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Are edible ; and Mrs. W.’s thrift,
She had a thrifty vein,-
Came up at a white heat “ Well, never I see chicken like them chicken! My saucepans, they have been a pretty while in
'em ! Enough to stew them, if it comes to that, To flesh and bones, and perfect rags; but drat Those Anti-biling Pills ! there is no bile in ’em !”
THE SWEEP'S COMPLAINT.
“I like to meet a sweep- such as come forth with the dawn, or somewhat earlier, with their little professional notes, sounding like the peep, peep, of a young sparrow."ESSAYS OF ELIA.
“A voice cried Sweep no more!
One morning ere my usual time
Still linger in the street;
And as I walked, I saw indeed
In height above five feet.
White overcoming jet.
He walked upon the fret:
Betrayed internal woe.
he had by rote
but not a crow !
That hung about the lid;
I saw the tear-drop stray,
And thus at last he did.
Well, here's a pretty go ! here's a Gagging Act,
if ever there was a gagging !
But I'm bound the members as silenced us, in
doing it had plenty of magging. They had better send us all off, they had, to
the School for the Deaf and Dumb, To unlarn us our mother tongues, and to make
signs and be regularly mum.
But they can't undo natur as sure as ever the
morning begins to peep, Directly I open my eyes, I can't help calling out
Sweep As natural as the sparrows among the chimbley
pots that say Cheep ! For my own part I find my suppressed voice
very uneasy, And comparable to nothing but having your
tissue stopt when you are sneezy. Well, it's all up with us ! tho' I suppose we
up. Here's a precious merry Christmas, I'm blest if
I can earn either bit or sup ! If crying Sweep, of mornings, is going beyond
quietness's border, Them as pretends to be fond of silence oughn't to
cry hear, hear, and order, order. I wonder Mr. Sutton, as we've sut-on too, don't
sympathize with us As a Speaker what don't speak, and that's exact
ly our own cus. God help us if we don't not cry, how are we
to pursue our callings?
I'm sure we're not half so bad as other businesses
with their bawlings. For instance, the general postmen, that at six
o'clock go about ringing, And wake
all the babbies that their mothers have just got to sleep with singing. Greens oughtn't to be cried no more than blacks
to do the unpartial job, If they bring in a Sooty Bill, they ought to have
brought in a Dusty Bob. Is a dustman's voice more sweet than ourn, when
he comes a seeking arter the cinders, Instead of a little boy like a blackbird in spring,
singing merrily under your windows ? There 's the omnibus cads as plies in Cheapside,
and keeps calling out Bank and City ; Let his Worship, the Mayor, decide if our call of
Sweep is not just as pretty. I can't see why the Jews should be let go about
crying Old Close thro' their hooky noses, And Christian laws should be ten times more hard
than the old stone laws of Moses. Why isn't the mouths of the muffin-men com
pelled to be equally shut ? Why, because Parliament members eat muffins,
but they never eat no sut. Next
year there won't be any May-day at all, we
shan't have no heart to dance, And Jack in the Green will go in black like
mourning for our mischance ;
If we live as long as May, that 's to say, through
the hard winter and pinching weather, For I don't see how we're to earn enough to keep
body and soul together. I only wish Mr. Wilberforce or some of them that
pities the niggers, Would take a peep down in our cellars, and look
at our miserable starving figures, A-sitting idle on our empty sacks, and all ready to
eat each other. And a brood of little ones crying for bread to a
heart-breaking Father and Mother. They haven't a rag of clothes to mend, if their
mothers had thread and needles, But crawl naked about the cellars, poor things,
like a swarm of common black beadles. If they 'd only inquired before passing the Act
and taken a few such peeps, I don't think that any real gentleman would have
set his face against sweeps. Climbing 's an ancient respectable art, and if His
tory's of any vally, Was recommended by Queen Elizabeth to the
great Sir Walter Raleigh, When he wrote on a pane of glass how I'd climb,
if the way I only knew, And she writ beneath, if your heart 's afeared,
don't venture up the flue. As for me I was always loyal, and respected all
powers that are higher,