The butcher had a great large dog,
His coat was long and curly;
And with his master he would jog,
All day and late and early:
"Love me, love my dog," they say ;
Miss Flowers would pat him,
And resolved to drive pocr Towers away
By setting Towzer at him.
The butcher put her up to this,
His love had got such powers,
And got rewarded with a kiss
From sweet Polly Flowers.
Next time Mr. Towers came
She spoke more tender;
He begun about his flame,
Hoped 'twould not offend her;
Love had made him almost blind,
He knew not her intention,
Till Towzer's teeth had met behind,
Where, I must not mention ;
He rav'd and stamp'd and roar'd with pain,
His sweets were turn'd to sours;
He swore he'd never think again,
Of vile Polly Flowers.
Before the butcher's joy got cold,
Jerry did indict him,
As warning to both young and old,
For making his dog bite him:
But most unfortunate of clerks!
Ill luck in him was rooted;
In court he could not show his marks,
And so he got non-suited:
His love turn'd to a deep despair,
He groan'd away the hours;
The butcher meantime got the fair
Charming Polly Flowors.
COMFORT, DAMSEL, WHY THAT SIGH.
COMFORT, damsel, why that sigh!
Heav'n in kindness sends us sorrow
Patience, damsel, heav'n is nigh,
Brighter prospects greet to-morrow.
Weigh'd down by each passing show'r,
Lowly droops the lily's head-
Charg'd with rain, the tender flow'r
Pensive sinks, its beauty fled.
Rolls the dark storm far away,
See, a livelier hue is giv'n!
The lily glitters doubly gay-
The drop that dress'd it came from heav'n,
Of all the girls that are so smart,
There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There's ne'er a lady in the land,
That's half so sweet as Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Her father he makes cabbage nets,
And through the streets doth cry 'em ;
Her mother, she sells laces long,
To such as please to buy 'em.
But sure such folks could ne'er beget,
So sweet a girl as Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
When she is by, I leave my work,
I love her so sincerely;
My master comes, like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely.
But let him bang his belly full,
I'll bear it all for Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Of all the days that're in the week,
I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes between,
The Saturday and Monday,
For then I'm drest, all in my best,
To walk abroad with Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master carries me to church,
And often am I blamed,
Because I leave him in the lurch,
As soon as text is named.
I leave the church in sermon time,
And slink away to Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
When Christmas comes about again,
Oh then I shall have money,
I'll hoard it up, and box it all,
I'll give it to my honey.
And would it were ten thousand pounds,
I'd give it all to Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master, and the neighbours all,
Make game of me and Sally,
And but for her, I'd better be,
A slave and row a galley.
But when my seven long years are out, Oh then I'll marry Sally,
Oh then we'll wed, and then we'll bed, But not in our alley.
I LOVE the hills, my native hills,
O'er which so oft I've stray'd;
The shading trees, the murm'ring rills,
Where I in childhood play'd.
I love to feel the breezes blow,
Upon the hills so free:
Where'er I am, where'er I go,
My native hills for me.
I love the hills, my native hills,
All purple with the heath:
Those fertile grounds the peasant tills,
And the woodlands far beneath.
When fancied joys in hope I view,
I think those hills I see;
Where'er I am, where'er I go,
My native hills for me.
"TWAS in the middle of the night,
To sleep young William tried,
When Mary's ghost came stealing in,
And stood at his bed-side.
O William dear! O William dear,
My rest eternal ceases;
Alas! my everlasting peace,
Is broken into pieces.
I thought the last of all my cares
Would end with my last minute;
But though I went to my long home,
I didn't stay long in it.
The body snatchers they have come,
And made a snatch at me;
It's very hard them kind of men
Won't let a body be!
You thought that I was buried deep,
Quite decent-like, and chary ;
But from my grave in Mary bone.
They've come and boned your Mary.
The arm that used to take your arm,
Is took to Dr. Vyse;
And both my legs are gone to walk
The hospital at Guy's!
I vow'd that you should have my hand,
But fate gives us denial;
You'll find it there at Dr. Bell's,
In spirits in a phial.
As for my feet, the little feet
You used to call so pretty,
There's one I know in Bedford Row,
The t'other's in the City.
I can't tell where my head is gone,
But Dr. Carpue can;
As for my trunk its all pack'd up,
To go by Pickford's van.
I wish you'd go to Mr. P.
And save me such a ride;
I don't half like the outside place
They've took for my inside.
The cock it crows!-I must be gone!
My William, we must part;
But I'll be your's in death, although
Sir Astley has my heart.
Don't go to weep upon my grave,
And think that there I be;
They havn't left an atom there
Of my anatomie!
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