A vicked voman of the town, sirs,
Hon him cast a vishful eye;
And she came to the shop, one morning,
A flannel petticoat to buy.
When she paid him down the money,
She gave his hand a wery hard squeeze,
Which so frightened Georgy Barnwell,
That together, he knocked his knees.
Then she left her card, vereon vas written
Mary Millwood does entreat,
That Mister Barnwell vould call and see her,
At Cummins’s in Dyot Street.
Now as soon as he’d shut the shop up,
He vent to this naughty dicky bird,
And ven he vent home the next morning,
Blow me if he could speak a vord.
Now soon this woman did persuade him,
Vith her fascinating pipes,
To go down into the country,
And let loose his uncle’s tripes.
There he found his uncle in the grove,
Studying hard at his good books,
And Georgy Barnwell vent and struck him,
All among the crows and rooks.
Ven Milwood found he’d got no money,
Not so much as to buy a jewel,
She vent that wery day and peached him,
Now vas not that ’ere werry cruel?
The Judge put his three cornered cap on,
And said—vich Barnwell much surprized,
You must hang until you dead are,
Then you must be a-nat-o-mized.
Now Georgy was hung upon a gibbet,
Molly Milwood died in prison,
At her fate no one lamented,
But every body pitied his’n.
The merchant’s darter died soon arter,
Tears she shed, but spoke no vords,
So all young men, I pray take varning,
Don’t go vith naughty dicky birds.