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,
But the warmer my advances,

Then the cooler are your airs.

I am, I don't conceal it,

But I am a little hurt;
You ’re a Fan, and I must feel it,

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
. Of new military flames ; —
They would make a fine Round Robin

If I gave you all their names !



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 :-
So I expect their officers,

And tremble at the bell !

I look for beer, and yet I quake

With fright at every tap;
And dread a double-knock, for oh!

I've not a single rap!



“ Aurum pot-a-bile :” – Gold biles the pot. - FREE TRANS


FAREWELL then, my golden repeater,

We're come to my Uncle's old shop;
And hunger won't be a dumb-waiter,

The Cerberus growls for a sop!

To quit thee, my comrade diurnal,

My feelings will certainly scotch ;
But oh! there's a riot internal,

And Famine calls out for the Watch !

Oh! hunger 's a terrible trial,

I really must have a relief,—
So here goes the plate of your dial

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 ;
Time's long hand must take up a carver,

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,
I've gone to a dance for my supper; -

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;
I wish that the coats of my stomach

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,
So go, — and the old Seven Dials

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!

« ForrigeFortsett »