The Muffin Man.
(T. Dibden.)
| While you opera-squallers fine verses are singing, Of heroes, and poets, and such like humguffins; While the world’s running round, like a mill in a sail, I’ll ne’er bother my head with what other folks ail, But careless and frisky, my bell I keep ringing, And walk about merrily crying my muffins. |
| Chorus. |
| Lily-white muffins, O, rare crumpets smoking, Hot Yorkshire cakes, hot loaves and charming cakes, One-a-penny, two-a-penny, Yorkshire cakes. What matters to me if great folks run a gadding, For politics, fashions, or such botheration; Let them drink as they brew, while I merrily bake; For though I sell muffins, I’m not such a cake— To let other fools’ fancies e’er set me a gadding, Or burthen my thoughts with the cares of the nation. |
Spoken.—What have I to do with politicians? And for your Parliament cakes. Why! everybody knows they are bought and sold, and often done brown, and made crusty all over the nation. No, no, its enough for me to cry—
Lily-white muffins, &c.
| Let soldiers and sailors, contending for glory, Delight in the rattle of drums and of trumpets; Undertakers get living by other folks dying, While actors make money by laughing or crying; Let lawyers with quizzels and quiddities bore ye, It’s nothing to me, while I’m crying my crumpets. |
Spoken.—What do I care for lawyers? A’nt I a baker, and consequently, Master of the Rolls:—Droll enough, too, for a Master of the Rolls to be crying—
Lily-white muffins, &c.
