Scripscrapologia or, Collins's Doggerel Dish Of All Sorts. Consisting of Songs Adapted to familiar Tunes, And which may be sung without the Chaunterpipe of an Italian Warbler, or the ravishing Accompaniments of Tweedle-Dum or Tweedle-Dee. Particularly those which have been most applauded in the author's once popular performance, call'd, The Brush. The Gallimaufry garnished with a variety of comic tales, quaint epigrams, whimsical epitaphs, &c. &c. [by John Collins] |
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THE HIBERNIAN WATCHMAN;
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 | Scripscrapologia |  |
THE HIBERNIAN WATCHMAN;
OR, PAST TWELVE O'CLOCK, A SONG.
While Midnight Topers their Bottles drain,
In a merry Cue and a merry Vein,
I am beating the Rounds in the Wind and Rain,
Crying, “Past Twelve o'Clock!”
In a merry Cue and a merry Vein,
I am beating the Rounds in the Wind and Rain,
Crying, “Past Twelve o'Clock!”
And while stretch'd out in the Beds they lies,
And they snores and snorts like Pigs in their Styes,
O, I stretches myself, and I, gaping, cries,
“A past Twelve o'Clock!”
And they snores and snorts like Pigs in their Styes,
O, I stretches myself, and I, gaping, cries,
“A past Twelve o'Clock!”
And perhaps just then some swaggering Chap,
Upon my Shoulder gives a Tap,
And he cries, “Arrah Paddy, don't take a Nap,
Though its past Twelve o'Clock!”
Upon my Shoulder gives a Tap,
And he cries, “Arrah Paddy, don't take a Nap,
Though its past Twelve o'Clock!”
When a loving Couple, that's upon the Stroll,
Gets into a Corner, Cheek by Jole,
Then I comes with my Lanthorn and my Pole,
Crying, “Past Twelve o'Clock!”
Gets into a Corner, Cheek by Jole,
Then I comes with my Lanthorn and my Pole,
Crying, “Past Twelve o'Clock!”
So, I gets a Tizzy for to let them alone,
And I minds them no more nor a Stock or a Stone,
But I turns aside with a gentle Tone,
Crying, “Past Twelve o'Clock!”
And I minds them no more nor a Stock or a Stone,
But I turns aside with a gentle Tone,
Crying, “Past Twelve o'Clock!”
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But when Lamps are breaking by your dashing Dons,
As I've had my Scull crack'd more nor once,
O, I scampers away, for to save my Sconce,
With, “a past Twelve o'Clock!”
As I've had my Scull crack'd more nor once,
O, I scampers away, for to save my Sconce,
With, “a past Twelve o'Clock!”
To a poor ragged Wench, when I beats the Round,
That without a Farthing I've often found,
O, says I, you're the Cattle that must fill my Pound,
Now its past Twelve o'Clock!
That without a Farthing I've often found,
O, says I, you're the Cattle that must fill my Pound,
Now its past Twelve o'Clock!
And, to squeeze the Pockets of a poor green Clod,
When he can't find his Way to the Land of Nod,
O, says I, Mr. Muzzy, you must go to Quod,
For its past Twelve o'Clock!
When he can't find his Way to the Land of Nod,
O, says I, Mr. Muzzy, you must go to Quod,
For its past Twelve o'Clock!
But a Neighbour's House if 'tis open broke,
And I gets well touch'd, I laughs at the Joke,
And I softly cries, not to wake the Folk,
A past Twelve o'Clock!
And I gets well touch'd, I laughs at the Joke,
And I softly cries, not to wake the Folk,
A past Twelve o'Clock!
Thus, though my Labour at Night is great,
Yet I knows all the Day how to live in State,
And I never repine at a Watchman's Fate,
Crying, “Past Twelve o'Clock!”
Yet I knows all the Day how to live in State,
And I never repine at a Watchman's Fate,
Crying, “Past Twelve o'Clock!”
For I does my Work by the Rule of Thumb,
To come in for my Share of Crust and Crumb,
For the which I sometimes seem half dumb,
Crying, “Past Twelve o'Clock!”
To come in for my Share of Crust and Crumb,
For the which I sometimes seem half dumb,
Crying, “Past Twelve o'Clock!”
And the Neighbours never believes I mocks,
When I bids them look to their Bolts and Locks,
But they gives me a Thumper of a Christmas Box,
For my—“Past Twelve o'Clock!”
When I bids them look to their Bolts and Locks,
But they gives me a Thumper of a Christmas Box,
For my—“Past Twelve o'Clock!”
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