GRACE DARLING.GRACE DARLING.

I pray give attention to what I shall mention,There was a young damsel liv’d by the sea side,Her name was Grace Darling, a good hearted heroine,And she with her father alone did reside,She was brave and undaunted, possess’d of great courage,Her heart often beat in her breast we are told,While the seas were commotion, she ventured the ocean,Grace Horsely Darling, a female so bold.On the 6th of September, the Forfarshire steamer,Sailed from Hull to the port of Dundee,With her crew on board and forty-one passengers,All hearts light and merry we put out to sea;With her full crew and passengers sixty in number,The vessel proceeded so gallant we’re told,They thought not of storms, nor even of danger,Though rescu’d from death by Grace Darling so bold.In the dead of the night on the 6th of September,The crew and passengers felt dreadful shocks,Against Longstone Island with force so tremendous,The Forfarshire steamer she went on the rocks,Asunder she rent while the crew fell a weeping.And some from the deck to deep they were roll’d,But the shrieks and the cries met the ears of that female,Grace Darling—that gallant young woman so bold.In the dead of the night this undaunted young female,Oh! father, dear father, awake she did cry,Arouse from your slumber and launch the boat quickly,Poor creatures to save, our efforts let’s try,I fear there’s a wreck, let us strive then to rescueSome part of the crew from the deep sad and cold,Their shrieks do appal me, their cries she said pierce me,Grace Darling—that gallant young female so bold.Says her father, dear daughter, this night it is stormy,’Tis cold, and the seas they do run mountains high,It is folly my child to attempt on the billow,I fear not the danger, dear father, she cried!The boat was launched quickly, the seas loudly roaring,To the wreck with her father she ventur’d we’re told,And nine of the sufferers she saved from drowning,Grace Darling—that gallant young female so bold.When the danger was past her bosom beat lightly,Yet tears from her eyes in large torrents did fall,And saying we’ve only saved nine out sixty,Oh! I wish dearest father we could have saved all.Since her life she did hazard through tempests to save themHer name shall be written in letters of gold,With health and long life to that gallant young damsel,Grace Horsely Darling—that female so bold.

I pray give attention to what I shall mention,

There was a young damsel liv’d by the sea side,

Her name was Grace Darling, a good hearted heroine,

And she with her father alone did reside,

She was brave and undaunted, possess’d of great courage,

Her heart often beat in her breast we are told,

While the seas were commotion, she ventured the ocean,

Grace Horsely Darling, a female so bold.

On the 6th of September, the Forfarshire steamer,Sailed from Hull to the port of Dundee,With her crew on board and forty-one passengers,All hearts light and merry we put out to sea;With her full crew and passengers sixty in number,The vessel proceeded so gallant we’re told,They thought not of storms, nor even of danger,Though rescu’d from death by Grace Darling so bold.

On the 6th of September, the Forfarshire steamer,

Sailed from Hull to the port of Dundee,

With her crew on board and forty-one passengers,

All hearts light and merry we put out to sea;

With her full crew and passengers sixty in number,

The vessel proceeded so gallant we’re told,

They thought not of storms, nor even of danger,

Though rescu’d from death by Grace Darling so bold.

In the dead of the night on the 6th of September,The crew and passengers felt dreadful shocks,Against Longstone Island with force so tremendous,The Forfarshire steamer she went on the rocks,Asunder she rent while the crew fell a weeping.And some from the deck to deep they were roll’d,But the shrieks and the cries met the ears of that female,Grace Darling—that gallant young woman so bold.

In the dead of the night on the 6th of September,

The crew and passengers felt dreadful shocks,

Against Longstone Island with force so tremendous,

The Forfarshire steamer she went on the rocks,

Asunder she rent while the crew fell a weeping.

And some from the deck to deep they were roll’d,

But the shrieks and the cries met the ears of that female,

Grace Darling—that gallant young woman so bold.

In the dead of the night this undaunted young female,Oh! father, dear father, awake she did cry,Arouse from your slumber and launch the boat quickly,Poor creatures to save, our efforts let’s try,I fear there’s a wreck, let us strive then to rescueSome part of the crew from the deep sad and cold,Their shrieks do appal me, their cries she said pierce me,Grace Darling—that gallant young female so bold.

In the dead of the night this undaunted young female,

Oh! father, dear father, awake she did cry,

Arouse from your slumber and launch the boat quickly,

Poor creatures to save, our efforts let’s try,

I fear there’s a wreck, let us strive then to rescue

Some part of the crew from the deep sad and cold,

Their shrieks do appal me, their cries she said pierce me,

Grace Darling—that gallant young female so bold.

Says her father, dear daughter, this night it is stormy,’Tis cold, and the seas they do run mountains high,It is folly my child to attempt on the billow,I fear not the danger, dear father, she cried!The boat was launched quickly, the seas loudly roaring,To the wreck with her father she ventur’d we’re told,And nine of the sufferers she saved from drowning,Grace Darling—that gallant young female so bold.

Says her father, dear daughter, this night it is stormy,

’Tis cold, and the seas they do run mountains high,

It is folly my child to attempt on the billow,

I fear not the danger, dear father, she cried!

The boat was launched quickly, the seas loudly roaring,

To the wreck with her father she ventur’d we’re told,

And nine of the sufferers she saved from drowning,

Grace Darling—that gallant young female so bold.

When the danger was past her bosom beat lightly,Yet tears from her eyes in large torrents did fall,And saying we’ve only saved nine out sixty,Oh! I wish dearest father we could have saved all.Since her life she did hazard through tempests to save themHer name shall be written in letters of gold,With health and long life to that gallant young damsel,Grace Horsely Darling—that female so bold.

When the danger was past her bosom beat lightly,

Yet tears from her eyes in large torrents did fall,

And saying we’ve only saved nine out sixty,

Oh! I wish dearest father we could have saved all.

Since her life she did hazard through tempests to save them

Her name shall be written in letters of gold,

With health and long life to that gallant young damsel,

Grace Horsely Darling—that female so bold.

Upon the seventeenth day of April,All in the morning soon,The Yankee and the champion SayersPrepared to meet their doom.The train it ran along like wind,Coaches and cabs did fly,Both men appeared determinedTo conquer or to die.They fought like lions in the ring,Both men did boldly stand,They two hours and six minutes fought,And neither beat his man.Tom hit at the Benicia boyRight well you may suppose,Heenan returned the complimentUpon the champion’s nose.Like two game cocks they stood the test,And each to win did try,Erin-go-bragh, cried Heenan,I will conquer, lads, or die.Cried Sayers, I will not give in,Nor to a Yankee yield,The belt I mean to keep my boys,Or die upon the field.They together stood it manfully,Surprised all in the ring,There was never such a battle, sinceJack Langham tackled Spring.Such fibbing and such up and downLor, how the swells did shout,Their ribs did nicely rattle,And their daylight near knocked out,Tom Sayers let into Heenan,Heenan let into Tom,While the Fancy bawled and shouted,Lads, my jolly lads, go on.Two long hours and six minutesThey fought, and the claret flew,Sayers proved himself a brick, so didYankee doodle doo.The bets did fly about, my boys,And numbers looked with joyOn Sayers, the British champion,And the bold Benicia boy.They both had pluck and courage,Each proved himself a man,None better since the days of SpringIn the British ring did stand.Erin-go-bragh, cried Heenan,I want the English belt,When Tom let fly, saying, I will die,Or keep the belt myself.At length bounced in the peelers,And around the ring did jog,So those heroes were surroundedBy a lot of Hampshire hogs,Who caused them to cut their stick,And from the fight refrain,That they were both determinedIn the ring to meet again.We admit Tom Sayers had his matchOne who did him annoy,With lots of pluck and courage,Was the bold Benicia boy.And when two heroes fight again,For honour and for wealth,He that’s the best man in the ring,Shall carry off the belt.

Upon the seventeenth day of April,

All in the morning soon,

The Yankee and the champion Sayers

Prepared to meet their doom.

The train it ran along like wind,

Coaches and cabs did fly,

Both men appeared determined

To conquer or to die.

They fought like lions in the ring,Both men did boldly stand,They two hours and six minutes fought,And neither beat his man.

They fought like lions in the ring,

Both men did boldly stand,

They two hours and six minutes fought,

And neither beat his man.

Tom hit at the Benicia boyRight well you may suppose,Heenan returned the complimentUpon the champion’s nose.Like two game cocks they stood the test,And each to win did try,Erin-go-bragh, cried Heenan,I will conquer, lads, or die.

Tom hit at the Benicia boy

Right well you may suppose,

Heenan returned the compliment

Upon the champion’s nose.

Like two game cocks they stood the test,

And each to win did try,

Erin-go-bragh, cried Heenan,

I will conquer, lads, or die.

Cried Sayers, I will not give in,Nor to a Yankee yield,The belt I mean to keep my boys,Or die upon the field.They together stood it manfully,Surprised all in the ring,There was never such a battle, sinceJack Langham tackled Spring.

Cried Sayers, I will not give in,

Nor to a Yankee yield,

The belt I mean to keep my boys,

Or die upon the field.

They together stood it manfully,

Surprised all in the ring,

There was never such a battle, since

Jack Langham tackled Spring.

Such fibbing and such up and downLor, how the swells did shout,Their ribs did nicely rattle,And their daylight near knocked out,Tom Sayers let into Heenan,Heenan let into Tom,While the Fancy bawled and shouted,Lads, my jolly lads, go on.

Such fibbing and such up and down

Lor, how the swells did shout,

Their ribs did nicely rattle,

And their daylight near knocked out,

Tom Sayers let into Heenan,

Heenan let into Tom,

While the Fancy bawled and shouted,

Lads, my jolly lads, go on.

Two long hours and six minutesThey fought, and the claret flew,Sayers proved himself a brick, so didYankee doodle doo.The bets did fly about, my boys,And numbers looked with joyOn Sayers, the British champion,And the bold Benicia boy.

Two long hours and six minutes

They fought, and the claret flew,

Sayers proved himself a brick, so did

Yankee doodle doo.

The bets did fly about, my boys,

And numbers looked with joy

On Sayers, the British champion,

And the bold Benicia boy.

They both had pluck and courage,Each proved himself a man,None better since the days of SpringIn the British ring did stand.Erin-go-bragh, cried Heenan,I want the English belt,When Tom let fly, saying, I will die,Or keep the belt myself.

They both had pluck and courage,

Each proved himself a man,

None better since the days of Spring

In the British ring did stand.

Erin-go-bragh, cried Heenan,

I want the English belt,

When Tom let fly, saying, I will die,

Or keep the belt myself.

At length bounced in the peelers,And around the ring did jog,So those heroes were surroundedBy a lot of Hampshire hogs,Who caused them to cut their stick,And from the fight refrain,That they were both determinedIn the ring to meet again.

At length bounced in the peelers,

And around the ring did jog,

So those heroes were surrounded

By a lot of Hampshire hogs,

Who caused them to cut their stick,

And from the fight refrain,

That they were both determined

In the ring to meet again.

We admit Tom Sayers had his matchOne who did him annoy,With lots of pluck and courage,Was the bold Benicia boy.And when two heroes fight again,For honour and for wealth,He that’s the best man in the ring,Shall carry off the belt.

We admit Tom Sayers had his match

One who did him annoy,

With lots of pluck and courage,

Was the bold Benicia boy.

And when two heroes fight again,

For honour and for wealth,

He that’s the best man in the ring,

Shall carry off the belt.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

Of all the dread calamities you ever yet did hear,Either in history or story;If pity is within your breast, you will shed a silent tear,And mourn for those drowned, now in glory!The 15th of January, that Tuesday afternoon,Some hundreds on the ice took their station,Young men and boys, in youth and bloom,To the park went for healthy recreation.But soon it gave way, more than 40 lost their lives,The widows and poor orphans ’twill distress them;God bless those gallant hearts, to save life did strive,And those now in Heaven,—God rest them.’Twas near four o’clock, how dreadful to relate,The ice it broke up in every quarter;Two hundred then fell in, oh, what a sad fate,All struggled for their lives in the water.The cries of the people, as they stood upon the shore,To witness such a scene most distressing,Some clung to each other, but now are no more,In grief are the friends of the missing.What must have been the feelings of those standing by,Unable to save and madly raving?The women rushed about, and bitterly did cry,My children, my children, oh save them!Wives calling to their husbands,—children, father dear,But few that were able to assist them,Now all will miss their own, for them shed a tear,Kind fathers, the children will miss them.They clung to the ice, until benumbed with cold,The ice in their grasp broke asunder;One lady on the shore, in grief did beholdHer husband, exhausted, go under;Two sisters were screaming and calling for aid,Their sorrow, poor girls, could not smother,In anguish wrung their hands, and franticly said,For God’s sake save my poor brother.The most mournful part remains to be told,As the bodies to the dead-house were taken,At the workhouse gate two thousand young and old,The scene it was truly heart-breaking;One body was owned by an old gentleman,My son can’t be dead, he said, while crying,He left me but two hours, was strong and cheerful then,For a father so old it’s very trying.The doctors did their best in saving many lives,Of those that were in this sad disaster;Officials one and all, Mr Douglas and his wife,Long life to that kind workhouse master.A poor faithful dog saw his master disappear,And never left the park since that evening,No food will he take, by the water stays near,For it’s master the poor dog is grieving.

Of all the dread calamities you ever yet did hear,

Either in history or story;

If pity is within your breast, you will shed a silent tear,

And mourn for those drowned, now in glory!

The 15th of January, that Tuesday afternoon,

Some hundreds on the ice took their station,

Young men and boys, in youth and bloom,

To the park went for healthy recreation.

But soon it gave way, more than 40 lost their lives,The widows and poor orphans ’twill distress them;God bless those gallant hearts, to save life did strive,And those now in Heaven,—God rest them.

But soon it gave way, more than 40 lost their lives,

The widows and poor orphans ’twill distress them;

God bless those gallant hearts, to save life did strive,

And those now in Heaven,—God rest them.

’Twas near four o’clock, how dreadful to relate,The ice it broke up in every quarter;Two hundred then fell in, oh, what a sad fate,All struggled for their lives in the water.The cries of the people, as they stood upon the shore,To witness such a scene most distressing,Some clung to each other, but now are no more,In grief are the friends of the missing.

’Twas near four o’clock, how dreadful to relate,

The ice it broke up in every quarter;

Two hundred then fell in, oh, what a sad fate,

All struggled for their lives in the water.

The cries of the people, as they stood upon the shore,

To witness such a scene most distressing,

Some clung to each other, but now are no more,

In grief are the friends of the missing.

What must have been the feelings of those standing by,Unable to save and madly raving?The women rushed about, and bitterly did cry,My children, my children, oh save them!Wives calling to their husbands,—children, father dear,But few that were able to assist them,Now all will miss their own, for them shed a tear,Kind fathers, the children will miss them.

What must have been the feelings of those standing by,

Unable to save and madly raving?

The women rushed about, and bitterly did cry,

My children, my children, oh save them!

Wives calling to their husbands,—children, father dear,

But few that were able to assist them,

Now all will miss their own, for them shed a tear,

Kind fathers, the children will miss them.

They clung to the ice, until benumbed with cold,The ice in their grasp broke asunder;One lady on the shore, in grief did beholdHer husband, exhausted, go under;Two sisters were screaming and calling for aid,Their sorrow, poor girls, could not smother,In anguish wrung their hands, and franticly said,For God’s sake save my poor brother.

They clung to the ice, until benumbed with cold,

The ice in their grasp broke asunder;

One lady on the shore, in grief did behold

Her husband, exhausted, go under;

Two sisters were screaming and calling for aid,

Their sorrow, poor girls, could not smother,

In anguish wrung their hands, and franticly said,

For God’s sake save my poor brother.

The most mournful part remains to be told,As the bodies to the dead-house were taken,At the workhouse gate two thousand young and old,The scene it was truly heart-breaking;One body was owned by an old gentleman,My son can’t be dead, he said, while crying,He left me but two hours, was strong and cheerful then,For a father so old it’s very trying.

The most mournful part remains to be told,

As the bodies to the dead-house were taken,

At the workhouse gate two thousand young and old,

The scene it was truly heart-breaking;

One body was owned by an old gentleman,

My son can’t be dead, he said, while crying,

He left me but two hours, was strong and cheerful then,

For a father so old it’s very trying.

The doctors did their best in saving many lives,Of those that were in this sad disaster;Officials one and all, Mr Douglas and his wife,Long life to that kind workhouse master.A poor faithful dog saw his master disappear,And never left the park since that evening,No food will he take, by the water stays near,For it’s master the poor dog is grieving.

The doctors did their best in saving many lives,

Of those that were in this sad disaster;

Officials one and all, Mr Douglas and his wife,

Long life to that kind workhouse master.

A poor faithful dog saw his master disappear,

And never left the park since that evening,

No food will he take, by the water stays near,

For it’s master the poor dog is grieving.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.

What wonders we do daily see,Enough to fill our hearts with glee,Britannia now will merry be,With the foreigners in England;John Bull does foreigners adore,Here’s the Viceroy from Egypt’s shore,Here’s the Turkish Sultan blythe and gay,And the Belgium Volunteers huzza!The bells shall merrily ring, huzza,Britannia sing and the band shall play,Old Jacky Bull will the piper pay,For the foreigners in England.They are come to see the grand review,And England’s Roberts’, dress’d in blue,Hokey pokey parleyvous,All the foreigners in England.You pretty English maids, heigho,If you don’t mind you’ll have to goTo the Sultan’s grand Seraglio,And bid adieu to England.Yes, and all old women, so you must mind,Under the age of seventy-nine,Will be taken away in the morning soon,In a wooden cane bottom air balloon,You must marry the Turk and danger drive,Till to Constantinople you do arrive,For the Turks have eleven hundred wives,And he’ll take you all from England.Now the other day, you know its true,There was a terrible great to do,About the grand Hyde Park review,And the foreigners in England.The reason they stopped, the papers said,Poor Maximilian had lost his head,And he could not come with the jovial crewTo have a look at the grand review.But Britons you must understand,There’ll be a grand review by sea and land,No power in Europe beat it can,With the foreigners in England.They’re going to dine with a great Lord MayorAnd they’ll sit in a new mahogany chair,Such lots of dainties are prepared,For the foreigners in England.They’ll have sausages seasoned highSoused mackerel and rabbit pie,Rashers of bacon nicely done,Lobster sauce and donkey’s tongue,Lots of crabs and pickled sprats,Cabbage and onions covered in fat,Skillygolee and paddywhack,For the foreigners in England.To the Crystal Palace they will go,The Museum and National Gallery too,To Windsor, Aldershot, and Kew,All the foreigners in England.They are going to visit Charing Cross,To see old Charley sit on his horse,Then to Buckingham Palace to have a game,Then off they go to Petticoat Lane,Where life in splendour they will see,Fried fish and liver, and shockerhorsey,Then have a bathe in the river Lea,The foreigners in England.Let us welcome them with a loud huzza,You pretty maids get out of the way,Old Jacky Bull will expenses pay,For the foreigners in England:Here’s the Viceroy from Egypt’s landAnd Turkey’s Sultan hand-in-hand.If he wants some wives for the ottoman plainsHe can have all the women in Drury Lane.So all pretty girls in London chasteGo home to your mothers and wash your face,Or perhaps they will collar you round the waist,The foreigners in England.When the foreigners reach their native shore,They may say, we never saw before,Such glorious sights, and we may no more,As we beheld in England.

What wonders we do daily see,

Enough to fill our hearts with glee,

Britannia now will merry be,

With the foreigners in England;

John Bull does foreigners adore,

Here’s the Viceroy from Egypt’s shore,

Here’s the Turkish Sultan blythe and gay,

And the Belgium Volunteers huzza!

The bells shall merrily ring, huzza,

Britannia sing and the band shall play,

Old Jacky Bull will the piper pay,

For the foreigners in England.

They are come to see the grand review,And England’s Roberts’, dress’d in blue,Hokey pokey parleyvous,All the foreigners in England.

They are come to see the grand review,

And England’s Roberts’, dress’d in blue,

Hokey pokey parleyvous,

All the foreigners in England.

You pretty English maids, heigho,If you don’t mind you’ll have to goTo the Sultan’s grand Seraglio,And bid adieu to England.Yes, and all old women, so you must mind,Under the age of seventy-nine,Will be taken away in the morning soon,In a wooden cane bottom air balloon,You must marry the Turk and danger drive,Till to Constantinople you do arrive,For the Turks have eleven hundred wives,And he’ll take you all from England.

You pretty English maids, heigho,

If you don’t mind you’ll have to go

To the Sultan’s grand Seraglio,

And bid adieu to England.

Yes, and all old women, so you must mind,

Under the age of seventy-nine,

Will be taken away in the morning soon,

In a wooden cane bottom air balloon,

You must marry the Turk and danger drive,

Till to Constantinople you do arrive,

For the Turks have eleven hundred wives,

And he’ll take you all from England.

Now the other day, you know its true,There was a terrible great to do,About the grand Hyde Park review,And the foreigners in England.The reason they stopped, the papers said,Poor Maximilian had lost his head,And he could not come with the jovial crewTo have a look at the grand review.But Britons you must understand,There’ll be a grand review by sea and land,No power in Europe beat it can,With the foreigners in England.

Now the other day, you know its true,

There was a terrible great to do,

About the grand Hyde Park review,

And the foreigners in England.

The reason they stopped, the papers said,

Poor Maximilian had lost his head,

And he could not come with the jovial crew

To have a look at the grand review.

But Britons you must understand,

There’ll be a grand review by sea and land,

No power in Europe beat it can,

With the foreigners in England.

They’re going to dine with a great Lord MayorAnd they’ll sit in a new mahogany chair,Such lots of dainties are prepared,For the foreigners in England.They’ll have sausages seasoned highSoused mackerel and rabbit pie,Rashers of bacon nicely done,Lobster sauce and donkey’s tongue,Lots of crabs and pickled sprats,Cabbage and onions covered in fat,Skillygolee and paddywhack,For the foreigners in England.

They’re going to dine with a great Lord Mayor

And they’ll sit in a new mahogany chair,

Such lots of dainties are prepared,

For the foreigners in England.

They’ll have sausages seasoned high

Soused mackerel and rabbit pie,

Rashers of bacon nicely done,

Lobster sauce and donkey’s tongue,

Lots of crabs and pickled sprats,

Cabbage and onions covered in fat,

Skillygolee and paddywhack,

For the foreigners in England.

To the Crystal Palace they will go,The Museum and National Gallery too,To Windsor, Aldershot, and Kew,All the foreigners in England.They are going to visit Charing Cross,To see old Charley sit on his horse,Then to Buckingham Palace to have a game,Then off they go to Petticoat Lane,Where life in splendour they will see,Fried fish and liver, and shockerhorsey,Then have a bathe in the river Lea,The foreigners in England.

To the Crystal Palace they will go,

The Museum and National Gallery too,

To Windsor, Aldershot, and Kew,

All the foreigners in England.

They are going to visit Charing Cross,

To see old Charley sit on his horse,

Then to Buckingham Palace to have a game,

Then off they go to Petticoat Lane,

Where life in splendour they will see,

Fried fish and liver, and shockerhorsey,

Then have a bathe in the river Lea,

The foreigners in England.

Let us welcome them with a loud huzza,You pretty maids get out of the way,Old Jacky Bull will expenses pay,For the foreigners in England:Here’s the Viceroy from Egypt’s landAnd Turkey’s Sultan hand-in-hand.If he wants some wives for the ottoman plainsHe can have all the women in Drury Lane.So all pretty girls in London chasteGo home to your mothers and wash your face,Or perhaps they will collar you round the waist,The foreigners in England.

Let us welcome them with a loud huzza,

You pretty maids get out of the way,

Old Jacky Bull will expenses pay,

For the foreigners in England:

Here’s the Viceroy from Egypt’s land

And Turkey’s Sultan hand-in-hand.

If he wants some wives for the ottoman plains

He can have all the women in Drury Lane.

So all pretty girls in London chaste

Go home to your mothers and wash your face,

Or perhaps they will collar you round the waist,

The foreigners in England.

When the foreigners reach their native shore,They may say, we never saw before,Such glorious sights, and we may no more,As we beheld in England.

When the foreigners reach their native shore,

They may say, we never saw before,

Such glorious sights, and we may no more,

As we beheld in England.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

Old England, once upon a time,Was prosperous and gaily,Great changes you shall hear in rhyme,That taking place is daily.A poor man once could keep a pig,There was meat for every glutton,Folks now may eat a parson’s wig,For they’ll get no beef or mutton.The times are queer, and things are dear,Well, it really is alarming;Up and down, country and town,I think we’ll all be starving.Although the times are very queer,Some old women have a way got,To raise themselves a drop of beer.Or a drop of gin in the teapot.If meat was seven shillings a pound,Old Polly, Kit, and Sally,Would find the means to guzzle down,A little cream of the valley.The butchers now, oh dear! oh dear!Declare no meat they can sell,Five thousand is gone to Colney Hatch,And seven thousand to Hanwell.Sixteen jumped in the water-butt,Lamenting they did shiver,Three ship-load sailed down to Gravesend town,And went to sleep in the river.Bullock’s head will be two shillings a pound,And if I’m not mistaken,We shall have to pay a half-a-crownFor a slice of rusty bacon.I wonder what they do put inThe faggots and the sausages?—Cold donkeys’ dung, says Biddy Flinn,Candle ends and rotten cabbages.The butchers now are gone to pot,Crying, oh! such times was never,They lay their heads on a greasy block,Saying, we are done for ever.They cannot cry, who’ll buy! who’ll buy!Their marrow bones are aching,For want of beef they seek relief,And will be sent stone breaking.Old Molly Bayton had a cat,So handsome and adorning,She would be moll-rowing all the night,And mewing in the morning.Last Friday night she killed a bird,To death old Moll did beat it,She put it in the pot to fry,And her son Bill did eat it.From a foreign land has come a man—He really is a wonder—He can raise mutton, veal, and lamb,And veal by steam and thunder.He the world to please, cures cattle disease,His skin is a blueish yellow,He carries a wand to banish the bugs,Is he not a curious fellow?Friends, never fret, there will be yet,Good things, plenty and stunning,Good beef to sell, we’ll all live well,For there’s right good times a coming.Lots of bulls with horns are being born,Large buffaloes are standing,New milk and cream will be made by steam,And in Ireland pigs are lambing.Though butchers’ meat to the poor’s a treat,Just look at Ned and Nelly,How they strut along, so says my song,With a flashy back and hungry belly.Have patience, folks, though ’tis no joke,Smell at the cook shop windows,If you want relief, and have got no beef,Have a jolly blow out of cinders.

Old England, once upon a time,

Was prosperous and gaily,

Great changes you shall hear in rhyme,

That taking place is daily.

A poor man once could keep a pig,

There was meat for every glutton,

Folks now may eat a parson’s wig,

For they’ll get no beef or mutton.

The times are queer, and things are dear,Well, it really is alarming;Up and down, country and town,I think we’ll all be starving.

The times are queer, and things are dear,

Well, it really is alarming;

Up and down, country and town,

I think we’ll all be starving.

Although the times are very queer,Some old women have a way got,To raise themselves a drop of beer.Or a drop of gin in the teapot.If meat was seven shillings a pound,Old Polly, Kit, and Sally,Would find the means to guzzle down,A little cream of the valley.

Although the times are very queer,

Some old women have a way got,

To raise themselves a drop of beer.

Or a drop of gin in the teapot.

If meat was seven shillings a pound,

Old Polly, Kit, and Sally,

Would find the means to guzzle down,

A little cream of the valley.

The butchers now, oh dear! oh dear!Declare no meat they can sell,Five thousand is gone to Colney Hatch,And seven thousand to Hanwell.Sixteen jumped in the water-butt,Lamenting they did shiver,Three ship-load sailed down to Gravesend town,And went to sleep in the river.

The butchers now, oh dear! oh dear!

Declare no meat they can sell,

Five thousand is gone to Colney Hatch,

And seven thousand to Hanwell.

Sixteen jumped in the water-butt,

Lamenting they did shiver,

Three ship-load sailed down to Gravesend town,

And went to sleep in the river.

Bullock’s head will be two shillings a pound,And if I’m not mistaken,We shall have to pay a half-a-crownFor a slice of rusty bacon.I wonder what they do put inThe faggots and the sausages?—Cold donkeys’ dung, says Biddy Flinn,Candle ends and rotten cabbages.

Bullock’s head will be two shillings a pound,

And if I’m not mistaken,

We shall have to pay a half-a-crown

For a slice of rusty bacon.

I wonder what they do put in

The faggots and the sausages?—

Cold donkeys’ dung, says Biddy Flinn,

Candle ends and rotten cabbages.

The butchers now are gone to pot,Crying, oh! such times was never,They lay their heads on a greasy block,Saying, we are done for ever.They cannot cry, who’ll buy! who’ll buy!Their marrow bones are aching,For want of beef they seek relief,And will be sent stone breaking.

The butchers now are gone to pot,

Crying, oh! such times was never,

They lay their heads on a greasy block,

Saying, we are done for ever.

They cannot cry, who’ll buy! who’ll buy!

Their marrow bones are aching,

For want of beef they seek relief,

And will be sent stone breaking.

Old Molly Bayton had a cat,So handsome and adorning,She would be moll-rowing all the night,And mewing in the morning.Last Friday night she killed a bird,To death old Moll did beat it,She put it in the pot to fry,And her son Bill did eat it.

Old Molly Bayton had a cat,

So handsome and adorning,

She would be moll-rowing all the night,

And mewing in the morning.

Last Friday night she killed a bird,

To death old Moll did beat it,

She put it in the pot to fry,

And her son Bill did eat it.

From a foreign land has come a man—He really is a wonder—He can raise mutton, veal, and lamb,And veal by steam and thunder.He the world to please, cures cattle disease,His skin is a blueish yellow,He carries a wand to banish the bugs,Is he not a curious fellow?

From a foreign land has come a man—

He really is a wonder—

He can raise mutton, veal, and lamb,

And veal by steam and thunder.

He the world to please, cures cattle disease,

His skin is a blueish yellow,

He carries a wand to banish the bugs,

Is he not a curious fellow?

Friends, never fret, there will be yet,Good things, plenty and stunning,Good beef to sell, we’ll all live well,For there’s right good times a coming.Lots of bulls with horns are being born,Large buffaloes are standing,New milk and cream will be made by steam,And in Ireland pigs are lambing.

Friends, never fret, there will be yet,

Good things, plenty and stunning,

Good beef to sell, we’ll all live well,

For there’s right good times a coming.

Lots of bulls with horns are being born,

Large buffaloes are standing,

New milk and cream will be made by steam,

And in Ireland pigs are lambing.

Though butchers’ meat to the poor’s a treat,Just look at Ned and Nelly,How they strut along, so says my song,With a flashy back and hungry belly.Have patience, folks, though ’tis no joke,Smell at the cook shop windows,If you want relief, and have got no beef,Have a jolly blow out of cinders.

Though butchers’ meat to the poor’s a treat,

Just look at Ned and Nelly,

How they strut along, so says my song,

With a flashy back and hungry belly.

Have patience, folks, though ’tis no joke,

Smell at the cook shop windows,

If you want relief, and have got no beef,

Have a jolly blow out of cinders.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

Air:—“King of the Cannibal Islands”A man and his wife in —— street,With seven children young and sweet,Had a jolly row last night complete,About fifteen shillings a week, sir.He gave his wife a clumsy clout,Saying, how is all my money laid out,Tell me quickly he did shout,And then she soon did set aboutReckoning up without delay,What she had laid out from day to day,You shall know what’s done, the wife did say,With fifteen shillings a week, sir.Seven children to keep and find in clothes,And to his wife he did propose,To reckon how the money goes,His fifteen shillings a week, sir.Threepence-halfpenny a week for milk is spent,One-and-ninepence a week for rent,For the children a penny for peppermint,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir;For tobacco eightpence every week,A half-a-crown for butcher’s meat,And to make your tea complete,A three-farthing bloater for a treat,A penny a week for cotton and thread,Last Sunday, tenpence a small sheep’s head,Ninepence-halfpenny a day for bread,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.Potatoes for dinner there must be found,And there’s none for less than a penny a pound,And I must have a sixpenny gown,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.A pennorth of starch, a farthing blue,Twopence-halfpenny soap and potash too,A ha’porth of onions to make a stew,Three-halfpence a day small beer for you,A quartern of butter, sixpennorth of fat,And to wipe your shoes a twopenny mat,One halfpenny a day to feed the cat,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.Ninepence a week for old dry peas,Sixpence sugar, eightpence tea,Pepper, salt, and mustard, farthings three,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.One and tenpence-halfpenny, understand,Every week for firing out of hand,Threepence-halfpenny candles, a farthing sand,And threepence to bottom the frying-pan;A twopenny broom to sweep the dirt,Three-ha’porth of cloth to mend your shirt,Now don’t you think you’re greatly hurt,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.Clothes for Tommy, Dick, Sal, Polly, and Jane,And Jimmy and Betty must have the same;You had a sixpenny jacket in Petticoat Lane,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.For shaving, a halfpenny twice a week,A penny to cut your hair so neat,Threepence for the socks upon your feet,Last week you bought a tenpenny seatBesides, old chap, I had most forgot,You gave a penny for a kidney pie, all hot,And threepence for an old brown chamberpot.Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.So now, old chap, you plainly see,If you can reckon as well as me,There is little waste in our family,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.There’s many a woman would think it no sin,To spend the whole in snuff and gin!When again to reckon you do begin,Recollect there’s a farthing a week for pins,To make things right my best I’ve tried,That’s economy can’t be denied.Dear wife, said he, I’m satisfied,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.So you women all the kingdom through,To you this might appear quite new,Just see if you the same can do,With fifteen shillings a week, sir.

Air:—“King of the Cannibal Islands”

A man and his wife in —— street,With seven children young and sweet,Had a jolly row last night complete,About fifteen shillings a week, sir.He gave his wife a clumsy clout,Saying, how is all my money laid out,Tell me quickly he did shout,And then she soon did set aboutReckoning up without delay,What she had laid out from day to day,You shall know what’s done, the wife did say,With fifteen shillings a week, sir.

A man and his wife in —— street,

With seven children young and sweet,

Had a jolly row last night complete,

About fifteen shillings a week, sir.

He gave his wife a clumsy clout,

Saying, how is all my money laid out,

Tell me quickly he did shout,

And then she soon did set about

Reckoning up without delay,

What she had laid out from day to day,

You shall know what’s done, the wife did say,

With fifteen shillings a week, sir.

Seven children to keep and find in clothes,And to his wife he did propose,To reckon how the money goes,His fifteen shillings a week, sir.

Seven children to keep and find in clothes,

And to his wife he did propose,

To reckon how the money goes,

His fifteen shillings a week, sir.

Threepence-halfpenny a week for milk is spent,One-and-ninepence a week for rent,For the children a penny for peppermint,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir;For tobacco eightpence every week,A half-a-crown for butcher’s meat,And to make your tea complete,A three-farthing bloater for a treat,A penny a week for cotton and thread,Last Sunday, tenpence a small sheep’s head,Ninepence-halfpenny a day for bread,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

Threepence-halfpenny a week for milk is spent,

One-and-ninepence a week for rent,

For the children a penny for peppermint,

Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir;

For tobacco eightpence every week,

A half-a-crown for butcher’s meat,

And to make your tea complete,

A three-farthing bloater for a treat,

A penny a week for cotton and thread,

Last Sunday, tenpence a small sheep’s head,

Ninepence-halfpenny a day for bread,

Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

Potatoes for dinner there must be found,And there’s none for less than a penny a pound,And I must have a sixpenny gown,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.A pennorth of starch, a farthing blue,Twopence-halfpenny soap and potash too,A ha’porth of onions to make a stew,Three-halfpence a day small beer for you,A quartern of butter, sixpennorth of fat,And to wipe your shoes a twopenny mat,One halfpenny a day to feed the cat,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

Potatoes for dinner there must be found,

And there’s none for less than a penny a pound,

And I must have a sixpenny gown,

Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

A pennorth of starch, a farthing blue,

Twopence-halfpenny soap and potash too,

A ha’porth of onions to make a stew,

Three-halfpence a day small beer for you,

A quartern of butter, sixpennorth of fat,

And to wipe your shoes a twopenny mat,

One halfpenny a day to feed the cat,

Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

Ninepence a week for old dry peas,Sixpence sugar, eightpence tea,Pepper, salt, and mustard, farthings three,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.One and tenpence-halfpenny, understand,Every week for firing out of hand,Threepence-halfpenny candles, a farthing sand,And threepence to bottom the frying-pan;A twopenny broom to sweep the dirt,Three-ha’porth of cloth to mend your shirt,Now don’t you think you’re greatly hurt,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

Ninepence a week for old dry peas,

Sixpence sugar, eightpence tea,

Pepper, salt, and mustard, farthings three,

Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

One and tenpence-halfpenny, understand,

Every week for firing out of hand,

Threepence-halfpenny candles, a farthing sand,

And threepence to bottom the frying-pan;

A twopenny broom to sweep the dirt,

Three-ha’porth of cloth to mend your shirt,

Now don’t you think you’re greatly hurt,

Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

Clothes for Tommy, Dick, Sal, Polly, and Jane,And Jimmy and Betty must have the same;You had a sixpenny jacket in Petticoat Lane,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.For shaving, a halfpenny twice a week,A penny to cut your hair so neat,Threepence for the socks upon your feet,Last week you bought a tenpenny seatBesides, old chap, I had most forgot,You gave a penny for a kidney pie, all hot,And threepence for an old brown chamberpot.Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

Clothes for Tommy, Dick, Sal, Polly, and Jane,

And Jimmy and Betty must have the same;

You had a sixpenny jacket in Petticoat Lane,

Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

For shaving, a halfpenny twice a week,

A penny to cut your hair so neat,

Threepence for the socks upon your feet,

Last week you bought a tenpenny seat

Besides, old chap, I had most forgot,

You gave a penny for a kidney pie, all hot,

And threepence for an old brown chamberpot.

Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

So now, old chap, you plainly see,If you can reckon as well as me,There is little waste in our family,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.There’s many a woman would think it no sin,To spend the whole in snuff and gin!When again to reckon you do begin,Recollect there’s a farthing a week for pins,To make things right my best I’ve tried,That’s economy can’t be denied.Dear wife, said he, I’m satisfied,Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

So now, old chap, you plainly see,

If you can reckon as well as me,

There is little waste in our family,

Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

There’s many a woman would think it no sin,

To spend the whole in snuff and gin!

When again to reckon you do begin,

Recollect there’s a farthing a week for pins,

To make things right my best I’ve tried,

That’s economy can’t be denied.

Dear wife, said he, I’m satisfied,

Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir.

So you women all the kingdom through,To you this might appear quite new,Just see if you the same can do,With fifteen shillings a week, sir.

So you women all the kingdom through,

To you this might appear quite new,

Just see if you the same can do,

With fifteen shillings a week, sir.

London: H. SUCH, Machine Printer, and Publisher, 177, Union street, Borough.—S. E.

Hurrah, my lads, this is the day,When tens of thousands haste away;Rich and poor, high and low,Are off to the Agricultural Show.CHORUS.Sing the ploughboy’s song,Dance the milkman’s dance,What glorious fun, away they run,Kicking up their heels in the morning.Heigho! away they go,Jolly young fellows all of a row,Don’t get kissing the girls you know,At the Agricultural Show.Now at the Show some sights you’ll find,To delight the eye and improve the mind,Carts, waggons, patent ploughs,Horses, bulls, and Alderney cows.There’s scythes, sickles, forks and rakes,Ganders, turkeys, ducks and drakes,Chickens, hens, and cocks that crow,Is seen at the Agricultural Show.There’s buckets, churns, milk-pails,Washing tubs, and Chowbent nails;All sorts of flowers and fruit that grow,At the Agricultural Show.There is some young men got on the spree,And lushey got as they could be,An old cobler they met, they made him so drunk,That he went to smoke his short pipe at the pump.A man from London brought his wife,Indeed it is true upon my life,To tell you all that she can do,She can lick Jem Mace and Heenan too.From miles around they come by train,Into the town to see the game;And the country lads are always right,They won’t go home till broad daylight.Two or three machines of every kind,To go by water or by wind;Some to stop old people’s tongues,And one to grind old people young.There are Lancashire clogs and Cheshire cheese,London bugs and Suffolk fleas,You cannot sleep a wink at night,They are such devils for to fight.There’s a farmer’s daughter,—sweet eighteen,With nineteen hoops in her crinoline;It’s just a mile round the brim of her hat,She has got a cock-eye and a hump on her back.Triumphal arches I’ll be bound,Decorating —— —— town;With hearts so light and spirits gay,Hark! how the bands of music play.Some young ladies dress’d in white,Will be stopping out all night;If you should wink why they will wait,Upon the road by the turnpike gate.Oh, lovely night, when all alone,The lads and lasses toddling home;In a few months’ time the girls will showThe game was played coming from the Show.The farmers’ lads will you not mind,The factory girls will dress so fine,They’ll go and leave the silk machine,To make little boys and girls by steam.

Hurrah, my lads, this is the day,When tens of thousands haste away;Rich and poor, high and low,Are off to the Agricultural Show.

Hurrah, my lads, this is the day,

When tens of thousands haste away;

Rich and poor, high and low,

Are off to the Agricultural Show.

CHORUS.

Sing the ploughboy’s song,Dance the milkman’s dance,What glorious fun, away they run,Kicking up their heels in the morning.Heigho! away they go,Jolly young fellows all of a row,Don’t get kissing the girls you know,At the Agricultural Show.

Sing the ploughboy’s song,

Dance the milkman’s dance,

What glorious fun, away they run,

Kicking up their heels in the morning.

Heigho! away they go,

Jolly young fellows all of a row,

Don’t get kissing the girls you know,

At the Agricultural Show.

Now at the Show some sights you’ll find,To delight the eye and improve the mind,Carts, waggons, patent ploughs,Horses, bulls, and Alderney cows.

Now at the Show some sights you’ll find,

To delight the eye and improve the mind,

Carts, waggons, patent ploughs,

Horses, bulls, and Alderney cows.

There’s scythes, sickles, forks and rakes,Ganders, turkeys, ducks and drakes,Chickens, hens, and cocks that crow,Is seen at the Agricultural Show.

There’s scythes, sickles, forks and rakes,

Ganders, turkeys, ducks and drakes,

Chickens, hens, and cocks that crow,

Is seen at the Agricultural Show.

There’s buckets, churns, milk-pails,Washing tubs, and Chowbent nails;All sorts of flowers and fruit that grow,At the Agricultural Show.

There’s buckets, churns, milk-pails,

Washing tubs, and Chowbent nails;

All sorts of flowers and fruit that grow,

At the Agricultural Show.

There is some young men got on the spree,And lushey got as they could be,An old cobler they met, they made him so drunk,That he went to smoke his short pipe at the pump.

There is some young men got on the spree,

And lushey got as they could be,

An old cobler they met, they made him so drunk,

That he went to smoke his short pipe at the pump.

A man from London brought his wife,Indeed it is true upon my life,To tell you all that she can do,She can lick Jem Mace and Heenan too.

A man from London brought his wife,

Indeed it is true upon my life,

To tell you all that she can do,

She can lick Jem Mace and Heenan too.

From miles around they come by train,Into the town to see the game;And the country lads are always right,They won’t go home till broad daylight.

From miles around they come by train,

Into the town to see the game;

And the country lads are always right,

They won’t go home till broad daylight.

Two or three machines of every kind,To go by water or by wind;Some to stop old people’s tongues,And one to grind old people young.

Two or three machines of every kind,

To go by water or by wind;

Some to stop old people’s tongues,

And one to grind old people young.

There are Lancashire clogs and Cheshire cheese,London bugs and Suffolk fleas,You cannot sleep a wink at night,They are such devils for to fight.

There are Lancashire clogs and Cheshire cheese,

London bugs and Suffolk fleas,

You cannot sleep a wink at night,

They are such devils for to fight.

There’s a farmer’s daughter,—sweet eighteen,With nineteen hoops in her crinoline;It’s just a mile round the brim of her hat,She has got a cock-eye and a hump on her back.

There’s a farmer’s daughter,—sweet eighteen,

With nineteen hoops in her crinoline;

It’s just a mile round the brim of her hat,

She has got a cock-eye and a hump on her back.

Triumphal arches I’ll be bound,Decorating —— —— town;With hearts so light and spirits gay,Hark! how the bands of music play.

Triumphal arches I’ll be bound,

Decorating —— —— town;

With hearts so light and spirits gay,

Hark! how the bands of music play.

Some young ladies dress’d in white,Will be stopping out all night;If you should wink why they will wait,Upon the road by the turnpike gate.

Some young ladies dress’d in white,

Will be stopping out all night;

If you should wink why they will wait,

Upon the road by the turnpike gate.

Oh, lovely night, when all alone,The lads and lasses toddling home;In a few months’ time the girls will showThe game was played coming from the Show.

Oh, lovely night, when all alone,

The lads and lasses toddling home;

In a few months’ time the girls will show

The game was played coming from the Show.

The farmers’ lads will you not mind,The factory girls will dress so fine,They’ll go and leave the silk machine,To make little boys and girls by steam.

The farmers’ lads will you not mind,

The factory girls will dress so fine,

They’ll go and leave the silk machine,

To make little boys and girls by steam.

The Cove that wanted the Money.The Lady who got the Jewels.

The Cove that wanted the Money.

The Lady who got the Jewels.

Oh, dear! what a rumpus and bother,From one end of England right bang to the other,The lawyers their wigs pelted one at the other,Young Windham has conquered them all.They swore he was mad, that he acted quite funny,Imitated the cat, and stood just like a dummy,The fact was, you see, that they wanted his money,But now the old soldier is licked.Oh, dear! what can the matter be?Swearing and humbugging, jawing and flattery,They may now go and hang themselves up to an apple tree,Young Windham has conquered them all.Before there was never such pulling and tearing,The tales that was told was really unbearing,Such bawling, such pushing, such talking, & swearing,To prove that young Windham was mad.Because he thought proper to marry a wife, sir,Because he was happy and cheerful through life, sir,’Twas money, the money, that caused the strife, sir,But young Windham has conquer’d them all.Sometimes he would Mackney be imitating,I wish I was with Nancy! he oft would be stating,In the Strand, in the Strand! as I am relating,And then they all swore he was mad.Because on the engine he went fast and slow, now,And with the ladies he used for to go now,Then holloa like winking, Bob Ridley, O! now,Well, but that wouldn’t make him be mad.Not far from St. James’s some coveys were dwelling,They such wonderful tales to the jury was telling,And there was a lot that was named Llewellin,Who spun a most wonderful yarn.That sometimes he was naked, & drunk too, I vow, sir,That he crowed & moll rowed, & kick’d up a row, sir,And wetted sometimes the back part of his trousers,And they swore to be sure he was mad.Now young Windham has conquered them all, and is right, sir,He may fight, drink and sing, be enjoying his pipe, sir,And he with his money can do as he likes, sir,He has licked the old soldier right well.The weeping old soldier is beat, he is done, sir,He may slip on his knapsack and follow the drum, sir,Or march thro’ the country, and shoulder his gun, sir,It’s a chance if he doesn’t go mad.Through all the set speeches of Montague Chambers,If he carried the day we should all be in danger,They’d have made us all mad, and there’s nothing more stranger,But into the madhouse we’d go!Oh, the money, the money, they wanted the money,And that was the thing made the parties feel funny,There was rough tales, and smooth tales, and tales told like honey,But it didn’t make young Windham go mad.Here’s success to the jury who acted so clever,Do you think they’d be bias’d, oh no, they would never,Drink their health in a bumper, may they live for ever,And we hope they will never go mad.When the trial was over, young Windham not fear’d them,And the public as soon as ever they near’d him,Hurrah’d him right well, and so heartily cheer’d him,And declar’d that he never was mad.

Oh, dear! what a rumpus and bother,

From one end of England right bang to the other,

The lawyers their wigs pelted one at the other,

Young Windham has conquered them all.

They swore he was mad, that he acted quite funny,

Imitated the cat, and stood just like a dummy,

The fact was, you see, that they wanted his money,

But now the old soldier is licked.

Oh, dear! what can the matter be?Swearing and humbugging, jawing and flattery,They may now go and hang themselves up to an apple tree,Young Windham has conquered them all.

Oh, dear! what can the matter be?

Swearing and humbugging, jawing and flattery,

They may now go and hang themselves up to an apple tree,

Young Windham has conquered them all.

Before there was never such pulling and tearing,The tales that was told was really unbearing,Such bawling, such pushing, such talking, & swearing,To prove that young Windham was mad.Because he thought proper to marry a wife, sir,Because he was happy and cheerful through life, sir,’Twas money, the money, that caused the strife, sir,But young Windham has conquer’d them all.

Before there was never such pulling and tearing,

The tales that was told was really unbearing,

Such bawling, such pushing, such talking, & swearing,

To prove that young Windham was mad.

Because he thought proper to marry a wife, sir,

Because he was happy and cheerful through life, sir,

’Twas money, the money, that caused the strife, sir,

But young Windham has conquer’d them all.

Sometimes he would Mackney be imitating,I wish I was with Nancy! he oft would be stating,In the Strand, in the Strand! as I am relating,And then they all swore he was mad.Because on the engine he went fast and slow, now,And with the ladies he used for to go now,Then holloa like winking, Bob Ridley, O! now,Well, but that wouldn’t make him be mad.

Sometimes he would Mackney be imitating,

I wish I was with Nancy! he oft would be stating,

In the Strand, in the Strand! as I am relating,

And then they all swore he was mad.

Because on the engine he went fast and slow, now,

And with the ladies he used for to go now,

Then holloa like winking, Bob Ridley, O! now,

Well, but that wouldn’t make him be mad.

Not far from St. James’s some coveys were dwelling,They such wonderful tales to the jury was telling,And there was a lot that was named Llewellin,Who spun a most wonderful yarn.That sometimes he was naked, & drunk too, I vow, sir,That he crowed & moll rowed, & kick’d up a row, sir,And wetted sometimes the back part of his trousers,And they swore to be sure he was mad.

Not far from St. James’s some coveys were dwelling,

They such wonderful tales to the jury was telling,

And there was a lot that was named Llewellin,

Who spun a most wonderful yarn.

That sometimes he was naked, & drunk too, I vow, sir,

That he crowed & moll rowed, & kick’d up a row, sir,

And wetted sometimes the back part of his trousers,

And they swore to be sure he was mad.

Now young Windham has conquered them all, and is right, sir,He may fight, drink and sing, be enjoying his pipe, sir,And he with his money can do as he likes, sir,He has licked the old soldier right well.The weeping old soldier is beat, he is done, sir,He may slip on his knapsack and follow the drum, sir,Or march thro’ the country, and shoulder his gun, sir,It’s a chance if he doesn’t go mad.

Now young Windham has conquered them all, and is right, sir,

He may fight, drink and sing, be enjoying his pipe, sir,

And he with his money can do as he likes, sir,

He has licked the old soldier right well.

The weeping old soldier is beat, he is done, sir,

He may slip on his knapsack and follow the drum, sir,

Or march thro’ the country, and shoulder his gun, sir,

It’s a chance if he doesn’t go mad.

Through all the set speeches of Montague Chambers,If he carried the day we should all be in danger,They’d have made us all mad, and there’s nothing more stranger,But into the madhouse we’d go!Oh, the money, the money, they wanted the money,And that was the thing made the parties feel funny,There was rough tales, and smooth tales, and tales told like honey,But it didn’t make young Windham go mad.

Through all the set speeches of Montague Chambers,

If he carried the day we should all be in danger,

They’d have made us all mad, and there’s nothing more stranger,

But into the madhouse we’d go!

Oh, the money, the money, they wanted the money,

And that was the thing made the parties feel funny,

There was rough tales, and smooth tales, and tales told like honey,

But it didn’t make young Windham go mad.

Here’s success to the jury who acted so clever,Do you think they’d be bias’d, oh no, they would never,Drink their health in a bumper, may they live for ever,And we hope they will never go mad.When the trial was over, young Windham not fear’d them,And the public as soon as ever they near’d him,Hurrah’d him right well, and so heartily cheer’d him,And declar’d that he never was mad.

Here’s success to the jury who acted so clever,

Do you think they’d be bias’d, oh no, they would never,

Drink their health in a bumper, may they live for ever,

And we hope they will never go mad.

When the trial was over, young Windham not fear’d them,

And the public as soon as ever they near’d him,

Hurrah’d him right well, and so heartily cheer’d him,

And declar’d that he never was mad.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

Oh, here’s a jolly lark,Some strife perhaps there may be,A Marquis had a wife,Oh, such a blooming lady;She married him they say,For title, and remember,’Twas lovely Miss May,And old Mister December.Old Fidgets lost his wife,And sorely now does grumbleWhen he goes to bed at night,He’s nobody to fumble.The old man is seventy eight,As sprightly as a donkey,Such a noble friend is heTo the Italians & the monkeys.The lady he did wed,He married her one Monday,Blooming, young, and fair,Only seventeen come Sunday.He cuddled her so sweet,The damsel he did flatter,Singing I for Bobbing Joan,And she for stoney batter;An angel from above,The poor old man did think her,But oh dear, she ran awayOne morning with a tinker.The old Marquis lost his wife,And he was in a sad mess,Miss was a lady gay,An Irish Marchioness;Lovely seventeen,He could not discard her—Wedded she thought she’d beenUnto her great grandfather.Five hundred bright pounds,The damages, that got he,Against the naughty manWho robbed him of his lady.The lawyers they did chaff,What fun in court, oh law thereThey caught her snug in bed,In Sheffield town, in Yorkshire.This blooming damsel fair,Has such a lovely pimple,Such pretty chesnut hair,And nigh her mouth a dimple;A bustle made of gold,And I can now remember,A crinoline to holdPoor old Mister December.Old men, take my advice,Or taken in you may be,If you should wed a nice,Sweet frolicsome young lady;A gay, young Mister June,Perhaps they may connive at,To play to her a tune,Just now and then in private.The poor old man is mad,Though he has lots of riches,He wants another wife,Or a larger pair of breeches;Though past three score and ten,If one should meet his fancy.He says he’ll marry again,—Oh! don’t I love my Nancy.When he married his sweet wifeHe didn’t care for nothing,He used to lace her stays,And then tie up her stockingsHe kissed her lovely lips,What a darling he did think her,But she soon gave him the slip,And bolted with the tinker.A single man again,His lordship now will be, sirs,Just threescore and eighteen,But another wife wants he, sirs,To cuddle him at night,And his old knees be warming,What a lark if his next wifeShould cut away in the morning.She got old Fidgets off,Made cock sure all right,And with the Yorkshire bladeShe danced a jig at night.

Oh, here’s a jolly lark,

Some strife perhaps there may be,

A Marquis had a wife,

Oh, such a blooming lady;

She married him they say,

For title, and remember,

’Twas lovely Miss May,

And old Mister December.

Old Fidgets lost his wife,And sorely now does grumbleWhen he goes to bed at night,He’s nobody to fumble.

Old Fidgets lost his wife,

And sorely now does grumble

When he goes to bed at night,

He’s nobody to fumble.

The old man is seventy eight,As sprightly as a donkey,Such a noble friend is heTo the Italians & the monkeys.The lady he did wed,He married her one Monday,Blooming, young, and fair,Only seventeen come Sunday.

The old man is seventy eight,

As sprightly as a donkey,

Such a noble friend is he

To the Italians & the monkeys.

The lady he did wed,

He married her one Monday,

Blooming, young, and fair,

Only seventeen come Sunday.

He cuddled her so sweet,The damsel he did flatter,Singing I for Bobbing Joan,And she for stoney batter;An angel from above,The poor old man did think her,But oh dear, she ran awayOne morning with a tinker.

He cuddled her so sweet,

The damsel he did flatter,

Singing I for Bobbing Joan,

And she for stoney batter;

An angel from above,

The poor old man did think her,

But oh dear, she ran away

One morning with a tinker.

The old Marquis lost his wife,And he was in a sad mess,Miss was a lady gay,An Irish Marchioness;Lovely seventeen,He could not discard her—Wedded she thought she’d beenUnto her great grandfather.

The old Marquis lost his wife,

And he was in a sad mess,

Miss was a lady gay,

An Irish Marchioness;

Lovely seventeen,

He could not discard her—

Wedded she thought she’d been

Unto her great grandfather.

Five hundred bright pounds,The damages, that got he,Against the naughty manWho robbed him of his lady.The lawyers they did chaff,What fun in court, oh law thereThey caught her snug in bed,In Sheffield town, in Yorkshire.

Five hundred bright pounds,

The damages, that got he,

Against the naughty man

Who robbed him of his lady.

The lawyers they did chaff,

What fun in court, oh law there

They caught her snug in bed,

In Sheffield town, in Yorkshire.

This blooming damsel fair,Has such a lovely pimple,Such pretty chesnut hair,And nigh her mouth a dimple;A bustle made of gold,And I can now remember,A crinoline to holdPoor old Mister December.

This blooming damsel fair,

Has such a lovely pimple,

Such pretty chesnut hair,

And nigh her mouth a dimple;

A bustle made of gold,

And I can now remember,

A crinoline to hold

Poor old Mister December.

Old men, take my advice,Or taken in you may be,If you should wed a nice,Sweet frolicsome young lady;A gay, young Mister June,Perhaps they may connive at,To play to her a tune,Just now and then in private.

Old men, take my advice,

Or taken in you may be,

If you should wed a nice,

Sweet frolicsome young lady;

A gay, young Mister June,

Perhaps they may connive at,

To play to her a tune,

Just now and then in private.

The poor old man is mad,Though he has lots of riches,He wants another wife,Or a larger pair of breeches;Though past three score and ten,If one should meet his fancy.He says he’ll marry again,—Oh! don’t I love my Nancy.

The poor old man is mad,

Though he has lots of riches,

He wants another wife,

Or a larger pair of breeches;

Though past three score and ten,

If one should meet his fancy.

He says he’ll marry again,—

Oh! don’t I love my Nancy.

When he married his sweet wifeHe didn’t care for nothing,He used to lace her stays,And then tie up her stockingsHe kissed her lovely lips,What a darling he did think her,But she soon gave him the slip,And bolted with the tinker.

When he married his sweet wife

He didn’t care for nothing,

He used to lace her stays,

And then tie up her stockings

He kissed her lovely lips,

What a darling he did think her,

But she soon gave him the slip,

And bolted with the tinker.

A single man again,His lordship now will be, sirs,Just threescore and eighteen,But another wife wants he, sirs,To cuddle him at night,And his old knees be warming,What a lark if his next wifeShould cut away in the morning.She got old Fidgets off,Made cock sure all right,And with the Yorkshire bladeShe danced a jig at night.

A single man again,

His lordship now will be, sirs,

Just threescore and eighteen,

But another wife wants he, sirs,

To cuddle him at night,

And his old knees be warming,

What a lark if his next wife

Should cut away in the morning.

She got old Fidgets off,

Made cock sure all right,

And with the Yorkshire blade

She danced a jig at night.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

There was a beauty bright,At Woking she did dwell,Her father had a handsome groom,And his daughters loved him well.They used to trot away,Conversing on the land,Oh! Alice Caroline dearly lovedHer father’s servant man.Alice loved her father’s groom,She longed to take his hand,No one can separate herFrom her father’s servant man.She is twenty years of age,As blythe as e’er was seen,And George, the groom, was a youth in bloom,Is aged but eighteen.She dearly loved her George,She by his side would stand,She vowed no one should part her,From her father’s servant man.George and Caroline would toy,Each other they would please,Each other they would kiss,And tiddle each other’s knees.They swore by all above,Did together fondly plan,To dear each other, lovelyAlice and her servant man.From Woking they set out,Thinking e’er they far had got,A lovely chance they’d haveTo tie the lovers’ knot.They disappointed was,And they amazed did stand,Then young Alice went to WandsworthWith her father’s servant man.The banns they did put up,Alice and her father’s groom,And in Love Lane, in Wandsworth,They together took a room:Saying they were man and wife.As the young lady blythe did stand,Vowed she would lose her life,Or wed her father’s servant man.But mark! young men and maids,Sad was the lovers’ fate;They were by her father tookBefore the magistrate;Alice boldly faced them all,As she at the Bar did stand,And swore she ran awayWith her father’s servant man.Have her Georgy Smith she wouldFor he had gained her heart;No power in the world,She and her groom should part.Like a maiden in despair,She would wander through the land,If they would not let her wed,Her father’s servant man.May they both united be,And live a happy life,May the pretty sweet Miss Crosse,Be a kind and loving wife;And may she ne’er regretShe did at the altar stand,By the side of Georgy Smith,Her father’s servant man.You Weybridge pretty girls,You Chertsey lads and lasses gay,Can you blame me ’cause from WokingWith my love I run away?You girls of Guildford town,Together we will trill,To see the pleasant fair,At the place called Catharine Hill.This lovely pretty maid,The parson’s daughter all in bloom,Declares she’ll never have another man,Unless she has her groom.She loves him as her life,And may she dance a jig,And may she have a little boy,Marked with a parson’s wig.

There was a beauty bright,

At Woking she did dwell,

Her father had a handsome groom,

And his daughters loved him well.

They used to trot away,

Conversing on the land,

Oh! Alice Caroline dearly loved

Her father’s servant man.

Alice loved her father’s groom,She longed to take his hand,No one can separate herFrom her father’s servant man.

Alice loved her father’s groom,

She longed to take his hand,

No one can separate her

From her father’s servant man.

She is twenty years of age,As blythe as e’er was seen,And George, the groom, was a youth in bloom,Is aged but eighteen.She dearly loved her George,She by his side would stand,She vowed no one should part her,From her father’s servant man.

She is twenty years of age,

As blythe as e’er was seen,

And George, the groom, was a youth in bloom,

Is aged but eighteen.

She dearly loved her George,

She by his side would stand,

She vowed no one should part her,

From her father’s servant man.

George and Caroline would toy,Each other they would please,Each other they would kiss,And tiddle each other’s knees.They swore by all above,Did together fondly plan,To dear each other, lovelyAlice and her servant man.

George and Caroline would toy,

Each other they would please,

Each other they would kiss,

And tiddle each other’s knees.

They swore by all above,

Did together fondly plan,

To dear each other, lovely

Alice and her servant man.

From Woking they set out,Thinking e’er they far had got,A lovely chance they’d haveTo tie the lovers’ knot.They disappointed was,And they amazed did stand,Then young Alice went to WandsworthWith her father’s servant man.

From Woking they set out,

Thinking e’er they far had got,

A lovely chance they’d have

To tie the lovers’ knot.

They disappointed was,

And they amazed did stand,

Then young Alice went to Wandsworth

With her father’s servant man.

The banns they did put up,Alice and her father’s groom,And in Love Lane, in Wandsworth,They together took a room:Saying they were man and wife.As the young lady blythe did stand,Vowed she would lose her life,Or wed her father’s servant man.

The banns they did put up,

Alice and her father’s groom,

And in Love Lane, in Wandsworth,

They together took a room:

Saying they were man and wife.

As the young lady blythe did stand,

Vowed she would lose her life,

Or wed her father’s servant man.

But mark! young men and maids,Sad was the lovers’ fate;They were by her father tookBefore the magistrate;Alice boldly faced them all,As she at the Bar did stand,And swore she ran awayWith her father’s servant man.

But mark! young men and maids,

Sad was the lovers’ fate;

They were by her father took

Before the magistrate;

Alice boldly faced them all,

As she at the Bar did stand,

And swore she ran away

With her father’s servant man.

Have her Georgy Smith she wouldFor he had gained her heart;No power in the world,She and her groom should part.Like a maiden in despair,She would wander through the land,If they would not let her wed,Her father’s servant man.

Have her Georgy Smith she would

For he had gained her heart;

No power in the world,

She and her groom should part.

Like a maiden in despair,

She would wander through the land,

If they would not let her wed,

Her father’s servant man.

May they both united be,And live a happy life,May the pretty sweet Miss Crosse,Be a kind and loving wife;And may she ne’er regretShe did at the altar stand,By the side of Georgy Smith,Her father’s servant man.

May they both united be,

And live a happy life,

May the pretty sweet Miss Crosse,

Be a kind and loving wife;

And may she ne’er regret

She did at the altar stand,

By the side of Georgy Smith,

Her father’s servant man.

You Weybridge pretty girls,You Chertsey lads and lasses gay,Can you blame me ’cause from WokingWith my love I run away?You girls of Guildford town,Together we will trill,To see the pleasant fair,At the place called Catharine Hill.

You Weybridge pretty girls,

You Chertsey lads and lasses gay,

Can you blame me ’cause from Woking

With my love I run away?

You girls of Guildford town,

Together we will trill,

To see the pleasant fair,

At the place called Catharine Hill.

This lovely pretty maid,The parson’s daughter all in bloom,Declares she’ll never have another man,Unless she has her groom.She loves him as her life,And may she dance a jig,And may she have a little boy,Marked with a parson’s wig.

This lovely pretty maid,

The parson’s daughter all in bloom,

Declares she’ll never have another man,

Unless she has her groom.

She loves him as her life,

And may she dance a jig,

And may she have a little boy,

Marked with a parson’s wig.

Printed for the Proprietors, Messrs. Saville, Lucky, & Co.

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