THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH AS HE IS.
Under the spreading chestnut tree
The village blacksmith stands,
The smith an awful cad is he
With very dirty hands.
For keepers and the rural police
He doesn't care a hang.
He swears, and fights, and whops his wife,
Gets drunk whene'er he can;
In point of fact, our village smith's
A very awful man.
He goes on Sundays to the pub'
With other festive boys,
When drinking beer and goes of rum
His precious time employs.
Till he gets drunk, and going home
He makes no end of noise,
Then, with his poor half-starving wife
He in a passion flies.
He pulls her by the hair, from off
The bed on which she lies,
And kicks her round the room, and says
Bad things about her eyes.
Smoking, soaking, bullying,
Onward through life he goes,
Each morning sees a blackened eye
Or else a broken nose.
I fear within the County Gaol
Calcraft his life will close;
Thanks, thanks to thee, thou black blacksmith
For the lesson thou hast taught.
By Calcraft, or his deputy
I never will be caught,
And to that end I'll never do
The thing I hadn't ought.
From Figaro Programme, February 6, 1873.