A vicked voman of the town, sir, And she came in the shop one morning Fol de riddle, &c. When she had paid him down the money, That together knocked his knees. Fol de riddle, &c. Then she left her card whereon was written, Mary Millwood does intreat That Muster Barnwell would call and see her, At No. 2. in Dyott-street. Fol de riddle, &c. Now as soon as he had shut the shop up, Fol de riddle, &c. Now soon this voman did persuade him, down into the country, And let loose his uncle's tripes. Fol de riddle, &c. There he found his uncle in the grove, sir, And Georgy Barnwell vent and stuck him the crows and rooks. All among Fol de riddle, &c. Ven Millwood found he'd got no money, She vent that very day and peach'd him, Fol de riddle, &c. At her fate no one lamented OH, CRUEL! On, cruel vas my parents that forc'd my love from me, And cruel vas the press-gang that took him out to sea; And cruel vas the little boat that rowed him from the strand, And cruel vas the great big ship that sail'd him from the land. Too rol, too rol, &c. Oh! cruel vas the vater that bore my love from Mary, And cruel vas the fair vind that vouldn't blow contrary; And cruel vas the boatswain, the captain and the men, leg, Now he's oblig'd to fiddle for't, and I'm oblig'd to beg; A vagabonding vagrant, and a rantipoling wife, downs of life. Too rol, too rol, &c. Oh! cruel vas the engagement, in which my true love fought, And cruel vas the cannon-ball that knocked his right eye out; He used to leer and ogle me, with peepers full of fuu, But now he looks askew at me, because he's only one. Too rol, too rol, &c. My love he plays the fiddle well, and vanders up and down, And I follows at his helbow through all the streets in town; We spends our days in harmony, and wery seldom fights, Except when he's his grog aboard, or I gets queer at nights. Too rol, too rol, &c. Now, ladies, all take varning, by my true love and me, Though cruel fate should cross you, remember constancy. Like me, you'll be revarded, and have all your heart's delight, With fiddling in the morning, and a drop of max at night. Too rol, too rol, &c. O, WHERE IS MY LOVER? O, WHERE is my lover, so fickle and frail! Those dew-sprinkled branches by nature must fade, But affection once plighted to man, or to maid, THE ROSE OF AFFECTION. THE rose which you gave me at parting, my fair, No longer its odours can perfume the air, But the promise you gave me will never depart, And even the life-pulse must cease in my heart, The rose of affection shall dwell in my breast, Though perished and faded, the sweet flower you gave, This desolate form shall be sunk in the wave, IN storms when clouds obscure the sky, The wind and rain, I'd think on thee, my love. When rocks appear on ev'ry side, The troubled main, The wind and rain, Should seas o'erwhelm, But should the gracious pow'rs prove kind, I'd tempt again, But tender joys improve; Should happy be, And think on naught but love. THE HIGH-METTLED RACER. SEE, the course throng'd with gazers, the sports are begun, What confusion !--but hear!-I'll bet you,-done, done; A thousand strange murmurs resound far and near, Lords, hawkers, and jockies, assail the tir'd ear; While, with neck like a rainbow, erecting his crest, Pamper'd, prancing, his head almost touching his breast; Scarcely snuffing the air, he's so proud and elate, Men, horses, and dogs, all hard at his brush; Always sure to come thro'-a staunch and fleet horse; ! |