MISS PATTY PUFF AND HER TWO SWEETHEARTS; OR, THE DUEL A-LA-MODE. THERE was a gay man-milliner, his name was And at making caps and bonnets he'd a mighty pretty fist; With his snips and shreads, and fitting heads, his 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. NOW Ise be a Devonshire boy, And the reason you'll presently zee, sir, 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, Rumpsy iddledy, &c. Then when I was lucky again, My measter I found was no ninny, sir, 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, Tho' marriage is oftentimes mawky, Of I, Mister Jeremy Gawkey. Rumpsy iddledy, &c, *** MY EYE AND BETTY MARTIN. IN Yorkshire I wur.born and bred, At single-stick, or kiss the maids, I wur the boy Zays I push on vor sartin; 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, At inn arriv'd, I met a man A lady next, a flashy dame, I in the Strand did meet, sir, Ise seen the Lions and the Tower, Ise please her so that to complain's ! SHAKESPEARE'S SEVEN AGES. OUR immortal Poet's page, In his turn to top his part, All to fill up this farsical scene O! Exit there, Stand in view, Mind your cue. High down, ho down, derry derry down, First the Infant in the lap, Husha bye, Wipe an eye, Kisse pretty, 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, Book mislaid, All to fill, &c. |