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MISS PATTY PUFF AND HER TWO

SWEETHEARTS;

OR,

THE DUEL A-LA-MODE.
Tune-- The bold Dragcon."

THERE was a gay man-milliner, his name was
Timmy Twist,

And at making caps and bonnets he'd a mighty pretty fist;

With his snips and shreads, and fitting heads, his
gauze and gimp long thread and needle,
O he lov'd a pastry-cook, and he thought her heart
Whack falare, bow wow.

to weedle.

There was a spruce shoe-maker, a dabster at an

awl,

They call'd him Billy Boot, and he kept a pretty stall;

With his last and shoe, and lap-stone too, his waxend, grinding strap, and hammer,

O he lov'd this pastry-cook too, and told her many Whack falare, bow wow.

a crammer.

Miss Patty Puff thus lov'd by both, and loving both

they say,

Was like the donkey in the tale, between two stacks of hay;

With her flames and darts, and apple tarts, her ices, rifles, cherry-brandy,

O she knew not which to choose, for she thought 'em both the dandy. Whack falare, bow wow.

The rivals fought--their seconds charg'd their pistols for attacks,

Timmy Twist's with cotton balls and Billy Boot's with coblar's wax;

With her jeers and jokes, a funny hoax, their pow der priming, and their places,

Tho' they'd courage in their hearts, they'd the dishclouts in their faces. Whack falare, bow wow,

The seconds signal give to fire, when Timmy swoon'd away,

And Billy not observing it, ran off without delay. With his paste and pegs and nimble legs while both the seconds laugh and hoot him,

Oh! he stuck fast in a hedge, and roar'd lest Tim should come and shoot him.

Whack falare, bow wow.

Now all you modern heroes who'd your credit save from fright,

Be sure to tell the constables when challenges you write z With your guns and swords, and great big words, that off weak stomachs come so clever, they'll bind you to the peace, and you may brag as much as ever. Whack falare, bow wow,

JEREMY GAWKEY;

OR

THE DEVONSHIRE BOY.
Tune-- Madam Fig's Gala.*

NOW Ise be a Devonshire boy,
And father be Devonshire too,
And he for an honest employ,
Sends I up to London to you!
To be sure in a hurry I came,

And the reason you'll presently zee, sir,
For the parish began to complain

About our Dolly and me, sir,

Rumpsy iddledy, &c.

But chance, which d'ye see, was my friend,

Soon got I a zarvice in town, sir,

And footman I strutted, depend,

To a Parliament man of renown, sir;

But fortune so fickle you know,

Turn'd booty on measter and I sir,

Who made a mistake, and said No,

When he shoud have bawl'd out to 'em, Aye,

sir,

Rumpsy iddeldy, &c.

Now measter and I out of place,

I had a new zarvice to find, sir,

But to save kicking out with disgrace,

We make the folk think we resign'd, sir, Then hir'd I was and my lot,

To a travelling captain and 'squire, sir,
But soon to my cost, found I'd got
From the frying-pan into the fire, sir.

Rumpsy iddledy, &c.

Then when I was lucky again,

My measter I found was no ninny, sir,
Whose money was lent to come in
For every shilling a guinea, sir.
Now, dang it,' says I, sir one day,
Do pray have a little of conscience,

For which, gad, he turns I away,

And swore he'd here none of my nonsence.

Rumpsy iddledy, &c.

Now turn'd quite a-drift on the world,
And left to reflect on my folly, sir,
My thoughts, which at random were whirl'd,
Return'd to poor Devonshire Dolly, sir;
So dang it to lead a new life,

Tho' marriage is oftentimes mawky,
Addzooks! why I made her the wife

Of I, Mister Jeremy Gawkey.

Rumpsy iddledy, &c,

***

MY EYE AND BETTY MARTIN.

IN Yorkshire I wur.born and bred,
And knows a thing or two, sir;
Nay what be more, my father said,
My wit would bring me thro', sir.

At single-stick, or kiss the maids,

I wur the boy Zays I push on

vor sartin;
to be afraid's

Ri, tol de rol, &e.

My eye and Betty Martin.

At whoam I'd often heard folks talk

Of Lunnun's famous city,

And that the stones on which they walk,
Wur pav'd with gold so pretty;
To mam and dad I gave a buss,
Says I, I'm off vor sartin,
So 'bout my trip to make a fuss
Is my eye and Betty Martin.

At inn arriv'd, I met a man
Who offer'd me his sarvice,
To take my luggage wur his plan,
And help me to a Jarvis:
But stop, says I, this wunna do,
Your rigs Ise know vor sartin;
Your kindness, friend, 'tween me and you's
My eye and Betty Martin.

A lady next, a flashy dame,

I in the Strand did meet, sir,
Who said as how it wur a shame,
That I should walk the street, sir;
She talk'd of love, of sarvants too,
And thought her prey right sartin,
But noa, says I, to go with you's
My eye and Betty Martin.

Ise seen the Lions and the Tower,
The Circus, Astley's too, sir,
The play, and giants strike the hour,
And all that's strange to view, sir;
So back to whoam I'll turn again,
And marry Doll vor sartin;

Ise please her so that to complain's
My eye and Betty Martin.

!

SHAKESPEARE'S SEVEN AGES.

OUR immortal Poet's page,
Says that all the world's a stage;
And that men with all their airs,
Are nothing more than players;
Each using skill and art,

In his turn to top his part,

All to fill up this farsical scene O!
Enter here,

Exit there,

Stand in view,

Mind your cue.

High down, ho down, derry derry down,
All to fill up this farsical scene O!

First the Infant in the lap,
Mewling, pewling, with its pap,
Like a chicken that we truss,
Is swaddled by its nurse;
Who to please the puppet tries,
As it giggles and it cries.

Husha bye,

Wipe an eye,

Kisse pretty,
Suck a titty,

All to fill, &c.

Oh! its mamma's nown darling---see here's daddy's nown nose pose--and granny's mouthe mouthe-(cries like a child)—hushe-you little squalling brat or I'll fling you--

High down, &c.

The pretty babe of grace,
With its shining morning face;
And satchel on Iris back,
To school alas! must pack;
But like a snail he creeps,
And for bloody Monday weeps;

Book mislaid,
Truant play'd,
Rod in pickle,
. Bum to tickle.

All to fill, &c.

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