MARGATE HOY.
Now’s the season for laughing and jollity,
Crowding together, all nations and quality,
Margate, a hoi, as I halloa cry,
All come on board while the sea breezes blow.[21]
Swift as an arrow from bow flies to target,
Or packet from dear little Dublin to Parkgate,
I’ll waft you all safe from London to Margate,
And whistle a wind as we cheerily go.
Bucks who hunt fashion like quick scented mousers,
Leave town, it exhibits no sport for ye now, sirs,
So pull off your boots, and put on your trousers,
To join the gay throng where the sea breezes blow.
Pretty men milliners, fresh water sailors,
Smart, ’prentices, aldermen, actors, and tailors,
Let me and old ocean a while be your jailors,
I’ll sing, as he rocks, while you cheerily go.
Now’s the season, etc.