The songs of the Wilsons With a memoir of the Family, and several additional songs never before published. Edited by John Harland |
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THE MEDDLING PARSON.
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 | The songs of the Wilsons |  |
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THE MEDDLING PARSON.
By Mr Thomas Wilson.
My theme is of a parson, a cobbler's son is he;
Who, like his father, mends a sole, [soul,] but not without a fee;
With ferret eyes he does surmise, and cock his brazen face,
He 'll interpose, and thrust his nose into another's case.
Who, like his father, mends a sole, [soul,] but not without a fee;
With ferret eyes he does surmise, and cock his brazen face,
He 'll interpose, and thrust his nose into another's case.
Chorus.
The little lout,He struts about,
Void of sense or rule:
I need not tell,
You know full well
This little busy fool.
The little saucy cur is the make-sport of the town;
A silly elf, he makes himself look worse than any clown;
Genteely clad, with manners bad, that show him mean and base;
To church and steeple, all good people, hold him a disgrace.
A silly elf, he makes himself look worse than any clown;
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To church and steeple, all good people, hold him a disgrace.
Chorus.
—The little lout, &c.
A soldier with his saddle once stopp'd upon the road,
And near his door, the soldier poor he rested from his load:
At length this little mongrel, so full of anger burn'd,
The saddle flung into the dung, and then the soldier spurn'd.
And near his door, the soldier poor he rested from his load:
At length this little mongrel, so full of anger burn'd,
The saddle flung into the dung, and then the soldier spurn'd.
Chorus.
—The little lout, &c.
The soldier told his officer, who, without loss of time,
Invites the pup to come and sup, and take a glass of wine:
To the barrack yard in haste he goes, admission soon he gains,
And whilst he stay'd the soldiers play'd “The Rogue's March” for his pains.
Invites the pup to come and sup, and take a glass of wine:
To the barrack yard in haste he goes, admission soon he gains,
And whilst he stay'd the soldiers play'd “The Rogue's March” for his pains.
Chorus.
—The little lout, &c.
This hero of the lapstone in the country went to dine,
And with one Peel he got a reel, he made so free with wine:
The company subscribed and muster'd up a crown,
A dyer got to wheel the sot in barrow through the town.
And with one Peel he got a reel, he made so free with wine:
The company subscribed and muster'd up a crown,
A dyer got to wheel the sot in barrow through the town.
Chorus.
—The little lout, &c.48
At the communion table there 's plenty standers-by,
When he does come, there is such fun the marriage knot to tie;
Each simple stands; he joins their hands, then for the ring he calls,
“You come here,” “You go there!” and some he pulls and hauls.
When he does come, there is such fun the marriage knot to tie;
Each simple stands; he joins their hands, then for the ring he calls,
“You come here,” “You go there!” and some he pulls and hauls.
Chorus.
—The little lout, &c.
Also at th' font, where women wont with little infants stand,
He shouts and bawls, then “Silence” calls, and takes one in his hand;
“You stand back; you hold your clack;” then, “Name the child,” he cries;
And then he 'll shout, “Turn that man out;” then, “John I thee baptize.”
He shouts and bawls, then “Silence” calls, and takes one in his hand;
“You stand back; you hold your clack;” then, “Name the child,” he cries;
And then he 'll shout, “Turn that man out;” then, “John I thee baptize.”
Chorus.
—The little lout, &c.
One day when he was reading the service o'er the dead,
To get a peep, a little sweep o'er the wall did show his head,
“And lo! I heard an angel's voice, from heaven he did call,
Saying,—Clerk, go mill that imp of hell, and knock him off the wall!”
To get a peep, a little sweep o'er the wall did show his head,
“And lo! I heard an angel's voice, from heaven he did call,
Saying,—Clerk, go mill that imp of hell, and knock him off the wall!”
Chorus.
—The little lout, &c.
To cure this little brat o' wax, this method I 'd pursue;
I 'd strip his gown and set him down to mend the sole o' shoe;
And if from peevish quarrelling this magpie will not mend,
Then, by my troth, I 'd stitch his mouth up with a taching end.
I 'd strip his gown and set him down to mend the sole o' shoe;
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Then, by my troth, I 'd stitch his mouth up with a taching end.
Chorus.
—The little lout, &c. | The songs of the Wilsons | |