Ten or a dozen "cocks of the game," [1]
On the prigging lay to the flash-house came, [2]
Lushing blue ruin and heavy wet [3]
Till the darkey, when the downy set. [4]
All toddled and begun the hunt
For readers, tattlers, fogies, or blunt. [5]
II
Whatever swag we chance for to get, [6]
All is fish that comes to net:
Mind your eye, and draw the yokel,
Don't disturb or use the folk ill.
Keep a look out, if the beaks are nigh, [7]
And cut your stick, before they're fly. [8]
III
As I vas a crossing St James's Park
I met a swell, a well-togg'd spark. [9]
I stops a bit: then toddled quicker,
For I'd prigged his reader, drawn his ticker; [10]
Then he calls—"Stop thief!" thinks I, my master,
That's a hint to me to mizzle faster. [11]
IV
When twelve bells chimed, the prigs returned, [12]
And rapped at the ken of Uncle ——: [13]
"Uncle, open the door of your crib
If you'd share the swag, or have one dib. [14]
Quickly draw the bolt of your ken,
Or we'll not shell out a mag, old ——." [15]
V
Then says Uncle, says he, to his blowen, [16]
"D'ye twig these coves, my mot so knowing? [17]
Are they out-and-outers, dearie? [18]
Are they fogle-hunters, or cracksmen leary? [19]
Are they coves of the ken, d'ye know? [20]
Shall I let 'em in, or tell 'em to go?"