A brine tub, half full of beef, salted,
Madam Fig had trick’d out for a seat, sir,
Whereon Snip, for to sing, was exalted,
But the cover crack’d under his feet, sir.
Snip was sous’d in the brine, but soon rising
Exclaimed, while they laughed at his grief,
“Is’t a matter so monstrous surprising,
To see pickled cabbage with beef?”
Sing turnips, and carrots, and greens,
Sing candles, red-herrings, and tea.
Of all the gay parties I’ve seen,
’Tis Madam Fig’s Gala for me.
To strike the assembly with wonder,
Miss screamed a cantata, like Boreas,
That waked farmer Thrasher’s dog Thunder,
Who starting up, joined in the chorus:
While a donkey, the melody marking,
Chimed in too, which made a wag say, sir,
“Attend to the Rector of Barking’s
Duet with the Vicar of Bray, sir.”
Sing turnips, and carrots, and greens,
Sing candles, red-herrings, and tea.
Of all the gay parties I’ve seen,
’Tis Madam Fig’s Gala for me.
To a ball soon the concert gave way,
And for dancing no souls could be riper,
So they struck up the ‘Devil to Pay,’
But Johnny Fig he paid the piper.
But the best on’t came after the ball,
For to set off the whole to perfection,
Madam Fig ax’t the gentlefolks all,
To sup on a fine cold collection.
Sing turnips, and carrots, and greens,
Sing candles, red-herrings, and tea,
Of all the gay parties I’ve seen,
’Tis Madam Fig’s Gala for me.