The songs of Joseph Mather

From Derbyshire I was transported
To Rotherham, where I now dwell,
A fool I was always reported,
The people of Bakewell can tell;
I hector and talk about fighting,
Till I am amazingly scar'd;
When scolding I'm ready for sh---g,
When struck, then I drop a face card.

You've heard with what bullocking speeches,
When absent from home, not in want,
I sold from my a---e my new breeches,
And gave half-a-crown to recant;
The buyer he quickly resign'd them,
And cast them away from him, yards,
When he saw how well I had lin'd them,
With flushes of trumps and face cards.

My neighbours all envy my genius,
Because I endeavour to thrive;
Five pounds I turn'd into five guineas
By making the cypher a five.
The assignees thought I could conjure,
Till the bill and the books were compar'd,
But now they incessantly grumble,
And throw in my teeth the face card.

At Ecclesfield, after receiving
A free and most generous treat,
Before I could well think of leaving
My friend I attempted to cheat;
Altho' to his kindness a debtor,
By gratitude doubly debarr'd,
Yet cleanliness taught me no better
Than drop in his house a face card.

Then to it we fell with a rattle,
Broke buffets, stools, tables, and chairs;
But just in the midst of the battle,
We both tumbled down't cellar stairs.
Strong beer in the barrels was jumbled,
Here Bacchus and Mars rather jarr'd,
My pride he sufficiently humbled,
By making me drop a face card.

At Sheffield, inspired by the barrel,
I let them know Bullocking Dick;
As usual I kick'd up a quarrel
With one whom I'd play'd a foul trick;
The landlady stept in betwixt us,
For which she deserved a reward,
Ere she in our seats had refix'd us,
I privately drop'd a face card.

My wife, a good kind of creature,
Who knew me a coward in grain,
Says, “Dickey, our good legislators
On fighters inflicteth much pain,

I pray thee go home with me quickly,
Thy new leather breeches thou'st marr'd;
I find myself turn very sickly,
By smelling thou'st drop'd a face card.”

Before we got opposite Peach's
The legs of the knaves were display'd,
From under the hams of my breeches,
On which a young chaisedriver said—
“Here's Dick made a crack in his manners,
His new leather breeches he's marr'd,
He has not drop'd all the four honours,
'Tis nought but a simple face card.”

The legs of my Jack's growing longer,
Some enter'd the tops of my pumps;
The streets with spectators grew stronger,
Who all shouted out “hearts are trumps!”
The ace, king and queen quickly follow'd,
Small trumps, I play'd near forty yards;
If all the whole pack I had swallowed,
I could not have drop'd more face cards.

This wicked chaisedriver turn'd poet,
And put my misfortunes in print;
In order that people might know it,
He's giv'n the public this hint;
So now I'm perplex'd above measure,
By boys and insulting blackguards,
Who cry as I walk out at leisure,
“That's Dickey that drops the face cards.”

A fool you may bray in a mortar,
And he will remain a fool still;
Poor Dick till his days are cut shorter,
His new leather breeches will fill;
A wit might as easily manage
To reconcile fire and dry hards,
And plough up both Mam-Tor and Stanedge,
As stop him from dropping face cards.

University of Virginia Library

SONG LIV. THE FACE CARD.