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Now disturb'd in his dreams, poor Molly each
night, With her babe stood before him, how sad was the
sight! O how ghastly she look'd as she bade him attend, And so awfully told him, “ Remember the end." She talk'd of the woes and unquenchable fire, Which await the licentious, the drunkard and liar ; How he ruin'd more maidens she bade him beware, Then she wept, and she groan’d, and she vạnishd
in air. Now beggar'd by gaming, distemper'd by drink, Death stard in his face, yet he dar'd not to think ; Despairing of mercy, despising all truth, He dy'd of old age in the prime of his youth. On his tomb-stone, good Robert, these verses en
gravid, Which he hop'd some gay fellow might read and be sav'd.
HERE lies a poor youth, who callid drinking his
THE RIOT: OR, HALF A LOAF IS BETTER
THAN NO BREAD.
To the Tune of “ A Cobler there was.”
COME, neighbours, no longer be patient and quiet' Come let us go kick up a bit of a riot ;
I'm hungry, my lads, but I've little to eat,
I'll give you good sport, boys, as ever you saw,
Derry down. Then his pitchfork Tom seiz'd-Hold a moment,
şays Jack, I'll shew thee thy blunder, brave boy, in a crack, And it I don't prove we had better be still, I'll assist thee straightway to pull down every mill; I'll shew thee how passion thy reason does cheat, Or I'll join thee in plunder for bread and for meat.
Derry down. What a whimsey to think thus our bellies to fill, For we stop all the grinding by breaking the mill! What a whimsey to think we shall get more to eat By abusing the butchers who get us the meat! What a whimsey to think we shall mend our spare
diet By breeding disturbance, by murder and riot!
Derry down, Because I am dry, 'twould be foolish I think, To pull out my tap and to spill all my drink; Because I am hungry and want to be fed, That is sure no wise reason for wasting my bread: And just such wise reasons for mending their diet Are us’d by those blockheads who rush into riot.
Derry down. I would not take comfort from others distresses, But still I would mark how God our land blesses; For tho’ in Old England the times are but sad, Abroad I am told they are ten times as bad ; In the land of the Pope there is scarce any grain, And 'tis worse still, they say, both in Holland and Spain.
Derry down. Let us look to the harvest our wants to beguile, See the lands with rich crops how they every where smile!
Meantime to assist us, by each Western breeze,
home, Had you spent them in labour you must have had
Derry down. A dinner of herbs, says the wise man, with quiet, Is better than beef amid discord and riot. If the thing could be help'd, I'm a foe to all strife, And I pray for a peace ev'ry night of my life; But in matters of state not an inch will I budge, Because I conceive I'm no very good judge.
Derry down. But tho' poor, I can work, my brave boy, with the
best, Let the King and the Parliament manage the rest; I lament both the War and the Taxes together, Tho' I verily think they don't alter the weather. The King, as I take it, with very good reason, May prevent a bad law, but can't help a bad season.
Derry down. The parliament men, altho' great is their power, Yet they cannot contrive us a bit of a shower; And I never yet heard, tho' our rulers are wise, That they know very well how to manage the skies; For the best of them all, as they found to their cost, Were not able to hinder last winter's hard frost.
Derry down. Besides I must share in the wants of the times, Because I have had my full share in its crimes ; And I'm apt to believe the distress which is sent, Is to punish and cure us of all discontent.
But harvest is coming-Potatoes are come !
Derry down. And tho' I've no money, and tho' l've no lands, I've head on my shoulders, and a pair of good
hands; So I'll work the whole week and on Sundays I'll seek At church how to bear all the wants of the week. The gentlefolks too will afford us supplies, They'll subscribe-and they'll give up their pud. dings and pies.
Derry down. Then before I'm induc'd to take part in a Riot, I'll ask this short question-What shall I get by it! So I'll e’en wait a little till cheaper the bread, For a mittimus hangs o'er each Rioter's head : And when of two evils I'm ask'd which is best, I'd rather be hungry than hang’d, I protest.
Derry down. Quoth Tom, thou art right, if I rise I'm a Turk, So he threw down his pitchfork, and went to his
THE TORTOISE-SHELL TOM CAT, AND TOMMY CAT’S-EYE, THE CATAM,
OH, what a story the papers have been telling us,
About a little animal of mighty price, And who ever thought but an Auctioneer of selling
us, For near three hundred yellow boys, a trap for mice: Of its beauties and its qualities, no doubt he told
'em fine tales, But for me, I should just as soon have bought a
cat of nine tails,
I wou'dn't give for all the Cats in Christendom,
so vast a fee, Not to save 'em from the Catacombs, or Cata.
Are every one,
As you shall hear. (Spoken.)-We'll suppose Mr. Cat's-eye, the Auctioneer, with his catalogue in one hand, and a hammer like a Catapulta in the other, mounted in the rostrum at the great room, in Cateaton Street :
“ Hem! Leds and Gemmen- -Cats are of two distinctions: Thomas and Tabby-This is of the former breed, and the only instance in which I have seen beauty monopolized by a male! Look at him, ladies! what a magnificent mouser! meek, though masculine! The curious Concatenation of colour in that Cat, calls Categorically for your best bidding. Place a proper price upon poor Pussey ; consult your feline bosoms, and bid me knock him down."
Ladies and gentlemen, a-going, going, goingAny sum for Tommy Tortoise-shell you can't
think dear. Next I should tell you the company around him,
Who emulously bid, as if they all were wild ;Tom thought 'em mad, while they King of Kittens
crown'd him, And kiss’d; caress’d, and dandled him just like a
child : Lady Letty Longwaist, and Mrs. Martha Griskin, Prim Polly Pussy-love, Miss Scratch, and Biddy
Twiskin, Solemn Sally Solus, who, to no man yes had ever
said; Killing Kitty Crookedlegs, and neat Miss Nelly
Neverwed, Crowding, squeezing, nodding, bidding, each for
Puss so eager,