MISS DEBORAH DIDDLE AND SIR GIL

BERT GOSOFTLY.

(C. DIBDIN, JUN.)

You may talk of sweet passion, and wishing and

wooing,

With extacies, 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 euc.

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,

JOHN DOE AND RICHARD ROE.

Do yo

(C. DIBDIN, JUN.)

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 hook'd 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 fleet, 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 sce,

If they took you or me,

They'd have nobody's leave but their own, sir.

Why, what d' you think?

When you 're short of the chink; ́

8.4

KITTY MAGGS AND JOLTER GILES.

Of want tho' they know you have plenty,
Because it is found

You can't pay ten pound,

Ecod, but they 'll make you pay twenty.
Ecod, &c.

'Pon 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,

It 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. DIBDIN, JUN.)

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 a high-caul'd cap,
Which caught fickle Jolter's eye;
And poor Kitty Maggs, O, dire mishap!
Mourn'd his incon-stan-cy!

And high on the bough of an apple tree,
When they married, Kate finish'd her misery
Ding dong, bo!

EPIGRAM.

At the supper Giles gave for Betty his bride,
An apple pudding had they,

85

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!

To carve 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!

"O Kitty" said Jolter, " pray alter your note!" "I von'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 he ventur'd his life; -Then went home, and was cudgell'd again by his wife.

I

LORD B. AND THE EUNUCH.

(PINDAR.)

A LORD, most musically mad,

Yet with a taste superlatively bad,

Ask'd a squeal eunuch to his house one dayA 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 I fear

"I've got a most unlucky car,

"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 doth 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, "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.