Will no blood-hunting foot-pad, that hears me complain,Stop the wind of that nabbing-cull, constable Payne? [11]If he does, he'll to Tyburn next sessions be dragg'd,And what kiddy's so rum as to get himself scragg'd? [12]No! blinky, discharge her, and let her return;For ne'er was poor fellow so sadly forlorn.Zounds! what shall I do? I shall die in a ditch;Take warning by me how you're leagu'd with a bitch.
[1: companions] [2: accompanied] [3: jailed] [4: drink] [5: light-hearted] [6: picks oakum] [7: Notes] [8: gone] [9: money] [10: treat] [11: Note] [12: foolish]
YE SCAMPS, YE PADS, YE DIVERS [Notes] [1781]
[FromThe Choice of Harlequin: orThe Indian ChiefbyMR. MESSINK, and sung by JOHN EDWIN as "the Keeper of Bridewell"].
Ye scamps, ye pads, ye divers, and all upon the lay, [1]In Tothill-fields gay sheepwalk, like lambs ye sport and play; [2]Rattling up your darbies, come hither at my call;I'm jigger dubber here, and you are welcome to mill doll. [3]With my tow row, etc.
At your insurance office the flats you've taken in,The game they've play'd, my kiddy, you're always sure to win;First you touch the shiners—the number up—you break, [4]With your insuring-policy, I'd not insure your neck.With my tow row, etc.
The French, with trotters nimble, could fly from English blows, [5]And they've got nimble daddles, as monsieur plainly shews; [6]Be thus the foes of Britain bang'd, ay, thump away, monsieur,The hemp you're beating now will make your solitaire.With my tow row, etc.
My peepers! who've we here now? why this is sure Black-Moll: [7]My ma'am, you're of the fair sex, so welcome to mill doll;The cull with you who'd venture into a snoozing-ken, [8]Like Blackamore Othello, should "put out the light—and then."With my tow row, etc.
I think my flashy coachman, that you'll take better care,Nor for a little bub come the slang upon your fare; [9]Your jazy pays the garnish, unless the fees you tip, [10]Though you're a flashy coachman, here the gagger holds the whip,With my tow row, etc.Chorus omnesWe're scamps, we're pads, we're divers, we're all upon the lay,In Tothill-fields gay sheepwalk, like lambs we sport and play;Rattling up our darbies, we're hither at your call,You're jigger dubber here, and we're forc'd for to mill doll.With my tow row, etc.
[1: footpads; pick pockets; Notes] [2: Tothill-fields prison] [3: warder, pick oakum] [4: money] [5: feet] [6: fist] [7: eyes] [8: common lodging-house][Notes] [9: drink; abuse] [10: wig; "footing"]
THE SANDMAN'S WEDDING [b. 1789]
[A Cantata by G. Parker (?)].
Recitative.
As Joe the sandman drove his noble teamOf raw-rump'd jennies, "Sand-ho!" was his theme:Just as he turned the corner of the drum, [1]His dear lov'd Bess, the bunter, chanc'd to come; [2]With joy cry'd "Woa", did turn his quid and stare,First suck'd her jole, then thus addressed the fair. [3]
Air.
Forgive me if I praise those charmsThy glaziers bright, lips, neck, and arms [4]Thy snowy bubbies e'er appearLike two small hills of sand, my dear:Thy beauties, Bet, from top to toeHave stole the heart of Sandman Joe.
Come wed, my dear, and let's agree,Then of the booze-ken you'll be free; [5]No sneer from cully, mot, or froe [6]Dare then reproach my Bess for Joe;For he's the kiddy rum and queer, [7]That all St. Giles's boys do fear
Recitative.
With daylights flashing, Bess at length reply'd, [8]Must Joey proffer this, and be deny'd?No, no, my Joe shall have his heart delightAnd we'll be wedded ere we dorse this night; [9]"Well lipp'd," quoth Joe, "no more you need to say"—[10]"Gee-up! gallows, do you want my sand to-day?"
Air.
Joe sold his sand, and cly'd his cole, sir, [11]While Bess got a basket of rags,Then up to St. Giles's they roll'd, sir,To every bunter Bess brags:Then into a booze-ken they pike it, [12]Where Bess was admitted we hear;For none of the coves dare but like it,As Joey, her kiddy, was there.
Full of glee, until ten that they started,For supper Joe sent out a win;A hog's maw between them was parted,And after they sluic'd it with gin:It was on an old leather trunk, sir,They married were, never to part;But Bessy, she being blind drunk, sir,Joe drove her away in his cart.
[1: street] [2: rag-gatherer] [3: kissed her] [4: eyes] [5: ale-house] [6: fellow, girl, or wife] [7: brave and cute] [8: eyes] [9: sleep] [10: spoken] [11: pocketed his money] [12: go]
THE HAPPY PAIR. [1789]
[By GEORGE PARKER inLife's Painter of Variegated Characters].
Joe.
Ye slang-boys all, since wedlock's nooze,Together fast has tiedMoll Blabbermums and rowling Joe,Each other's joy and pride;Your broomsticks and tin kettles bring,With cannisters and stones:Ye butchers bring your cleavers too,Likewise your marrow-bones;For ne'er a brace in marriage hitch'd,By no one can be found,That's half so blest as Joe and Moll,Search all St. Giles's round.
Moll.
Though fancy queer-gamm'd smutty MunsWas once my fav'rite man,Though rugged-muzzle tink'ring TomFor me left maw-mouth'd Nan:Though padding Jack and diving Ned, [1]With blink-ey'd buzzing Sam, [2]Have made me drunk with hot, and stood [3]The racket for a dram;Though Scamp the ballad-singing kid,Call'd me his darling frow, [4]I've tip'd them all the double, for [5]The sake of rowling Joe.
Chorus.
Therefore, in jolly chorus now,Let's chaunt it altogether,And let each cull's and doxy's heart [6]Be lighter than a feather;And as the kelter runs quite flush, [7]Likenattyshiningkiddies,To treat the coaxing, giggling brims, [8]With spunk let's post ourneddies; [9]Then we'll all roll inbubandgrub, [10]Till from this ken we go, [11]Since rowling Joe's tuck'd up with Moll,And Moll's tuck'd up with Joe.
[1: tramping; pick-pocket] [2: pickpocket] [3: paid for] [4: woman, girl] [5: jilted] [6: man; woman] [7: money] [8: whores] [9: spirit; spend our guineas] [10: drink; food] [11: drinking-house]
THE BUNTER'S CHRISTENING. [Notes] [1789]
[By GEORGE PARKER inLife's Painter of VariegatedCharacters].
Bess Tatter, of Hedge-lane,To ragman Joey's joy,The cull with whom she snooz'd [1]Brought forth a chopping boy:Which was, as one might say,The moral of his dad, sir;And at the christ'ning oft,A merry bout they had, sir.
For, when 'twas four weeks old,Long Ned, and dust-cart Chloe,To give the kid a name,Invited were by Joey;With whom came muzzy Tom, [2]And sneaking Snip, the boozer, [3]Bag-picking, blear-ey'd Ciss,And squinting Jack, the bruiser. [4]
Likewise came bullying Sam,With cat's-and-dog's-meat Nelly,Young Smut, the chimney-sweep,And smiling snick-snack Willy;Peg Swig and Jenny Gog,The brims, with birdlime fingers, [5]Brought warbling, seedy Dick,The prince of ballad-singers.
The guests now being met,The first thing that was done, sir,Was handling round the kid,That all might smack his muns, sir; [6]Aflash of lightningnext, [7]Bess tipt each cull and frow, sir, [8]Ere they to church did pad, [9]To have it christen'd Joe, sir.
Away they then did trudge;But such a queer procession,Of seedy brims and kids,Is far beyond expression.The christ'ning being o'er,They back again soon pik't it, [10]To have a dish of lap, [11]Prepar'd for those who lik't it.
Bung all come back once moreThey slobber'd little Joey; [12]Then, with some civil jaw, [13]Part squatted, to drink bohea,And part swig'd barley swipes, [14]As short-cut they were smoaking, [15]While some their patter flash'd [16]In gallows fun and joking. [17]
For supper, Joey stood,To treat these curious cronies;A bullock's melt, hog's mawSheep's heads, and stale polonies:And then they swill'd gin-hot,Until blind drunk as Chloe,At twelve, all bundled fromThe christ'ning of young Joey.
[1: man] [2: muddled] [3: drunkard] [4: pugilist] [5: harlots; thievish] [6: kiss him] [7: drop of gin] [8: gave; man; woman] [9: walk] [10: went] [11: tea] [12: kissed] [13: words] [14: drank beer] [15: tobacco] [16: talked] [17: screaming]
THE MASQUERADERS: OR, THE WORLD AS IT WAGS [Notes] [1789]
[By GEORGE PARKER inLife's Painter of Variegated Characters].
Ye flats, sharps, and rum ones, who make up this pother;Who gape and stare, just like stuck pigs at each other,As mirrors, wherein, at full length do appear,Your follies reflected so apish and queerTol de rol, etc.
Attend while Isings,how, in ev'ry station,Masquerading is practised throughout ev'ry nation:Some mask for mere pleasure, but many we know,To lick in therhino,false faces will show. [1]Tol de rol, etc.
Twig counsellors jabb'ring 'bout justice and law,Cease greasing their fist and they'll soon cease their jaw; [2]And patriots, 'bout freedom will kick up a riot,Till their ends are all gain'd, and their jaws then are quiet.Tol de rol, etc.
Twig methodist phizzes, with mask sanctimonious, [3]Their rigs prove to judge that their phiz is erroneous. [4]Twig lank-jaws, the miser, that skin-flint old elf,From his long meagre phiz, who'd think he'd the pelf.Tol de rol, etc.
Twig levées, they're made up of time-sarvingfaces,With fawning and flatt'ring for int'rest and places;And ladies appear too at court and elsewhere,In borrow'd complexions, false shapes, and false hair.Tol de rol, etc.
Twig clergyman—but as there needs no more proofMy chaunt Iconcludes, and shall now pad the hoof; [5]So nobles and gents, lug your counterfeits out,I'll take brums or cut ones, and thank you to boot.Tol de rol, etc.
[1money] [2bribing] [3See] [4methods] [5walk away]
THE FLASH MAN OF ST. GILES [Notes] [b. 1790]
[FromThe Busy Bee].
I was a flash man of St. Giles, [1]And I fell in love with Nelly Stiles;And I padded the hoof for many miles [2]To show the strength of my flame:In the Strand, and at the Admiralty,She pick'd up the flats as they pass'd by, [3]And I mill'd their wipes from their side clye, [4]And then sung fal de ral tit, tit fal de ral,Tit fal de ree, and then sung fal de ral tit!
The first time I saw the flaming mot, [5]Was at the sign of the Porter Pot,I call'd for some purl, and we had it hot,With gin and bitters too!We threw off our slang at high and low, [6]And we were resolv'd to breed a rowFor we both got as drunk as David's sow, [7]And then sung fal de ral tit, etc.
As we were roaring forth a catch,('Twas twelve o'clock) we wak'd the watch,I at his jazy made a snatch, [8]And try'd for to nab his rattle! [9]But I miss'd my aim and down I fell,And then he charg'd both me and Nell,And bundled us both to St. Martin's cellWhere we sung fal de ral tit, etc.
We pass'd the night in love away,And 'fore justice H— we went next day,And because we could not three hog pay, [10]Why we were sent to quod! [11]In quod we lay three dismal weeks,Till Nell with crying swell'd her cheeks,And I damn'd the quorum all for sneaksAnd then sung fal de ral tit, etc.
From Bridewell bars we now are free,And Nell and I so well agree,That we live in perfect harmony,And grub and bub our fill! [12]For we have mill'd a precious go [13]And queer'd the flats at thrums, E, O,Every night in Titmouse Row,Where we sing fal de ral tit, etc.
All you who live at your wit's end,Unto this maxim pray attend,Never despair to find a friend,While flats have bit aboard!For Nell and I now keep a gig,And look so grand, so flash and big,We roll in every knowing rig [14]While we sing fal de ral tit, etc.
[1: Notes] [2: walked] [3: victims] [4: stole handkerchiefs; side pocket] [5: girl, whore] [6: talking noisily] [7: Notes] [8: wig] [9: steal] [10: shilling] [11: prison] [12: eat and drink] [13: made a rich haul] [14: are up to every move]
A LEARY MOT [Notes] [c. 1811]
[A broadside ballad].
Rum old Mog was a leary flash mot,and she was round and fat, [1]With twangs in her shoes, a wheelbarrow too,and an oilskin round her hat;A blue bird's-eye o'er dairies fine—as she mizzled through Temple Bar, [2]Of vich side of the way, I cannot say,but she boned it from a Tar— [3]Singing, tol-lol-lol-lido.
Now Moll's flash com-pan-ion was a Chick-lane gill,and he garter'd below his knee, [4]He had twice been pull'd, and nearly lagg'd, [5]but got off by going to sea;With his pipe and quid, and chaunting voice,"Potatoes!" he would cry;For he valued neither cove nor swell,for he had wedge snug in his cly [6]Singing, tol-lol-lol-lido.
One night they went to a Cock-and-Hen Club, [7] at the sign of the Mare and Stallion, But such a sight was never seen as Mog and her flash com-pan-ion; Her covey was an am'rous blade, and he buss'd young Bet on the sly, [8] When Mog up with her daddle, bang-up to the mark, [9] and she black'd the Bunter's eye. [10] Singing, tol-lol-lol-lido.
Now this brought on a general fight,Lord, what a gallows row— [11]With whacks and thumps throughout the night,till "drunk as David's sow"— [12]Milling up and down—with cut heads,and lots of broken ribs, [13]But the lark being over—they ginned themselvesat jolly Tom Cribb's.Singing, tol-lol-lol-lido.
[1: woman or harlot] [2: Silk-handkerchief; Notes; paps; went] [3: stole] [4: sweetheart] [5: gaoled; transported] [6: money; pocket] [7: Notes] [8: kissed] [9: fist; straight to the spot] [10: rag-gatherer] [11: great shindy] [12: Notes] [13: fighting]
"THE NIGHT BEFORE LARRY WAS STRETCHED" [Notes] [c; 1816]
The night before Larry was stretch'd,The boys they all paid him a visit;A bit in their sacks, too, they fetch'd—They sweated their duds till they riz it; [1]For Larry was always the lad,When a friend was condemn'd to the squeezer, [2]But he'd pawn, all the togs that he had, [3]Just to help the poor boy to a sneezer, [4]And moisten his gob 'fore he died.
''Pon my conscience, dear Larry', says I,'I'm sorry to see you in trouble,And your life's cheerful noggin run dry,And yourself going off like its bubble!''Hould your tongue in that matter,' says he;'For the neckcloth I don't care a button, [5]And by this time to-morrow you'll seeYour Larry will be dead as mutton:All for what? 'Kase his courage was good!'
The boys they came crowding in fast;They drew their stools close round about him,Six glims round his coffin they placed— [6]He couldn't be well waked without 'em,I ax'd if he was fit to die,Without having duly repented?Says Larry, 'That's all in my eye,And all by the clargy invented,To make a fat bit for themselves.
Then the cards being called for, they play'd,Till Larry found one of them cheated;
Quick he made a hard rap at his head—The lad being easily heated,'So ye chates me bekase I'm in grief!O! is that, by the Holy, the rason?Soon I'll give you to know you d—d thief!That you're cracking your jokes out of sason,And scuttle your nob with my fist'.
Then in came the priest with his bookHe spoke him so smooth and so civil;Larry tipp'd him a Kilmainham look, [7]And pitch'd his big wig to the devil.Then raising a little his head,To get a sweet drop of the bottle,And pitiful sighing he said,'O! the hemp will be soon round my throttle,And choke my poor windpipe to death!'
So mournful these last words he spoke,We all vented our tears in a shower;For my part, I thought my heart brokeTo see him cut down like a flower!On his travels we watch'd him next day,O, the hangman I thought I could kill him!Not one word did our poor Larry say,Nor chang'd till he came to King William; [8]Och, my dear! then his colour turned white.
When he came to the nubbing-cheat,He was tack'd up so neat and so pretty;The rambler jugg'd off from his feet, [9]And he died with his face to the city.He kick'd too, but that was all pride,For soon you might see 'twas all over;And as soon as the nooze was untied,Then at darkey we waked him in clover, [10]And sent him to take a ground-sweat. [11]
[1: pawned their clothes] [2: gallows or rope] [3: clothes] [4: drink] [5: halter] [6: candles] [7: Notes] [8: Notes] [9: cart] [10: night] [11: buried him]
THE SONG OF THE YOUNG PRIG [Notes] [c. 1819]
My mother she dwelt in Dyot's Isle, [1]One of the canting crew, sirs; [2]And if you'd know my father's style,He was the Lord-knows-who, sirs!I first held horses in the street,But being found defaulter,Turned rumbler's flunkey for my meat, [3]So was brought up to the halter.Frisk the cly, and fork the rag, [4]Draw the fogies plummy, [5]Speak to the rattles, bag the swag, [6]And finely hunt the dummy. [7]
My name they say is young Birdlime,My fingers are fish-hooks, sirs;And I my reading learnt betime, [8]From studying pocket-books, sirs;I have a sweet eye for a plant, [9]And graceful as I amble,Finedraw a coat-tail sure I can'tSo kiddy is my famble. [10]Chorus. Frisk the cly, etc.
A night bird oft I'm in the cage, [11]But my rum-chants ne'er fail, sirs;The dubsman's senses to engage, [12]While I tip him leg-bail, sirs; [13]There's not, for picking, to be had,A lad so light and larky, [14]The cleanest angler on the pad [15]In daylight or the darkey. [16]Chorus. Frisk the cly, etc.
And though I don't work capital, [17]And do not weigh my weight, sirs;Who knows but that in time I shall,For there's no queering fate, sirs. [18]If I'm not lagged to Virgin-nee, [19]I may a Tyburn show be, [20]Perhaps a tip-top cracksman be, [21]Or go on the high toby. [22]Chorus. Frisk the cly, etc.
[1: Notes] [2: beggars] [3: hackney-coach] [4: pick a pocket; lay hold of notes or money] [5: steal handkerchiefs dextrously] [6: steal a watch, pocket the plunder] [7: steal pocket-books] [8: Notes] [9: an intended robbery] [10: skilful is my hand] [11: lock-up] [12: gaoler] [13: run away] [14: frolicsome] [15: expert pickpocket] [16: night] [17: Notes] [18: getting the better of] [19: transported [Notes]] [20: be hanged] [21: housebreaker] [22: become a highwayman]
THE MILLING-MATCH [Notes] [1819]
[By THOMAS MOORE inTom Crib's Memorial to Congress:—"Account of the Milling-match between Entellus and Dares, translated from the Fifth Book of the Aeneid by One of the Fancy"].
With daddles high upraised, and nob held back, [1]In awful prescience of the impending thwack,Both kiddies stood—and with prelusive spar, [2]And light manoeuvring, kindled up the war!The One, in bloom of youth—a light-weight blade—The Other, vast, gigantic, as if made,Express, by Nature, for the hammering trade; [3]But aged, slow, with stiff limbs, tottering much,And lungs, that lack'd the bellows-mender's touch.Yet, sprightly to the scratch, both Buffers came, [4]While ribbers rung from each resounding frame,And divers digs, and many a ponderous pelt,Were on their broad bread-baskets heard and felt. [5]With roving aim, but aim that rarely miss'dRound lugs and ogles flew the frequent fist; [6]While showers of facers told so deadly well,That the crush'd jaw-bones crackled as they fell!But firmly stood Entellus—and still bright,Though bent by age, with all the Fancy's light, [7]Stopp'd with a skill, and rallied with a fireThe immortal Fancy could alone inspire!While Dares, shifting round, with looks of thought.An opening to the cove's huge carcass sought(Like General Preston, in that awful hour,When on one leg he hopp'd to—take the Tower!),And here, and there, explored with active fin,And skilful feint, some guardless pass to win,And prove a boring guest when once let in.And now Entellus, with an eye that plann'dPunishing deeds, high raised his heavy hand;But ere the sledge came down, young Dares spiedIts shadow o'er his brow, and slipped aside—So nimbly slipp'd, that the vain nobber pass'dThrough empty air; and He, so high, so vast,Who dealt the stroke, came thundering to the ground!—Not B-ck—gh-m himself, with balkier sound,Uprooted from the field of Whiggist glories,Fell souse, of late, among the astonish'd Tories!Instant the ring was broke, and shouts and yellsFrom Trojan Flashmen and Sicilian SwellsFill'd the wide heaven—while, touch'd with grief to seeHis pall, well-known through many a lark and spree, [8]Thus rumly floor'd, the kind Ascestes ran, [9]And pitying rais'd from earth the game old man.Uncow'd, undamaged to the sport he came,His limbs all muscle, and his soul all flame.The memory of his milling glories past, [10]The shame that aught but death should see him grass'd.All fired the veteran's pluck—with fury flush'd,Full on his light-limb'd customer he rush'd,—And hammering right and left, with ponderous swing [11]Ruffian'd the reeling youngster round the ring—Nor rest, nor pause, nor breathing-time was givenBut, rapid as the rattling hail from heavenBeats on the house-top, showers of Randall's shotAround the Trojan's lugs fell peppering hot!'Till now Aeneas, fill'd with anxious dread,Rush'd in between them, and, with words well-bred,Preserved alike the peace and Dares' head,Both which the veteran much inclined to break—Then kindly thus the punish'd youth bespake:"Poor Johnny Raw! what madness could impelSo rum a Flat to face so prime a Swell?See'st thou not, boy, the Fancy, heavenly maid,Herself descends to this great Hammerer's aid,And, singling him from all her flash adorers,Shines in his hits, and thunders in his floorers?Then, yield thee, youth,—nor such a spooney be,To think mere man can mill a Deity!"Thus spoke the chief—and now, the scrimmage o'er,His faithful pals the done-up Dares boreBack to his home, with tottering gams, sunk heart,And muns and noddle pink'd in every part.While from his gob the guggling claret gush'd [12]And lots of grinders, from their sockets crush'd [13]Forth with the crimson tide in rattling fragments rush'd!
[1: hands; head] [2: fellows, usually young fellows] [3: pugilism] [4: men] [5: stomachs] [6: ears and eyes] [7: [Notes]] [8: friend; frolic] [9: heavily] [10: fighting] [11: dealing blows] [12: blood] [13: teeth]
YA-HIP, MY HEARTIES! [1819]
[From MOORE'STom Crib's Memorial to Congress:—"Sung by Jack Holmes, the Coachman, at a late Masquerade in St Giles's, in the character of Lord C—st—e—on … This song which was written for him by Mr. Gregson, etc."].
I first was hired topeg a Hack[1]They call "The Erin" sometime back,Where soon I learned topatter flash, [2]To curb the tits, and tip the lash— [3]Which pleasedthe Master ofThe CrownSo much, he had me up to town,And gave melotsofquidsa year, [4]Totool"The Constitutions" here. [5]So, ya-hip, hearties, here am IThat drive the Constitution Fly.
Some wonder how the Fly holds out,So rotten 'tis, within, without;So loaded too, through thick and thin,And with suchheavycreturs IN.But, Lord, 't will last our time—or ifThe wheels should, now and then, get stiff,Oil of Palm's the thing that, flowing, [6]Sets the naves and felloes going.So ya-hip,Hearties! etc.
Some wonder, too, thetitsthat pullThisrum concernalong, so full,Should neverbackorbolt, or kickThe load and driver to Old Nick.But, never fear, the breed, though British,Is now no longergameor skittish;Except sometimes about their corn,TamerHoughnhumsne'er were born.So ya-hip,Hearties, etc.
And then so sociably we ride!—While some have places, snug, inside,Some hoping to be there anon.Through many a dirty roadhang on.And when we reach a filthy spot(Plenty of which there are, God wot),You'd laugh to see with what an airWetakethe spatter—each his share.So ya-hip,Hearties! etc.
[1: drive a hackney-coach] [2: talk slang] [3: horses; whip] [4: money] [5: drive] [6: money]
SONNETS FOR THE FANCY: AFTER THE MANNER OF PETRARCH [Notes] [c.1824]
[FromBoxiana, iii. 621. 622].
Education.
A link-boy once, Dick Hellfinch stood the grin,At Charing Cross he long his toil apply'd;"Here light, here light! your honours for a win," [1]To every cull and drab he loudly cried. [2]In Leicester Fields, as most the story know,"Come black your worship for a single mag," [3]And while he shin'd his Nelly suck'd the bag, [4]And thus they sometimes stagg'd a precious go. [5]In Smithfield, too, where graziers' flats resort,He loiter'd there to take in men of cash,With cards and dice was up to ev'ry sport,And at Saltpetre Bank would cut a dash;A very knowing rig in ev'ry gang, [6]Dick Hellfinch was the pick of all the slang. [7]
Progress.
His Nell sat on Newgate steps, and scratch'd her poll,Her eyes suffus'd with tears, and bung'd with gin;The Session's sentence wrung her to the soul,Nor could she lounge the gag to shule a win;The knowing bench had tipp'd her buzer queer, [8]For Dick had beat the hoof upon the pad,Of Field, or Chick-lane—was the boldest ladThat ever mill'd the cly, or roll'd the leer. [9]And with Nell he kept a lock, to fence, and tuz,And while his flaming mot was on the lay,With rolling kiddies, Dick would dive and buz,And cracking kens concluded ev'ry day; [10]But fortune fickle, ever on the wheel,Turn'd up a rubber, for these smarts to feel.
Triumph.
Both'ring the flats assembled round the quod, [11]The queerum queerly smear'd with dirty black; [12]The dolman sounding, while the sheriff's nod,Prepare the switcher to dead book the whack,While in a rattle sit two blowens flash, [13]Salt tears fast streaming from each bungy eye;To nail the ticker, or to mill the cly [14]Through thick and thin their busy muzzlers splash,The mots lament for Tyburn's merry roam,That bubbl'd prigs must at the New Drop fall, [15]And from the start the scamps are cropp'd at home;All in the sheriff's picture frame the call [16]Exalted high, Dick parted with his flame,And all his comrades swore that he dy'd game.
[1: penny] [2: man; woman] [3: half-penny] [4: spent the money] [5: made a lot of money] [6: cute fellow] [7: i.e. fraternity] [8: sentenced the pick-pocket] [9: picked pockets] [10: burgling] [11: goal] [12: gallows] [13: coach; women] [14: steal a watch; pick a pocket] [15: Newgate] [16: hangman's noose]
THE TRUE BOTTOM'D BOXER [1825]
[By J. JONES inUniversal Songster, ii. 96]. Air: "Oh! nothing in life can sadden us."
Spring's the boy for a Moulsey-Hurst rig, my lads,Shaking a flipper, and milling a pate;Fibbing a nob is most excellent gig, my lads,Kneading the dough is a turn-out in state.Tapping the claret to him is delighting,Belly-go-firsters and clicks of the gob;For where are such joys to be found as in fighting,And measuring mugs for a chancery job:With flipping and milling, and fobbing and nobbing,With belly-go-firsters and kneading the dough,With tapping of claret, and clipping and gobbing,Say just what you please, you must own he's the go.
Spring's the boy for flooring and flushing it,Hitting and stopping, advance and retreat,For taking and giving, for sparring and rushing it,And will ne'er say enough, till he's down right dead beat;No crossing for him, true courage and bottom all,You'll find him a rum un, try on if you can;You shy-cocks, he shows 'em no favour, 'od rot 'em all,When he fights he trys to accomplish his man;With giving and taking, and flooring and flushing,With hitting and stopping, huzza to the ring,With chancery suiting, and sparring and rushing,He's the champion of fame, and of manhood the spring.
Spring's the boy for rum going and coming it,Smashing and dashing, and tipping it prime,Eastward and westward, and sometimes back-slumming it,He's for the scratch, and come up too in time;For the victualling-office no favor he'll ask it,For smeller and ogles he feels just the same;At the pipkin to point, or upset the bread-basket,He's always in twig, and bang-up for the game;With going and tipping, and priming and timing'Till groggy and queery, straight-forwards the rig;With ogles and smellers, no piping and chiming,You'll own he's the boy that is always in twig.
BOBBY AND HIS MARY [Notes] [1826]
[FromUniversal Songster, iii. 108].Tune—Dulce Domum.
In Dyot-street a booze-ken stood, [1]Oft sought by foot-pads weary,And long had been the blest abodeOf Bobby, and his Mary.For her he'd nightly pad the hoof, [2]And gravel tax collect [3]For her he never shammed the snite.Though traps tried to detect him; [4]When darkey came he sought his homeWhile she, distracted blowen [5]She hailed his sight,And, ev'ry nightThe booze-ken rungAs they sung,O, Bobby and his Mary.
But soon this scene of cozey fussWas changed to prospects queeringThe blunt ran shy, and Bobby brush'd, [6]To get more rag not fearing; [7]To Islington he quickly hied,A traveller there he dropped on;The traps were fly, his rig they spied [8]And ruffles soon they popped on. [9]When evening came, he sought not home,While she, poor stupid woman,Got lushed that night, [10]Oh, saw his sprite,Then heard the knellThat bids farewell!Then heard the knellOf St. Pulchre's bell! [11]Now he dangles on the Common.
[1: Notes; ale-house] [2: walk around] [3: rob passers-by] [4: police] [5: girl] [6: money; went off] [7: notes or gold] [8: object] [9: handcuffs] [10: drunk] [11: Notes]
FLASHEY JOE [Notes] [1826]
[By R. MORLEY inUniversal Songster, ii. 194].
As Flashey Joe one day did passThrough London streets, so jolly,A crying fish, he spied a lass'Twas Tothill's pride, sweet Molly!He wip'd his mug with bird's-eye blue [1]He cried,—"Come, buss your own dear Joe"; [2]She turned aside, alas! 'tis trueAnd bawled out—"Here's live mackerel, O!Four a shilling, mackerel, O!All alive, O!New mackerel, O."
Says I,—"Miss Moll, don't tip this gam, [3]You knows as how it will not do;For you I milled flash Dustman Sam [4]Who made your peepers black and blue. [5]Vhy, then you swore you would be kindBut you have queer'd so much of late, [6]And always changing like the wind,So now I'll brush and sell my skate." [7]Buy my skate, etc.
She blubb'd—"Now, Joe, vhy treat me ill?You know I love you as my life!When I forsook both Sam and Will,And promised to become your wife,You molled it up with Brick-dust Sall [8]And went to live with her in quod! [9]So I'll pike off with my mack'ral [10]And you may bolt with your salt cod."Here's mack'rel, etc.
I could not part with her, d'ye seeSo I tells Moll to stop her snivel; [11]"Your panting bubs and glist'ning eye [12]Just make me love you like the divil.""Vhy, then," says she, "come tip's your dad, [13]And let us take a drap of gin,And may I choke with hard-roed shadIf I forsake my Joe Herring."Four a shilling, etc.
[1: mouth; silk handkerchief] [2: kiss] [3: talk like that] [4: fought] [5: eyes] [6: acted strangely] [7: be off] [8: took as a mistress] [9: gaol] [10: walk] [11: crying] [12: paps] [13: shake hands]
MY MUGGING MAID [Notes] [1826]
[By JAMES BRUTON.Universal Songster, iii. 103].
Why lie ye in that ditch, so snug,With s— and filth bewrayed [1]With hair all dangling down thy lug [2]My mugging maid?II
Say, mugging Moll, why that red-rag [3]Which oft hath me dismayedWhy is it now so mute in mag, [4]My mugging maid?
Why steals the booze down through thy snout, [5]With mulberry's blue arrayed,And why from throat steals hiccough outMy mugging maid?
Why is thy mug so wan and blue, [6]In mud and muck you're laid;Say, what's the matter now with youMy mugging maid?
The flask that in her fam appeared [7]The snore her conk betrayed, [8]Told me, that Hodge's max had queered [9]My mugging maid.
[1: Notes] [2: ear] [3: tongue] [4: speech] [5: drink] [6: mouth] [7: hand] [8: nose] [9: Notes; got the better of]
POOR LUDDY [Notes] [b. 1826]
[By T. DIBDIN.Universal Songster, Vol. iii].
As I was walking down the Strand,Luddy, Luddy,Ah, poor Luddy, I. O.As I was walking down the Strand,The traps they nabbed me out of hand [1]Luddy, Luddy,Ah, poor Luddy, I. O.As I was walking, etc.
Said I, kind justice, pardon me,Luddy, Luddy,Ah, poor Luddy, I. O.Said I, kind justice, pardon me,Or Botany-Bay I soon shall seeLuddy, Luddy,Ah, poor Luddy, I. O.Said I, kind justice, etc.
Sessions and 'sizes are drawing nigh,Luddy, Luddy,Ah, poor Luddy, I. O.Sessions and 'sizes are drawing nigh,I'd rather you was hung than I.Luddy, Luddy,Ah, poor Luddy, I. O.Sessions and 'sizes, etc.
[1: police; arrested]
THE PICKPOCKET'S CHAUNT [Notes] [1829]
[By W. MAGINN: being a translation of Vidocq's song, "En roulant de vergne en vergne"].
As from ken to ken I was going, [1]Doing a bit on the prigging lay, [2]Who should I meet but a jolly blowen, [3]Tol lol, lol lol, tol dirol lay;Who should I meet but a jolly blowen,Who was fly to the time of day. [4]
Who should I meet but a jolly blowen,Who was fly to the time of day,I pattered in flash like a covey knowing, [5]Tol, lol, etc.'Ay, bub or grubby, I say?' [6]
I pattered in flash like a covey knowing,'Ay, bub or grubby, I say?"'Lots of gatter,' says she, is flowing [7]Tol lol, etc.Lend me a lift in the family way. [8]
Lots of gatter, says she, is flowingLend me a lift in the family way.You may have a crib to stow in.Tol lol, etc.Welcome, my pal, as the flowers in May.
You may have a crib to stow in,Welcome, my pal, as the flowers in May.To her ken at once I go inTol lol, etc.Where in a corner out of the way,
To her ken at once I go in.Where in a corner out of the wayWith his smeller a trumpet blowing [9]Tol lol, etc.A regular swell cove lushy lay. [10]
With his smeller a trumpet blowingA regular swell cove lushy lay,To his clies my hooks I throw in [11]Tol lol, etc.And collar his dragons clear away. [12]
To his clies my hooks I throw in,And collar his dragons clear awayThen his ticker I set agoing, [13]Tol lol, etc.And his onions, chain, and key. [14]
Then his ticker I set a goingAnd his onions, chain, and keyNext slipt off his bottom clo'ing,Tol lol, etc.And his ginger head topper gay. [15]
Next slipt off his bottom clo'ingAnd his ginger head topper gay.Then his other toggery stowing, [16]Tol lol, etc.All with the swag I sneak away. [17]
Then his other toggery stowingAll with the swag I sneak away.Tramp it, tramp it, my jolly blowen,Tol lol, etc.Or be grabbed by the beaks we may. [18]
Tramp it, tramp it, my jolly blowenOr be grabbed by the beaks we may.And we shall caper a-heel and toeing,Tol lol, etc.A Newgate hornpipe some fine day. [19]
And we shall caper a-heel and toeingA Newgate hornpipe some fine dayWith the mots their ogles throwing [20]Tol lol, etc.And old Cotton humming his pray. [21]
With the mots their ogles throwingAnd old Cotton humming his pray,And the fogle hunters doingTol lol, etc.Their morning fake in the prigging lay.
[1: shop; house] [2: thieving] [3: girl, strumpet, sweetheart] [4: 'cute in business] [5: spoke in slang] [6: drink and food] [7: porter, beer] [8: family = fraternity of thieves] [9: nose] [10: gentleman; drunk] [11: pockets; fingers] [12: take his sovereigns] [13: watch] [14: seals] [15: hat] [16: clothes] [17: plunder] [18: taken; police] [19: hanging] [20: girl's; eyes] [21: Notes]
ON THE PRIGGING LAY [Notes] [1829]
[By H. T. R….: a translation of a French Slang song ("Un jour à la Croix Rouge") in Vidocq'sMemoirs, 1828-9, 4 vols.]
Ten or a dozen "cocks of the game," [1]On the prigging lay to the flash-house came, [2]Lushing blue ruin and heavy wet [3]Till the darkey, when the downy set. [4]All toddled and begun the huntFor readers, tattlers, fogies, or blunt. [5]
Whatever swag we chance for to get, [6]All is fish that comes to net:Mind your eye, and draw the yokel,Don't disturb or use the folk ill.Keep a look out, if the beaks are nigh, [7]And cut your stick, before they're fly. [8]
As I vas a crossing St James's ParkI met a swell, a well-togg'd spark. [9]I stops a bit: then toddled quicker,For I'd prigged his reader, drawn his ticker; [10]Then he calls—"Stop thief!" thinks I, my master,That's a hint to me to mizzle faster. [11]
When twelve bells chimed, the prigs returned, [12]And rapped at the ken of Uncle ——: [13]"Uncle, open the door of your cribIf you'd share the swag, or have one dib. [14]Quickly draw the bolt of your ken,Or we'll not shell out a mag, old ——." [15]
Then says Uncle, says he, to his blowen, [16]"D'ye twig these coves, my mot so knowing? [17]Are they out-and-outers, dearie? [18]Are they fogle-hunters, or cracksmen leary? [19]Are they coves of the ken, d'ye know? [20]Shall I let 'em in, or tell 'em to go?"
"Oh! I knows 'em now; hand over my breeches—I always look out for business—vich isA reason vy a man should rouseAt any hour for the good of his house,The top o' the morning, gemmen all, [21]And for vot you vants, I begs you'll call."
But now the beaks are on the scene, [22]And watched by moonlight where we went:—Stagged us a toddling into the ken, [23]And were down upon us all; and thenWho should I spy but the slap-up spark [24]What I eased of the swag in St James's Park. [25]
There's a time, says King Sol, to dance and sing;I know there's a time for another thing:There's a time to pipe, and a time to snivel—I wish all Charlies and beaks at the divel: [26]For they grabbed me on the prigging lay,And I know I'm booked for Bot'ny Bay. [27]
[1: pickpockets] [2: thieving game; thieves' rendezvous] [3: drinking gin; porter] [4: evening; sun] [5: pocket-books; watches; handkerchiefs; money] [6: plunder] [7: police] [8: run; before they see you] [9: well-dressed] [10: stolen his pocketbook and watch] [11: run] [12: thieves] [13: house] [14: plunder; coin] [15: give you a half-penny] [16: woman] [17: known; men; mistress] [18: safe to trust] [19: pickpockets; burglers] [20: of our band] [21: a cheery greeting] [22: police] [23: saw us going] [24: dandy] [25: robbed of the plunder] [26: police and magistrates] [27: transported]
THE LAG'S LAMENT [1829]
[By H. T. R. inVidocq's Memoirs, Vol III. 169].
Happy the days when I vorked away,In my usual line in the prigging lay, [1]Making from this, and that, and t'other,A tidy living without any bother:When my little crib was stored with swag, [2]And my cly vas a veil-lined money bag, [3]Jolly vas I, for I feared no evil,Funked at naught, and pitched care to the devil.
I had, beside my blunt, my blowen, [4]'So gay, so nutty and so knowing' [5]On the wery best of grub we lived, [6]And sixpence a quartern for gin I gived;My toggs was the sportingst blunt could buy, [7]And a slap-up out-and-outer was I.Vith my mot on my arm, and my tile on my head, [8]'That ere's a gemman' every von said.
A-coming avay from Wauxhall von night,I cleared out a muzzy cove quite; [9]He'd been a strutting avay like a king,And on his digit he sported a ring,A di'mond sparkler, flash and knowing,Thinks I, I'll vatch the vay he's going,And fleece my gemman neat and clever,So, at least I'll try my best endeavour.
A'ter, the singing and fire-vorks vas ended,I follows my gemman the vay he tended;In a dark corner I trips up his heels,Then for his tattler and reader I feels, [10]I pouches his blunt, and I draws his ring, [11]Prigged his buckles and every thing,And saying, "I thinks as you can't follow, man,"I pikes me off to Ikey Soloman. [12]
Then it happened, d'ye see, that my mot,Yellow a-bit about the swag that I'd got,Thinking that I should jeer and laugh,Although I never tips no chaff [13]Tries her hand at the downy trick,And prigs in a shop, but precious quick"Stop thief!" was the cry, and she vas takenI cuts and runs and saves my bacon.
"Then," says he, says Sir Richard Birnie, [14]"I adwise you to nose on your pals, and turn the [15]Snitch on the gang, that'll be the best vay [16]To save your scrag." Then, without delay, [17]He so prewailed on the treach'rous varmintThat she was noodled by the Bow St. sarmint [18]Then the beaks they grabbed me, and to prison I vas dragged [19]And for fourteen years of my life I vas lagged. [20]
My mot must now be growing old,And so am I if the truth be told;But the only vay to get on in the vorld,Is to go with the stream, and however ve're twirld,To bear all rubs; and ven ve sufferTo hope for the smooth ven ve feels the rougher,Though very hard, I confess it appears,To be lagged, for a lark, for fourteen years.
[1: picking pockets] [2: plunder] [3: pocket] [4: money; mistress] [5: Notes] [6: food] [7: clothes; money] [8: hat] [9: drunken] [10: watch; pocketbook] [11: pockets his money] [12: ran off] [13: indulge in banter] [14: Notes] [15: inform] [16: betray] [17: neck] [18: persuaded] [19: police; arrested] [20: transported]
"NIX MY DOLL, PALS, FAKE AWAY" [Notes] [1834]
[By W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, being Jerry Juniper's chaunt inRookwood.]
In a box of the stone jug I was born, [1]Of a hempen widow the kid forlorn, [2]Fake away! [3]And my father, as I've heard say,Was a merchant of capers gay, [4 ]Who cut his last fling with great applause.Nix my doll, pals, fake away! [5]To the time of hearty choke with caper sauce. [6]Fake away!The knucks in quod did my schoolmen play, [7]Fake away!And put me up to the time of day, [8]Until at last there was none so knowing,No such sneaksman or buzgloak going, [9]Fake away!Fogles and fawnies soon went their way, [10]Fake away!To the spout with the sneezers in grand array, [11]No dummy hunter had forks so fly, [12]No knuckler so deftly, could fake a cly, [13]Fake away!No slourd hoxter my snipes could stay, [14]Fake away!None knap a reader like me in the lay. [15]Soon then I mounted in swell street-high,Nix my doll, pals, fake away!Soon then I mounted in swell street-high.And sported my flashest toggery, [16]Fake away!Fainly resolved I would make my hay,Fake away!While Mercury's star shed a single ray;And ne'er was there seen such a dashing prig,With my strummel faked in the newest twig, [17]Fake away!With my fawnied famms and my onions gay, [18]Fake away!My thimble of ridge and my driz kemesa, [19]All my togs were so niblike and plash. [20]Readily the queer screens I then could smash. [21]Fake away!But my nuttiest blowen one fine day, [22]Fake away!To the beaks did her fancy-man betray, [23]And thus was I bowled at last,And into the jug for a lag was cast,Fake away!But I slipped my darbies one morn in May, [24]And gave to the dubsman a holiday, [25]And here I am, pals, merry and free,A regular rollicking romany. [26]
[1: cell; Newgate] [2: woman whose husband has been hanged; child] [3: work away!] [4: dancing master] [5: never mind, friends] [6: hanging] [7: thieves; prison] [8: taught me thieving] [9: shoplifter; pickpocket] [10: silk handkerchiefs; rings] [11: pawnbrokers; snuffboxes] [12: pocket-book; nimble fingers] [13: pickpocket; steal] [14: inside pocket buttoned up] [15: steal a pocketbook] [16: best made clothes] [17: hair dressed; fashion] [18: hands bejewelled; seals] [19: gold watch; lace-frilled shirt] [20: clothes; fashionable; fine] [21: forged notes; pass] [22: favorite girl] [23: magistrates; sweetheart] [24: handcuffs] [25: warder] [26: gypsy]
THE GAME OF HIGH TOBY [Notes] [1834]
[By W. HARRISON AINSWORTH inRookwood].
Now Oliver puts his black night-cap on, [1]And every star its glim is hiding, [2]And forth to the heath is the scampsman gone, [3]His matchless cherry-black prancer riding; [4]Merrily over the Common, he flies,Fast and free as the rush of rocket,His crape-covered vizard drawn over his eyes,His tol by his side and his pops in his pocket. [5]
Chorus.
Then who can nameSo merry a game,As the game of all games—high-toby? [6]
The traveller hears him, away! away!Over the wide, wide heath he scurries;He heeds not the thunderbolt summons to stay,But ever the faster and faster he hurries,
But what daisy-cutter can match that black tit? [7]He is caught—he must 'stand and deliver';Then out with the dummy, and off with the bit, [8]Oh! the game of high-toby for ever!
Chorus.
Then who can nameSo merry a gameAs the game of all games—high-toby?
Believe me, there is not a game, my brave boys,To compare with the game of high-toby;No rapture can equal the tobyman's joys, [9]To blue devils, blue plumbs give the go-by; [10]And what if, at length, boys, he come to the crap! [11]Even rack punch hassomebitter in it,For the mare-with-three-legs, boys, I care not a rap, [12]'Twill be over in less than a minute!
Chorus.
Then hip, hurrah!Fling care away!Hurrah for the game of high-toby!
[1: the moon] [2: light] [3: highwayman] [4: black horse] [5: sword; pistols] [6: high-way robbery] [7: fleet horse; horse] [8: pocketbook] [9: highwayman] [10: bullets] [11: gallows] [12: gallows]
THE DOUBLE CROSS [Notes] [1834]
[By W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, inRookwood]
Though all of us have heard of crost fights,And certain gains, by certain lost fights;I rather fancies that its news,How in a mill, both men should lose; [1]For vere the odds are thus made even,It plays the dickens with the steven: [2]Besides, against all rule they're sinning,Vere neither has no chance of vinning.Ri, tol, lol, etc.
Two milling coves, each vide awake,Vere backed to fight for heavy stake;But in the mean time, so it vos,Both kids agreed to play a cross;Bold came each buffer to the scratch, [3]To make it look a tightish match;They peeled in style, and bets were making, [4]'Tvos six to four, but few were taking.Ri, tol, lol, etc.
Quite cautiously the mill began,For neither knew the other's plan:Each cull completely in the dark, [5]Of vot might be his neighbour's mark;Resolved his fibbing not to mind, [6]Nor yet to pay him back in kind;So on each other kept they tout,And sparred a bit, and dodged about.Ri, tol, lol, etc.
Vith mawleys raised, Tom bent his back, [7]As if to place a heavy thwack;Vile Jem, with neat left handed stopper,Straight threatened Tommy with a topper;'Tis all my eye! no claret flows, [8]No facers sound—no smashing blows,Five minutes pass, yet not a hit,How can it end, pals ?—vait a bit.Ri, tol, lol, etc.
Each cove vos teared with double duty,To please his backers, yet play booty, [9]Ven, luckily for Jem, a tellerVos planted right upon his smeller [10]Down dropped he, stunned; ven time was calledSeconds in vain the seconds bawled;The mill is o'er, the crosser crost,The losers von, the vinners lost.
[1: fight] [2: money] [3: man] [4: stripped] [5: fellow] [6: Notes] [7: hands] [8: blood] [9: deceive them] [10: nose]
THE THIEVES' CHAUNT [Notes] [1836]
(By W. H. SMITH inThe Individual)
There is a nook in the boozing ken, [1]Where many a mug I fog, [2]And the smoke curls gently, while cousin BenKeeps filling the pots again and again,If the coves have stump'd their hog. [3]
The liquors around are diamond bright,And the diddle is best of all; [4]But I never in liquors took delight,For liquors I think is all a bite, [5]So for heavy wet I call. [6]
The heavy wet in a pewter quart,As brown as a badger's hue,More than Bristol milk or gin, [7]Brandy or rum, I tipple in,With my darling blowen, Sue. [8]
Oh! grunting peck in its eating [9]Is a richly soft and savoury thing;A Norfolk capon is jolly grub [10]When you wash it down with strength of bub: [11]But dearer to me Sue's kisses far,Than grunting peck or other grub are,And I never funks the lambskin men, [12]When I sits with her in the boozing ken.
Her duds are bob—she's a kinchin crack, [13]And I hopes as how she'll never back;For she never lushes dog's-soup or lap, [14]But she loves my cousin the bluffer's tap. [15]She's wide-awake, and her prating cheat, [16 ]For humming a cove was never beat; [17]But because she lately nimm'd some tin, [18]They have sent her to lodge at the King's Head Inn. [19]
[1: public house] [2: pipe; smoke] [3: paid a shilling ] [4: gin] [5: humbug] [6: porter] [7: sherry] [8: mistress] [9: pork] [10: red-herring] [11: lots of beer] [12: judges] [13: clothes; neat; fine young woman] [14: drinks water or tea] [15: inn-keeper] [16: tongue] [17: fooling a man] [18: stole; money] [19: Newgate; Notes]
THE HOUSE BREAKER'S SONG [Notes] [c. 1838]
[By G. W. M. REYNOLDS inPickwick Abroad].
I ne'er was a nose, for the reg'lars came [1]Whenever a pannie was done:— [2]Oh! who would chirp to dishonour his name,And betrays his pals in a nibsome game [3]To the traps?—Not I for one! [4]Let nobs in the fur trade hold their jaw, [5]And let the jug be free:— [6]Let Davy's dust and a well-faked claw [7]For fancy coves be the only law, [8]And a double-tongued squib to keep in awe [9]The chaps that flout at me!
From morn till night we'll booze a ken, [10]And we'll pass the bingo round; [11]At dusk we'll make our lucky, and then, [12]With our nags so fresh, and our merry men,We'll scour the lonely ground.And if the swell resist our "Stand!"We'll squib without a joke; [13]For I'm snigger'd if we will be trepanned [14]By the blarneying jaw of a knowing hand,And thus be lagged to a foreign land,Or die by an artichoke. [15]
But should the traps be on the sly,For a change we'll have a crack; [16]The richest cribs shall our wants supply— [17]Or we'll knap a fogle with fingers fly, [18]When the swell one turns his back. [19]The flimsies we can smash as well, [20]Or a ticker deftly prig:— [21]But if ever a pal in limbo fell, [22]He'd sooner be scragg'd at once than tell; [23]Though the hum-box patterer talked of hell, [24]And the beak wore his nattiest wig. [25]
[1: police spy; share of the booty] [2: house was burgled] [3: gentlemanly] [4: police-officers] [5: Old Bailey pleaders] [6: prison] [7: gunpowder, hand dextrous at thieving] [8: thieves] [9: double-barrelled gun] [10: drink freely] [11: brandy] [12: depart] [13: fire] [14: transported] [15: hanging [hearty choke]] [16: burglary] [17: houses] [18: steal; handkerchief] [19: skilful] [20: pass false notes] [21: watch] [22: prison] [24: parson] [25: magistrate; handsomest]
"THE FAKING BOY TO THE CRAP IS GONE" [Notes] [1841]
[By BON GAULTIER inTait's Edinburgh Magazine].
The faking boy to the crap is gone, [1]At the nubbing-cheat you'll find him; [2]The hempen cord they have girded on,And his elbows pinned behind him."Smash my glim," cries the reg'lar card, [3]"Though the girl you love betrays you,Don't split, but die both game and hard,And grateful pals shall praise you."
The bolt it fell,—a jerk, a strain!The sheriff's fled asunder;The faking-boy ne'er spoke again,For they pulled his legs from under.And there he dangles on the tree,That sort of love and bravery!Oh, that such men should victims beOf law, and law's vile knavery.
[1: pickpocket; gallows] [2: gallows] [3: blast my eyes!]
THE NUTTY BLOWEN [Notes] [1841]
[By BON GAULTIER inTaits Edinburgh Magazine].
She wore a rouge like roses, the night when first we met,Her lovely mug was smiling o'er mugs of heavy wet; [1]Her red lips had the fullness, her voice the husky tone,That told her drink was of a kind where water is unknown.I saw her but a moment, yet methinks I see her now,With the bloom of borrowed flowers upon her cheek and brow.