Old Uncle Pengerric so big did brag
Of ore in Brandy Bâll,
"Come fork out your money my Christian friends,
Your fortunes treble all."
Now Uncle was reckoned a preacher stout,
A burning and shining light.
The people all said, "What he has in head
Will surely turn out right."
CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, &c.
3
The Company floated, the Shares up paid,
The gold came flowing in.
He set up a whim, and began to sink
For the keenly lode of tin.
He had not burrowed but five foot six
'Ere he came to a buried hoss.
Said Uncle Pengerric, "No fault of mine,
Tho't turn out some one's loss."
CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, &c.
4
The shaft descended, but ne'er a grain
Of ore was brought to ground.
And presently Uncle Pengerric too,
Was not in Cornwall found.
But wherever he goes, and whenever he talks,
He says:—"The rod told true,
It brought to me luck, but it turn'd and struck
At nought but an old horse-shoe."
CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, &c.
Note: A Keenly Lode is a Lode that promises well.
A Bâll is the Cornish for a mine.