Part 19 (1/2)

VII

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: p.a.w.ned 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]

II

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't So kiddy is my famble. [10]

_Chorus_. Frisk the cly, etc.

III

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.