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A REPORT FROM BELOW.

.“ Blow high, blow low.” – SEA SONG.

As Mister B. and Mistress B.
One night were sitting down to tea,
With toast and muffins hot -
They heard a loud and sudden bounce,
That made the very china flounce,
They could not for a time pronounce
If they were safe or shot —
For Memory brought a deed to match
At Deptford done by night -
Before one eye appeared a Patch
In t'other eye a Blight !

To be belaboured out of life, Without some small attempt at strife, Our nature will not grovel; One impulse moved both man and dame, He seized the tongs — she did the same, Leaving the ruffian, if he came, · The poker and the shovel.

Suppose the couple standing so,
When rushing footsteps from below
Made pulses fast and fervent,
VOL. III.

2

“O Lord ! O dear, my heart will break, I shall

go stick stark staring wild ! Has ever a one seen any thing about the streets

like a crying lost-looking child ? : Lawk help me, I don't know where to look, or to

run, if I only knew which way· A Child as is lost about London streets, and es

pecially Seven Dials, is a needle in a bottle

of hay. I am all in a quiver — get out of my sight, do,

you wretch, you little Kitty M’Nab! You promised to have half an eye to him, you

know you did, you dirty deceitful young drab. The last time as ever I see him, poor thing, was

with my own blessed Motherly eyes, Sitting as good as gold in the gutter, a playing at

making little dirt pies. I wonder he left the court where he was better

off than all the other young boys, With two bricks, an old shoe, nine oyster-shells,

and a dead kitten by way of toys. When his Father comes home, and he always

comes home as sure as ever the clock strikes

one, He'll be rampant, he will, at his child being lost ;

and the beef and the inguns not done ! La bless you, good folks, mind your own consarns,

and don't be making a mob in the street ; O serjeant M'Farlane! you have not come across

my poor little boy, have you, in your beat ?

Do, good people, move on! don't stand staring at

me like a parcel of stupid stuck pigs ; Saints forbid ! but he's p'r'aps been inviggled

away up a court for the sake of his clothes

by the prigs; He'd a very good jacket, for certain, for I bought

it myself for a shilling one day in Rag Fair And his trowsers considering not very much

patched, and red plush, they was once his

Father's best pair. His shirt, it's very lucky I'd got washing in the

tub, or that might have gone with the rest ; But he'd got on a very good pinafore with only

two slits and a burn on the breast. He'd a goodish sort of hat, if the crown was

sewed in, and not quite so much jagg'd at the

brim. With one shoe on, and the other shoe is a boot,

and not a fit, and you 'll know by that if it's

him. Except being so well dressed, my mind would mis

give, some old beggar woman in want of an

orphan, Had borrowed the child to go a begging with, but

I'd rather see him laid out in his coffin ! Do, good people, move on, such a rabble of boys !

I'll break every bone of 'em I come near, Go home — you 're spilling the porter — go

home — Tommy Jones, go along home with

your beer.

And first burst in the frantic cat,
All steaming like a brewer's rat,
And then — as white as my cravat —
Poor Mary May, the servant !

Lord, how the couple's teeth did chatter,
Master and Mistress both flew at her,
“ Speak! Fire ? or Murder ? What's the

matter ?”
Till Mary getting breath,
Upon her tale began to touch
With rapid tongue, full trotting, such
As if she thought she had too much

To tell before her death :“We was both, Ma'am, in the wash-house, Ma'am,

a-standing at our tubs, And Mrs. Round was seconding what little things

I rubs; • Mary,' says she to me, 'I say' — and there she

stops for coughin', “That dratted copper flue has took to smokin'

very often, But please the pigs,' — for that's her way of

swearing in a passion, I'll blow it up, and not be set a coughin' in this

fashion !! Well, down she takes my master's horn — I mean

his horn for loading, And empties every grain alive for to set the flue

exploding.

Lawk, Mrs. Round ! says I, and stares, that

quantum is unproper. I’m sartin sure it can't not take a pound to sky

a copper; You'll powder both our heads off, so I tells you,

with its puff, But she only dried her fingers, and she takes a

pinch of snuff. Well, when the pinch is over — 'Teach your

grandmother to suck A powder-horn,' says she — Well, says I, I wish

you luck. Them words sets up her back, so with her hands

upon her hips, Come,' says she, quite in a huff, come, keep your

tongue inside your lips ; Afore ever you was born, I was well used to

things like these ; I shall put it in the grate, and let it burn up by

degrees. So in it goes, and Bounce — O Lord ! it gives us

such a rattle, I thought we both were canonized, like Sogers in

a battle! Up goes the copper like a squib, and us on both

our backs, And bless the tubs, they bundled off, and split all

into cracks. Well, there I fainted dead away, and might have

been cut shorter,

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