In St. James’s they keep up their spirits with wine,
In St. Giles’s they’re drunk on “blue ruin”[74] by nine,
In St. James’s they banquet on Silver, in state,
In St. Giles’s the same, with a twopenny plate.
In St. James’s the Officers mess at their Club.
In St. Giles’s they often have messes for grub;
In St. James’s they feed on the highest of game,
In St. Giles’s they live on foul air just the same.
A Lord in St. James’s his betting book keeps,
In the Derby, St. Giles’s has plenty of sweeps;
In St. James’s they gamble at hazard for crowns,
And they play in St. Giles’s at skittles for browns.
In St. James’s the authors, when the Muses inspire,
Dash off with a touch of D’Israeli’s fire;
In St. Giles’s original ballads by Bunn,
Are done by the poet of Moses and Son.
In St. James’s Pall Mall is considered polite,
In St. Giles’s pell mell in the gutter they fight,
In St. James’s Conservative principles run,
In St. Giles’s, the principle’s nuffink to none.
In St. James’s fraternity goeth ahead,
In St. Giles’s they fraternize ten in a bed;
In St. James’s the families march out of town,
In St. Giles’s Bill Simmons to Brixton goes down.
In St. James’s in calling the morning is spent,
In St. Giles’s, the landlord calls for his rent,
In St. James’s the Queen holds a drawing-room gay.
In St. Giles’s Mr. Smith holds a garret all day.
In St. James’s the togs are got out very bright,
In St. Giles’s they’re got out every Saturday night,
In St. James’s they sleep on down pillows and snore,
In St. Giles’s the same, but it’s down on the floor.
Now, comparisons mostly are odious I’ve heard,
And such being the case, I think it absurd
To say any more on the subject just now,
For fear of offending the high or the low.
But next time I travel those parts of the town,
Some further particulars, Sir, shall go down.
Of the Sweets of St. James’s with bitters mixed in,
In St. Giles’s the bitters are mixed up with gin.
THE THREE BUTCHERS.
It was Ips, Gips, and Johnson, as I’ve heard many say,
They had five hundred guineas, all on a market day:
As they rode over Northumberland, as hard as they could ride,
Oh, hark, Oh, hark, says Johnson, I hear a woman cry.
Then Johnson, being a valiant man, a man of courage bold,
He ranged the woods all over, till this woman he did behold,
How came you here? says Johnson, how came you here I pray,
I am come here to relieve you, if you will not me betray.
There have been ten swaggering blades, have hand and foot me bound,
And stripped me stark naked, with my hair pinn’d on the ground;
Then Johnson, being a valiant man, a man of courage bold,
He took his coat from off his back, to keep her from the cold.
As they rode over Northumberland, as hard as they could ride,
She put her fingers in her ears, and dismally she cried,
Then up start ten swaggering blades, with weapons in their hand,
And, riding up to Johnson, they bid him for to stand.