The songs of Joseph Mather

One day, at my labour, I o'erheard a neighbour,
Most briefly relating her journey to Leeds,
'Twas Jezebel's daughter, whose mother had taught her
The art of seduction and many bad deeds.

I gave due attention to all she did mention;
Well pleased with her story I got it by rote.
The words are verbatim, as she did relate 'em,
Composed to the tune called “shuffle and cut,”
And these were the words of this snivelling slut:

With a short pipe in my mouth,
And a pair of men's shoes, about half an ell
I turned my face to the South,
And returned home to old Jezebel.
When I arrived at my cot,
The old gipsy was tenting it,
I found it was the same spot,
But not as I had been representing it.

Slut-holes above and below,
Spider-webs no one could nominate,
Cat's muck and dog's muck also,
S---t pots mould and abominate.
Black-clocks, crickets, and mice,
Rats very daring and impudent,
Millions of bugs, fleas, and lice
Were wandering over my tenement.

Fretting, alas! was in vain,
So I composed myself speedily,
Fell to my calling again,
Baking and thieving most greedily.
Every peck I did bake,
I nibbled harder than e'er I did;
Yes, I took more by a cake,
This I am certain and clear I did.

Then did old Jezebel say,
For thy expenses extraordinary,
We'll make the leaven tub pay
Sixpence a peck more than ordinary.
Yesterday twelve pecks of meal
Came to be baked in reality,
Twenty-four cakes I did steal,
Which shows a great deal of frugality.

Twelve pence my wage was at least,
Had not I cause to look pleasantly,
I got as drunk as a beast,
How it was I'll tell you presently.
We've a stone bottle in cog,
A bottle for secresy suitable,
We get it filled up at the Dog,
When we've a mind, indisputable.

If we go seek for some ale,
A pint or pennyworth with sanctity,
While we are telling our tale,
The girl fills us treble the quantity,
Corks up the bottle secure,
Lest they discover our knavery,
Gives it us very demure—
Thus we do live above slavery.

Tipsy, we then fall asleep;
When we awake we are dry again:
Close to the bottle we creep,
Drink deep and then set it down again.
Here's good health to John Shay,
Who still keeps the bottle replenishing;
He may work hard day by day
To pay for his liquor diminishing.

We must confess it's not right
For mortals whose lives are in jeopardy,
Daily to live by the bite,
And swell us with other men's property.
We deceive women and men,
All sorts of wickedness cherisheth,
What will become of us when
The hope of the hypocrite perisheth.

University of Virginia Library

Song XII. JEZEBEL'S DAUGHTER.

Part II.