Chapter 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.

_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._

_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.

_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!

_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.

_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._