parishioners vild, - Cry “There goes the cove that burk’d the poor child.” - Oh the Poor Vorkhouse Boy, etc. - - At length the soup copper repairs did need, - The Coppersmith came, and there he seed, - A dollop of bones lay a grizzling there, - In the leg of the breeches the poor boy did year! - To gain his fill the boy did stoop, - And, dreadful to tell, he was boil’d in the soup! - And ve all of us say, and ve say it sincere, - That he was push’d in there by an overseer. - Oh the Poor Vorkhouse Boy, etc. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE WILD ROVER._ - - I’ve been a wild rover these seven long years, - I’ve spent all my money in ale and strong beers, - But the time has come my boys, to take better care, - Unless poverty happens to fall to my share. - - -_Chorus._ - - So therefore I’ll lay up my money in store, - And I never will play the wild rover any more; - Wild rover, wild rover, wild rover, any more, - And then I will play the wild rover no more. - - I went to an ale house where I used to resort, - I began for to tell them my money got short; - I asked them to trust me, but their answer was nay, - Such customers as you we may have every day. - - Then my hands from my pockets I pulled out straightway, - Pulled a handful of gold out to hear what they’d say, - O! here’s ale, wine, and brandy, here’s enough of the best, - It was only to try you, I was but in jest. - - Begone you proud landlord, I bid you adieu, - For the devil of one penny will I spend with you; - For the money I’ve got boys, I’ll take better care, - And I never will play the wild rover any more. - - So now I’ll go home to my sweet loving wife, - In hopes to live happy all the days of my life; - From rambling and roving, I’ll take better care, - Unless poverty happens to fall to my share. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE DIGGINS, O!_[66] - - I’VE come back all skin and bone - From the diggins, O! - And I wish I’d never gone - To the diggins, O! - Believe me, ’tis no fun, - I once weighed fifteen stone, - But they brought me down to one, - At the diggins, O! - - I thought a good home could be found - At the diggins, O! - But soon I found I got aground - At the diggins, O! - The natives came one day, - Burnt my cottage down like hay, - With my wife they ran away - To the diggins, O! - - I built a hut with mud, - At the diggins, O! - That got wash’d away by flood, - At the diggins, O! - I used to dig, and cry - It wouldn’t do to die, - Undertakers charge too high - At the diggins, O! - - I paid for victuals with a frown, - At the diggins, O! - Three potatoes half a crown, - At the diggins, O! - Sprats five shillings a dish, - If for Dutch Plaice you wish, - Two dollars buys that fish, - At the diggins, O! - - A Crown a pound for Steaks, - At the diggins, O! - Ditto Chops, and no great shakes, - At the diggins, O! - Five “hog”[67] a small pig’s cheek, - If a herring red you’d seek, - One will keep you dry a week, - At the diggins, O! - - Table beer two bob a quart, - At the diggins, O! - Get your eyes gouged out for nought, - At the diggins, O! - Five shillings a four pound brick,[68] - Butter a shilling a lick, - They never gives no tick, - At the diggins, O! - - They tied me to a tree, - At the diggins, O! - With my nuggets they made free, - At the diggins, O! - I escaped from bodily hurt, - Tho’ they stole my very shirt, - I had to paint myself with dirt, - At the diggins, O! - - I felt quite a ruined man - At the diggins, O! - Thinks I, I’ll get home, if I can, - From the diggins, O! - I was always catching cold, - And I’ve been both bought and sold, - Like many more, for gold, - At the diggins, O! - - But now I’m safe returned - From the diggins, O! - Never more I mean to roam - To the diggins, O! - It some people’s fortune mends, - Much on the man depends-- - I’d sooner be here with my friends, - Than at the diggins, O! - - -_BOTANY BAY._ - - COME all you men of learning, - And a warning take by me, - I would have you quit night walking, - And shun bad company. - I would have you quit night walking, - Or else you’ll rue the day, - You’ll rue your transportation, lads, - When you’re bound for Botany Bay. - - I was brought up in London town - And a place I know full well, - Brought up by honest parents - For the truth to you, I’ll tell. - Brought up by honest parents, - And rear’d most tenderly, - Till I became a roving blade, - Which proved my destiny. - - My character soon taken was, - And I was sent to jail, - My friends they tried to clear me, - But nothing could prevail. - At the Old Bailey Sessions, - The Judge to me did say, - “The Jury’s found you guilty, lad, - So you must go to Botany Bay.” - - To see my aged father dear, - As he stood near the bar, - Likewise my tender mother, - Her old grey locks to tear; - In tearing of her old grey locks, - These words to me did say, - “O, Son! O, Son! what have you done, - That you’re going to Botany Bay?” - - It was on the twenty eighth of May, - From England we did steer, - And, all things being safe on board, - We sail’d down the river, clear. - And every ship that we pass’d by, - We heard the sailors say, - “There goes a ship of clever hands, - And they’re bound for Botany Bay.” - - There is a girl in Manchester, - A girl I know full well, - And if ever I get my liberty, - Along with her I’ll dwell. - O, then I mean to marry her, - And no more to go astray; - I’ll shun all evil company, - Bid adieu to Botany Bay. - - -_VAN DIEMAN’S LAND._ - - COME all you gallant poachers, that ramble free from care, - That walk out on moonlight nights, with your dog, gun and snare, - The jolly hares and pheasants, you have at your command, - Not thinking that your last career is to Van Dieman’s Land. - - Poor Tom Brown from Nottingham, Jack Williams, and poor Joe, - We are three daring poachers, the country does well know, - At night we are trepanned, by the keepers hid in sand, - Who for 14 years transported us unto Van Dieman’s Land. - - The first day that we landed upon this fatal shore, - The planters they came round us, full twenty score or more, - They rank’d us up like horses, and sold us out of hand, - And yok’d us up to ploughs, my boys, to plough Van Dieman’s Land. - - Our cottages that we live in, are built of brick and clay, - And rotten straw for bedding, and we dare not say nay, - Our cots are fenc’d with fire, we slumber when we can, - To drive away wolves and tigers (?) upon Van Dieman’s Land. - - It’s often when in slumber I have a pleasant dream, - With my sweet girl a-sitting down, all by a purling stream, - Through England I’ve been roaming, with her at command, - Now I awake broken hearted upon Van Dieman’s Land. - - God bless our wives and families, likewise that happy shore, - That isle of great contentment, which we shall see no more, - As for our wretched females, see them, we seldom can, - There’s twenty, to one woman, upon Van Dieman’s land. - - There was a girl from Birmingham, Susan Summers was her name, - For fourteen years transported, we all well know the same, - Our planter bought her freedom, and married her out of hand, - She gave to us good usage upon Van Dieman’s Land. - - So all you gallant poachers, give ear unto my song, - It is a bit of good advice, although it is not long, - Throw by your dogs and snares, for to you I speak plain, - For if you knew our hardships, you would never poach again. - - -_FAREWELL TO JUDGES AND JURIES._ - - HERE’S bad luck to you, Mr. Justice Paley, - And also to you, Gentlemen of the Jury, - For seven years, you’ve sent me from my true love, - Seven years, I’m transported, you know. - - To go to a strange country don’t grieve me, - Nor leaving old England behind, - It is all for the sake of my Polly, - And leaving my parents behind. - - There’s the Captain that is our commander, - The Boatswain, and all the ship’s Crew, - There is married men, too, and there’s single, - Who knows what we transports do. - - Dear Polly, I’m going to leave you - For seven long years, love, and more, - But that time will appear but a moment, - When return’d to the girl I adore. - - If ever I return from the Ocean, - Stores of riches I’ll bring for my dear, - It’s all for the sake of my Polly, - I’ll cross the salt seas for my dear. - - How hard is the place of confinement, - That keeps me from my heart’s delight, - Cold chains and irons surround me, - And a plank for my pillow at night. - - How often I wish that the eagle - Would lend me her wings, I would fly, - Then I’d fly to the arms of my Polly, - And on her soft bosom, I’d lie. - - -[Illustration] - - -_MY BONNY BLACK BESS._ - - DICK TURPIN bold! Dick, hie away, - Was the cry of my pals, who were startled, I guess, - For the pistols were levelled, the bullets whizzed by, - As I leapt on the back of Black Bess. - Three Officers mounted, led forward the chase, - Resolv’d in the capture to share; - But I smil’d on their efforts, tho’ swift was their pace, - As I urg’d on my bonny Black Mare. - So when I’ve a bumper, what can I do less, - Than the memory drink of my bonny Black Bess? - - Hark away, hark away! still onward they press, - As we saw by the glimmer of morn, - Tho’ many a mile on the back of Black Bess, - That night I was gallantly borne; - Hie over, my, pet, the fatigue I must bear - Well clear’d! never falter for breath, - Hark forward, my girl, my bonny Black Mare, - We speed it for life or for death. - But when I’ve a bumper, what can I do less, - Than the memory drink of my bonny Black Bess? - - The spires of York now burst on my view, - But the chimes, they were ringing her knell, - Halt! Halt! my brave mare, they no longer pursue, - She halted, she staggered, she fell! - Her breathing was o’er, all was hushed as the grave, - Alas! poor Black Bess, once my pride, - Her heart she had burst, her rider to save, - For Dick Turpin, she lived, and she died. - Then the memory drink of my bonny Black Bess, - Hurrah for poor bonny Black Bess! - - -_LIFE OF THE MANNINGS._ - -EXECUTED AT HORSEMONGER LANE GAOL ON TUESDAY, 13 NOV., 1849. - - SEE the scaffold it is mounted, - And the doomed ones do appear, - Seemingly borne wan with sorrow, - Grief and anguish, pain and care. - They cried, the moment is approaching, - When we, together, must leave this life, - And no one has the least compassion - On Frederick Manning and his wife. - - Maria Manning came from Sweden, - Brought up respectably, we hear, - And Frederick Manning came from Taunton, - In the county of Somersetshire. - Maria lived with noble ladies, - In ease and splendour and delight, - But on one sad and fatal morning, - She was made Frederick Manning’s wife. - - She first was courted by O’Connor, - Who was a lover most sincere, - He was possessed of wealth and riches, - And loved Maria Roux most dear. - But she preferred her present husband. - As it appeared, and with delight, - Slighted sore Patrick O’Connor, - And was made Frederick Manning’s wife. - - And when O’Connor knew the story, - Down his cheeks rolled floods of tears, - He beat his breast and wept in sorrow, - Wrung his hands and tore his hair; - Maria, dear, how could you leave me? - Wretched you have made my life, - Tell me why you did deceive me, - For to be Fred Manning’s wife? - - At length they all were reconciled, - And met together night and day, - Maria, by O’Connor’s riches, - Dressed in splendour fine and gay. - Though married, yet she corresponded, - With O’Connor, all was right, - And oft he went to see Maria, - Frederick Manning’s lawful wife. - - At length they plann’d their friend to murder, - And for his company did crave, - The dreadful weapons they prepared, - And in the kitchen dug his grave. - And, as they fondly did caress him, - They slew him--what a dreadful sight, - First they mangled, after robbed him, - Frederick Manning and his wife. - - They absconded but were apprehended, - And for the cruel deed were tried, - When placed at the Bar of Newgate, - They both the crime strongly denied. - At length the Jury them convicted, - And doomed them for to leave this life, - The Judge pronounced the awful sentence, - On Frederick Manning, and his wife. - - Return, he said, to whence they brought you, - From thence unto the fatal tree, - And there together be suspended, - Where multitudes your fate may see. - Your hours, recollect, are numbered, - You betrayed a friend, and took his life, - For such there’s not one spark of pity, - For Frederick Manning and his wife. - - See what numbers are approaching, - To Horse Monger’s fatal tree, - Full of blooming health and vigour, - What a dreadful sight to see. - Old and young, pray take a warning, - Females, lead a virtuous life, - Think upon that fatal morning, - Frederick Manning and his wife. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE LIFE AND TRIAL OF PALMER._[69] - - OH listen unto William Palmer, - Who does in anguish sore bewail, - Now guilty they at last have found me, - And sent me back to Stafford Jail. - Every one appears against me, - Every person does me hate, - What excitement is impending, - On guilty William Palmer’s fate. - - -_Chorus._ - - My trial causes great excitement, - In town and country everywhere, - Now guilty found is William Palmer, - Of Rugeley town in Stafford Shire. - - Many years I was a sportsman, - Many wondrous deeds I’ve done, - Many a race I have attended, - Many a thousand, lost and won. - They say I poisoned my wife’s mother, - And took away her precious life, - And slew poor Cook and my own brother, - And poisoned my own lawful wife. - - Everything looks black against me, - That I really must confess, - The very thoughts that do oppress me, - Causes me pain and distress, - Now the jury did convict me, - And prove I did commit the deed, - And, sentence passed on William Palmer, - To Stafford I was sent with speed. - - In Rugeley I was once respected, - A gentleman, lived at my ease, - With noblemen I was connected, - And sporting men of all degrees. - Although a Doctor no one knew me - To do anything amiss, - Now each one strives to undo me, - I never thought I’d come to this. - - My poor old mother now at Rugeley, - My awful end must now bewail, - To know her son must die with scorn, - A felon’s death in Stafford Jail. - Every charge alleged against me, - I have strongly it denied, - Twelve long days my trial lasted, - And now I am condemned to die. - - Dreadful is my situation, - Before the awful bar I stand, - I might have filled a noble station, - Unfortunate, unhappy man. - Infants yet unborn will mention, - When to manhood they appear, - The name of Doctor William Palmer, - Of Rugeley town, in Staffordshire. - - Will no one sympathize with Palmer, - Who every charge did strong deny, - You are all aware I am found guilty, - For by a Jury I’ve been tried. - My situation makes me tremble, - I am borne down with grief and care, - All conversation is of Palmer, - Of Rugeley town, in Staffordshire. - - -A COPY OF VERSES ON - -_MARY ARNOLD, THE FEMALE MONSTER_. - - OF all the tales was ever told, - I now will you impart, - That cannot fail to terror strike, - To every human heart. - The deeds of Mary Arnold, - Who does in a jail deplore, - Oh! such a dreadful tale as this, - Was never told before. - - -_Chorus._ - - This wretched woman’s dreadful deed, - Does every one affright. - With black beetles in walnut shells, - She deprived her child of sight. - - Now think you tender parents, - What must this monster feel, - The heart within her breast must ten - Times harder be than steel. - The dreadful crime she did commit, - Does all the world surprise, - Black beetles placed in walnut shells, - Bound round her infant’s eyes. - - The beetles in a walnut shell, - This monster she did place, - This dreadful deed, as you may read, - All history does disgrace, - The walnut shell, and beetles, - With a bandage she bound tight, - Around her infant’s tender eyes, - To take away it’s sight. - - A lady saw this monster, - In the street when passing by, - And she was struck with terror, - For to hear the infant cry. - The infant’s face she swore to see, - Which filled her with surprise, - To see the fatal bandage, - Tied round the infant’s eyes. - - With speed she called an officer, - Oh! shocking to relate, - Who beheld the deed, and took the wretch, - Before the Magistrate. - Who committed her for trial, - Which did the wretch displease, - And she’s now transported ten long years, - Across the briny seas. - - Is there another in the world, - Could plan such wicked deed, - No one upon this earth before, - Of such did ever see. - To take away her infant’s sight, - ’Tis horrible to tell, - Binding black beetles round it’s eyes, - Placed in walnut shells. - - -THE UNDERTAKER’S CLUB. - - ONE night, being pressed by his old friend Chubb, - To go to an Undertaker’s Club, - I’ll furnish you all, if that I dare. - With a mournful account of this grave affair. - - -_Chorus._ - - For such a black looking lot is this Club of - Undertakers, such a black looking set - You never did see. - - This selfsame Club, and House of Call, - Was held at Blackheath, or else Blackwall, - The landlord’s name it was Blackmore, - And an African Chief hung over the door. - - The Undertakers had all met. - They were dress’d in black a dingey set, - The picture frames black, and so were the walls, - And the window curtains were made of palls. - - The stove black leaded not long had been, - On the table was laid Blackwood’s magazine, - The carpet was black and so was each chair, - The chairman’d black whiskers and raven hair. - - The supper was laid, there were lots of black game, - With polonies in mourning to match with the same, - There were blackbird pies, and nothing but good ’uns, - And a quantity of good black puddings. - - The knives were black, and so were the forks, - Black strap in black bottles, with black sealed corks, - The rules of the club, were done in black figures, - And the waiters and cooks were all of them niggers. - - The dessert was black grapes, and black heart cherries. - Blackcurrants, and mulberries, and blackberries. - Prunes and elder wine were there, - Which just made up this black bill affair. - - Mr. Sable sang first, and what should he choose on, - But the favourite ballad of black eyéd Susan, - The coal black steed, Mr. Hatband choose, - And Mr. Merryhall sang coal black rose. - - The best that was sung and that all did confess, - Was the favourite song of My bonny Black Bess, - The Chairman then whistled, when his throat was clear, - The fav’rite grand march that is played in Black Beard. - - -_A TIDY SUIT FOR ALL THAT._ - - I REMEMBER well,--a slap-up swell-- - With lots of cash, and all that,-- - I used to quiz each lady’s phiz, - And sport them out, and all that; - And all this, and all that, - But I’m done brown for all that. - With Crockford’s[70] crew my money flew, - But I skittles play, for all that. - - I used to dwell up in Pall Mall: - In a house up steps, and all that-- - With porter tall to mind the hall, - To take in notes, and all that. - And all this, and all that, - My feather beds, and all that, - But now I snore upon the floor, - And I lay till twelve for all that. - - I used to wear, I do declare, - A slap up coat and all that-- - I made good for trade, though I never paid, - But there’s many swells do all that. - And all that, and all that, - Yet clothes I’ve got, for all that! - The suit I’ve got, cost me a pot, - And it’s a tidy suit for all that. - - I had a cab, ’twas lin’d with drab, - With a velvet seat, and all that-- - My horse was brown, the best in town, - With a tiger smart, and all that. - And all that, and all that, - Yet I cab it still, for all that, - For, if one I find, I jump up behind, - So, you see, I ride, for all that. - - I used to dine off goose and wine, - And couldn’t eat my meat fat, - But it’s turn about, for I go without, - I live on air, and all that. - And all that, and all that, - Faggots, peas pudding, and all that, - At the Carlton Club, I used to grub, - But I like Cann’s soup for all that. - - With patent boots like “Romeo Coates.”[71] - With nice square toe and all that, - With good high heel for spur or steel, - To rattle about and all that. - And all that, and all that, - Yet boots I’ve got for all that, - Though they’ve no sole, yet on the whole, - The tops look well, for all that. - - My gloves were black, without a crack, - But they’re gone to wrack for all that, - With my kerchief silk, as white as milk, - When it’s wash’d and all that. - And all that, and all that, - It saves the cuff for all that, - In life says Burns, there’s many turns, - But a man’s a man for all that. - - -[Illustration] - - -THE RAGGED COAT. - - O, WHAT a world of flummery, there’s nothing but deceit in it, - So you’ll find all through life, as you travel on, - High and low, rich and poor, every one you meet in it, - ’Tis the same, I will maintain, and prove it in my song; - When I was poor, I found that friends did very seldom heed me, - Till true ones came, and left me cash that set me all afloat, - So I thought among my friends I’d try who would relieve me, - And, to fathom out deception, I put on a ragged coat. - - I thought my friends I’d try the first, for I had got a many, - At least that professed to be--at Kew was Mr. Ford-- - So I thought a trip by steam would be as cheap as any, - Went down to London Bridge, and set my foot on board. - I heard a puppy say, though lowly he did breathe it, - “It’s a shame, to let such ragged people board a steam boat,” - But, says I, My foolish fellow, there’s a good heart beats beneath, - So don’t despise a man because he wears a ragged coat. - - The journey o’er, and safe arrived, I set my foot on shore, Sir, - Glad enough from such a crew was I to get relief, - So I walk’d up to the house, and knock’d loud at the door, Sir, - All the people eyeing me, as if I was a thief. - But the door was slammed in my face, with many a bitter snarl, Sir, - So I shouted out, Good Mr. Ford, I’ve come to pay that note; - O dear, (says Ford) pray step this way, and show’d me to the parlour, Sir, - We thought you came a begging in that ragged coat. - - A chair was quickly placed for me, and down I sat instanter, - You came from town, you must be tired, pray stop here and dine, - Jane, bring the glasses, and likewise the decanter, - Ah, Sir, you’ll find this some excellent port wine. - Your wine, Sir, you may keep, although I have no dress on, - I have changed my mind, and mean to keep my note. - And put it to some better use, so let this be a lesson, - Don’t despise a man because he’s got a ragged coat. - - Next I went courting the brisk widow Moore, - Reached the house, gave a tap, and boldly in I goes, - My suit I pressed, but she exclaim’d, Here, show the knave the door, - For at sight of my appearance, she turn’d up her nose, - But, when I show’d a bag of gold, she wish’d to be a talker, - At the sound of the rhino she quickly chang’d her note, - But, says I, I’m off, dear ma’am, it’s time my name was Walker. - So don’t despise a man because he’s got a ragged coat. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE COLLIER SWELL._ - - I USED to be a vulgar clown, with cash and money short in, - Till my old uncle died in Town, and left me all his fortune, - A collier I was by trade, but I’ve chang’d as you may tell, sir, - And since a richer purse I’ve got, I’ll be a regular Swell, sir. - - -_Chorus._ - - But I’m so plagued with vulgar folks, since I’ve got cash to sport in, - Why can’t a collier cut a swell, when he’s been left a fortune? - - I used to go with low bred chaps, and talk to every put low, - Get drunk in Tom and Jerry shops, and go a purring foot bo; - But now, with all the swells in town, I sport my bobs and tanners, - And I am going to London town, to learn some genteel manners. - - And when I’ve been to London town, I mean to go to France, Sir, - To practice two or three times a week, to learn to hop and dance, Sir, - Besides, I’ve got a quizzing glass, to see things far and near o, - Which caused me the other day, to fall reet o’er a barrow. - - O my family are a vulgar set, tho’ they’ve got clothes in fashion, - They put them on all inside out, which puts me in a passion, - The lads when’er we go to church, tho’ they have lots of riches, - They all go in their clogs, smock frocks, and leather breeches. - - My wife she is the worst of all, when we give genteel dinners, - She uses neither knife nor fork, but pops in all her fingers, - And when they hand the wine about, she tells the gents it stinks, Sir, - Gets full her mouth, and squirts it out, and calls for treacle drink, Sir. - - If I give a dinner to my lord, and bid her make a good ’un, - Perhaps she will make some pea soup, or else a great black pudding: - And when the tea it is brought in, the tray she always flings, Sir, - Stirs up the sugar with her fist, and then she licks her fingers. - - My lord once ask’d us out to dine, and there we had a rum start, - Instead of her new carriage fine, she would ride in a dung cart, - And when he sent a horse for her, and wanted her to ride, Sir, - But what do you think of the ignorant jade, she would get astride, Sir. - - -_THE LONDON MERCHANT._ - - IT is of a rich merchant near London we hear, - Had a comely young daughter most beauteous and fair, - Twenty thousand bright guineas was her portion in gold, - Till she fell in love with a young sailor bold. - - O! when that the merchant these tidings did hear, - Upon the young sailor, he vengeance did swear; - He says, your true love shall no more plough the sea, - For before to-morrow morning his butcher I’ll be. - - O, when that she heard her own father say so, - Her mind was o’erwhelmed with sorrow and woe; - She thought to herself, If I could see my dear, - I quickly would warn him of the danger that’s near. - - In a suit of bold sailors apparel complete, - She dressed herself from the head to the feet, - With pumps on her feet, and a cane in her hand, - She met her dear William as he walked through the Strand. - - She says, My dear William, O, instantly flee, - For my father doth swear that your butcher he’ll be, - So straight unto Dover, I’d have you repair, - And in forty-eight hours, I’ll meet you there. - - As he kiss’d her fair cheek, the tear stood in each eye, - She says I will save you, or else I will die. - Then straightway she gave him a handful of gold, - And she marched up the street like a sailor so bold. - - She, meeting her father, as she walked up the Strand, - He mistook her for William, saying, You are the man, - A Sword from his side then he instantly drew, - And her beautiful body he pierc’d it quite through. - - When he found what he’d done, he sunk down in despair, - He wringed his hands, and he tore off his hair, - Crying, wretched monster, Oh! what have I done? - I have killed the flower of fair London town. - - Then up from the ground he did instantly start, - And leaned on his sword, till he pierced his heart; - Forgive me, he cried, as he drew his last breath, - Then he closed his eyes in the cold arms of death. - - Now when that young William the tidings did hear, - He died broken hearted by grief and despair, - Thus father, and daughter, and a young sailor bold, - Met an untimely death for the sake of curs’d gold. - - -_RILEY’S FAREWELL._ - - AS I rov’d out one evening down by a river side, - I heard a lovely maid complain, the tears fell from her eyes, - It is a cold and stormy night, these words she did say, - My love is on the raging sea, bound for America. - - My love, he was a sailor bold, his age was scarce sixteen, - He was as nice a young man, as ever you did see, - My father he has riches great, and Riley he was poor, - Because I loved this sailor, they could not him endure. - - Riley was my love’s name,--he liv’d down by the sea, - My mother took me by the hand, and these words she did say, - If you be fond of Riley, let him leave this country, - Your father says he’ll take his life, or shun his company. - - Oh! mother dear, don’t be severe, where shall I find my love, - My very heart lies in his breast, as constant as a Dove. - Oh, daughter dear, I’m not severe, there is one thousand pound, - Send Riley to America, to purchase there some ground. - - When she got the money, to Riley she did run, - This very night, to take your life, my father charged his gun, - Here is one thousand pounds in gold, my mother sent to you, - Sail off unto America, and there I’ll follow you. - - When Riley got the money, next day he sail’d away, - When he got his foot on board, these words she did say, - Here is a token of my love, and we’ll break it in two, - You’ll have my heart, and half my ring, until I find out you. - - It was in twelve months after, she was walking by the sea, - When Riley he came back again, and took his love away, - The ship was wrecked, all hands were lost, her father grieved full sore, - Found her in Riley’s arms, and they were drown’d upon the shore. - - They found a letter in her breast, and it was wrote in blood, - Saying, Cruel was my father that thought to shoot my love; - So let this be a warning to all you fair maidens gay, - Never to send the man they love upon the raging sea. - - -_YOUNG WILLIAM._ - - YOUNG William for honour and fame went to sea, - And many a battle and storm weathered he, - But, the wars being over, he homeward returned, - For love of his Mary in his bosom did burn. - Faithful and true was the youth. - - With a heart light and buoyant to Mary did haste, - With joy she wept, and her William embraced, - Of his parents he asked, and she mournfully sighed, - That home, once your joy, is, now, wretched, she cried, - Your parents are bowed down in grief. - - Scarce one short month of your absence was spent, - When the Landlord’s vile agent seized on them for rent, - Sold their cow, all they had, for a twelve months’ arrears, - Nor heeded their anguish, but laughed at their tears, - No succour, alas! could I bring. - - Oh, Mary, cried William, while his tears fast did flow, - This night to my parents, disguised I will go, - In the morning what rapture through their bosoms will run, - When they find that the stranger is William, their son, - For they know not from sea, I’ve returned. - - He went as a stranger, admittance did crave, - As a stranger, a welcome from them he received, - How chang’d was his father, once healthy and neat, - His mother thro’ want, could scarce move from her seat. - And want seem’d to dwell in each face. - - Some gold from his purse on his father he prest, - Took his leave for the night and retired to rest, - Alas! from his pillow he never rose more, - Before morning sun beamed, he was dead in his gore. - He died by the hand of his sire. - - Ah! see, in the morning, poor Mary she came, - And asks for her lover, her William, by name, - Our William’s not here both the parents replied, - Oh yes! smiled Mary, he came here disguised. - As a stranger, he’s dwelling with you. - - Oh God! cried the father, then what have I done? - Thro’ gold, cursed gold, I have murdered my son, - Then with the same weapon himself did destroy, - Saying, thus I avenge thee, Oh, William, my boy! - Oh, Mercy! he cried and expired. - - The mother soon died, and was laid in the tomb, - And Mary, a maniac wildly did roam, - All did her pity, though none could her save, - She was found dead and cold on her true lover’s grave, - On the grave of her lover so true. - - -[Illustration] - - -_THE BROKEN HEARTED GARDENER._ - - I’M a broken hearted Gardener, and don’t know what to do, - My love she is inconstant, and a fickle jade, too, - One smile from her lips will never be forgot, - It refreshes, like a shower from a watering pot. - - -_Chorus._ - - Oh, Oh! she’s a fickle wild rose, - A damask, a cabbage, a young China Rose. - - She’s my myrtle, my geranium, - My Sun flower, my sweet marjorum, - My honey suckle, my tulip, my violet, - My holy hock, my dahlia, my mignonette. - - We grew up together like two apple trees, - And clung to each other like double sweet peas, - Now they’re going to trim her, and plant her in a pot, - And I’m left to wither, neglected and forgot. - - She’s my snowdrop, my ranunculus, - My hyacinth, my gilliflower, my polyanthus, - My heart’s ease, my pink, water lily, - My buttercup, my daisy, my daffydown dilly. - - I’m like a scarlet runner that has lost its stick, - Or a cherry that’s left for the dickey to pick, - Like a waterpot, I weep, like a paviour I sigh, - Like a mushroom I’ll wither, like a cucumber, die. - - I’m like a humble bee that doesn’t know where to settle, - And she’s a dandelion, and a stinging nettle, - My heart’s like a beet root choked with chickweed, - And my head’s like a pumpkin running to seed. - - I’m a great mind to make myself a felo-de-se, - And finish all my woes on the branch of a tree: - But I won’t, for I know at my kicking, you’d roar, - And honour my death with a double encore. - - -_BOXING DAY IN 1847._ - - OF all the days throughout the year, - There was never one, I say, - That could come up in former times, - At all to Boxing Day. - But in the windows now you’ll see, - How shocking, I declare, - Notice! recollect, no Christmas Boxes - Will be given here. - - -_Chorus._ - - In former times, how folks would spree, - So lively, brisk and gay, - Such jolly games there used to be - Upon a Boxing Day. - - Some folks are mean, as may be seen, - Who plenty have in store, - And strive outright, with all their might, - To trample on the poor. - It was not so in former times, - For every class together, - Stroll to the Play, on Boxing Day, - Like Birds of every feather. - - The beadles out a boxing went, - So did old women too, - The dustman out a boxing went, - A whistling--Dust O! - Some would dance, and some would sing, - And some a noise would keep, - And some would in the watch house go, - To get a lodging cheap. - - In grandfather’s and grandmother’s days, - Folks through the streets were led, - There were no police with rolling pins, - To break the people’s heads; - They did not Polka dresses wear, - Or bustles on their rumps, - And shop boys did not smoke cigars, - Made out of Cabbage Stumps. - - Now up and down old London Town, - In windows every where, - There are bills that say, No Christmas boxes - Will be given here. - They may put their Christmas boxes up, - Said Bet to her old man, - And then she boxed him round the room, - And broke the frying pan. - - Now all old ancient customs will - Be quickly done away, - Here’s a happy new Year, and may you live - Till another Boxing day: - But may Old Nick a visit pay - To them both far and near, - Who in their windows put, - No Christmas Boxes given here. - - - THE illustration to this ballad has evidently done duty for a - portion (most probably Macheath’s song of “How happy could I be - with either”) of the “Beggar’s Opera,” first played at Lincoln’s - Inn Fields Theatre, 1728. The _Commode_, or cap, of the ladies is - that of the reign of Queen Anne; but it is probable that - highwaymen’s female friends did not dress in the height of the - fashion. - -[Illustration] - - -_ST. JAMES’S AND ST. GILES’S._ - - TO the tourist of London, who’s curious in fact, - I’ll point out some things in the principal tracts. - Two places there are, where the poor and the rich, - Live so like each other, there’s no telling which. - One parish, St. James’s, _par excellence_ call’d, - The West end of town and the fashionable world; - The other St. Giles’s, if true rumour speaks, - Is inhabited solely by Emigrant Greeks. - - -_Chorus._ - - So don’t be astonished at what I shall say, - St. James and St. Giles I have seen in my day, - In the former they live on the National Debt, - In the latter they live on what they can get. - - In St. James’s there is but one Palace, I swear, - In St. Giles’s Gin Palaces everywhere, - At the Court of St. James’s they hang out the flags, - Up a Court at St. Giles’s they hang out the rags. - The Swells at St. James’s go shooting at noon, - In St. Giles’s the people go shooting the moon.[72] - In St James’s Hotel, boots are welted by nobs, - In St. Giles’s the welting is done by the snobs. - - In St. James’s the nobs to the Opera go, - Because they can’t bear anything that is low, - In St. Giles’s that being too slap-up, ’tis agreed, - To go to the stall of “the Garden” instead. - In St. James’s there’s military pensioners dwell, - In St. Giles’s there’s lots of Old Soldiers[73] as well; - In St. James’s they pay, when a regiment they choose, - In St. Giles’s, for nothing, they get “in the Blues.” - - In St. James’s they keep up their spirits with wine, - In St. Giles’s they’re drunk on “blue ruin”[74] by nine, - In St. James’s they banquet on Silver, in state, - In St. Giles’s the same, with a twopenny plate. - In St. James’s the Officers mess at their Club. - In St. Giles’s they often have messes for grub; - In St. James’s they feed on the highest of game, - In St. Giles’s they live on foul _air_ just the same. - - A Lord in St. James’s his betting book keeps, - In the Derby, St. Giles’s has plenty of sweeps; - In St. James’s they gamble at hazard for crowns, - And they play in St. Giles’s at skittles for browns. - In St. James’s the authors, when the Muses inspire, - Dash off with a touch of D’Israeli’s fire; - In St. Giles’s original ballads by Bunn, - Are done by the poet of Moses and Son. - - In St. James’s Pall Mall is considered polite, - In St. Giles’s pell mell in the gutter they fight, - In St. James’s Conservative principles run, - In St. Giles’s, the principle’s nuffink to none. - In St. James’s fraternity goeth ahead, - In St. Giles’s they fraternize ten in a bed; - In St. James’s the families march out of town, - In St. Giles’s Bill Simmons to Brixton goes down. - - In St. James’s in calling the morning is spent, - In St. Giles’s, the landlord calls for his rent, - In St. James’s the Queen holds a drawing-room gay. - In St. Giles’s Mr. Smith holds a garret all day. - In St. James’s the togs are got out very bright, - In St. Giles’s they’re got out every Saturday night, - In St. James’s they sleep on down pillows and snore, - In St. Giles’s the same, but it’s down on the floor. - - Now, comparisons mostly are odious I’ve heard, - And such being the case, I think it absurd - To say any more on the subject just now, - For fear of offending the high or the low. - But next time I travel those parts of the town, - Some further particulars, Sir, shall go down. - Of the Sweets of St. James’s with bitters mixed in, - In St. Giles’s the bitters are mixed up with gin. - - -_THE THREE BUTCHERS._ - - IT was Ips, Gips, and Johnson, as I’ve heard many say, - They had five hundred guineas, all on a market day: - As they rode over Northumberland, as hard as they could ride, - Oh, hark, Oh, hark, says Johnson, I hear a woman cry. - - Then Johnson, being a valiant man, a man of courage bold, - He ranged the woods all over, till this woman he did behold, - How came you here? says Johnson, how came you here I pray, - I am come here to relieve you, if you will not me betray. - - There have been ten swaggering blades, have hand and foot me bound, - And stripped me stark naked, with my hair pinn’d on the ground; - Then Johnson, being a valiant man, a man of courage bold, - He took his coat from off his back, to keep her from the cold. - - As they rode over Northumberland, as hard as they could ride, - She put her fingers in her ears, and dismally she cried, - Then up start ten swaggering blades, with weapons in their hand, - And, riding up to Johnson, they bid him for to stand. - - It’s I’ll not stand, said Ipson, then no indeed, not I, - Nor, I’ll not stand, said Gipson, I’d sooner live than die. - Then I will stand, said Johnson, I’ll stand the while I can, - I never yet was daunted, nor afraid of any man. - - Then Johnson drew his glittering sword, with all his might and main, - So well he laid upon them, that eight of them were slain: - As he was fighting the other two, this woman he did not mind, - She took the knife all from his side, and ripped him up behind. - - Now I must fall, says Johnson, I must fall unto the ground, - For relieving this wicked woman, she gave me my death wound; - Oh base woman, Oh base woman, whatever hast thou done, - Thou hast killed the finest butcher that ever the sun shone on. - - This happened on a Market Day, as people were riding by, - To see this dreadful murder, they gave the hue and cry, - It’s now this woman’s taken, and bound in irons strong, - For killing the finest butcher that ever the sun shone on. - - - THE END. - - - PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. - - * * * * * - - WORKS BY JOHN ASHTON. - - _Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each._ - - - A HISTORY OF THE CHAP-BOOKS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. With nearly - 400 Illustrations, engraved in facsimile of the originals. - - SOCIAL LIFE IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. From Original Sources. With - nearly 100 Illustrations. - - HUMOUR, WIT, AND SATIRE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. With nearly 100 - Illustrations. - - ENGLISH CARICATURE AND SATIRE ON NAPOLEON THE FIRST. With 115 - Illustrations. - - MODERN STREET BALLADS. With 56 Illustrations. - - -_LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY._ - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] One of whose colophons I use as a tailpiece. - -[2] As applied to tailors, “cabbage” means the remnants of cloth stolen -in making up garments. The goose is the large iron used for pressing -the seams, etc. - -[3] Written in 1815. - -[4] Referring to the famous O.P. (Old Prices) riots. - -[5] Sir Robert Peel started the present income tax, which became law, -June 22, 1842, at sevenpence in the pound. - -[6] Her Majesty pays Income Tax on her private property, like any of -her subjects. - -[7] Cant name for gin. - -[8] It falls to the lot of the drummers in the army to flog, whenever -corporal punishment is decreed. - -[9] By this is probably meant the Act 1 & 2 Will. IV. cap. 22. - -[10] A parody on Jetty Treffz’ famous song, “Trab, Trab, Trab,” at -Jullien’s Promenade Concerts in 1850. This parody is exceedingly -humorous, being the story of how an exceedingly fat man hired a cab and -drove all over London. - -[11] Unconsumed carbon, the deposit of very gaseous coal, which wraps -round the bars, until it finally parts and is blown away. Its sign was, -in my young days, that a stranger would visit the house ere the day was -over. - -[12] This is a cant term for a quartern of gin served in three glasses, -which, between them, exactly hold the quantity. - -[13] This word seems simply to be used in order to make up a rhyme. Of -course, there are wattles of turkeys and wattles (hurdles), but neither -are applicable. - -[14] The Reverend Theobald Mathew, the famous advocate and apostle of -Temperance, was born at Thomastown, Co. Tipperary, Ireland, October -10, 1790. He was ordained in 1814, and was appointed to a chapel in -Cork. Here he interested himself much in the condition of the poor, -and in 1838, his attention having been called by a Quaker to the -evils of drunkenness, he began his famous total abstinence campaign, -enrolling in the course of five months one hundred and fifty thousand -converts. On one visit to Galway he administered the pledge to one -hundred thousand persons in one day. His influence over the working -classes, especially of the Irish, was enormous, and the amount of good -he did is incalculable. He did not confine his exertions in the cause -of temperance to Ireland, but visited England and America. He died -December 8, 1856. - -[15] Credit. - -[16] There is a line short in the original. - -[17] Hence the names of “Bobby” and “Peeler” as applied to the Police. - -[18] These four lines form the chorus. - -[19] dance somewhat similar to a Redowa, and in vogue about the time -when the Polka was the rage. - -[20] See “Jullien’s Grand Polka.” - -[21] This verse is used as chorus. - -[22] There is a somewhat similar story in Dr. Andrew Boorde’s “Wise Man -of Gotham,” printed in Henry the Eighth’s time, but the _dénouement_ is -not so pleasant, as the lady dismissed her lover with some very strong -language. - -[23] A parody on the very popular _lied_, “Trab, Trab, Trab,” sung by -Fraulien Jetty Treffz at Jullien’s Promenade Concerts, 1850, etc. - -[24] This song is old, for it was introduced by Bannister in “Peeping -Tom,” and it was set to music by Dr. Arnold. - -[25] Richard Martin exerted himself especially in the Prevention of -Cruelty to Animals. - -[26] This notice still survives in some parts of the suburbs; and the -barber’s pole, striped with its bandages, indicative of bleeding, is -fast becoming obsolete. - -[27] A form of marriage practised among the gipsies. - -[28] This song was in vogue, as far as I can learn, about 1854 or 1855. - -[29] Elegy. - -[30] The _Penny Magazine_ was first published on March 31, 1832, and -its success was such, that the Chap books vanished as if by magic, and -a new and purer popular literature sprung up. - -[31] This was the supposed site of a bloody battle between the ancient -Britons and the Romans. - -[32] This was a small mountain of refuse, dust, and ashes, which, -although unsightly, was as profitable as were the heaps of Mr. Boffin -in Charles Dickens’s “Our Mutual Friend.” This mound, so it is said, -once had a curious clearance. It was bought, in its entirety, and sent -over to Russia, to help make bricks to rebuild Moscow; and the ground -on which it stood was sold to a company for £15,000. - -[33] Breeze is the technical term for the sifted ashes mixed with the -clay to make inferior bricks, which are “clamp” burnt, _i.e._ in large -stacks. - -[34] In George IV.’s reign a statue was erected to him at Battle -Bridge, and the neighbourhood renamed King’s Cross. It surmounted a -_Camera obscura_, and this was atop of a building, which in its turn, -was alternately a police station and a public-house. It was a miserable -affair, only made of brick and cement, and, after cumbering the ground -for a few years, it was pulled down. - -[35] Gully was a prize-fighter--was made one of the Royal pages at the -coronation of George IV., took to the turf and kept racehorses, and was -M.P. for Pontefract. - -[36] A false shirt-front. - -[37] Leaving a house, or apartments, without paying rent. - -[38] A Workhouse, so called because of the loss of personal liberty -when once in “the House.” The House of Correction, Coldbath Fields, now -done away with, was called “_the Bastille_,” and to its dying day was -known to the criminal classes as “the Steel.” - -[39] A strike is four pecks or one bushel, _strike measure_, which -would make wheat eight guineas per quarter. - -[40] The writer of this makes no mention of the advantages the labourer -had in those days, low rent, meal, skim milk, etc., and constant work, -wet or fine. Money then had more purchasing power, and eight shillings -was worth at least fifteen of the present currency. Now, thanks to -Mr. Joseph Arch and other agitators, the agricultural labourer has, -presumably, higher wages, but he has higher rent to pay, his privileges -are curtailed or annulled, and he has lost the sympathy of his -employer. Paid by the hour, he is discharged as soon as it comes on to -rain hard, instead of, as in the old days, being paid for a whole day, -even if he only worked part of it. - -[41] Story. - -[42] October 20, 1827. - -[43] This is supposed to refer to some frolic of William IV.’s when he -was Duke of Clarence, and properly belongs to last century. - -[44] This story is supposed to be told of William IV. - -[45] The date of this ballad is evidently 1837, soon after the Queen’s -accession. - -[46] This, in all probability, was the Peace of 1814. - -[47] There is a well-authenticated instance (see _Times_, November -4, 1799) of a Miss Talbot, who followed her lover as a seaman, and, -afterwards quarrelling with him, she enlisted in the army; but her love -of the sea was unconquerable, and she joined the Navy, being present on -board Earl St. Vincent’s ship on February 14, and again was under fire -at Camperdown. - -[48] I have heard this verse sung thus: - - Now the losing of the Prentice boys - It grieved the Captain sore, - But the losing of the great big whale, - It grieved him very much more. - - -[49] Her Majesty’s accession to the throne took place on June 20, 1837. - -[50] The Queen was married on February 10, 1840. - -[51] Jupiter appeared to Danaë as a shower of gold. - -[52] This event took place November 9, 1841. - -[53] 1849. - -[54] Scotland, September, 1844; Ireland, August, 1849. - -[55] August 18, 1855. - -[56] Prince Albert was at one time very unpopular in England. His -advising the Queen, and consequent intimate and personal knowledge of -all that was going on during the Russian war, coupled with the fact -that he was a foreigner, led the unthinking to believe that he was -secretly helping Russia--a report of which he seems to have been well -aware (_vide_ Sir T. Martin’s “Life of the Prince Consort,” vol. iii. -p. 219, March, 1855). I recollect very well the rumour that he had been -imprisoned in the Tower, and a comic paper had an engraving of two -cabmen meeting, and one saying to the other, “Have yer ’eard the noose? -Vhy, Prince Halbert along with two other Commander-in-Chiefs have been -sent to the Tower; which Lewis Napoleon diwulged ’em a sending of five -pound notes to the Emperor of Rooshia, and so he blowed the gaff” (told -of them). - -[57] 1815. - -[58] He died from the effects of a fall from his horse. - -[59] Died September 14, 1852; lay in state at Chelsea Hospital from -November 10 to 17; buried at St. Paul’s, November 18. - -[60] When this ballad was written, the Lords might vote by proxy, and -a minister, or his opponent, might, and did, produce enough (either to -gain or lose a measure) of votes from Peers who were too lazy to attend. - -[61] The counties of York and Lancaster were very early in the field in -espousing the cause of the Anti-Corn-Law League. - -[62] The “National Anti-Corn-Law League Free Trade Bazaar,” held at -Covent Garden Theatre, May 8, 9, 10, 12, 1845. - -[63] Repeat as chorus last two lines of each verse. - -[64] A song relating to the celebration (in London) of the Peace of -1815. - -[65] This song was sung by W. H. Williams, in his entertainment of -“Wine and Walnuts,” and by C. Taylor at Vauxhall. - -[66] Gold was discovered in Australia in 1851. - -[67] A hog is cant for a shilling. - -[68] A quartern “tin” loaf. - -[69] Executed June 14, 1856. - -[70] A high-class gambling house in St. James’s Street. - -[71] A dandy of the first water in the time of the Regency. His vanity -was superlative. He essayed to play Romeo, creating nothing but roars -of laughter in the house. In the scene where Romeo dies, the audience -applauded him ironically; but he took it in earnest, and, getting up, -bowed, and _died again_, first of all carefully dusting the stage. - -[72] Cant term for leaving lodgings without paying. - -[73] Red herrings. - -[74] Gin. - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN STREET BALLADS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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