THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER'S LAMENT.
Upon my vord and honour I never know'd sich times,
The climbing-boys must emigrate, and go to other climes;
The Lords and Kemmins, and the Kveen—yes, she, and all, alas!
Has pass'd an act, the vich I call a werry pretty pass:
They've akshually made a law, vich says, or else implies,
Henceforth, in his purfession, no chimney-sweep shall rise.
They've closed agin us all the chimneys—isn't it a shame?
How would the politicians like all to be sarved the same?
Because if all the dirty vays of rising should be barr'd,
Then politicians on themselves would find it werry hard.
Vy take the law! It must be owned the road's uncommon black,
By vich they werry often rise to sit upon the sack.
If clean straightforward paths had been the only ones allow'd,
How many chancellors might still have swell'd the briefless crowd!
For dirty vays may often raise a knave that's keen and cool,
Who otherwise might get the sack, but not the sack of wool.
Oh! vot is to become on us, and vither shall we rush?
They tell us that ve mustn't sweep, and yet they bid us brush.
Its vatchful eye on all but us the public kindly keeps,
They've got Humane Societies for everything but sweeps
Mayhap because the soot upon our faces does perwail,
Society believes that we are not within its pale;
But never mind, I'll emigrate, and then I'll live at ease,
Though chimneys I'm forbid to sweep, at least I'll sweep the seas;
And of the natives to make friends I'll do my best to try,
But if they run, vot then?—I'm used to see blacks fly.
Or else to China I vill go, indeed I do not joke,
To stop the trade in opium, by curing all the smoke.
'Tis true I love my native land; but then, agin, you see,
My lucky I'm obliged to cut, because it has cut me:
But now good bye, I must not waste more time in idle talks,
And since my future walk's chalk'd out—at once I'll walk my chalks.