But what at last be all my pains?
Just like to wheat or rye,
A man comes vorward, counts his gains,
And holds his head up high:
And scarcely vull and ripe he's grown,
However great he be,
Death with his zickle cuts un down,
And there be an end o' he !
Zo, while a body's here below,
Clean hands be sure to keep;
Vor, zure as death, as we do zow
We zartainly shall reap!
[Tune-"Good St. Anthony."
ROB GILPIN resided in Tappington town,
And though he a citizen was of renown,
The neighbours around respected him not,
He was too fond of dipping his mug in the pot.
Guzzling and romping was ever this blade,
With ladies that didn't stand nice to a shade;
Although this deceiver a sweetheart had he,
Whom he solemnly promised to make Mrs. G.
Now Robin Gilpin one night had made
An assignation with Gertrude Slade,
'Neath the trysting tree by the abbey ruin,
Not dreaming of course that a storm was brewing.
But Gertrude to go was very unwilling,
For the rain fell in drops the size of a shilling;
So she took off her hat and mantle again-
"He'll never expect me," says she, "in this rain.”
Now Robin looks east, and Robin looks west,
For the smart little lassie he says he loves best;
He stood till he trembled with cold and fright,
When he spies in the ruins a twinkling light.
With a hop, two skips, and a jump, and straight
Rob stands within the portal gate.
There were witches fearful sitting within-
Two were as old and as ugly as sin;
But the third was young and passing fair,
With coal-black eyes and raven hair.
As each one sat in that haunted room,
In each one's hand was a long birch broom-
On each one's nob was a sugar-loaf hat—
On each one's knee was a large black cat-
"Now riddle me right," says old Goody Jones,
"What footsteps dare tread over these stones?"
Then up spoke young Madge Gray so clear"Robin Gilpin is welcome here!
So tread we a measure aloud," quoth she,
Roving Rob, will you dance with me?"
'Ay, lassie !” quoth Rob, as her hand he gripes, Though the devil himself were blowing the pipes !" Now around they go, around and around,
With a hop, skip, jump, and a frolicsome bound;
You would actually swear that Mounseer Gilbert,
Or Taggerlioni was capering there.
Says Goody Price, "Now riddle me right,
Where shall we sup this frolicsome night?
I have it! The vicar keeps excellent wine,
And a capital larder of turkey and chine;
So mount your broomsticks without delay,
Hey up the chimney! away! away!"
Now old Goody Price mounts hers in a trice-
At showing her legs she's not over nice-
And old Goody Jones-all skin and bones-
Follows like vinking. Away go the crones!
Knees and nose in a line with their toes,
Stuck on their brooms like so many Ducrows.
Latest and last the young witch pass`d,
The glare of her coal-black eye she cast,
And laughing loud, as she said with glee,
Robin, dear, will you ride with me?"
He seizes and mounts a broomstick too,
Crying, "Blackeyes, I'll ride to the devil with you!"
It's a very fine thing, on a fine day in June,
To ride through the air in a Nassau balloon;
But a regular broomstick is best, I must say,
When, like Robin Gilpin, you've nothing to pay.
Though the vicar's walls are lofty and thick,
The copings are stone and the sides are brick;
The chimney-pot is open to view,
So down on their broomsticks the party flew.
The great house-dog begins to quail,
Between his hind legs droops his tail.
Yet down in the pantry the kit of 'em go,
And carry the grub to the cellar below.
Oh, 'twas a scrumptious sight to view,
In the snug little cellar the frolicsome crew;
Old Goody Jones, she couldn't touch bones,
She might as well mumble a parcel of stones :
She'd no teeth-so a pudding of marrow and plums
Was the dish that suited her blessed old gums;
While Madge Gray squinted at Robin so sly,
With his heart full of love, and his mouth full of pie.
And now the wine cup passes round,
Toasts and sentiments rebound,
So Rob gives a toast in a bumper of wine-
"Success to Old Noah, who planted the vine !"
Oh then what a sneezing, a coughing, and wheezing
Took place in a way that seem'd not over pleasing.
Goody Price, Goody Jones, and the pretty Madge
Gray,
Seem'd as though the liquor had gone the wrong
But the best of the joke, the moment Rob spoke, As by mentioning Noah some spell had been broke; Every soul in the house woke, and hearing the din, Made sure that a reg'ment of thieves was within;
So they made a rush on each chittle and chattel,
And straightway prepared for a general battle.
Up jump'd the cook and caught hold of the spit!
Up jump'd the groom and seized bridle and bit!
Up jump'd the gard'ner, and shoulder'd his spade !
Up jump'd the scullion, the footman, and maid !
The two last occasion'd some very rude mockings,
Because on their legs they had each other's stock.
ings.
With a yell and a shriek, and a hullabaloo,
Bang up the chimney the witches all flew,
Leaving Robin behind to pay their bill-
And they didn't forget to give him a pill.
From this hour Robin's an alter'd man,
Runs home to his lodgings as fast as he can ;
Sticks to his trade and marries Miss Slade,
And never runs after a witch or a maid.
So remember my tale, and its moral likewise :
Don't flirt with young ladies with coal-black eyes;
Don't meddle with broomsticks; egad, if you do,
Old Nick some fine morning will nick hold of you.
MECHANICAL
W. T. MONCRIEFF.]
[Air-"Mr. Simpkins.''
OH, Time! how strange thy changes-
Learning's now become mechanical;
Scientific men and scholars
Are seized with a sudden panic all.
The lower classes in the classic art
Are penny-trating low;
And operative learning has
So work'd its way, it's all the go!
Now, thanks to "Penny Readings"
And Mechanics' Institutions,
The state of things are turning
Upside down, by resolutions.
Plain speaking now is banished quite,
All patter metaphorical;
Each dirty court is styled a place,
In manner alleygorical!
Our workmen, now, all leave their work
For verse, without apology;
Now, if you twice your 'prentice teach,
He'll tell you 'tis taught-ology.
Our journeymen, while walking,
Are all studying toe-pography;
And all who sell last dying speeches,
Prate about Buy-ography.
The barber takes you by the nose,
And talks about Conk-ology;
While warehousemen, in Thames-street,
Are adepts in Crane-iology. While mendicants and paupers,
Quite consistent in their actions, While breaking stones upon the road, Still practise Vulgar Fractions.
Undertakers, o'er their coffins,
The dead languages are studying;
While dustmen, with the ground work
Of the arts, their brains are muddying.
Clerks, with Pestalozzian systems
Pester us in lectures prolix-
E'en waggoners, who up hill go,
Are thinking of High-draw-lics.
O'er the sky blue, milkmen, turning pale,
While studying astronomy,
Call pouring on the milky way,
Political Economy.
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