Mirth and Metre consisting of Poems, Serious, Humorous, and Satirical; Songs, Sonnets, Ballads & Bagatelles. Written by C. Dibdin, Jun |
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JOHN DOE AND RICHARD ROE. |
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 | Mirth and Metre |  |
134
JOHN DOE AND RICHARD ROE.
Do you know Johnny Doe,
And the fam'd Richard Roe,
Two terrible brothers in law, Sir?
Because if you don't
I hope that you won't
Be hook'd by their terrible claw, Sir?
O, it's a terrible, &c. A confounded terrible, &c.
And their talons ne'er fail
Each poor devil to nail,
Within reach of their terrible claw, Sir.
And the fam'd Richard Roe,
Two terrible brothers in law, Sir?
Because if you don't
I hope that you won't
Be hook'd by their terrible claw, Sir?
O, it's a terrible, &c. A confounded terrible, &c.
And their talons ne'er fail
Each poor devil to nail,
Within reach of their terrible claw, Sir.
More captures they've made
Than the whole fighting trade;
For actions their like you'll ne'er meet, Sir.
In the army, folks say,
Mag's diversion they play;
But they're much more at home in the fleet, Sir.
They've much more, &c.
They've all their own way, &c.
For they've officers bluff,
And press-warrants enough,
To issue and people the fleet, Sir.
Than the whole fighting trade;
For actions their like you'll ne'er meet, Sir.
In the army, folks say,
Mag's diversion they play;
But they're much more at home in the fleet, Sir.
They've much more, &c.
They've all their own way, &c.
For they've officers bluff,
And press-warrants enough,
To issue and people the fleet, Sir.
Sir Sid, without stopping,
Took French leave for hopping,
And now takes the French to their moan, Sir;
But to these he's a cake,
For all nations they take,
With nobody's leave but their own, Sir;
Nobody's, &c. Nobody's, &c.
For I fancy, d'ye see,
If they took you or me,
They'd have nobody's leave but their own, Sir.
Took French leave for hopping,
And now takes the French to their moan, Sir;
But to these he's a cake,
For all nations they take,
135
Nobody's, &c. Nobody's, &c.
For I fancy, d'ye see,
If they took you or me,
They'd have nobody's leave but their own, Sir.
Why, what d'you think?
When you're short of the chink;
Of want tho' they know you have plenty,
Because it is found
You can't pay ten pound,
Ecod, but they'll make you pay twenty.
Ecod, &c.
'Pon my honor, they'll, &c.
For, as justice can't see,
The lawyers agree,
For ten pounds, &c.
When you're short of the chink;
Of want tho' they know you have plenty,
Because it is found
You can't pay ten pound,
Ecod, but they'll make you pay twenty.
Ecod, &c.
'Pon my honor, they'll, &c.
For, as justice can't see,
The lawyers agree,
For ten pounds, &c.
May these brothers in law,
With their terrible claw,
Keep all honest, from poets to proctors;
And perhaps a good thing
For the nation and King,
It would be if they'd bone all the doctors!
O, Lord! &c.
What a thing, if, &c.
With a drop of good stuff,
We should live long enough,
If they'd only just bone all the doctors.
With their terrible claw,
Keep all honest, from poets to proctors;
And perhaps a good thing
For the nation and King,
It would be if they'd bone all the doctors!
O, Lord! &c.
What a thing, if, &c.
With a drop of good stuff,
We should live long enough,
If they'd only just bone all the doctors.
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