Piercing all the courts and alleys.
And he sang the song of street-boys.
Sang the song the pot-boy taught him;—
"Wall-eyed Tommy, he's the cove, boys!
He's the ranting, roaring blade, boys!
He's the lad, the daring fellow!
He's the chap, to carry ale-cans,
Pots of beer, and all them 'ere boys!"
Saw the balls at the pawnbroker's,
Balls alike, and three in number,