The stove black leaded not long had been,
On the table was laid Blackwood’s magazine,
The carpet was black and so was each chair,
The chairman’d black whiskers and raven hair.
The supper was laid, there were lots of black game,
With polonies in mourning to match with the same,
There were blackbird pies, and nothing but good ’uns,
And a quantity of good black puddings.
The knives were black, and so were the forks,
Black strap in black bottles, with black sealed corks,
The rules of the club, were done in black figures,
And the waiters and cooks were all of them niggers.
The dessert was black grapes, and black heart cherries.
Blackcurrants, and mulberries, and blackberries.
Prunes and elder wine were there,
Which just made up this black bill affair.
Mr. Sable sang first, and what should he choose on,
But the favourite ballad of black eyéd Susan,
The coal black steed, Mr. Hatband choose,
And Mr. Merryhall sang coal black rose.
The best that was sung and that all did confess,
Was the favourite song of My bonny Black Bess,
The Chairman then whistled, when his throat was clear,
The fav’rite grand march that is played in Black Beard.
A TIDY SUIT FOR ALL THAT.
I remember well,—a slap-up swell—
With lots of cash, and all that,—
I used to quiz each lady’s phiz,
And sport them out, and all that;
And all this, and all that,
But I’m done brown for all that.
With Crockford’s[70] crew my money flew,
But I skittles play, for all that.
I used to dwell up in Pall Mall:
In a house up steps, and all that—
With porter tall to mind the hall,
To take in notes, and all that.
And all this, and all that,
My feather beds, and all that,
But now I snore upon the floor,
And I lay till twelve for all that.
I used to wear, I do declare,
A slap up coat and all that—
I made good for trade, though I never paid,
But there’s many swells do all that.
And all that, and all that,
Yet clothes I’ve got, for all that!
The suit I’ve got, cost me a pot,
And it’s a tidy suit for all that.