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Whatthofflss ba n't so hugeous smurt,
Forsooth leek voaks that go to curt;

Voakes zay I'm pretty vitty:
Lord, Joan, a man may he alive,
Ha a long puss, anil keep a wive,
That ne'er zeed Lundun zitty.
A man may ha the best o' hearts,
Although no chitterlins to 's sharts;

And lace that gentry uze;
Thee d'st vend me honest—Iss, rert down,
Altho' thee hatls n't got a gown,

Ner stockings vath ner shooze.
Now, Joanny, prithee dant now blish;
Vor zich, Iss wudd'n gee a rish;

Dant copy voakes o'town:
No, Joan, dant gee thy zel an air,
And ren and quat, just leek a hare,
And think I 'll hunt thee down.
No, that's dam voalish let me zay;
No—dant ren off, and heed away,

Leek paltriges in stubble:
No, no, the easiest means be best; f
lss can't turmoil and looze one's rest;

Iss can't avoard the trouble.
Now, Joan, belcek, the want'st to know
About my houze-keppin and zo,
Bevore the tak'st the nooze—
Why vlesh an dumplin ev'ry day;
But az vor Zunday, let me zay,

We 'll ha a gud vat gooze.
Zumetimes we 'll ha a choice squab-pie;
And zum days we wull broil and vry,

And zum days roast, ye slut;
An az vor zyder, thee shat guzzle,
Zo much, Joan, as will tire thy muzzle,
Enow to splet thy gut.



Now break thy mecml. zay ' dun, an dun ;* I 'II make thee a good husband, mun;

And Joan, I'll love thee dearly; Isswaant do leek our neighbour Flail, That iiufifth his wive, and kickth her tail,

And d rash th her just leek barley.
Joanny, Iss now have broke my meend;
Zo speak, and let the bisness eend,

And dant stand shilly shally;
But if thee wutt'n—Lord, lay 't alone;
Go hang thy zel vor me, mun, Joan,

I'll curt thy zester Jllally.


(C. IifUHIN, JUJf.) Scroggins courted Molly Brown,

Folderiddle lol, fol de riddle lido! The fairest wench in all the town,

Folde riddle lol, &c. «

He bought a ring, with poesy true,

'If you loves I as I loves you, No knife can cut our love in two.'

Fol de riddle lol, &c.
But scissars cut as well as knives,

Fol de riddle lol, &c.
And quite uncertain's all our lives,

Fol de riddle lol, &c.
The day they were to have been wed,

Fate's scissars cut poor Gile's thread,
So they could not be mar-ri-ed,

Fol de riddle lol, &c.

Poor Molly laid her down to weep,

Fol de riddle lol. &c.
And cried herself quite fast asleep,

Fol de riddle lol, &c


When standing all by the bed's post,

A figure tall her sight engross'd,
And it cri'd. ' I beez Giles Scroggins' ghost!'

Fol de riddle lol, &c.

The ghost, it said, all solemnly,

Fol de riddle lol &c.
* 0 Molly you must go with I!

Fol de riddle lol, &c.
All to the grave your love to cool,—
Says she, • I am not dead you fool!'
Says the ghost, says he, 'That's no rule.'

Fol de riddle lol, &c
The ghost he seiz'd her, all so grim,

Fol de riddle lol, &c.
All for to go along with him,

Fol de riddle lol, &c.
'Come, come,' said he, ''ere morning beam,'

'I von't,' said she, and she scream'd a scream, Then she woke, and found she'd dreamt a dream'

Fol de riddle lol, &c.


( l'IN DA II.)

So He troubled by the tooth-ache, Lubin ran
To get the murd'rer of his quiet, drawn;

An artist in an instant whips it out—
'Well, Master Snag—hse? what has I to pay?'
'A shilling'—• Zounds! a shilling do ye zay?'

With a long staring face replies the lout. 'Lord! why Ize did not veel it—'twas nortin it; 'You knows ye wern't about it half a minute:

'To gee cao much Ize cursedly unwilling— 'Lord! vor a tooth, but yesterday old Slop 'Did drag me by the head about his shop

'Three times, poor man, and only ax'd a shilling.'



You may talk of sweet passion, and wishing and wooing

With exstacics, blushes, and darts;
Of altars and turtles, and billing and cooing,

Flaming torches, and fond bleeding hearts!
But the truest of lovers that ever was seen,

In city or town, great or small, Were Miss Deborah Diddle of Daisymead-green,

And Sir Gilbert Gosoftly of Gooseberry-halL! The virgin was fifty, her head very taper,

Her mouth large, and nose rather flat; Her complexion as blooming as whity-brown paper;

She'd but one eye, and squinted with that; For an excellent rib she was form'd too, I ween,

Since terribly crook'd withal, Was Miss Deborah Diddle of Daisymead-green,

For Sir Gilbert Gosoftly of Gooseberry-hall. The Knight once a sad race had run, when in clover

But his running had come to a dreg;
For now he was poor, and had sixty got over,

Besides that he had but one leg.
But titled was he, and she rich as a queen;

These in love with each other made fall;
Sweet Miss Deborah Diddle of Daisymead-green,

And Sir Gilbert Gosoftly of Gooseberry-hall.

The knight caught a fever in toasting her merits,

Took physic and that made him die; When the grief of the fair so consum'd all her spirits,

She went off with a drop in her eye. And such fond constant love from oblivion to screen,

From the grave sprung a tomb-stone so tall, Of Miss Deborah Diddle of Daisymead-green,

And Sir Gilbert Gosoftly of Gooseberry-hall.

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