His waistcoat, coat, and breeches,
Were all cut off the same web,
Of a beautiful snuff-colour,
Or a modest genty drab;
The blue stripe in his stocking
Round his neat slim leg did go,
And his ruffles of the cambric fine
They were whiter than the snow.
Oh! we ne’er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!
3.
His hair was curled in order,
At the rising of the sun,
In comely rows and buckles smart
That about his ears did run;
And before there was a toupée
That some inches up did grow,
And behind there was a long queue
That did o’er his shoulders flow.
Oh! we ne’er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!
4.
And whenever we forgathered,
He took off his wee three-cockit,
And he proffered you his snuff-box,
Which he drew from his side pocket,
And on Burdett or Buonaparte,
He would make a remark or so,
And then along the plainstones
Like a provost he would go.
Oh! we ne’er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!
5.
In dirty days he picked well
His footsteps with his rattan,
Oh! you ne’er could see the least speck
On the shoes of Captain Paton;
And on entering the Coffee-room
About two, all men did know,
They would see him with his Courier
In the middle of the row.
Oh! we ne’er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!