III
The Kennel, that's wont to run swiftly along,
And dance to soft murmurs dead kittens among,
Thou know'st, little buckhorse, if Nancy was there,
'Twas pleasure to look at, 'twas music to hear:
But now that she's off, I can see it run past,
And still as it murmurs do nothing but blast.
Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain?
Stop your clack, and be damn'd t'ye, and hear me complain.
IV
When the bugs in swarms round me wou'd oftentimes play,
And Nancy and I were as frisky as they,
We laugh'd at their biting, and kiss'd all the time,
For the spring of her beauty was just in its prime!
But now for their frolics I never can sleep,
So I crack 'em by dozens, as o'er me they creep:
Curse blight you! I cry, while I'm all over smart,
For I'm bit by the arse, while I'm stung to the heart.
V
The barber I ever was pleased to see,
With his paigtail come scraping to Nancy and me;
And Nancy was pleas'd too, and to the man said,
Come hither, young fellow, and frizzle my head:
But now when he's bowing, I up with my stick,
Cry, blast you, you scoundrel! and give him a kick—
And I'll lend him another, for why should not John
Be as dull as poor Dermot, when Nancy is gone?
VI
When sitting with Nancy, what sights have I seen!
How white was the turnep, the col'wart how green!
What a lovely appearance, while under the shade,
The carrot, the parsnip, the cauliflow'r made!
But now she mills doll, tho' the greens are still there, [6]
They none of 'em half so delightful appear:
It was not the board that was nail'd to the wall,
Made so many customers visit our stall.
VII
Sweet music went with us both all the town thro',
To Bagnigge, White Conduit, and Sadler's-Wells too; [7]
Soft murmur'd the Kennels, the beau-pots how sweet,
And crack went the cherry-stones under our feet:
But now she to Bridewell has punch'd it along, [8]
My eye, Betty Martin! on music a song:
'Twas her voice crying mack'rel, as now I have found,
Gave ev'ry-thing else its agreeable sound.