Oh, those jovial days are ne'er forgot!
But the tape lags—
When I be's dead, you'll drink one pot
To poor old Bags!
CHORUS. To poor old Bags!
"Ay, that we will, my dear Bagshot," cried Gentleman George, affectionately; but observing a tear in the fine old fellow's eye, he added: "Cheer up! What, ho! cheer up! Times will improve, and Providence may yet send us one good year, when you shall be as well off as ever. You shakes your poll. Well, don't be humdurgeoned, but knock down a gemman."
Dashing away the drop of sensibility, the veteran knocked down Gentleman
George himself.
"Oh, dang it!" said George, with an air of dignity, "I ought to skip, since I finds the lush; but howsomever here goes."
GENTLEMAN GEORGE'S SONG.
Air: "Old King Cole."
I be's the cove, the merry old cove,
Of whose max all the rufflers sing;
And a lushing cove, I thinks, by Jove,
Is as great as a sober king!
CHORUS. Is as great as a sober king!
Whatever the noise as is made by the boys
At the bar as they lush away,
The devil a noise my peace alloys
As long as the rascals pay!