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| XLVI. | SONG XLVI. WATKINSON'S REPENTANCE. |
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 | The songs of Joseph Mather |  |
SONG XLVI. WATKINSON'S REPENTANCE.
At lengh this old Wolf to repentance is brought,
Who a long time in Sheffield hath wandered about,
A large blackguard snatch of late he hath made,
To pull down the prices of the cutlering trade.
Who a long time in Sheffield hath wandered about,
A large blackguard snatch of late he hath made,
To pull down the prices of the cutlering trade.
CHORUS.
But he gets well remember'd what a rogue he has beenIn extending dozens from twelve to thirteen.
This is full repentance and a lamentable tale,
I had rather been broken and sent to the jail
Than heard such a scandal be sung thro' the town,
That the name of great W---n doth pull prices down.
I had rather been broken and sent to the jail
Than heard such a scandal be sung thro' the town,
That the name of great W---n doth pull prices down.
68
It is every night when I go to my rest,
My conscience doth constantly pierce thro' my breast,
I seldom can sleep, but I constantly dream
I hear thousands shouting “I will have thirteen.”
My conscience doth constantly pierce thro' my breast,
I seldom can sleep, but I constantly dream
I hear thousands shouting “I will have thirteen.”
Once I was walking the street up and down,
The most that pass'd by me spoke with a frown,
Singing “there goes old W---n who hath lost his brain,
And never must recover his senses again.”
The most that pass'd by me spoke with a frown,
Singing “there goes old W---n who hath lost his brain,
And never must recover his senses again.”
One night to the play I happened to go,
But I could not rest long, they troubled me so,
For before in the play-house long time I had been,
The whole gallery shouted “I will have thirteen.”
But I could not rest long, they troubled me so,
For before in the play-house long time I had been,
The whole gallery shouted “I will have thirteen.”
Come all Sheffield masters, take warning by me,
For fear you should share the same fate you see,
And never attempt poor men's bones for to scrape,
Who daily do labour for all that they do get.
For fear you should share the same fate you see,
And never attempt poor men's bones for to scrape,
Who daily do labour for all that they do get.
| The songs of Joseph Mather | |