There's Baggie Will, he sings all fours;
And faith he sings it rarely;
There's Castle Dean plagues Canny Pit Sark,
And sings, he's lost her fairly;
The Teazer he provokes the flame,
Till a' the house quite warm feels:
The Cobbler chaunts the Cuddy sang,
Half-cock'd, in Jossy Armfield's.
Then drink about, &c.
Box number one's a Tennis Court,
For those of fistic valour;
And should you want to grace the ring,
Must enter as a scholar.
The Hackney drivers stand about,
Until their dowps they warm feel;
Then drink their purl, and march away—
Huzza! for Jossy Armfield.
Then drink about, &c.
THE APRIL GOWK;
Or, THE LOVERS ALARMED.
A CASTLE-GARTH DITTY.
Tune—"Jenny choak'd the Bairn."
Ye worthy friends of April Gowk,
That like a bit o' spree,
Pray lay your jargon a' aside,
And listen unto me;
For love's intrigues disturb the wigs
Of most o' men on earth;
And so, of late, it caught the pate
Of pious Parson Garth.
This worthy man went soon to bed,
Upon the last o' March,
And what his mind was running on,
'Tis needless now to search;
His rib asleep, down stairs he'd creep—
When lo! to his surprise,
A pair of boots, below the seat,
Stood right before his eyes.
He went to rouse his darling spouse,
And said, "You plainly see
There's some one here that wants to make
An April Gowk o' me.
Oh! dress yoursel', do take the bell,
Your petticoat put on:
They're now in quod—I hope to God
It's not my brother John."