Bill turn'd and said to me, "Then, perhaps,
You're one of these Mr. Martin chaps,
Wot now is seeking for occasion
All for to lie a hinformation."
Though this I stoutly did deny.
Bill up and gave me a blow in the eye,
And I replied, as I let fly
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-
Bill's donkey was ordered into court,
In which he caused 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 I were of one mind,
And he said-
If I had a donkey, &c.
THE BISHOP AND BESOM-MAKER.
I'ZE a Yorkshireman just come to town,
And a rum one as e'er came before ye,
And though I'm so awkward a clown,
can tell ye a bit of a story;
But first let me say, if ye please,
Just on purpose yo' see for to ease ye, My name yo' mun know's "Bobby Tike," And I'm come on a journey to please ye.
Yo' mun know, sirs, when I wur a lad,
I wur fond in like joking a bit, sirs,
And the neighbours all said that my dad,
Wur noted for being a wit, sirs;
He ling-besoms did make and white-sand,
To sell to the folks all about, sirs;
And I us'd to lend feyther a hand,
By acting as his rider-out, sirs.
One day, as I cross'd o'er a heath,
A bishop as fat as a pig, sirs,
As I rode feyther's donkey, came up,
Wi' a red cabbage nose and big wig, sirs;
Says he, with a voice just like thunder,
"Off this common, how shall I begone, sir ?"
Why," says I, "yo'll get off there's no wonder,
T' same way that your worship got on, sur."
Rumti iddidy, &c.
Then he shook his big wig, and he said,
I was void of all grace as a bear, sir;
And he ax'd, in a terrible frown,
If ever I could say my prayers, sirs? "Why, no, sur, I never began,
Can yo' tell how besoms are made, sur ?"
He replied, "I don't know that I can ;"
"Why then, every mon to his trade, Sur."
Rumti iddidy, &c.
Says he, "fellow, I'd have you to know,
I'm a bishop, and to me 'tis given,
A power to teach sinners below,
The difficult road unto Heaven!"
"Indeed," says I, "Sur," with a laugh, "You're a guide-post, by gum, and a rum one, To teach folks that difficult way,
And not know the road off a common.'
Rumti iddidy, &c.
Then he rode off, and sent sarvant John,
To ax if I'd e'er been at school, sirs,
For master was wanting a man,
To act under him as a fool, sirs;
"Why," says I, are yo' going to leave,
If not it appears unto me, Sur,
That your master will ne'er be able,
To keep and maintain us all three, Sur." Rumti iddidy, &c.
CAN you to the battle march away,
And leave me here complaining,
I'm sure 'twill break my heart to stay,
When you are campaigning.
Ah! no, ah! no, poor Maudlin,
Will never quit her rover,
Ah! no, ah! no, poor Maudlin,
Will go with you all the world over.
Cheer, cheer, my love, you shall not grieve,
A soldier true you'll find me.
I could not have a heart to leave
My little girl behind me.
Ah! no, ah! no, &c.
Can you to the battle go,
To woman's fear a stranger;
No fears my heart shall ever know,
But when my love's in danger.
Ah! no, ah!
Then let the world jog as it will,
Let all our friends forsake us,
We both shall be as happy still,
As love and war can make us.
CHERRY RIPE.
CHERRY ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones, come and buy,
If so be you ask me where
They do grow, I answer there,
Where my Julia's lips do smile
There's the land, or cherry isle.
Cherry ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones, come and buy:
There plantations fully show,
All the year where cherries grow.
Cherry ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones, come and buy.
I SAW a village maiden stray;
She pluck'd a rose and sigh'd-
Then kiss'd and press'd it to her breast,
But soon the blossom died!
I'll lay the flower where none but he
Shall see the blossom blighted;
Where, oft beside the jessamine tree,
His love to me he plighted.
He told me he would wed me soon,
But did not name the day-
When by the silent silver moon,
In true love's joy we lay.
O! could my falt'ring tongue disclose,
My constant love to thee,
E'en though thou lov'st another, yet
Thy heart must pity me.
Aн why did I gather this delicate flower,
Why pluck the young bud from the tree?
"Twould there have bloom'd lovely for many an hour,
And how soon will it perish with me?
Already its beautiful texture decays,
Already it fades on my sight;
Tis thus that chill rancour too often o'erpow'rs
The moments of transient delight.
When eagerly pressing enjoyment too near,
Its blossoms we gather in haste;
How oft thus we mourn with a penitent tear,
O'er the joys which we lavish'd in waste:
This elegant flower had I left it at rest,
Might still have delighted my eyes;
But pluck'd prematurely, and plac'd in my breast,
It languishes, withers, and dies.
IN Cheapside there liv'd a marchant,
A man he was of werry great fame;
And he had a handsome 'prentice,
Georgy Barnwell was his name.
This youth he was both good and pious,
Dutiful beyond all doubt;
And he always staid vithin doors,
'Cause his master vouldn't let him go out.
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