This Line runs from Calvary through this vain world and the Valley of the Shadow of Death, until it lands in the Kingdom of Heaven.
Oh! what a deal we hear and read,About Railways and Railway speed!Of lines which are, or may be made,And selling shares is quite a trade.The Railway mania does extend,From John O’Groats to the Land’s End;Where’er you ride, where’er you walk,The Railway is the general talk.Allow me, as an old divine,To point you to another line,Which does from earth to heaven extend,Where real pleasures never end.Infinite wisdom sketched the planTo save apostate, ruined man;And Jesus Christ, Jehovah’s son,The mighty work Himself has done.Of truth Divine the rails are made,And on the Rock of Ages laid;The rails are fixed in chairs of love,Firm as the throne of God above.At Calvary’s cross it does commence,And runs through all the world from thence;Then crosses Jordan’s swelling flood,Before the royal throne of God.One grand first-class is used for all,For Jew and Gentile, great and small;There’s room for all the world inside,And kings with beggars there do ride.In days of old, for ever past,Men quarrelled about first and last;And each contended loud and long,My church is right, and yours is wrong.We’re next the engine, some would say,Our carriage here does lead the way;But oft we see the train reversed—The first is last, the last is first.Let no one of his carriage boastNor in his outward duties trust;Those who shall see the Saviour’s face,Must be renewed by asking grace.About a hundred years or so,Wesley and others said they’d go:A carriage mercy did provide,That Wesley and his friends might ride.’Tis nine and thirty years, they say,Whoever lives to see next May,Another coach was added then,Unto this all important train.Linked to each other, on we pass,Supported by the Saviour’s grace;When to the better land we come,We’ll mix together round the throne.Jesus is the first engineer,He does the gospel engine steer;The preachers of the sacred Word,Co-workers with their dying Lord.We’ve guards who ride, while others standClose by the way with flag in hand,—The flag of white, of red, and green,At different places may be seen.When we behold the flag that’s white,It cheers the heart, for all is right;But when the green we do behold,Caution, it says, and be not bold.Red tells us there is danger near,Be not high-minded, rather fear;Place all your trust in God alone,And in the blood which does atone.Then let not poor nor rich despair,He still delights to answer prayer;Remember he will not despise,Your humble wailings—mournful cries.Afflictions are the tunnels drear,Through which we go while travelling here;But these will all be shortly past,And heaven appear in view at last.To cheer the dark and gloomy night,We’ve lamps which give a brilliant light,And while we urge our course along,The cross of Christ is all our song.We’ve several laws about this road,Wrote by the finger of our God;Ye trespassers must all beware,For He the guilty will not spare.No one from his place must alight,Until he hears the words, all right;And when this glorious signal’s given,You’ll hear a whisper, ‘This is Heaven;’The stations are the means of grace,The house of God, the holy place;No matter where that place may be,A field, a barn, or hollow tree.You say you will not ride with me,Well, be it so, we still agree;The church of England is beforeThe Quakers, yea, and several more.Baptists, and Independents too,The Methodists, both old and new;I can, I will, I do rejoice,That you have such a happy choice.CHORUS.“My son,” says God, “give me thy heart,Make haste, or else the train will start.”
Oh! what a deal we hear and read,About Railways and Railway speed!Of lines which are, or may be made,And selling shares is quite a trade.The Railway mania does extend,From John O’Groats to the Land’s End;Where’er you ride, where’er you walk,The Railway is the general talk.Allow me, as an old divine,To point you to another line,Which does from earth to heaven extend,Where real pleasures never end.Infinite wisdom sketched the planTo save apostate, ruined man;And Jesus Christ, Jehovah’s son,The mighty work Himself has done.Of truth Divine the rails are made,And on the Rock of Ages laid;The rails are fixed in chairs of love,Firm as the throne of God above.At Calvary’s cross it does commence,And runs through all the world from thence;Then crosses Jordan’s swelling flood,Before the royal throne of God.One grand first-class is used for all,For Jew and Gentile, great and small;There’s room for all the world inside,And kings with beggars there do ride.In days of old, for ever past,Men quarrelled about first and last;And each contended loud and long,My church is right, and yours is wrong.We’re next the engine, some would say,Our carriage here does lead the way;But oft we see the train reversed—The first is last, the last is first.Let no one of his carriage boastNor in his outward duties trust;Those who shall see the Saviour’s face,Must be renewed by asking grace.About a hundred years or so,Wesley and others said they’d go:A carriage mercy did provide,That Wesley and his friends might ride.’Tis nine and thirty years, they say,Whoever lives to see next May,Another coach was added then,Unto this all important train.Linked to each other, on we pass,Supported by the Saviour’s grace;When to the better land we come,We’ll mix together round the throne.Jesus is the first engineer,He does the gospel engine steer;The preachers of the sacred Word,Co-workers with their dying Lord.We’ve guards who ride, while others standClose by the way with flag in hand,—The flag of white, of red, and green,At different places may be seen.When we behold the flag that’s white,It cheers the heart, for all is right;But when the green we do behold,Caution, it says, and be not bold.Red tells us there is danger near,Be not high-minded, rather fear;Place all your trust in God alone,And in the blood which does atone.Then let not poor nor rich despair,He still delights to answer prayer;Remember he will not despise,Your humble wailings—mournful cries.Afflictions are the tunnels drear,Through which we go while travelling here;But these will all be shortly past,And heaven appear in view at last.To cheer the dark and gloomy night,We’ve lamps which give a brilliant light,And while we urge our course along,The cross of Christ is all our song.We’ve several laws about this road,Wrote by the finger of our God;Ye trespassers must all beware,For He the guilty will not spare.No one from his place must alight,Until he hears the words, all right;And when this glorious signal’s given,You’ll hear a whisper, ‘This is Heaven;’The stations are the means of grace,The house of God, the holy place;No matter where that place may be,A field, a barn, or hollow tree.You say you will not ride with me,Well, be it so, we still agree;The church of England is beforeThe Quakers, yea, and several more.Baptists, and Independents too,The Methodists, both old and new;I can, I will, I do rejoice,That you have such a happy choice.CHORUS.“My son,” says God, “give me thy heart,Make haste, or else the train will start.”
Oh! what a deal we hear and read,About Railways and Railway speed!Of lines which are, or may be made,And selling shares is quite a trade.
Oh! what a deal we hear and read,
About Railways and Railway speed!
Of lines which are, or may be made,
And selling shares is quite a trade.
The Railway mania does extend,From John O’Groats to the Land’s End;Where’er you ride, where’er you walk,The Railway is the general talk.
The Railway mania does extend,
From John O’Groats to the Land’s End;
Where’er you ride, where’er you walk,
The Railway is the general talk.
Allow me, as an old divine,To point you to another line,Which does from earth to heaven extend,Where real pleasures never end.
Allow me, as an old divine,
To point you to another line,
Which does from earth to heaven extend,
Where real pleasures never end.
Infinite wisdom sketched the planTo save apostate, ruined man;And Jesus Christ, Jehovah’s son,The mighty work Himself has done.
Infinite wisdom sketched the plan
To save apostate, ruined man;
And Jesus Christ, Jehovah’s son,
The mighty work Himself has done.
Of truth Divine the rails are made,And on the Rock of Ages laid;The rails are fixed in chairs of love,Firm as the throne of God above.
Of truth Divine the rails are made,
And on the Rock of Ages laid;
The rails are fixed in chairs of love,
Firm as the throne of God above.
At Calvary’s cross it does commence,And runs through all the world from thence;Then crosses Jordan’s swelling flood,Before the royal throne of God.
At Calvary’s cross it does commence,
And runs through all the world from thence;
Then crosses Jordan’s swelling flood,
Before the royal throne of God.
One grand first-class is used for all,For Jew and Gentile, great and small;There’s room for all the world inside,And kings with beggars there do ride.
One grand first-class is used for all,
For Jew and Gentile, great and small;
There’s room for all the world inside,
And kings with beggars there do ride.
In days of old, for ever past,Men quarrelled about first and last;And each contended loud and long,My church is right, and yours is wrong.
In days of old, for ever past,
Men quarrelled about first and last;
And each contended loud and long,
My church is right, and yours is wrong.
We’re next the engine, some would say,Our carriage here does lead the way;But oft we see the train reversed—The first is last, the last is first.
We’re next the engine, some would say,
Our carriage here does lead the way;
But oft we see the train reversed—
The first is last, the last is first.
Let no one of his carriage boastNor in his outward duties trust;Those who shall see the Saviour’s face,Must be renewed by asking grace.
Let no one of his carriage boast
Nor in his outward duties trust;
Those who shall see the Saviour’s face,
Must be renewed by asking grace.
About a hundred years or so,Wesley and others said they’d go:A carriage mercy did provide,That Wesley and his friends might ride.
About a hundred years or so,
Wesley and others said they’d go:
A carriage mercy did provide,
That Wesley and his friends might ride.
’Tis nine and thirty years, they say,Whoever lives to see next May,Another coach was added then,Unto this all important train.
’Tis nine and thirty years, they say,
Whoever lives to see next May,
Another coach was added then,
Unto this all important train.
Linked to each other, on we pass,Supported by the Saviour’s grace;When to the better land we come,We’ll mix together round the throne.
Linked to each other, on we pass,
Supported by the Saviour’s grace;
When to the better land we come,
We’ll mix together round the throne.
Jesus is the first engineer,He does the gospel engine steer;The preachers of the sacred Word,Co-workers with their dying Lord.
Jesus is the first engineer,
He does the gospel engine steer;
The preachers of the sacred Word,
Co-workers with their dying Lord.
We’ve guards who ride, while others standClose by the way with flag in hand,—The flag of white, of red, and green,At different places may be seen.
We’ve guards who ride, while others stand
Close by the way with flag in hand,—
The flag of white, of red, and green,
At different places may be seen.
When we behold the flag that’s white,It cheers the heart, for all is right;But when the green we do behold,Caution, it says, and be not bold.
When we behold the flag that’s white,
It cheers the heart, for all is right;
But when the green we do behold,
Caution, it says, and be not bold.
Red tells us there is danger near,Be not high-minded, rather fear;Place all your trust in God alone,And in the blood which does atone.
Red tells us there is danger near,
Be not high-minded, rather fear;
Place all your trust in God alone,
And in the blood which does atone.
Then let not poor nor rich despair,He still delights to answer prayer;Remember he will not despise,Your humble wailings—mournful cries.
Then let not poor nor rich despair,
He still delights to answer prayer;
Remember he will not despise,
Your humble wailings—mournful cries.
Afflictions are the tunnels drear,Through which we go while travelling here;But these will all be shortly past,And heaven appear in view at last.
Afflictions are the tunnels drear,
Through which we go while travelling here;
But these will all be shortly past,
And heaven appear in view at last.
To cheer the dark and gloomy night,We’ve lamps which give a brilliant light,And while we urge our course along,The cross of Christ is all our song.
To cheer the dark and gloomy night,
We’ve lamps which give a brilliant light,
And while we urge our course along,
The cross of Christ is all our song.
We’ve several laws about this road,Wrote by the finger of our God;Ye trespassers must all beware,For He the guilty will not spare.
We’ve several laws about this road,
Wrote by the finger of our God;
Ye trespassers must all beware,
For He the guilty will not spare.
No one from his place must alight,Until he hears the words, all right;And when this glorious signal’s given,You’ll hear a whisper, ‘This is Heaven;’
No one from his place must alight,
Until he hears the words, all right;
And when this glorious signal’s given,
You’ll hear a whisper, ‘This is Heaven;’
The stations are the means of grace,The house of God, the holy place;No matter where that place may be,A field, a barn, or hollow tree.
The stations are the means of grace,
The house of God, the holy place;
No matter where that place may be,
A field, a barn, or hollow tree.
You say you will not ride with me,Well, be it so, we still agree;The church of England is beforeThe Quakers, yea, and several more.
You say you will not ride with me,
Well, be it so, we still agree;
The church of England is before
The Quakers, yea, and several more.
Baptists, and Independents too,The Methodists, both old and new;I can, I will, I do rejoice,That you have such a happy choice.
Baptists, and Independents too,
The Methodists, both old and new;
I can, I will, I do rejoice,
That you have such a happy choice.
CHORUS.
CHORUS.
“My son,” says God, “give me thy heart,Make haste, or else the train will start.”
“My son,” says God, “give me thy heart,
Make haste, or else the train will start.”
LONDON:- H. Such, Printer and Publisher, 177, Union Street, Boro’.—S.E.
This Line begins in the Brewery, and runs through all Public-houses, Dram-shops, and Jerry-shops, in a zigzag direction, until it lands in the Kingdom of Hell.
If you are determined and wishful to go,With blind debauchees to the regions of woe,Then go to the Tap without any delay,And drink both your reason and money away,But never mind care, for if you despair,It is the first train that will carry you there.You’ve nothing to do but to guzzle and swill,As long as the Landlord is willing to fill,For this is the Line and the Railroad to Hell,Where Drunkards and Devils for ever must dwell;So drink all you can, it is the chief plan,That e’er was invented by Devil for man.This Railroad it runs thro’ Parlours and Snugs,And here you can sit round glasses and jugs,And have what you please, such as Ale, Gin, or Rum,To please an old friend, or an old drunken chum;And this is the way to drink all the day,And then stagger home when you’ve swallowed your pay.Such Taverns as these are Railroads to Hell,Their barrels are engines which make men rebel;Their jugs and their glasses which furnish their Trains,Will empty their pockets and muddle their brains.And thus drunkards ride to Hell in their pride,With nothing but steam from the barrels inside.We’ve Railroads to Heaven, and Railroads to Hell,Where good men can ride, and where Devils can dwell;We’ve Taverns for drunkards and Churches for Saints,And quacks of all sorts to heal our complaints;So now we can ride to Hell in our pride,On Railroads of sin with blue Devils inside.Old Swilltub the doctor and guard of the Trains,He filches your pockets and fuddles your brains;But when he’s got all from the poor silly man,He then sends him home to do as he can,With all his old chums, his badgers and bums,Who sue him for money he owes in great sums.But let us not ride on these Railroads of sin,Nor drink either Brandy, Ale, Porter, or Gin;And then we shall ride into Heaven with joy,Where no drunken quacks can our vitals destroyWith poisonous drugs, sold to us in jugs,In either their Bars, their Parlours, or Snugs.The number of vaults which we have in Town,Have robbed the poor lass of her bonnet and gown,Her topknots and feathers have gone to the Pop,And many have lost both credit and shop;Both young men and maids of very good trades,Have drunk all they earned, and gone down to the shades.We’ve plenty of signs, both Horses and Bulls,Of Lions and Dragons, to serve drunken Trulls;We’ve signs too of Angels, of Warriors and Kings—Yes, plenty of signs of good and bad things.But what’s their design? Why Gin, Rum, and Wine,Sold here to intoxicate puppies and swine.We’ve White and Black Bulls and two Suns in one street,One Swan and two Lions which never taste meat,And here you see women with bottles and jugs,Roll into these taverns and dram-drinking snugs,As brazen as brass to get an odd glass.In some of these shops where a fool cannot pass.No wonder that Pop-ticket, women and wags,Are dressed up in nothing but patches and rags.Their dresses and shawls for strong liquor they’ll swop,Yes, Tagrag and Bobtail must go to the pop;And when this is done, away they will run,To either a Lion, a Bull, or a Sun.Such poor sorry women who pledge their old rags,Are known by their petticoats hanging in jags;You’ll see them at night with their heads wrapt in shawlsNot far from the Dram-shop, or sign of Three Balls,With bonnets and hats, old dresses and brats,Made up into bundles as you have seen Pat’s.
If you are determined and wishful to go,With blind debauchees to the regions of woe,Then go to the Tap without any delay,And drink both your reason and money away,But never mind care, for if you despair,It is the first train that will carry you there.You’ve nothing to do but to guzzle and swill,As long as the Landlord is willing to fill,For this is the Line and the Railroad to Hell,Where Drunkards and Devils for ever must dwell;So drink all you can, it is the chief plan,That e’er was invented by Devil for man.This Railroad it runs thro’ Parlours and Snugs,And here you can sit round glasses and jugs,And have what you please, such as Ale, Gin, or Rum,To please an old friend, or an old drunken chum;And this is the way to drink all the day,And then stagger home when you’ve swallowed your pay.Such Taverns as these are Railroads to Hell,Their barrels are engines which make men rebel;Their jugs and their glasses which furnish their Trains,Will empty their pockets and muddle their brains.And thus drunkards ride to Hell in their pride,With nothing but steam from the barrels inside.We’ve Railroads to Heaven, and Railroads to Hell,Where good men can ride, and where Devils can dwell;We’ve Taverns for drunkards and Churches for Saints,And quacks of all sorts to heal our complaints;So now we can ride to Hell in our pride,On Railroads of sin with blue Devils inside.Old Swilltub the doctor and guard of the Trains,He filches your pockets and fuddles your brains;But when he’s got all from the poor silly man,He then sends him home to do as he can,With all his old chums, his badgers and bums,Who sue him for money he owes in great sums.But let us not ride on these Railroads of sin,Nor drink either Brandy, Ale, Porter, or Gin;And then we shall ride into Heaven with joy,Where no drunken quacks can our vitals destroyWith poisonous drugs, sold to us in jugs,In either their Bars, their Parlours, or Snugs.The number of vaults which we have in Town,Have robbed the poor lass of her bonnet and gown,Her topknots and feathers have gone to the Pop,And many have lost both credit and shop;Both young men and maids of very good trades,Have drunk all they earned, and gone down to the shades.We’ve plenty of signs, both Horses and Bulls,Of Lions and Dragons, to serve drunken Trulls;We’ve signs too of Angels, of Warriors and Kings—Yes, plenty of signs of good and bad things.But what’s their design? Why Gin, Rum, and Wine,Sold here to intoxicate puppies and swine.We’ve White and Black Bulls and two Suns in one street,One Swan and two Lions which never taste meat,And here you see women with bottles and jugs,Roll into these taverns and dram-drinking snugs,As brazen as brass to get an odd glass.In some of these shops where a fool cannot pass.No wonder that Pop-ticket, women and wags,Are dressed up in nothing but patches and rags.Their dresses and shawls for strong liquor they’ll swop,Yes, Tagrag and Bobtail must go to the pop;And when this is done, away they will run,To either a Lion, a Bull, or a Sun.Such poor sorry women who pledge their old rags,Are known by their petticoats hanging in jags;You’ll see them at night with their heads wrapt in shawlsNot far from the Dram-shop, or sign of Three Balls,With bonnets and hats, old dresses and brats,Made up into bundles as you have seen Pat’s.
If you are determined and wishful to go,With blind debauchees to the regions of woe,Then go to the Tap without any delay,And drink both your reason and money away,But never mind care, for if you despair,It is the first train that will carry you there.
If you are determined and wishful to go,
With blind debauchees to the regions of woe,
Then go to the Tap without any delay,
And drink both your reason and money away,
But never mind care, for if you despair,
It is the first train that will carry you there.
You’ve nothing to do but to guzzle and swill,As long as the Landlord is willing to fill,For this is the Line and the Railroad to Hell,Where Drunkards and Devils for ever must dwell;So drink all you can, it is the chief plan,That e’er was invented by Devil for man.
You’ve nothing to do but to guzzle and swill,
As long as the Landlord is willing to fill,
For this is the Line and the Railroad to Hell,
Where Drunkards and Devils for ever must dwell;
So drink all you can, it is the chief plan,
That e’er was invented by Devil for man.
This Railroad it runs thro’ Parlours and Snugs,And here you can sit round glasses and jugs,And have what you please, such as Ale, Gin, or Rum,To please an old friend, or an old drunken chum;And this is the way to drink all the day,And then stagger home when you’ve swallowed your pay.
This Railroad it runs thro’ Parlours and Snugs,
And here you can sit round glasses and jugs,
And have what you please, such as Ale, Gin, or Rum,
To please an old friend, or an old drunken chum;
And this is the way to drink all the day,
And then stagger home when you’ve swallowed your pay.
Such Taverns as these are Railroads to Hell,Their barrels are engines which make men rebel;Their jugs and their glasses which furnish their Trains,Will empty their pockets and muddle their brains.And thus drunkards ride to Hell in their pride,With nothing but steam from the barrels inside.
Such Taverns as these are Railroads to Hell,
Their barrels are engines which make men rebel;
Their jugs and their glasses which furnish their Trains,
Will empty their pockets and muddle their brains.
And thus drunkards ride to Hell in their pride,
With nothing but steam from the barrels inside.
We’ve Railroads to Heaven, and Railroads to Hell,Where good men can ride, and where Devils can dwell;We’ve Taverns for drunkards and Churches for Saints,And quacks of all sorts to heal our complaints;So now we can ride to Hell in our pride,On Railroads of sin with blue Devils inside.
We’ve Railroads to Heaven, and Railroads to Hell,
Where good men can ride, and where Devils can dwell;
We’ve Taverns for drunkards and Churches for Saints,
And quacks of all sorts to heal our complaints;
So now we can ride to Hell in our pride,
On Railroads of sin with blue Devils inside.
Old Swilltub the doctor and guard of the Trains,He filches your pockets and fuddles your brains;But when he’s got all from the poor silly man,He then sends him home to do as he can,With all his old chums, his badgers and bums,Who sue him for money he owes in great sums.
Old Swilltub the doctor and guard of the Trains,
He filches your pockets and fuddles your brains;
But when he’s got all from the poor silly man,
He then sends him home to do as he can,
With all his old chums, his badgers and bums,
Who sue him for money he owes in great sums.
But let us not ride on these Railroads of sin,Nor drink either Brandy, Ale, Porter, or Gin;And then we shall ride into Heaven with joy,Where no drunken quacks can our vitals destroyWith poisonous drugs, sold to us in jugs,In either their Bars, their Parlours, or Snugs.
But let us not ride on these Railroads of sin,
Nor drink either Brandy, Ale, Porter, or Gin;
And then we shall ride into Heaven with joy,
Where no drunken quacks can our vitals destroy
With poisonous drugs, sold to us in jugs,
In either their Bars, their Parlours, or Snugs.
The number of vaults which we have in Town,Have robbed the poor lass of her bonnet and gown,Her topknots and feathers have gone to the Pop,And many have lost both credit and shop;Both young men and maids of very good trades,Have drunk all they earned, and gone down to the shades.
The number of vaults which we have in Town,
Have robbed the poor lass of her bonnet and gown,
Her topknots and feathers have gone to the Pop,
And many have lost both credit and shop;
Both young men and maids of very good trades,
Have drunk all they earned, and gone down to the shades.
We’ve plenty of signs, both Horses and Bulls,Of Lions and Dragons, to serve drunken Trulls;We’ve signs too of Angels, of Warriors and Kings—Yes, plenty of signs of good and bad things.But what’s their design? Why Gin, Rum, and Wine,Sold here to intoxicate puppies and swine.
We’ve plenty of signs, both Horses and Bulls,
Of Lions and Dragons, to serve drunken Trulls;
We’ve signs too of Angels, of Warriors and Kings—
Yes, plenty of signs of good and bad things.
But what’s their design? Why Gin, Rum, and Wine,
Sold here to intoxicate puppies and swine.
We’ve White and Black Bulls and two Suns in one street,One Swan and two Lions which never taste meat,And here you see women with bottles and jugs,Roll into these taverns and dram-drinking snugs,As brazen as brass to get an odd glass.In some of these shops where a fool cannot pass.
We’ve White and Black Bulls and two Suns in one street,
One Swan and two Lions which never taste meat,
And here you see women with bottles and jugs,
Roll into these taverns and dram-drinking snugs,
As brazen as brass to get an odd glass.
In some of these shops where a fool cannot pass.
No wonder that Pop-ticket, women and wags,Are dressed up in nothing but patches and rags.Their dresses and shawls for strong liquor they’ll swop,Yes, Tagrag and Bobtail must go to the pop;And when this is done, away they will run,To either a Lion, a Bull, or a Sun.
No wonder that Pop-ticket, women and wags,
Are dressed up in nothing but patches and rags.
Their dresses and shawls for strong liquor they’ll swop,
Yes, Tagrag and Bobtail must go to the pop;
And when this is done, away they will run,
To either a Lion, a Bull, or a Sun.
Such poor sorry women who pledge their old rags,Are known by their petticoats hanging in jags;You’ll see them at night with their heads wrapt in shawlsNot far from the Dram-shop, or sign of Three Balls,With bonnets and hats, old dresses and brats,Made up into bundles as you have seen Pat’s.
Such poor sorry women who pledge their old rags,
Are known by their petticoats hanging in jags;
You’ll see them at night with their heads wrapt in shawls
Not far from the Dram-shop, or sign of Three Balls,
With bonnets and hats, old dresses and brats,
Made up into bundles as you have seen Pat’s.
LONDON:- T. Such, Printer, Union street, Boro.’
The following epistle was written by a girl at Deal to her sweetheart, a sailor on board a man of war in the Downs. The lieutenant of the ship found it on board, twisted up with tobacco in it, by which it seems our seafaring spark had as little regard for his mistress, after enjoyment, as if he had been of a more illustrious rank.
Lovin Der Charls,
This mi kind love to yow is to tell yow, after all owr sport and fon, I am lik to pay fort, for I am with child; and wors of al, my sisterNanknos it, and cals me hore and bech, and is redy to ter my sol owt, and cursJack Penylies with her evry tim he cums ashor; and the saci dog wold have lade with me to, but I wold not let him, for I wil be always honest to yow; therfor der Charls com ashor, and let us be mared to safe my vartu: and if yow have no munni, I will paun my new stais and sel mi to new smoks yow gave me, and that will pay the parsen and find us a diner; and pray der lovinCharlscum ashor, and derCharlsdont be frad for wont of a ring, for I have stole mi sisterNans, and the nasty tod shall never have it no mor; for she tels abot that I am goin to have a bastard, and God bles yowr lovin sol cum sune, for I longs to be mared accordin to yowr promis, and I will be yowr der vartus wife til deth,
Sarah Johnson.
Feb 19th.
P.S.—Pray dont let yowr mesmat Jack se this, if yow do hel tel owrNan, and shel ter mi hart owt then, for shes a devil at me now.
Dear object of my love, whose manly charmsWith bliss extatic fill’d my circling arms;That bliss is past, and nought for me remainsBut dire reproach, and sharp unpitied pains:For (Death to me, and food to others pride)My sister has my growing shame descry’d,Ev’n she assails me with opprobious name,When the prude’s conscious she deserves the sameHer loose associates, sated, from her flies,And vainly to seduce my virtue tries:True, as a wife, I only want the name;O! haste and wed me, and preserve my fame.Unlike most modern matches ours shall be,From settlement, the lawyers fetters free;I’ll quit my All, and be content with thee.Then haste away, and strike detraction dead;The nuptial feast awaits you, and the bed;Nor fear the hand that will endure for life,With me, your loving and your faithful wife.POSTSCRIPT.These earnest dictates of my anxious heartI beg you will not to your friend impart;For oft beneath fair friendship’s specious show,The traitor lurks, the undermining foe.R.A.
Dear object of my love, whose manly charmsWith bliss extatic fill’d my circling arms;That bliss is past, and nought for me remainsBut dire reproach, and sharp unpitied pains:For (Death to me, and food to others pride)My sister has my growing shame descry’d,Ev’n she assails me with opprobious name,When the prude’s conscious she deserves the sameHer loose associates, sated, from her flies,And vainly to seduce my virtue tries:True, as a wife, I only want the name;O! haste and wed me, and preserve my fame.Unlike most modern matches ours shall be,From settlement, the lawyers fetters free;I’ll quit my All, and be content with thee.Then haste away, and strike detraction dead;The nuptial feast awaits you, and the bed;Nor fear the hand that will endure for life,With me, your loving and your faithful wife.POSTSCRIPT.These earnest dictates of my anxious heartI beg you will not to your friend impart;For oft beneath fair friendship’s specious show,The traitor lurks, the undermining foe.R.A.
Dear object of my love, whose manly charmsWith bliss extatic fill’d my circling arms;That bliss is past, and nought for me remainsBut dire reproach, and sharp unpitied pains:For (Death to me, and food to others pride)My sister has my growing shame descry’d,Ev’n she assails me with opprobious name,When the prude’s conscious she deserves the sameHer loose associates, sated, from her flies,And vainly to seduce my virtue tries:True, as a wife, I only want the name;O! haste and wed me, and preserve my fame.Unlike most modern matches ours shall be,From settlement, the lawyers fetters free;I’ll quit my All, and be content with thee.Then haste away, and strike detraction dead;The nuptial feast awaits you, and the bed;Nor fear the hand that will endure for life,With me, your loving and your faithful wife.
Dear object of my love, whose manly charms
With bliss extatic fill’d my circling arms;
That bliss is past, and nought for me remains
But dire reproach, and sharp unpitied pains:
For (Death to me, and food to others pride)
My sister has my growing shame descry’d,
Ev’n she assails me with opprobious name,
When the prude’s conscious she deserves the same
Her loose associates, sated, from her flies,
And vainly to seduce my virtue tries:
True, as a wife, I only want the name;
O! haste and wed me, and preserve my fame.
Unlike most modern matches ours shall be,
From settlement, the lawyers fetters free;
I’ll quit my All, and be content with thee.
Then haste away, and strike detraction dead;
The nuptial feast awaits you, and the bed;
Nor fear the hand that will endure for life,
With me, your loving and your faithful wife.
POSTSCRIPT.
POSTSCRIPT.
These earnest dictates of my anxious heartI beg you will not to your friend impart;For oft beneath fair friendship’s specious show,The traitor lurks, the undermining foe.
These earnest dictates of my anxious heart
I beg you will not to your friend impart;
For oft beneath fair friendship’s specious show,
The traitor lurks, the undermining foe.
R.A.
Printed by John Andrews, Portsmouth.
“I do not seek to quench your love’s hot fire, but qualify the fire’s extreme rage, lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.”—Shakespeare.
A pretty maid both kind and fair,Dwells in this very town,Her pleasant smiles and easy air,Engages fop and clown.Being accosted t’other day,By a clumsy ’squire,Who ask’d her if she knew the wayTo quench a raging fire.Water, Sir, reply’d the maid,Will quench it in a trice,O no, said he, you little jade,I’ve try’d that once or twice.Then Sir, said she, ’tis past my skill,To tell you what will do;I’m sure, said he, you know what will;There’s nothing can but you.Alas-a-day, what do you mean,Reply’d the pretty fair;I’d have you try it once again,You never should despair.Despair I cannot, cry’d the ’squire,While you are in my sight,’Tis you must quench the burning fire,You set it first alight.Then strait he clas’p her round the waist,And forc’d from her a kiss;Ho! ho! said she, is that your tale,Then pray you, Sir, take this.And with a pail, placed at the door,She sluic’d the amorous ’squire;You’re welcome, Sir, to this and more,To quench your raging fire.
A pretty maid both kind and fair,Dwells in this very town,Her pleasant smiles and easy air,Engages fop and clown.Being accosted t’other day,By a clumsy ’squire,Who ask’d her if she knew the wayTo quench a raging fire.Water, Sir, reply’d the maid,Will quench it in a trice,O no, said he, you little jade,I’ve try’d that once or twice.Then Sir, said she, ’tis past my skill,To tell you what will do;I’m sure, said he, you know what will;There’s nothing can but you.Alas-a-day, what do you mean,Reply’d the pretty fair;I’d have you try it once again,You never should despair.Despair I cannot, cry’d the ’squire,While you are in my sight,’Tis you must quench the burning fire,You set it first alight.Then strait he clas’p her round the waist,And forc’d from her a kiss;Ho! ho! said she, is that your tale,Then pray you, Sir, take this.And with a pail, placed at the door,She sluic’d the amorous ’squire;You’re welcome, Sir, to this and more,To quench your raging fire.
A pretty maid both kind and fair,Dwells in this very town,Her pleasant smiles and easy air,Engages fop and clown.
A pretty maid both kind and fair,
Dwells in this very town,
Her pleasant smiles and easy air,
Engages fop and clown.
Being accosted t’other day,By a clumsy ’squire,Who ask’d her if she knew the wayTo quench a raging fire.
Being accosted t’other day,
By a clumsy ’squire,
Who ask’d her if she knew the way
To quench a raging fire.
Water, Sir, reply’d the maid,Will quench it in a trice,O no, said he, you little jade,I’ve try’d that once or twice.
Water, Sir, reply’d the maid,
Will quench it in a trice,
O no, said he, you little jade,
I’ve try’d that once or twice.
Then Sir, said she, ’tis past my skill,To tell you what will do;I’m sure, said he, you know what will;There’s nothing can but you.
Then Sir, said she, ’tis past my skill,
To tell you what will do;
I’m sure, said he, you know what will;
There’s nothing can but you.
Alas-a-day, what do you mean,Reply’d the pretty fair;I’d have you try it once again,You never should despair.
Alas-a-day, what do you mean,
Reply’d the pretty fair;
I’d have you try it once again,
You never should despair.
Despair I cannot, cry’d the ’squire,While you are in my sight,’Tis you must quench the burning fire,You set it first alight.
Despair I cannot, cry’d the ’squire,
While you are in my sight,
’Tis you must quench the burning fire,
You set it first alight.
Then strait he clas’p her round the waist,And forc’d from her a kiss;Ho! ho! said she, is that your tale,Then pray you, Sir, take this.
Then strait he clas’p her round the waist,
And forc’d from her a kiss;
Ho! ho! said she, is that your tale,
Then pray you, Sir, take this.
And with a pail, placed at the door,She sluic’d the amorous ’squire;You’re welcome, Sir, to this and more,To quench your raging fire.
And with a pail, placed at the door,
She sluic’d the amorous ’squire;
You’re welcome, Sir, to this and more,
To quench your raging fire.
Printed byW. H. Tickle, at his General Printing Office, Croydon, Surrey.—An extensive assortment of Songs, Recitations, Shop Window Bills, &c.—Printing of every description readily performed cheap as in London.
Had that love-sick young lady, Miss Juliet, lived in these unromantic, matter o’ fact times, when puffery and humbug lead men on to fame and fortune, instead of integrity, honesty and fair dealing,—when ignorant and worthless foreign quacks are fostered and encouraged, and native merit and native talent left to starve,—she would certainly have become duly impressed with the importance of a “name.” “The Queen’s name is a tower of strength,” and so think the enterprising commercial geniuses of the present day, inasmuch as the patronymic of our gracious Sovereign is applied to all imaginable purposes. We haveVictoriawashing tubs, mouse-traps, and mustard-pots, andAlberttoasting-forks, shaving-brushes, and dung-barges, and last, though by no means least, “Albert inexpressibles.” However, as the young lady alluded to above says, “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
Timothy Shaw, a bandy-legged “ninth part,” with a mouth sufficiently capacious to admit the largest cabbage that ever flourished in field or garden, summoned a knowing-looking specimen of thegenus homo, named Gilpin, before the commissioners, for the sum of 7s, for work and labour performed in the manufacture of a certain pair of “kicksies,” for the wear of a certain Mr Gilpin.
The defendant, an “artful card,” was described by the plaintiff as a “’buss cove out of luck,” that is, he had been in the habit of doing the amiable at the door of a Walworth omnibus, but had lost his place. The tailor, having blown his nose in that peculiar and primitive manner which gave rise to a certain riddle tending to show that the poor man often throws away what the rich man puts in his pocket, proceeded to “open his case” as follows:—“Please yer vorship, I’m a tailor by trade.” And here we must slightly digress to remark that a disciple of the bodkin and shears, upon being asked to describe himself, invariably says, “I’m a tailor bytrade.” A celebrated author is of opinion, that this is to prevent his being considered atailor by nature. “I’m a tailor by trade,” said the plaintiff, “and von’t turn my back on the best vorkman in the wicinity of Tooley street for a slap up fit in the first stile of fashion, ’cause I regularly takes a trip to the vest-end to pick ’em up. Twigged the ‘Prince’ t’other day with a new pair of trousers on,—had the cut on ’em all right in the turn of a bodkin.”
Commissioner: Really you must be a very clever person to “take off” the Prince’s inexpressibles so very expeditiously.—Plaintiff: Beg pardon, yer vorship, but I vouldn’t be guilty of any sich indelicate hact, as to “take off” anybody’s breeches.
The Commissioner finding that “snip” had the laugh on his own side, adjustedhis wig, and requested him to keep to the question.—Tailor: So I do, yer vorship; I’ll swear I never tuck not nobody’s breeches off but me own.
Commissioner: Well, what have you to say about Prince Albert? I suppose he wears his clothes like other people?—Tailor: Ah! that’s all a mistake, ’cause I’ve heerd that some knowing Jarman has hinwented new fashioned unmentionables, wot all—
Commissioner: There, there, we don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense. What have you got to say against the defendant?—Plaintiff: Vy, my lord, it’s “a plain unwarnished tale.” Master Gilpin steers himself into my shop, and ses to me, “Tim, old feller, I vant you to make me a hout-and-hout pair ofkicksies, ’cause I vonts to show off a bit atCourtin ’em.” In course, me lord, I vos regularly flabbergasted to hear a kiddy as vos only a “buss cove” talk in sich a way, but it soon comed out as he vos a going to lodge in Pennyvinkle-court, vich is close in our neighbourwood, me lord; and then he said he vos a goin to be married. “Poor devil,” ses I, “you’re a goin to tie a knot as I should be werry glad to untie.” As bad luck ’ud have it, my old woman heard me, and didn’t I cotch it nicely.
Commissioner: Well, did you make him any trousers after all?—Plaintiff: Oh! yes; and arter altering ’em three times the warmint would’nt pay a farden.
Commissioner: What did he complain of?—Plaintiff: ’Cause they didn’t fit tight to his legs, though I told him it warn’t the fashion.
The Commissioner told the defendant that he was ready to hear anything that he might have to say about the matter.—Defendant: I was fool enough to let this old spooney have some cloth to make a pair of trousers, and when I came to try them on, I found them so tight at the top that I couldn’t button them, and the legs were large enough to have admitted my whole body. He pretended to alter them—they were worse than before.—Plaintiff: I made them in the “Albert style,” yer vorship, so that shows the wagabone’s bad taste.—Defendant: If Prince Albert ever wore sich a pair ofkicksiesas them I’ll eat my hat.
Commissioner: How much are you willing to allow him for his trouble?—Defendant: Not the ghost of a mag; why should I?—ar’n’ he spoiled my breeches?—Plaintiff: Some people as is werry ugly, thinks the tailor ought to make ’em look handsome. Now, my lord, ’cause this pig-headed hobgoblin didn’t look a regularcock wenusin the breeches, he lays it all to me.
Commissioner: Now if you had contented yourself with making him look like a “buss cove,” as you describe him, instead of trying toAlbertisehim, you would, in all probability, have given satisfaction. You should never try to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.—Plaintiff: That’s very true. It is labour in wain to try to make a gemman out of sich a wulgar blackguard.—Defendant: Keep a civil tongue in your head, old bandy legs.—Plaintiff: Take a fit, young gallus. You arn’t no sich acock wenus, pug-nose, arter all.
Commissioner: We cannot allow this. The defendant will pay 5s and the costs.
Printed by the Royal Authorityof Messrs March Winds and April Showers.
This memorable battle took place on the Ocean of Sprats, situated on the Continent of Green Peas, within half a mile of a Donkey; where Bobby the Ratcatcher swallowed the Monument, and the poor old soldier was killed by being drowned in a bog of buttermilk: such an unseasonable battle was never known before.
It took place on the Fifty-twelfth day, on London Bridge, between 15 and 160 o’clock in the night.
Arthur Mc Kelly’s nose was knocked into eighteen thousand pieces and converted into a cheese knife, and sold in Plum pudding court, going up to Christmas on the top side of little Bobby the Ratcatcher; the regiment was commanded by General Pigsfry, and Colonel Beefsteak, the bone polisher, who lived one thousand and ninety-nine miles beyond mutton chops, in the parish of Blackberry pudding, a robust strong man, well fed upon marrow bones, and Darby O’Daud, Judy Saggin’s son, was mortally wounded, his second hand coat that was made and mended by Patrick Mc Patch, three calendar months beyond the city of Cork. The back buttons were turned before, and a mail coach could have gone through the button holes, the sleeves were massacred and murdered, his waistcoat suddenly took fright, jumped aside off his back, and tumbled into the trap of great Calamity, which was fixed within a quarter of an inch of bad luck. This made him roar out “potatoes” loud enough to be heard sixteen hundred miles beyond Buttermilk, and Selim O’Blunder, the second son of Teddy Humbug, a son to Mr. Nonsense, was terribly wounded in the understanding by the frightful appearance of the blade of a slug, his remembrance was knocked against the corner of his consideration, which capsized his wisdom out of his Knowledge. His ability was rocking in the cradle of Lamentation, which was fixed between joy and sorrow, where Lamentation fell asleep, and Billy Riley received three dreadful wounds—both his elbows were put out of joint, the shin bones of his knee breeches were transmogrified into a woolpack, and his stockings were made to rue the day his legs were born. Billy Gobbles, the dish licker’s son, was accidentally wounded in different parts, first in his constitution, and then in his feelings. After which a piece of plum pudding stuck in the stomach and knocked his appetite asunder, and the sons of buttermilk were all put to the rout, and never stopped till they went and rode the bull, and started off to the land of potatoes, where buttermilk is sold by the yard—to plaster their wounds with potatoes, and the humbugging hospitals of both nations in Dublin is filled with all the buttermilk sons that were killed and wounded in this terrible battle of Pea Soup.
There is one hundred and forty-ten thousand nine hundred and sixty-twelve pounds reward for whoever will give the least information of the author of this battle. The money to be paid down to the informant by Mr Jack Neverfind, who lives at the top of Toleration street, three doors below the bottom, near the corner of Humbug lane, in the days of Tantonybobus, when Adam will be a young man, three hundred and sixty-five miles beyond the remembrance of the Antediluvians, in the reign of our Lord and Sovereign, Queen Richard, by the grace of Candlesticks, Queen of Potwollopers, such as velveteen plum puddings, calico dumplings, and leather apple pies.
FANNY.The fields were gay,And sweet the hay,Our gang of gypsies seatedUpon the grass,Both lad and lass,By you we all were treated.Young chicken, geese,With ducks and pease,And beans and bacon dainty;With punch and beer,The best of cheer,You gave us them in plenty.’Twas all to cheat poor silly Fan,And pilfer that same jewel;You’re sworn to be my perjur’d man,Tho’ now so false and cruel.You stole some cloaths,And caps and hose,From sister Pat last Easter,To make me fine,You gave me nine-Pence and a silver teaster.An apron too,Tho’ not quite new,And good as from the needle;And once, I own,You gave a crown,To save me from the beadle.’Twas all to cheat poor silly Fan,And rifle that same jewel;You’re sworn to me, you perjur’d man,Tho’ now so false and cruel.Whene’er we’d meet,With kisses sweet,And speeches soft you won me;The hawthorn bushShou’d make you blush,’Twas there you first undone me.What signifiesYour shams and lies,Your jokes no more shall jeer me;A licence bringWith golden ring,Or never more come near me.For you have cheated silly Fan,And pilfer’d that same jewel;You’re sworn to me, you perjur’d man,Tho’ now so false and cruel.
FANNY.The fields were gay,And sweet the hay,Our gang of gypsies seatedUpon the grass,Both lad and lass,By you we all were treated.Young chicken, geese,With ducks and pease,And beans and bacon dainty;With punch and beer,The best of cheer,You gave us them in plenty.’Twas all to cheat poor silly Fan,And pilfer that same jewel;You’re sworn to be my perjur’d man,Tho’ now so false and cruel.You stole some cloaths,And caps and hose,From sister Pat last Easter,To make me fine,You gave me nine-Pence and a silver teaster.An apron too,Tho’ not quite new,And good as from the needle;And once, I own,You gave a crown,To save me from the beadle.’Twas all to cheat poor silly Fan,And rifle that same jewel;You’re sworn to me, you perjur’d man,Tho’ now so false and cruel.Whene’er we’d meet,With kisses sweet,And speeches soft you won me;The hawthorn bushShou’d make you blush,’Twas there you first undone me.What signifiesYour shams and lies,Your jokes no more shall jeer me;A licence bringWith golden ring,Or never more come near me.For you have cheated silly Fan,And pilfer’d that same jewel;You’re sworn to me, you perjur’d man,Tho’ now so false and cruel.
FANNY.
The fields were gay,And sweet the hay,Our gang of gypsies seatedUpon the grass,Both lad and lass,By you we all were treated.
The fields were gay,
And sweet the hay,
Our gang of gypsies seated
Upon the grass,
Both lad and lass,
By you we all were treated.
Young chicken, geese,With ducks and pease,And beans and bacon dainty;With punch and beer,The best of cheer,You gave us them in plenty.
Young chicken, geese,
With ducks and pease,
And beans and bacon dainty;
With punch and beer,
The best of cheer,
You gave us them in plenty.
’Twas all to cheat poor silly Fan,And pilfer that same jewel;You’re sworn to be my perjur’d man,Tho’ now so false and cruel.
’Twas all to cheat poor silly Fan,
And pilfer that same jewel;
You’re sworn to be my perjur’d man,
Tho’ now so false and cruel.
You stole some cloaths,And caps and hose,From sister Pat last Easter,To make me fine,You gave me nine-Pence and a silver teaster.
You stole some cloaths,
And caps and hose,
From sister Pat last Easter,
To make me fine,
You gave me nine-
Pence and a silver teaster.
An apron too,Tho’ not quite new,And good as from the needle;And once, I own,You gave a crown,To save me from the beadle.
An apron too,
Tho’ not quite new,
And good as from the needle;
And once, I own,
You gave a crown,
To save me from the beadle.
’Twas all to cheat poor silly Fan,And rifle that same jewel;You’re sworn to me, you perjur’d man,Tho’ now so false and cruel.
’Twas all to cheat poor silly Fan,
And rifle that same jewel;
You’re sworn to me, you perjur’d man,
Tho’ now so false and cruel.
Whene’er we’d meet,With kisses sweet,And speeches soft you won me;The hawthorn bushShou’d make you blush,’Twas there you first undone me.
Whene’er we’d meet,
With kisses sweet,
And speeches soft you won me;
The hawthorn bush
Shou’d make you blush,
’Twas there you first undone me.
What signifiesYour shams and lies,Your jokes no more shall jeer me;A licence bringWith golden ring,Or never more come near me.
What signifies
Your shams and lies,
Your jokes no more shall jeer me;
A licence bring
With golden ring,
Or never more come near me.
For you have cheated silly Fan,And pilfer’d that same jewel;You’re sworn to me, you perjur’d man,Tho’ now so false and cruel.
For you have cheated silly Fan,
And pilfer’d that same jewel;
You’re sworn to me, you perjur’d man,
Tho’ now so false and cruel.
It is pretty well known among the circle of his acquaintances, and the townspeople generally, that Mr ——, the old established and highlyrespectabletradesman ofTHIS NEIGHBOURHOODis much addicted to wenching, and that he is known to nearly every boy and girl in the town, big or little, as the “Old Ram,” or “Billy Goat.” And it is also well-known that his wife, who is as nice and amiable a little body as ever laid on a husband’s shirt-tail—can never keep a maid-servant with a tolerable agreeable face, but he is sure to be in pursuit of her; and only this year they have had in their service Mary Carter, Jane Baker, Martha Price, Jemima Smith, Harrietta Johnson, Sarah Tompkins, and Betsy Rogers, all of whom have left at a short notice in consequence of therumbustiousnessof Mr ——. A few weeks ago Mrs —— engaged with a very pretty girl named Fanny H——, but no sooner did “The Old Ram” behold her than he was smitten with her charms, considering her as a domestic treasure, of which, he flattered himself, he should soon be possessed. Accordingly, Mr —— took every opportunity in the absence of her mistress to say civil things, which so tormented the girl, that she soon gave her mistress warning. Mrs ——, the tradesman’s wife, having taken a great liking to this servant, was very sorry to part with her, offered to increase her wages, and diminish her labour; but these kind overtures had no effect, the young woman saying it was impossible for her to stay. This peremptory declaration excited Mrs ——’s curiosity to know what could give the girl so great a disgust of the place, when, upon being interrogated closely upon the subject, she replied, “Why then, Madam, to tell the truth, my master teazes me so much in your absence that I have no comfort of my life. I would not mind, continued the girl, if he was a handsome and a young man, but to be tormented by suchan ugly fellowis insupportable.” “An ugly fellow! resumed Mrs ——, with great warmth,—what, call my husbandan ugly fellow? Get out of the house this instant, you jade,”—then stamping her foot in great rage, she immediately discharged the girl.
Printed by J. Pitts, Wholesale Toy Warehouse, Great St Andrew Street, Seven Dials.
Understanding that old Mother Clifton’s house was blown away 366 miles above the moon, I went in search of her. I was searching nine days, running hard as I could with my two shin bones in my pocket, and my head under my arm, by order of Old Joe Buck, the Pensioner, who lost his middle eye at the Battle of Waterloo, chewing half-boiled stirabout. I then got upon a buck-flea’s back, which carried me over large hills of skilligalee and bog holes of buttermilk, till I met Jarvis the coachmaker driving two dead horses under an empty post-chaise loaded with 18 milliners, 2 tambour workers, 5 loads of apples, a roasted milestone, and half-a-dozen grenadier cock magpies, belonging to the French flying artillery, drinking tea till they were black in the face. I asked Mr Jarvis did he get any account of the Old Woman of Ratcliffe Highway, who was drowned in a shower of feathers last night about three weeks ago, and he told me he had got no account of her whatever, but if I went to John Ironsides I’d get some intelligence, and where John Ironsides lived he told me was two miles beyond all parts of the parish, up and down a street where a mad dog bit a hatchet next week, and pigs wrestle for stirabout: I thanked him for his information and bid him good night. I than began to run as fast as I could sit down by the side of a ditch with my two shin bones and my head in my pocket, till I met a gentleman with the custom-house of Dublin on his back, the Manchester exchange in his pocket, and Lord Nelson’s pillar in London stuck in his eye for a walking-stick. The Lord help you, poor man, said I, I am sorry for you, and the devil skewer you, why had you no better luck? I asked him what was the matter, and he told me he was bad with the gravel in his eye, the daddy grumble in his guts, and the worm cholic in his toe. I then put him into a coach and drove him into a druggist’s shop and ordered him two pennyworth of pigeon’s milk, three ounces of the blood of a grasshopper, a pint of self basting, the head and pluck of a buck flea, the ribs of a roasted chew of tobacco, and the lights and liver of a cobbler’s lapstone, boiled separately altogether in a leather iron pot.
Immediately after taking the mixture he was delivered of a pair of blacksmith’s bellows, and a small tomb-stone only a ton weight. Then proceeding on to Johnny Gooal’s house, said I to him, John, did you get any account of Mother Clifton’s house, that was blown 366 miles above the moon by a gale of wind from a sow gelder’s horn. I got no account, says Johnny, only I wrote a letter to her to-morrow night, when I was snoring fast asleep with my eyes open, knowing her father to be a smith and farrier to a pack of wild geese, and her mother nurse to a nest of young monkies that was held in the said parish of Up-and-down, where pigs wrestle for stirabout; but John told me I should not go till I had dined with them; we then sat down, and what should be brought up but a dish of stewed paving stones,, well mixed with tho oil and ribs of a chew of tobacco, and two quarts of the blood of a lamplighter’s snuff-box. The next great wonder she showed me, she brought me into a fine garden and placed me by a cabbage-stalk, which only covered 52 acres of ground, and where I saw ten regiments of artillery firing a royal salute of 21 guns.
The next wonder she showed me was a big man standing upon a small table made of heath, dressed in a scarlet black cloak, who made a very great sermon, but a north country buck flea bit him in the pole of the neck, and made him roar murder. The next great wonder I saw was a small boy only a thousand years old, thrashing tobacco into peas, and one of the peas started through a wall eighteen feet thick, and killed a dead boy on the other side. Then there was the London privateer and the Channel royal mail coach in a desperate engagement; firing boiled oyster shells, stewed lapstones, and roasted wigs one at the other, one of the lapstones struck Mother Clifton over the right eye and delivered her of the old woman of Ratcliffe Highway, who was sister to Mother Clifton, who had nine rows of bees-wax teeth and a three cocked hat made of the right side of a crab’s nostril. I then took the Old Hag and made a short leap from Liverpool to Naas in the North of Ireland, where I saw a French frigate coming with Nelson’s monument on the top of her mainmast. So now to bring my story to an end this Old Woman and me stepped out of the vessel into the port-hole; I made my escape, but the Old Woman was always tipsy with drinking Chandler’s tobacco, so she sunk to the bottom, and if you go there you will find her making straw hats of deal boards.
London:—H. Such, Printer & Publisher, 177, Union-street, Borough, S.E., and sold at 83, White-cross-street, St. Luke’s.
Come all you lads and lasses gay, and banish care and strife,—In the market-place, a mason did by auction sell his wife;—Thirteen shillings and a penny for the lady was the sum,—And to see the curious spree, some thousands soon did run;—In the market-place, I do declare, it’s true upon my life,—A mason did the other day, by auction sell his wife. This man and wife, good lack-a-day, did often disagree;—For she often pawned her husband’s clothes to go upon the spree. So he led her to the market, with a halter, I am told,—And there she was, so help my Bob, by public auction sold. When the auctioneer began the sale, a jolly farmer cried,—Here’s five and fourpence half-penny for the mason’s lushy bride; a tanner cried out seven and six, and then a butcher said,—I’ll give you ten and sevenpence, besides a bullock’s head. She’s going, cried the auctioneer, she’s going, upon my life;—Tinkers, coblers, sailors, will you buy a charming wife? Such fighting, scratching, tearing too, before no one did see;—Such roaring, bawling, swearing, O! blow me, it was a spree. At length a rum old cobler did give a dreadful bawl,—Here’s thirteen and a penny, with my lapstone and my awl. Thirteen and a penny, when down the hammer dropt,—With whiskers, apron, bustle, shawl, stays, petticoat, and——A lushy mason’s lady was this blooming damsel gay,—She did unto the hammer come upon a market day;—Bakers, butchers, masons, did bid for her, we hear,—While a lot of rum old women pitched into the auctioneer. Young men and maids did halloa, while married folks did sneer, They frightened the old cobler and knocked down the auctioneer. The cobler took the lady up just like a Scotchman’s pack, and the funny mason’s lady rode upon the cobler’s back. Some laughed till they bursted, while others were perplexed, But the cobler bristled up his wife with two big balls of wax; The cobler sat her on his knee, and joyfully did bawl,—While the lady knocked about the seat the lapstone and the awl. Then the mason he did sell his wife, as you shall understand, And thirteen and a penny was popt into his hand; he whistled and capered, for to banish care and strife,—He went into a gin-shop, singing, I have sold my wife; So the divorced mason he may go, to banish care and strife,—Unto the market place again and buy another wife. Now the cobler and the lady are both in a stall, While the cobler works the bristle, and the lady works the awl. And they upon the lapstone do so merry play together,—Singing, heel and toe, gee up, gee woe, big balls of wax and leather. And day and night in sweet delight, they banish care and strife,—the merry little cobler and his thirteen-shilling wife.
Showing how one Richard Middleton was taken before the Mayor of the City he was in, for using cards in church during divine service; being a droll, merry, and humourous account of an odd affair that happened to a private soldier in the 6th Regiment of Foot.
The sergeant commanded his party to the church, and when the parson had ended his prayer, he took his text; and all them that had a Bible pulled it out to find the text, but this soldier had neither Bible, Almanack, nor Common Prayer book; but he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cards, and spread them before him as he sat. While the parson was preaching, he first kept looking at one card and then at another. The sergeant of the company saw him, and said, “Richard, put up your cards; for this is no place for them.” “Never mind that,” for you have no business with me here.”
“When the parson had ended his sermon, and all was over, the soldiers repaired to the church-yard, and the commanding officer gave the word of command to fall in, which they did. The sergeant of the city came and took the man prisoner. “Man, you are my prisoner,” said he. “Sir,” said the soldier, “What have I done that I am your prisoner?” “You have played a game of cards in the church.” “No,” said the soldier, “I have not play’d a game, for I only look’d at a pack.” “No matter for that, you are my prisoner.” “Where must we go,” said the soldier? “You must go before the mayor,” said the serjeant.
So he took him before the mayor; and when they came to the mayor’s house, he was at dinner. When he had dined, he came to them and said—“well serjeant, what do you want with me?” “I have brought a soldier before your honour, for playing at cards in the church.” “What! that soldier.” “Yes.” “Well, soldier, what have you to say for yourself?” “Much sir, I hope.” “Well and good, but if you have not you shall be punished the worst that ever man was.” “Sir,” said the soldier, “I have been five weeks upon the march, and have but little to subsist on, and am without either Bible, Almanack, or Common Prayer book, or anything but a pack of cards. I hope to satisfy your honor of the purity of my intention.”
Then the soldier pulled out of his pocket the pack of cards, which he spread before the mayor, and then began with the ace.
“When I see the ace,” said he, “it puts me in mind that there is one God only; and when I see the deuce, it puts me in mind of the Father and the Son; when I see the tray, it puts me in mind of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; When I see the four, it puts me in mind of the four Evangelists that preached the gospel, viz., Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John; when I see the five, it puts me in mind of the five wise virgins that trimmed their lamps; there were ten, but five were foolish, who were shut out; when I see the six, it puts me in mind that in six days the Lord made Heaven and Earth; when I see the seven, it puts me in mind that the seventh day God rested from all the works which he had created and made, wherefore the Lord blessed the seventh day and hallowed it; when I see the eight, it puts me in mind of the eight righteous persons that were saved when God drowned the world, viz., Noah, his wife, three sons, and their wives; when I see the nine, it puts me in mind of nine lepers that were cleansed by our Saviour, there were ten, but nine never returned God thanks; when I see the ten, it puts me in mind of the ten commandments that God gave Moses on Mount Sinai on the two two tables of stone.
Here he took the knave and laid it aside.
“When I see the queen, it puts me in mind of the queen of Sheba, who came from the furthermost parts of the world to hear the wisdom of King Soloman, and who was as wise a woman as he was a man; for she brought fifty boys and fifty girls, all clothed in boys’ apparel, to show before King Solomon, for him to tell which were boys and which were girls; but he could not until he called for water for them to wash themselves; the girls washed up to their elbows, and the boys only up to their wrists, so King Solomon told by that. And also of Queen Victoria—The QueenofourHearts—to pray for her. And when I see the King, it puts me in mind of the great King of heaven and earth, which is God Almighty.”
“Well,” said the mayor, “you have given a very good description of all the cards except one, which is lacking.” “Which is that?” said the soldier. “The Knave,” said the mayor. “Oh, I can give your honour a good description of that, if your honour won’t be angry. “No, I will not,” says the mayor, “if you will not term me the knave.”
“Well,” said the soldier, “the greatest that I know of is the serjeant of the city that brought me here.” “I don’t know,” said the mayor, “that he is the greatest knave, but I am sure he is the greatest fool.”
“I shall now show your honour how I use the cards as an Almanack.” “You certainly are a clever fellow,” said the mayor, “but I think you will have a hard matter to make that appear.”
“When I count how many spots there are in a pack of cards, I find there are three hundred and sixty-five, there are so many days in the year.”
“Stop,” said the mayor, “that’s a mistake.” “I grant it,” said the soldier, “but as I have never yet seen an almanack that was thoroughly correct in all points, it would have been impossible for me to imitate an almanack exactly, without, a mistake.” “Your observations are very correct,” said the mayor; “go on.” When I count how many cards there are in a pack, I find there are fifty-two; there are so many weeks in the year; when I count how many tricks there are in a pack, I find there are thirteen: there are so many lunar months in the year; there are four suits in the pack, which represent the four seasons of the year. You see, sir, that this pack of cards is a Bible, Almanack, Common Prayer book, and Pack of Cards to me.”
Then the mayor called for a loaf of bread, a piece of cheese, and a pot of good beer, and gave to the soldier a piece of money, bidding him to go about his business, saying he was the cleverest man he had ever seen.
Taylor, Printer, 92 and 93, Brick Lane, Spitalfields.
A Famous Fish Factor Found himself Father of Five Fine Flirting Females, Fanny, Florence, Fernanda, Francesca, and Fenella. The First Four were Flattering, Flat Featured, Forbidden Faced, Freckled Frumps; Fretful, Flippant, Foolish, and Full of Fun. The Fisher Failed, and was Forced by Fickle Fortune to Forego his Footman, Forfeit his Forefather’s Fine Fields, and Find a Forlorn Farmhouse in a Forsaken Forest. The Four Fretful Females, Fond of Figuring at Feasts in Feathers and Fashionable Finery, Fumed at their Fugitive Father, Forsaken by Fulsome, Flattering Fortune hunters, who Followed them when Fish Flourished. Fenella Fondled her Father, Flavoured their Food, Forgot her Flattering Followers, and Frolickled in Frieze without Flounces. The Father, Finding himself Forced to Forage in Foreign parts For a Fortune, Found he could afford a Fairing to his Five Fondlings. The First Four were Fain to Foster their Frivolity with Fine Frills and Fans, Fit to Finish their Father’s Finances. Fenella, Fearful of Flooring him, Formed a Fancy For a Full Fresh Flower. Fate Favoured the Fish Factor For a Few days, when he Fell in with a Fog. His Faithful Filly’s Footsteps Faltered, and Food Failed. He Found himself in Front of a Fortified Fortress. Finding it Forsaken, and Feeling himself Feeble and Forlorn, with Feasting, he Fed upon the Fish, Flesh, and Fowl he Found, Fricasseed and Fried, and when Full, Fell Flat on his Face on the Floor. Fresh in the Forenoon he Forthwith Flew to the Fruitful Fields, and not Forgetting Fenella, he Filched a Fair Flower, when a Foul, Frightful, Fiendish Figure Flashed Forth. “Felonious Feller, Fingering my Flower, I’ll Finish you! Go! Say Farewell to your Fine Felicitious Family, and Face me in a Fortnight!” The Faint-hearted Fisher Fumed and Faltered, and Fast was Far in his Flight. His Five daughters Flew to Fall at his Feet, and Fervently Felicitate him. Frantically and Fluently he unfolded his Fate; Fenella, Forthwith Fortified by Filial Fondness, Followed her Father’s Footsteps, and Flung her Faultless Form at the Foot of the Frightful Figure, who Forgave the Father, and Fell Flat on his Face; For he had Fervently Fallen in a Fiery Fit of love For the Fair Fenella. He Feasted and Fostered her, till Fascinated by his Faithfulness, she Forgot the Ferocity of his Face, Form, and Feature, and Finally, Frankly, and Fondly Fixed Friday, the Fifth day of February For the affair to come off. There were present at the wedding, Fanny, Florence, Fernanda, Francesca, and the Fisher; there was Festivity, Fragrance, Finery, Fireworks, Fricaseed Frogs, Fritters, Fish, Flesh, Fowls, and Furmity, Frontinac, Flip, and Fare, Fit For the Fastidious, Fruit, Fuss, Flambeaux, and Flowers, Four Fat Fiddlers and Fifers, and the Frightful Form of the Fortunate and Frumpish Fiend Fell From him, and he Fell at Fenella’s Feet, a Fair Favoured, Fine, Frank Freeman of the Forest. Behold the Fruits of Filial affection!!