What a pleasure it is to have a good wife,
One that is steady and willing,
To help and to comfort a man through his life,
One who knows how to eke out a shilling.
With my own little wife I can’t grumble at all,
But my family’s a rummy lot, rather,
Thirteen boys and girls I can count, great and small
Now there’s a fine sight for a father!
There’s Anna Maria, a young woman grown,
How often I wish she would marry!
She goes out every night (I can’t keep her at home)
With a young chap who calls himself Harry.
Out of doors, once, I bolted her tight,
And on the door I put a bar there,
But she said “Let me in, or I’ll stop out all night.”
Now there was a sight for a father!
Our Tom was so proud, he vowed he would be
Either a Squire or a Knight, Sir,
So to better his fortune he bolted from me,
And for many years kept out of sight, sir.
I stept in a shop to get shaved t’other day,
And my face was covered with lather,
When I found it was Tom who was scraping away,
Now here was a sight for a father!
On going home once, there was the devil to pay,
My wife she was calling for water,
From the neighbours I learnt some man ran away
With Amelia, my good-looking daughter.
My youngest girl Nance, on the very same day,
Wrote a letter, which made me mad rather,
To say she was in a particular way.
Now here was a sight for a father!
I’ve three great hulking boys, who in service won’t stop,
They’re too lazy to earn their own victuals,
They only seem happy when in the gin-shop,
And I’m told they’re all sharpers at skittles.
I get up every night to let in the dears,
But as soon as they spy their mamma there,
They jump into my bed, and I sleep on the chairs.
Now there’s a fine sight for a father!
There’s my last daughter Bet, the worst of them yet,
Her heart must be hard as the path stones,
For she’s run away with a queer-looking chap,
Who goes about selling of hearth stones.
With a bag on her back I met her once plump,
(I couldn’t help wishing her farther)
Crying out, “Hearth stones, a penny a lump.”
Now here was a sight for a father!
Now all married men, pray take my advice,
And if you would keep your honest right, Sirs,
Don’t let your daughters dress up over nice,
Nor ramble out late of a night, Sirs.
Keep your girls at their needles, your boys at their pens,
I’ve bought my experience dear, rather,
But be sure keep your girls away from the men,
Or, there’ll be a fine sight for a father!
HUMOURS OF BARTLEMY FAIR.
Come bustle, neighbour Sprig, clap on your hat and wig,
In our Sunday clothes so gaily, let us strut up the Old Bailey,
O the devil take the rain, we may never go again,
See the shows have begun, O rare O!
Remember, Mr. Snip, to take care of Mrs. Snip,
There’s a little boy from Flanders, and that ’ere’s Master Glanders,
Stand aside, and we’ll have a stare, O!
How full’s the fair, Lord Mayor,
All is flurry, hurry, skurry,
Girls squalling, showmen bawling,
Cats throwing, trumpets blowing,
Rattles springing, monkeys grinning,
Rope dancing, horses prancing,
Sausage frying, children crying,
Dogs of knowledge, come from College,
Slack wire, eating fire,
Learned pigs of pigmy size,
Funny clowns, ups and downs,
Round about, all out,
What a throng, all along,
Politi’s show, all the go,
Just in time, that is prime,
To enjoy all the fun of the fair, O!
(Spoken) Vaulk up, ladies and gentlemen, here’s the vonderful birds and beastesses, just arrived from Bengal in the Vest Indies. Vhy, look marm, at this here beautiful hanimal; no less than two hundred spots on his belly, but no two alike and every vone different; it’s out of the power of any body to describe him. Well, positively, I never saw such a beautiful creature in my life. Did you, Sir? A very fine looking animal, ’pon my soul, mem. Master Showman, how long do you suppose he measures? Vhy! fifteen feet from the snout to the tail, and only twelve feet from the tail to the snout. He lives to the advanced age of one hundred years, grows a inch and a ’arf every hannual year, and never comes to his full growth. Stir him up with the long pole, keeper—only hear how he growls.