Poor Molly laid her down to weep,
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
And cried herself quite fast asleep,
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
When, standing all by the bed-post,
A figure tall her sight engrossed,
And it cried, I beez Giles Scroggins’ Ghost!
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.
The Ghost it said, all solemnly,
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
O Molly, you must go with I!
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
All to the grave, your love to cool.—
She says, I am not dead, you fool!—
Says the Ghost, says he, Vy that’s no rule.
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.
The Ghost he seized her, all so grim,
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
All for to go along with him;
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.
“Come, come, said he, ere morning beam.”—
“I vont!” said she, and she screamed a scream—
Then she woke and found she dreamed a dream.
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.
With rapid round the Baron bent;
He sighed a sigh, he prayed a prayer;
The prayer was to his patron Saint,
The sigh was to his lady fair.
NOTE III, P. 66.
And thus he hilter skilter flew,
And distanced all the huntsmen-crew.
We cannot give a better idea of the hilter skilter mode of riding with hounds, than by quoting the truly classical words of an accomplished Leicestershire sportsman, who is equally celebrated as a painter and a poet.—
And next in the cluster
See Wor’ster and Muster;
Now Muster sets Wor’ster,
Now Wor’ster beats Muster;
Now Muster is first, Sir,
And Wor’ster is burst, Sir:
Such bunglers as those are
Ought both to be curst, Sir.
Although we in general disapprove of Parodies, the above is so excellent, and so applicable to our subject, that we sacrifice our principles for the gratification of our readers.