Your ducks that were so nice and clean
He spatters o'er with mud, for spleen;
You mutter curses long and deep,
But then no good from that you reap;
He brings his friend to fight-a sweep!
Another horror of London !
While walking through the street, you look
Into a pamphlet, or a book,
And find that you have your way mistook,
A common thing in London !
You study on, but not being fenc'd,
An iron bar you run against ;
Its bearer you blow up incens'd,
But with abuse get recompens'd!
Then on you go to 'scape a brawl,
But venturing on too near the wall,
You clean into a cellar fall-
Another horror of London !
As through the hail and sleet you go,
The wind a hurricane will blow,
Your pleasure heighten'd by some snow,
And that's a treat in London !
Your umbrella inside out
Is blown-while all the urchins shout,
And, stopping to give one a clout,
Your hat's knock'd off and kick'd about,
But from some house-top soon is blown,
A tile, while running for your own,
Upon your head, which makes you groan,
And curse the horrors of London.
Being ill from nervousness, you take
A room retired, for quiet sake;
As noise would quite your system shake,
And where's not noise in London?
You find, ere you've passed one day o'er,
A coffinmaker lives next door;
While o'er the way at No. 4,
There's practising-a trumpet blower-
And in next room, by a thin wall screen'd,
A noisy child is being wean'd,
Who howls all night-the little fiend!
And such is living in London!
OH! I'm an unfortunate Vagrant,
I ain't got nothing to vear;
If provisions they wasn't so precious,
It ain't for the clothes as I care.
The classical coves never vore 'em,
Their beauties they did not adorn ;
But although they had nothing got o'er 'em,
For vittals they'd never to mourn.
But stil I'm not ashamed to own
My title, though my fate I moan;
For I much better days have seen,
And better men have vagrants been.
So I'm a Vagrant;
Thou'rt a Vagrant;
Vagrants too are he and she;
We are Vagrants;
You are Vagrants;
And where are they that wouldn't be?
Says Shakespeare-and all of you know him-
The world it is only a stage,
And all men and the women are players;"
And he isn't far wrong, I'll engage.
Then the Act of King George says that players
Are Vagrants wherever they go;
So, if all men and women are players,
Of course, they are Vagrants, you know.
So, by the Act I've always stood,
For Billy's notion is so good,
That I have found, between the two,
I'm every bit as good as you.
And I'm a Vagrant, &c., &c.
Oh money! why did they invent it?
If nobody had none to spend,
The tradesmen would learn better manners,
The prices of vittals would mend.
'Twas a hard day to us, when to Ceres
Was born her son Plutus, I trow;
They did very well without money,
Then, what do we want with it now?
It only causes wiciousness,
And wicked avariciousness.
We shouldn't need no prison wall
If vittals they was free to all.
Still, I'm a Vagrant, &c., &c.
Oh! the chances of life are so many,
Some day better off I may be ;
And although I ax you for a penny,
Some day, perhaps, you'll ask it of me.
I've an awful good mem'ry for faces;
And though malice to no one I bear,
With them as gives me in my trouble,
Of course, my good luck I should share.
So don't be shy, hand out your tin,
'Tis money leads you into sin.
And, just a word before we start,
Let what you give come from your heart!
For I'm a Vagrant, &c., &c.
[Tune-"Over the Water to Charley."
OH! Love is a power that levels us all,
Of that we have verification;
By love, mighty love, did man get his downfall
Love reigns thro' life's ev'ry gradation.
The Prince and the Peasant, the Beggar, the King,
Whatever man's rank or his station,
If once his soft heart is got in love's string,
He must make a Capitulation.
One Monday I met with a beautiful maid,
Whose eyes had the snake's fascination ;*
Her charms altogether such sweetness display'd,
I felt in complete tribulation.
I found in my breast, to my greatest surprise,
My beating heart make abdication,
For the very first glances that shot from her eyes,
I was forced to make Capitulation.
On Tuesday upon my lost state did I brood,
And found out her sweet habitation:
Tho' by my feelings, edg'd on to intrude,
Afraid of her disapprobation.
With true love I look'd at the house for some hours,
My mind rack'd with strong agitation;
Love ev'ry moment gain'd more and more powers, And still further Capitulation.
On Wednesday I wrote her a letter so bold,
And made of my love declaration;
Begg'd to my prayer she would not be cold,
But give me sweet hope's consolation.
An interview ask'd, which if she'd condescend,
I'd prove my sincere adoration;
But if she refused me, my life I would end,
To prove my heart's Capitulation.
On Thursday I saw her, we talk'd for an hour,
I felt a revivification;
Every word gave her more and more power,
Her charms were a bright constellation.
On Friday, ye powers of heavenly bliss,
Of kindness I saw indication;
So I press'd her to wed-she blush'd out a yes,
And silent-made Capitulation.
Saturday, sorrow was left in the lurch,
And I had the gratification,
Of happily leading my charmer to church,
While she was in great trepidation.
With rapture and joy did the time fly away,
Enjoying love's dulcification;
Every thought that possess'd me was gay,
And I made still more Capitulation.
On Sunday repentance peep'd into my mind,
For spousy soon made transformation;
Convincing me fully that love is e'er blind,
And wedlock has predestination.
Her charms are all vanish'd, her temper is vile,
She rules with such strong domination;
That whether she pleases to frown or to smile,
I'm obliged to make Capitulation.
THE MEN ARE ALL CLUBBING
TOGETHER.
[Music by SIR H. R. BISHOP.
THE men are all clubbing together,
Abandoning gentle pursuits,
They revel with birds of a feather,
And dine in black neck-ties and boots.
They've no party-spirit about them,
(My parties are stupid concerns,)
The ladies sit sulky without them,
Or dance with each other by turns.
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