OR, LABOUR IN VAIN.
A New Song, to a Tune never sung before.
I sing of a journey to Clifton,[838]
We would have performed, if we could;
Without cart or barrow, to lift on
Poor Mary[839] and me through the mud.
Slee, sla, slud,
Stuck in the mud;
Oh it is pretty to wade through a flood!
So away we went, slipping and sliding;
Hop, hop, à la mode de deux frogs;
'Tis near as good walking as riding,
When ladies are dressed in their clogs.
Wheels, no doubt,
Go briskly about,
But they clatter, and rattle, and make such a rout.
DIALOGUE.
SHE.
"Well! now, I protest it is charming;
How finely the weather improves!
That cloud, though 'tis rather alarming,
How slowly and stately it moves."
HE.
"Pshaw! never mind,
'Tis not in the wind,
We are travelling south, and shall leave it behind."
SHE.