« ForrigeFortsett »
General Joblin, General Jodkin,
Colonels - Kelly, Felly, with Majors — Sturgeon, Truffle, Bodkin,
And the Quarter-master Smith.
Major Powderum — Major Dowdrum
Major Chowdrum — Major Bye — Captain Tawney – Captain Fawney,
Captain Any-one — but I!
Deuce take it! when the regiment
You so praised, I only thought That you loved it in abridgment,
But I now am better taught !
I went, as loving man goes,
To admire thee in quadrilles ; But Fan, you dance fandangoes
With just any fop that wills !
I went with notes before us,
On the lay of Love to touch ; But with all the Corps in chorus,
Oh! it is indeed too much !
You once — ere you contracted
For the Army — seemed my own; But now you laugh with all the Staff,
And I may sigh alone !
I know not how it chances,
When my passion ever dares,
Then the cooler are your airs.
I am, I don't conceal it,
But I am a little hurt;
Fit for nothing but a Flirt !
I dreamt thy smiles of beauty
On myself alone did fall; But alas ! “ Cosi Fan Tutti ! ”
It is thus, Fan, thus will all !
You have taken quite a mob in
If I gave you all their names !
WRITTEN UNDER THE FEAR OF BAILIFFS.
Alas! of all the noxious things
That wait upon the poor,
Most cruel is that Felon-Fear
That haunts the “ Debtor's Door!”
Saint Sepulchre's begins to toll,
The Sheriffs seek the cell :-
And tremble at the bell !
I look for beer, and yet I quake
With fright at every tap;
I've not a single rap!
FUGITIVE LINES ON PAWNING MY
“ Aurum pot-a-bile :” – Gold biles the pot. - FREE TRANS
FAREWELL then, my golden repeater,
We're come to my Uncle's old shop;
The Cerberus growls for a sop!
To quit thee, my comrade diurnal,
My feelings will certainly scotch ;
And Famine calls out for the Watch !
Oh! hunger 's a terrible trial,
I really must have a relief,—
To fetch me some Williams's beef!
As famished as any lost seaman,
I've fasted for many a dawn, And now must play chess with the Demon,
And give it a check with a pawn.
I've fasted, since dining at Buncle's,
Two days with true Perceval zeal — And now must make up at my Uncle's,
By getting a duplicate meal.
No Peachum it is, or young Lockit,
That rifles my fob with a snatch ; Alas ! I must pick my own pocket,
And make gravy-soup of my watch !
So long I have wandered a starver,
I'm getting as keen as a hawk ;
His short hand lay hold of a fork.
Right heavy and sad the event is,
But oh! it is Poverty's crime ; I've been such a Brownrigg's Apprentice,
I thus must be “out of my Time.”
Alas! when in Brook Street the upper
In comfort I lived between walls,
But now I must go to Three Balls !
Folks talk about dressing for dinner,
But I have for dinner undrest; Since Christmas, as I am a sinner,
I've eaten a suit of my best.
I haven't a rag or a mummock
To fetch me a chop or a steak;
Were such as my Uncle would take!
When dishes were ready with garnish
My watch used to warn with a chime But now my repeater must furnish
The dinner in lieu of the time !
My craving will have no denials,
I can't fob it off, if you stay,
Must tell me the time of the day.
Your chimes I shall never more hear 'em,
To part is a Tic Deuloureux ! But Tempus has his edax rerum,
And I have my Feeding-Time too!