The Song of the Young Prig.

My Mother she dwelt in Dyot’s Isle,[249]

One of the Canting Crew,[250] sirs;

And if you’d know my father’s style,

He was the Lord Knows-who, sirs!

I first held horses in the street,

But being found defaulter,

Turned rumbler’s flunky[251] for my meat,

So was brought up to the halter.

Frisk the cly[252], and fork the rag[253],