Now Oliver puts his black night-cap on, [1]
And every star its glim is hiding, [2]
And forth to the heath is the scampsman gone, [3]
His matchless cherry-black prancer riding; [4]
Merrily over the Common, he flies,
Fast and free as the rush of rocket,
His crape-covered vizard drawn over his eyes,
His tol by his side and his pops in his pocket. [5]
Chorus.
Then who can name
So merry a game,
As the game of all games—high-toby? [6]
II
The traveller hears him, away! away!
Over the wide, wide heath he scurries;
He heeds not the thunderbolt summons to stay,
But ever the faster and faster he hurries,
But what daisy-cutter can match that black tit? [7]
He is caught—he must 'stand and deliver';
Then out with the dummy, and off with the bit, [8]
Oh! the game of high-toby for ever!
Chorus.
Then who can name
So merry a game
As the game of all games—high-toby?
III
Believe me, there is not a game, my brave boys,
To compare with the game of high-toby;
No rapture can equal the tobyman's joys, [9]
To blue devils, blue plumbs give the go-by; [10]
And what if, at length, boys, he come to the crap! [11]
Even rack punch has some bitter in it,
For the mare-with-three-legs, boys, I care not a rap, [12]
'Twill be over in less than a minute!