Old King Cole was a musical Soul, So he called for his Fiddlers three; And he served 'em out a dozen pounds of best German resin, And they played him a Symphony. Spagnioletti and Mori, they play an Oratori; While the great Pa-gan-in-i Played God save the King, on a single string; And he went twelve octaves high!
For old King Cole, &c.
5.
Old King Cole loved smoking to his Soul, And a Pipe hard, clean, and dry; And Virginny and Canaster, from his Baccy Box went faster Than the "Dart" or the Brighton "Fly." With his Fiddlers three, and his Secretary, He'd kick up such a furious fume; You'd think all the gas of London in a mass Had met in his little back room.
For old King Cole, &c.
6.
Old King Cole was a mellow old Soul And he loved for to lave his clay: But not with water; for he had in that quarter An hy-dro-pho-bi-a. So he always ordered Hemp for those that joined a Temp- erance Society; And he swore a Drop too much, should always finish such As refused for to wet t'other eye.
For old King Cole, &c.
7.
On old King Cole left cheek was a mole, So he called for his Secretary; And bade him look in a Fortune-telling Book, And read him his destiny. And the Secretary said, when his fate he had read, And cast his nativity, A mole on the face boded something would take place; But not what that something might be.
For old King Cole, &c.
8.
Old King Cole, he scratched his poll; And resigned to his fate was he: And he said, "It is our will, that our Pipe and Glass you fill, And call for our Fiddlers three." So Pagan-in-i took Viotti in G; And his Concerto played he: But at page forty-four, King Cole began to snore: So they parted company.
For old King Cole, &c.
9.