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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 01

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.

All to fill, &c.
Husha bye,
Wipe an eye,
Kisse pretty,
Suck a titty,

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 fing. you..

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

All to fill, &c.
Book mislaid,
Truant play'd,
Rod in pickle,
Bum to tickle.

1 3

You great loggerhead of a dunce---says Master Lingo-spell the word again-Boi-r-Búr m-i-n-g--ming ---Birming--h-a-m-ham, Birmingham--Oh, you stupid dunce,--I shall never beat any thing into that thick skull of yours! 'tis Brumidgum-I tell you once more-take that (cries) with your

High down, &c.
Then the lover next appears,
Soused over head and ears ;
Like a Lobster on the fire,
Sighing ready to expire;
With a large hole in his heart,
Thro' it you may drive a cart.

All to fill, &c.
Beauty spurns him,
Passion burns him;
Like a wizard,

Guts and gizard. Oh! my dear-my adorable--my lovely, my angelic-Eliza-suffer me thou paragon of beauty thou terrestrial charmer, to approach thee

High down, &c.
Then the soldier ripe for plunder,
Breathing slaughter-.-blood and thunder.

Like a cat among the mice,
Ķicks a dust up in a trice.
And talks of shatter'd brains,
Scatter'd limbs, and streaming veins.

All to fill, &c.
Fight and fly,
Run or die,
Pop and pelter,

Helter shelter. Oh! such a bloody day; there was I marching along up to the knees in blood---Cannon balls flying about like..-Cock-chaffers in a summer's evening---whiz! comes one in a direct line to me--but I being aware of him---I up with my broad

sword, and cut it in two --one half flew into the air, and the t'other--

High down, &c.
Then the justice in his chair,
With broad and vacant stare;
His wig of formal cut,
And belly like a but,
Well lind with turtle hash,
Calipe and calipash.

All to fill, &c.
Bawd and trull,
Pimp or cull;
At his nod,

Go to quod.
Sirrah an't your name John Day,
Yes an't please your worship so they say;
Pray did you not get the girl with child in the

barn? Yes, an't please your worship, I tho't no harm. Why, you rascal do'e come here to make

rhymes ?
Yes, an't please your worship sometimes.
Take this fellow away-take him out of my sight:
That's what I wanted-so I wish you

High down, &c.
Then the slipper'd pantaloon,
In life's dull afternoon;
With spectacles on nose,
Shrunk Shanks in youthful hose.
His voice once big and round,
Now whistling in the sound.

All to fill, &c.
Body bent,
Vigour spent,
Shaking noddle,

Widdle waddle. Ah! Lord bless you all my dear children, many a long day I have travelled in the rough and smooth read of life-and do remember when honesty and industry-were rewarded--but now bribery and cortuption choak up the seeds of merit-but' 'tis

High down, &c.
At fast to end the play,
Second childhood leads the way;
And like sheep that's got

the

rot,
All our senses go to pot.
So death among us pops,
And down the curtain drops.

All to fill, &c.
Corps in ground,
Glass goes round,
Vicar and Moses,

Toast their Noses.
High down, ho down, derry derry down,
All to fill up this farsical scene 0!

ALDERMAN GOBBLE.

Tune-Heighol says Rowley.'
TOM GOBBLE was a grocerasse

Heigho! says Gobble;
He gave a ven'son dinner for fun,
And he had a belly as big as a tun,
With his handy dandy, bacon and gravy,

Ah! ah! says Alderman Gobble.
The servant usher'd the company in,

Heigho! says Gobble,
The dinner is ready, quoth Tom, with a grin,
So he tuck'd a napkin under his chin,
With his handy dandy, bacon and gravy,

Ah! ah! says Alderman Gobble.
Then Betty the cook, she gave a squall,

Heighol says Gobble,
Poor John the footman has had a fall,
And down stairs tumbl'd yen’son and all,

With his handy dandy, bacon and gravy,

Alas! says Alderman Gobble.
So down the Alderman ran in a fright,

Heigho! says Gobble,
And there sat John in a terrible plight,
Astride on the ven'son, bolt upright,
With his handy dandy, bacon and gravy,

Dear me! says Alderman Gobble. Was ever man so cruelly put on,

Heigho! says Gobble; Get off from the meat you rascally glutton, You've made my ven’son a saddle of mutton, With your randy dandy, bacon and gravy,

Good lack! says Alderman Gobble. Lord, Sir, says Betty, what a splash,

Heigho! says Gobble, 'Tis a monstrous bad rumbusticle crash, But to-morrow Ill tickle it up in a hash, With my handy dandy, bacon and gravy,

Ay, do! says Alderman Gobble.

MON AT MESTER GRUNDY'S.

GOOD law, how things are alter'd now,

I'm grown as fine as fippence;
But when I'd use to follow th' plough,

I ne'er could mester thrippence!
But now, why who's so spruce as I,

When going to church o' Sundays? I'm not poor Will o'th' yate, by guy!

But th’ Mon at Mester Grundy's. I'd use to stride about i' clogs,

As thick as sides o' bacon; But now my clogs, as well as

I've totally forsaken:

hogs,

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