Part 14 (1/2)

But now for their frolics I never can sleep, So I crack 'em by dozens, as o'er me they creep: Curse blight you! I cry, while I'm all over smart, For I'm bit by the a.r.s.e, while I'm stung to the heart.

V

The barber I ever was pleased to see, With his paigtail come sc.r.a.ping to Nancy and me; And Nancy was pleas'd too, and to the man said, Come hither, young fellow, and frizzle my head: But now when he's bowing, I up with my stick, Cry, blast you, you scoundrel! and give him a kick-- And I'll lend him another, for why should not John Be as dull as poor Dermot, when Nancy is gone?

VI

When sitting with Nancy, what sights have I seen!

How white was the turnep, the col'wart how green!

What a lovely appearance, while under the shade, The carrot, the parsnip, the cauliflow'r made!

But now she mills doll, tho' the greens are still there, [6]

They none of 'em half so delightful appear: It was not the board that was nail'd to the wall, Made so many customers visit our stall.

VII

Sweet music went with us both all the town thro', To Bagnigge, White Conduit, and Sadler's-Wells too; [7]

Soft murmur'd the Kennels, the beau-pots how sweet, And crack went the cherry-stones under our feet: But now she to Bridewell has punch'd it along, [8]

My eye, Betty Martin! on music a song: 'Twas her voice crying mack'rel, as now I have found, Gave ev'ry-thing else its agreeable sound.

VIII

Gin! What is become of thy heart-chearing fire, And where is the beauty of Calvert's Intire?

Does aught of its taste Double Gloucester beguile, That ham, those potatoes, why do they not smile, Ah! rot ye, I see what it was you were at, Why you knocked up your froth, why you flash'd off your fat: To roll in her ivory, to pleasure her eye, To be tipt by her tongue, on her stomach to lie.

IX

How slack is the crop till my Nancy return!

No duds in my pocket, no sea-coal to burn! [9]

Methinks if I knew where the watchman wou'd tread, I wou'd follow, and lend him a punch o' the head.

Fly swiftly, good watchman, bring hither my dear, And, blast me! I'll tip ye a gallon of beer. [10]

Ah, sink him! the watchman is full of delay, Nor will budge one foot faster for all I can say.

X

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 b.i.t.c.h.

[1: companions]

[2: accompanied]

[3: jailed]

[4: drink]

[5: light-hearted]

[6: picks oak.u.m]

[7: Notes]

[8: gone]