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I melancholy as a cat
Am kept awake to weep;
Sound as a top can sleep.
Hard is her heart as flint or stone ;
She laughs to see me pale,
The god of love at her approach
Is busy as a bee !
Are smit, and figh like me.
The fine men croud about her:
Shall I be, if without her.
Strait as my leg her shape appears ;
O were we join'd together!
And lighter than a feather.
As fine as five pence is her mien;
No drum was ever tighter ;
And not the sun is brighter.
Methinks I ta te them yet ;
Her eyes as black as jet.
As smooth as glass, as white as curds,
Sharp as a needle are her words ;
Her wit like pepper bites.
Clean as a penny dreft ;
Round as the globe her breaft.
Full as an egg was I with glee,
And happy as a king !
She lov'd like any thing.
Being a new ballad, shewing how Mr Jonathan
Wild's throat was cut from ear to ear with a penknife by Mr Blake, alias Blueskin, the bold highwayman, as he ftood at his trial in the Old Bailey, 1725.
To the tune of the Cut purse.
In diving in pockets, or cogging of dice
When to the Old Bailey this Blueskin was led,
10 He held
up his hand; his indictment was read; Loud rattled his chains ; near him Jonathan ftood; For full forty pounds was the price of his blood.
Then, hopeless of life,
III. Some say there are courtiers of highest renown, Who steal the King's gold, and leave him but a
crown: Some fay there are peers, and some parliament-men, Who meet once a year to rob courtiers agen.
Let them all take their swing
To pillage the King, And get a blue ribbon, inftead of a ftring. 25 Now Blueskin's sharp penknife hath fet you at ease; And ev'ry man round me may sob, if he please.
IV. Knaves of old, to hide guilt by their cunning inven
tions, Call’d briberies grants, and plain robberies pensions ; Phyficians and lawyers (who take their degrees 30 To be learned rogues) call'd their pilfering fees.
Since this happy day
Now ev'ry man may
40 But now to get gold,
They may be more bold, And rob on the highway, fince Jonathan's cold: For Blueskin's sharp penknife hath set you at ease; And ev'ry man round me may rob, if he please. 45
50 Allign'd the trustee, Treat not orphans like malters of the chancery; But take the highway, and more honestly seize ; 'For ev'ry man round me may rob, if he please.
But, if Ireland despise
On Wood * the patentee's Irish halfpence.
Written in the year 1724.
Gravely consulting Ireland's good,
So, to confound this hated coin,
* Sce an account of Wood's project in the Drapier's letters, vol. iii.