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JOHN DOE AND RICHARD ROE.

(c. DIBDI2T, JUS.)

Do you know Johnny Doe, And the fam'd Richard Roe, Two terrible brothers in law sir? Because if you don't I hope that you won't Be hookd by their terrible claw, sir? O, it's a terrible. &c. A confounded terrible, &c. 'And their talons ne'er fail Each poor devil to nail, Within reach of their terrible claw, sir.

More captures they've made
Than the whole fighting trade;
For actions their like you'll ne'er meet, sir,
In the army, folks say,
Mag's diversion they play;
But they're much more at home in the Jlcet, sir,
They 've much more, &c.

They 've all their own way, &c.
For they've officers bluff.
And press warrants enough,

To issue and people the fleet, sir.
Sir Sid, without stopping,
Took French leave for hopping,
And now takes the French to their moan, sir,-
But to these he's a cake,
For all nations they take,
With nobody's leave but their own sir;
Nobody's, &c. Nobody's, &c.
For I fancy, d'ye see,
If they took you or me,
They'd have nobody's leave but their own, sir'
Why, what d'ye think?
When you're short of the chink;

84 KITTY MAGGS AND JOLTEIl GILES.

Of want tho' they know you have plenty,,
Because it is found
Yon can't pay ten pound,
Ecod, but they'll makevou pay tsventy.
Ecod. &c.

Ton my honor, they'll, &c.
For, as justice can't see,
The lawyers agree,
For ten pounds, &c.

May these brothers in law,

With their terrible claw,
Keep all honest from poets to proctors;

And perhaps a good thing

For the nation and king,
Tt would be if they'd bone all the doctors!
O, Lord! &c.
What a thing if, &c

With a drop of good stuff,

We should live long enough,
If they'd only just bone all the doctors.

KITTY MAGGS AND JOLTER GILES.

(C. DIBI>1N, JUS.)

Kitty Maggs was a servant to Farmer Styles,

And a buxom wench was she; And her true lovier was Jolter Giles,

A ploughman so bold was he;
Giles had wages five pounds due at Candlemas-tide,
And then he told Kitty he'd make her his bride.

Ding dong, bo!
Betty Blossom she wore ahigh-caul'd cap,

Which caught fickle Jolter's eye;
And poor Kitty Maggs, Odire mishap!

Mourn'd his incon-stan-ey!
And high on the bough of an apple tree,
When they married Kate finish d her misery.
Ding do tig, bo!

EPIGRAM. 85

At the supper Giles gave for Betty his bride,

An apple pudding had they, And from the same bough on which poor Kitty died

The apples were pluck'd they say; The pudding pies on it, grew deadly cold! The death watch tick'd, and the church bell toll'd! Ding dong, bo!

Torarve the pudding was Giles's post,

He cut. and from the gap,. Popp'd the head of poor dear Kitty Maggs's ghost,

All in a new fashion'd shroud cap: Said Giles, • Who be you?' said the ghost, 'I be I, A coming to punish your par-ju-ry." Ding dong. bo!

'0 Kitty' said Jolter, 'pray alter your note!'

'Ivon't." the ghost replied; When plump flew the pudding down Giles's throat,

And on the spot he died. Now his ghost,once a year.bolting puddings is seen, While blue devils sing, every mouthful between, Ding dong, bo!

EPIGRAM.

(swift.) ,

As Thomas was cudgell'd one day by his wife,
He took to his heels and he ran for his life.
Tom's three dearest friends came by in the squabble
And screen'd him at once from the shrew and the

rabble; Then ventur'd to give him some wholesome advice: But Tom is a fellow of honour so nice, '%

Too proud to take counsel, too wise to take warning, That he sent to all three a challenge next morning. He fought with all three, thrice be ventur'd his life; —Then went home and was cudgell'd again by his wife. I

[graphic]

LORD B. AND THE EUNUCH.

(PINDAB.)

A Lord, most musically mad,
Yet with a taste superlatively bad,

Ask'd a squeal eunuch to his house one day—
A poor old semivir, whose throat
Had lost its love resounding note,

Which art had giv'n, and time had stol'n away.

'Signor Squalini,' with a solemn air,

The lord began, grave rising from his chair,

Taking Squalini kindly by the hand; 'Signor Squalini, much 1 fear 'I 've got a most unlucky ear,

* And that 'tis known to all the music band.

'Fond of abuse, each fiddling coxcomb carps,
'And true it is, I don't know flats from sharps:

'Indeed, Signor Squalini, 'tis no hum;
'So ill does music with my organs suit,
• I scarcely know a fiddle from a flute,

'The hautboys from the double drum.

'Now tho' with lords, a number of this nation, 'I go to op'ras, more through fashion

* Than for the love of music, I could wish 'The world might think I had some little taste, 4 That those two ears were tolerably chaste,

'But, sir, I am as stupid as a fish.

'Get me the credit of a cognoscente,

'Gold shan't be wanting to content ye.'—

'Bravissimo! my lor,' replied Squalini,

With acquiescent bow, and smile of suavity; 'De nobleman must never look de ninny,'— 'True,' cry'd the noble lord with German gravity.

LORD B. AND THE EUNUCH. 87

'My lor, ven men vant money in der purse,
'De do not vant de vorld to tink dem poor,

'Because, my lor, dat be von shabby curse;
'Dis all same ting wid ignourance, my lor.'—

'Right,' cry'd his lordship, in a grumbling tone,

Much like a mastiff jealous of his hone.

'But first I want some technicals, signor'— Bowing, the eunuch answer'd—'Iss, my lor;.

f I teash your lorship queekly, queekly, all, 'Dere vat be call de sostcnuto note, 'Dat be ven singer open vide.detroat,

'And den for long time makede squawl— 'Mush long, long note, dat do continue vile 'A man, my lor, can valk a mile.

'My lor, der likewise becd cromatiquc, 'As if de singer vas in greef, or sick,

'And had de colick—dat be ver, ver fine; 'De high, oh, dat, musician call soprano; 'De low voice, basso; de soff note, piano

* Bravoura, queek, bold—here Marchesi shine.

'Dis Mara, too, and Billington, do know— 'Allegro, queek ; Adagio, be de slow;

'Pomposo, dat be manner make deroar: 'Maestoso, dat be grand and noble'ting, 'Mush like de voice of Emperor, or de king;

'Or you, my lor, 'When in do house you make de grand oration, 'For save, my lor, de noble Englis nation.'

Thus having giv'n his lesson, and a bow,
With high complacency his lordship smil'd:

Unravell'd was his lordship's pucker'd brow,
His scouling eye, like Luna's beams, so mild:

Such is th' effect, when flatt'ries sweet cajole
That praise-admiring wight yclep'd the soul;

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