Musa Pedestris - Three Centuries of Canting Songs and Slang Rhymes [1536 - 1896] - LightNovelsOnl.com
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But now for their frolics I never can sleep, So I crack 'em by dozens, as o'er me they creep: Curse blight you! I cry, while I'm all over smart, For I'm bit by the a.r.s.e, while I'm stung to the heart.
V
The barber I ever was pleased to see, With his paigtail come sc.r.a.ping to Nancy and me; And Nancy was pleas'd too, and to the man said, Come hither, young fellow, and frizzle my head: But now when he's bowing, I up with my stick, Cry, blast you, you scoundrel! and give him a kick-- And I'll lend him another, for why should not John Be as dull as poor Dermot, when Nancy is gone?
VI
When sitting with Nancy, what sights have I seen!
How white was the turnep, the col'wart how green!
What a lovely appearance, while under the shade, The carrot, the parsnip, the cauliflow'r made!
But now she mills doll, tho' the greens are still there, [6]
They none of 'em half so delightful appear: It was not the board that was nail'd to the wall, Made so many customers visit our stall.
VII
Sweet music went with us both all the town thro', To Bagnigge, White Conduit, and Sadler's-Wells too; [7]
Soft murmur'd the Kennels, the beau-pots how sweet, And crack went the cherry-stones under our feet: But now she to Bridewell has punch'd it along, [8]
My eye, Betty Martin! on music a song: 'Twas her voice crying mack'rel, as now I have found, Gave ev'ry-thing else its agreeable sound.
VIII
Gin! What is become of thy heart-chearing fire, And where is the beauty of Calvert's Intire?
Does aught of its taste Double Gloucester beguile, That ham, those potatoes, why do they not smile, Ah! rot ye, I see what it was you were at, Why you knocked up your froth, why you flash'd off your fat: To roll in her ivory, to pleasure her eye, To be tipt by her tongue, on her stomach to lie.
IX
How slack is the crop till my Nancy return!
No duds in my pocket, no sea-coal to burn! [9]
Methinks if I knew where the watchman wou'd tread, I wou'd follow, and lend him a punch o' the head.
Fly swiftly, good watchman, bring hither my dear, And, blast me! I'll tip ye a gallon of beer. [10]
Ah, sink him! the watchman is full of delay, Nor will budge one foot faster for all I can say.
X
Will no blood-hunting foot-pad, that hears me complain, Stop the wind of that nabbing-cull, constable Payne? [11]
If he does, he'll to Tyburn next sessions be dragg'd, And what kiddy's so rum as to get himself scragg'd? [12]
No! blinky, discharge her, and let her return; For ne'er was poor fellow so sadly forlorn.
Zounds! what shall I do? I shall die in a ditch; Take warning by me how you're leagu'd with a b.i.t.c.h.
[1: companions]
[2: accompanied]
[3: jailed]
[4: drink]
[5: light-hearted]
[6: picks oak.u.m]
[7: Notes]
[8: gone]
[9: money]
[10: treat]
[11: Note]
[12: foolish]
YE SCAMPS, YE PADS, YE DIVERS [Notes]
[1781]
[From _The Choice of Harlequin_: or _The Indian Chief_ by MR. MESSINK, and sung by JOHN EDWIN as "the Keeper of Bridewell"].
I
Ye scamps, ye pads, ye divers, and all upon the lay, [1]
In Tothill-fields gay sheepwalk, like lambs ye sport and play; [2]
Rattling up your darbies, come hither at my call; I'm jigger dubber here, and you are welcome to mill doll. [3]
With my tow row, etc.
II
At your insurance office the flats you've taken in, The game they've play'd, my kiddy, you're always sure to win; First you touch the s.h.i.+ners--the number up--you break, [4]
With your insuring-policy, I'd not insure your neck.
With my tow row, etc.
III
The French, with trotters nimble, could fly from English blows, [5]
And they've got nimble daddles, as monsieur plainly shews; [6]
Be thus the foes of Britain bang'd, ay, thump away, monsieur, The hemp you're beating now will make your solitaire.
With my tow row, etc.
IV
My peepers! who've we here now? why this is sure Black-Moll: [7]
My ma'am, you're of the fair s.e.x, so welcome to mill doll; The cull with you who'd venture into a snoozing-ken, [8]
Like Blackamore Oth.e.l.lo, should "put out the light--and then."
With my tow row, etc.
V
I think my flashy coachman, that you'll take better care, Nor for a little bub come the slang upon your fare; [9]
Your jazy pays the garnish, unless the fees you tip, [10]
Though you're a flashy coachman, here the gagger holds the whip, With my tow row, etc.
_Chorus omnes_ We're scamps, we're pads, we're divers, we're all upon the lay, In Tothill-fields gay sheepwalk, like lambs we sport and play; Rattling up our darbies, we're hither at your call, You're jigger dubber here, and we're forc'd for to mill doll.
With my tow row, etc.
[1: footpads; pick pockets; Notes]
[2: Tothill-fields prison]
