Fixed and wild were his looks, and his nose cold and blue, And his countenance wore a cold church-yard like hue. Derry down, &c. The good father bid Pat to confess all his crimes, Oh, think, my dear Pat, on that beautiful place, feet. Derry down, &c. Well, well, then, says Pat, with inquisitive face, eyes; Oh, vile sinner," says he, "can you hope to be for given, If you think there's carousing and drinking in heaven." Derry down, &c. "Well, well, then," says Pat, "though I cannot help thinking, If in heaven they can do without eating and drinking, (Though I don't mane to say what you tell is a fable,) "Twould be dacent, you know, just to see a drop on the Derry down, &c. table." BEN BACKSTAY. BEN Backstay was our boatswain, a very merry boy, For no one half so merrily could pipe all hands a-hoy! And when it chanced his summons we didn't well at tend, No lad than he more merrily could handle a rope's end. With his chip-chow, cherry-chow, fol lol de riddee row, fol lol de ra. Whilst sailing once, our captain, who was a jolly dog, One day he gave to every mess a double share of grog; Ben Backstay he got tipsy, all to his heart's content, And, being half-seas over, vy overboard he vent. With his chip-chow, &c. A shark was on the starboard,-sharks don't for manners stand, But grapple all they come near, just like your sharks on land; We threw out Ben some tackling, of saving him some hopes, But the shark had bit his head off, so he couldn't see the ropes Nor sing out chip-chow, &c. Without a head, his ghost appeared all on the briny lake; He piped all hands a-hoy! and cried, lads, warning by me take, By drinking grog I lost my life; so, lest my fate you meet, Vy, never mix your liquor, lads, but always take it neat! And sing chip-chow, &c. THE GAMBLER'S LEGACY. WHEN in death I shall quiet be found, Pray bear my clothes to some pawnbroker near, Tell him to lend you a couple of pound, And mind he don't charge for the ticket too dear. Bid him not search too close for gamboge In the breeches, nor nicely examine the coat, But tell him that he may send if he choose, All he can spare 'bove a two-pound note. Then with the money pray buy me a coffin, The pangs of ill-luck and the want of finance. Revile at my state as he stamps o'er my grave, Though seldom by hands that were pure were they prest. But should some fortunate gambling rover Come here to seek them in frolic and fun, Oh, then around my genius shall hove And teach him to spend the cash he has won. HEY FOR THE SAWYER. To set up a village, with tackle for tillage, To pluck and to pillage, the same little village, They angled so pliant for gull and for client, As sharp as a weazle for rats; Till what with their saw-dust, and what with their lawdust, They blinded the eyes of the flats. Then hey for the sawyer, and hey for the lawyer, Make hay, for it's going to rain! And saw 'em and law 'em, and work 'em and quirk 'em, Jack brought to the people, a bill for the steeple, But out of a saw-pit, is into a law-pit, Tim tickled 'em up with a writ. Cried Jack, the saw rasper, 66 say neighbor Grasper, We both of us buy in the stocks; While I, for my savings, turn blocks into shavings, Then hey, &c. Jack frolicked in clover, and when work was over, But Timothy Gordon-he stood for church warden, Jack made him a coffin, but Timothy off in When lawyers lie level, be sure that the devil. Then hey, &c. THE MISERIES OF MATRIMONY. Oн, listen awhile to poor Dicky Scragg, Who fell deep in love with one Biddy Bragg, Buns and blue ruin, I'm all night, thought poor little Dicky! Quoth Dicky, "great is the fervour I feel!" And if I could manage her heart to steal, And make her my rib, 't would be for my own weal, With my whining, pining, Purse with the shine in, I'll have her, said poor little Dicky! By dint of persuasion, he got her consent, And soon to church, to be married they went Billing and cooing, I'm all right, thought poor little Dicky. The honey-moon had scarce took its flight, Ere she proved herself a termagant quite, O, dear, sighed poor little Dicky! Said she, one day, "I'll mill your mug," With her mauleys into his mazzard she dug, O, dear, sighed poor little Dicky Dicky took it all as still as a lamb, For, in truth, you must own, that she was his dam, Maul him, and split him, O, dear, sighed poor little Dicky! |