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A Lawyer, quite famous for making a bill,
And who in good living delighted,
To dinner one day, with a hearty good will,
Was by a rich client invited
But he charg’d 6s. and 8d. for going to dine,
Which the client he paid, tho. ninny ;
And in turn charg’d the lawyer for dinner and wine,
One a crown, and the other a guinea!

But gossips, you know have a saying in store,
He who matches a lawyer, has only one more.

The lawyer he paid it, and took a receipt,
While the client starod at him with wonder;

But gave to his friends, with to produce a treat,
Tho' the lawyer soon made him knock under:

That his client sold wine, information he laid,
Without licence: and in spite of his storming,

The client a good thumping penalty paid,
And the lawyer got halfo informing!

But gossips, &c.

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9 Love, thy temple is a crowded Inn–
And, ah! how various are thy ways to win.

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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 hads n’t got a gown,
Ner stockings vath ner shooze.
Now, Joanny, prithee dant now blish ;
Worzich, 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.

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Now break thy meend. zay ‘dun, an dun;”
I’ll make thee a good husband, mun;
And Joan, I'll love thee dearly :
Iss waant do leek our neighbour Flail,
That huffth his wive, and kickth her tail,
And drashth 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. Mallg.

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GILEs Scroggins courted Molly Brown,
Fol de riddle lol, fol de riddle lido!
The fairest wench in all the town,
Fol de 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.

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Sore 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—hae? 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 mort in it;
‘You knows ye wern’t about it half a minute:
“To gee zo 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 acc'd a shilling.”

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"You may talk of sweet passion, and wishing and wooing.

With exstacies, 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 Daisy mead-green,
And Sir Gilbert Gosoftly of Gooseberry-hall.

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