A collection of comic songs written, Compil'd, Etch'd and Engrav'd, by J. Robertson; and sung by him At the theatres Nottingham, Derby, Stamford, Halifax, Chesterfield, and Redford |
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Bread and Cheese in a Linen Bag, and Pudding in a Lantern.
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 | A collection of comic songs |  |
Bread and Cheese in a Linen Bag, and Pudding in a Lantern.
The poems' view of Shakespeare too,
Now please each beau and belle, sit.
(Speaking).
Aye, Shakespeare with his works astonish'd the world; for he
cou'd make you laugh or cry. He, like Ovid, Homer, and Virgil, wrote
for fame; now, I am like our modern authors, whenever I turn songsmith,
it is to get—
(Chorus to every verse).
Pudding in my lantern, pudding in my lantern,Bread and cheese in my linen bag, and pudding in my lantern.
Why, satire best will stand the test,
All my eye is modern love, sir.
(Speaking).
Love puts me in mind of honesty, for it is much talk'd of, and
little understood—An Englishman in love, amuses himself with the blue
devils, and an Irishman with black-strap; a Dutchman in love, is as cold
as a confectioner's ice-house, and a Spaniard as hot as a grill'd devil; a poet
in love, rhymes away his soul, a musician fiddles away his soul, a lawyer
pleads away his soul, and a love-sick doctor physics away his soul.—By the
bye, a doctor must be sick indeed, to take his own physic.—In love there is
nothing better to prescribe than—
A barber he by trade wou'd be,
So he their heads can cool, sir.
(Speaking).
I shav'd a parliament-man the other day—he slipp'd a Ten Pound
Note in my hand—I shav'd his rival the same day, and he slipp'd a Ten
Pound Note into my hand.—The first I shav'd heard of it, and next morning
when I shav'd him, he made his ten twenty, so I gave him my vote on the
hustings—the other star'd at me, and, whispering, said, “You know I
shav'd at your shop yesterday,” very true, sir, said I; but the other gentleman
shav'd twice: Bless your heart, I only shave for—
Nor lord nor king, cou'd envy bring,
Whilst his mill went clack clack clack.
(Speaking).
Now you say all millers are rogues in grain, and ought to be well
thrash'd; but I say, I am as honest as the world will let me be; and though
all is grist that comes to my mill, I never sack my neighbours' property.—“Come,
come, no lying, friend.” Upon my honor, no; unless it be to get
Upon my soul, they spend the cole,
But the skuttle they still wear.
(Speaking).
'Tis the fashion, now, for our beaux to dress in blue, and our
ladies in buff.—Observe a beaux with boots to his hips, like a gingerbread
cock and breeches at a fair—My dear madam, I love you; but I am half
seas over, and that's the reason I just now tumbled into the river.—I had
such fun with the mob—I pin'd one cracker to an old woman's wig, and
popp'd another into a fat man's pocket.—Away went the jasey! and the fat
man hop'd about like a dancing elephant.—Will you marry me? I'm the
man for you!—“Oh, dear, sir, you flurry me to such a degree!”—But let
me not be too severe upon matrimony; for english wives certainly are the
best in the word; bless their little hearts! I wish every one of them to have
With flowing bowl, each jovial soul,
Drink George and liberty.
(Speaking).
Our english tars say, roast beef and rule Britannia, are the best
tunes in the world; and that, while britons stick to one, the other is sure to
follow.—We ought to run some risk for our country—a country whose cause
is the cause of every one in it—viz freedom and a happy fire-fide; for without
these blessings not one of us cou'd enjoy—
| A collection of comic songs | |