Streams from Helicon :: :: University of Virginia Library

Travelling of late in Fogs and thick Mist,
Without any Guide save Will with the Wisp,
I wander'd, for the bright decoying Rogue,
Hop'd to wild Heaths, and many a mossy Bog;
Trembling I stumbl'd thro' deep Pits and Ditches,
Thinking to meet the Devil and his Witches,
I'm sure they keep their nightly Meetings here,
(Where never Priest, or humane Foot draws near,)
Upon this Spot they dance and ravel all the Year:
At last a joyful Musick reach'd my Ear,
I did the Din of distant Waters hear,
Ignis went off, the Day began to clear.
I leapt for Joy, bending my Course with speed,
To reach the Water; and I found it Tweed:

Glad was my Heart, when I its Banks did view;
There I beheld a very jovial Crew.
Below fair Peebles, on the River's Side,
The merry Beggars were busking a Bride,
A gang of Strollers, acting their Freiks,
Gabling and dancing as merry as Greeks.
In a thicket of Trees my self I hid,
Where I heard and saw what the Beggars did.

No Shellicoat Goblin, or Elf on the Green,
E'er triped more nimbly than the Beggar's Queen;
Blobberlips the Bride did Dance and Play,
(For this, it seems, was her Wedding-Day.)
She was match'd to old Scrape, the Maunders King,
(This made all the Rag-Regiment sing,)
Who gave her a Curch, as wide as a Hood;
A silver Brotch, and a silken Snood,
A pearled Cross-Cloth, a woven Belt,
A large leathren Swag, to hold the Gelt;
A pair of Scizars, to clip the Plaisters;
To keep open the Wounds which shew their Disasters;
Needles to sew the Pass-ports when torn;
An Elchin to coble the Shoes when worn;
A string of Beads, a Bitch, and a Kent,
To help her thro' the Bogs and the Bent,)
A Blanket, a pair of new soal'd Hose,
A Mill with Snitian, to pepper her Nose.
You're Queen of the Covee, (says he) tho' in Rags,
My fair Fuss you shall carry the Bags;
All Night you shall ly on Pillows of Flags.

I've truf'd you a Ladies Shirt from the Hedge;
(Auld louzy Duds gars ay Folk fidge.)
On Pad of Bulrushes, your Buttocks I'll lay,
There sleep and sing, till the Cock crow Day.
Then beg on the Way, and rob all we meet,
Steal from the Hedge, both the Shirt and the Sheet.
I'll pour on thy Pale, a Pot of good Ale,
Laughing like us, at ev'ry Mail;
On stoln Eggs and Butter we'll Dine,
My bona noba, in a cloven Pine;
With Ducklings i'th' Season, Bacon and Pease,
Capons, Turkeys, and fat dabs of Cheese;
I'll learn you to filch a Duck or a Hen,
Fill the Swag with Lour, for a bousing Ken.

And a Begging we will go,
And a Begging we will go;
With a Pock for our Oat Meal,
Another for our Rye;
A little Bottle by our Side,
To Drink when we are Dry.
And a Begging we will go, &c.

Blabberlips kiss'd him, ten times and mair;
Cry's, Blessings lies lurking in his Tufts of Hair;
Lang grows his Beard, thick, forked, and fair:
I'll kemb his Beard, his Whiskers I'll plet;
With Feathers of Ravens, brush his bald Pate:
He'll ly on the Pad with his Dell till she twang:
Let the Constable, Justice, and the D---l, go hang
When we roost in Barns, old Chuck will teach us,
To cut bien Whids, and be perfect in Crutches,

To clap our Fambles, thro' up our Nab-cheats,
To silch from the Hedge, both the Shirts and the Sheets:
The Cowlies on the Straw, with the Morties will be glad,
But ilk an must maund on his awn Pad:
The Doxies turn up their Keels and spelder,
Wapping till a Kinch twang in the Kelder.

The Covee coming by,
Will Bumbumbis cry,
Hedge-Hog, Toad, Beetle,
Dick the Jewels,
There they ly.

Then a flecker'd blew ey'd Hag began to sing,
To the Tune of Old Sir Simon the King,

Beggars SONG out of Beaumont and Fletchers Plays.

“Cast our Caps and Care away,
“This is Beggars Holy-Day;
“At the Wedding of our King,
“Thus we ever dance and sing.
“In the World look out, and see;
“Where's so happy a Prince as he,
“Where's the Nation lives so free,
“And so Merry as do we?

“Be it Peace, or be it War,
“Here at Liberty we are,
“And enjoy our Ease and Rest:
“To the Fields we are not prest,
“Nor are call'd unto the Town,
“To be troubled with the Gown.
“Hang the Government, we cry,
“Their Officers we do defy;
“Let Magistrates on Gibbets dy.
“When the Subsidy's encreast,
“We are not a Penny Cest:
“Nor will any go to Law,
“With a Beggar for a Straw.
“All which Happiness he brags,
“He doth owe unto his Rags.
“Then a Begging we will go,
“And a Begging we will go, &c.

In the midst of their Mirth, Dunnawassels drew nigh
King Scrape rose up with the Hue, and the Cry:

Purveyors to your Crutches; wooden Legs, wry Faces,
To your Postures; learn your halting Paces.
Red-botch rid you, make false Bellies, ye Whores,
Slover Chops to your Stilts, lay open your Sores;
Beeds-Men tye your Tackling, haste, the Lour bring
To Litter the Cubs, and Bouse the King.

The tatter'd Regiment took the Alarm,
Some wanted a Leg, others an Arm:

The Queen was Cripple, with a broken Leg;
And thus she shew'd them, the Art to beg.

The Begging CANT.

Bless your Worships, throw us a Penny;
Pitty the Wretches, poor and many;
Mind the Blind who cannot see;
Giv's but a Doyt, or Irish Babie:
Spare something to the Dumb and Lame,
All starving with a hungry Wame;
And he who sent you't guide you hame.
She canted till she got
The matter of a Groat,
Which she to Scrape did bring,
For he was own'd for King;
And merrily did sing.

The SONG.

Here in Peace and Love we dwell,
Who'd be Nobles, prithee tell:
When the Beggars live so well.

Then Blyth, very Blyth, very Blyth, let us be,
King George needs a Million, so do not we:
Well Dance, and we'll Sing under the Hawthorn-Tree.
Just now it's been our Lot,
For to pick up a Groat,
We'll put it in the Pot,
And Merry, Merry, Merry, very Merry, let us be.