Chorus.
They calls me Adam Bell, ’tis clear,
As Adam vos the fust man,
And by a co-in-side-ance queer,
Vy! I’m the fust of Dustmen!
At sartin schools they makes boys write,
Their Alphabets on sand, Sirs,
So I thought dust vould do as vell,
And larnt it out of hand, Sirs,
Took in the Penny Magazine,[30]
And Johnson’s Dictionary,
And all the Pe-ri-odi-cals,
To make me literary.
My dawning genus fust did peep,
Near Battle Bridge[31] ’tis plain, Sirs,
You recollect the cinder heap,
Vot stood in Gray’s Inn Lane, Sirs?[32]
’Twas there I studied pic-turesque,
Vile I my bread vos yearnin’,
And there inhalin’ the fresh breeze,[33]
I sifted out my larnin.
Then Mrs. Bell, ’twixt you and I,
Vould melt a heart of stone, Sirs,
To hear her, pussy’s wittals cry,
In such a barrow tone, Sirs.
My darters all take arter her,
In grace and figure easy,
They larns to sing, and as they’re fat,
I has ’em taught by Grizi.
Ve dines at four, and arter that,
I smokes a mild Awanna,
Or gives a lesson to the lad,
Upon the grand pianna:
Or vith the gals valk a quod-rille,
Or takes a cup of corf-fee,
Or, if I feels fatig’d or ill,
I lounges on the sophy.
Or arter dinner reads a page,
Of Valter Scott, or Byron,
Or Mr. Shikspar on the stage,
Subjects none can tire on;
At night ve toddles to the play,
But not to gallery attic,
Drury Lane’s the time o’ day,
And quite aristocratic.
I means to buy my eldest son
A commission in the Lancers,
And make my darters, every one,
Accomplished Hopra dancers.
Great sculptors all conwarse with me,
And call my taste diwine, Sirs,
King George’s statty at King’s Cross,[34]
Vos built from my design, Sirs.
And, ven I’m made a Member on,
For that I means to try, Sirs,
Mr. Gully fought his way,[35]
And verefore shouldn’t I, Sirs.
Yes, ven I sits in Parliment,
In old Sir Steven’s College,
I means to take, ’tis my intent,
The taxes off of knowledge.