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 |
 |
 |
 | Collection of comic songs |  |
[Philosophers, do what you will]
Philosophers, do what you will,Nature will be nature still;
Critics, I've no more to say,
So, you may either grin or bray.
A Medley.
My Delia sings, and sings—
O, dear, what can the matter be? O dear—
I did not much like for to go aboard of ship,
Where in danger there's no door to creep out;
I lik'd—
The streamlet that flow'd round her cot,
All the charms, all the charms of—
The true last dying speech and confession, birth, parentage, and education, life, character, and behaviour, of—
Blush'd black as a crow, his fair lady did blush light,
The clock struck 12, they were tuck'd in bed,—
And they sung fal de ral tit, tit fal de ra, tit fal de ra, and—
Says he, my dearest Nel! o,
I'll kiss you here, by this good light,
Lord, what a—
Charming Clorinda—
On Richmond Hill there lives a lass,
More bright than May-day morn,—
But she had a timber toe; but she had a gimlet eye; and she had—
Yorkshire muffins, one a penny, two a penny,—
Pretty damsels, ugly damsels, black-hair'd damsels, red-hair'd damsels, Six-foot damsels, three-foot damsels, pale-fac'd damsels, plump-fac'd damsels, Small-leg'd damsels, thick-legg'd damsels, dainty damsels, dowdy damsels, Pretty, ugly, black-hair'd, red-hair'd, six-foot, three-foot, pale-fac'd, plump-fac'd, small-leg'd, thick-leg'd, dainty, dowdy, all run, all run after—
Diddle diddle dumplings, my son John,
Went to bed with his breeches on;
One shoe off, and—
When my wife lies under ground;
Oh! what pleasure will abound,
When my wife lies under—
Great George our king,
Long live our noble king,
God save the king!
Send him—
Bacon, beans, salt beef and cabbage, milk, and—
Sing ka ba, ba ba, ba wa waw, eh Shew 'em in there! Mr. Punch, what is the
matter with you? “Do you know I once made 1000 Frenchmen run?”
(imitating
punch)
. How run? “After me, you fool, to be sure.” Ba-a-w!
(imitating a lion)
Shew 'em in, there! Only hear the lion, how he sings—
And he caus'd the bells to ring;
He kick'd out of doors—
Five-and-twenty parliament-men all on a row—there was Lord Melville and Mr. Whitbread, up to their elbows in suds, bucking away, trussing up—Ah, goody, you and I are the only people that work hard for bread, all other work is merely fiddle faddle, diddle daddle, double simi dimi quibble down below—It is my lady's birth-day, therefore we'll sing—
And to each hearty cock that's deserving the name,
And long life to King George, for he's cock of the game;
With his tuck, tuck, tuck, fal de ral, lal de ral—tuck, tuck, tuck, fal de ral, lal de ral—(crow like a cock)—fal de ral, la ral lal, fal de ral la.
Laugh with one Eye, and cry with the other.
But many, too often, will stick in the mud;
And, poets, though they swim in air, alas! are flesh and blood,
The feast of reason won't supply the place of solid food:
To gain bread and cheese, with honesty their knowledge-box they bother,
And laugh with one side of their mouths, though they cry with the other.
Why, six and eight-pence, twice as much for coming once to dine;
Thirteen and four-pence travelling expences, to view your spacious dome,
And one pound six and eight-pence, for not finding you at home:
The oyster eat, leave you the shell, your pocket lining bother,
And laugh with one side of their mouths, whilst you cry with the other.
And swears for her charter he'd spill his best blood, sir;
Believe it if you like, I know their favorite dish is
The old-fashion'd food call'd the Loaves and the Fishes:
For a sop in the pan, smack their chops and make a bother,
Inns laugh with one side of their mouths, outs cry with the other.
With doubts and entreaties the fond blushing maid;
To leer and to ogle; whilst the lady cries, “Oh, fie, sir,”
To kneel and protest, when you know its all my eye, sir:
Than away to Gretna Green, in spite of dad and mother,
They laugh with one side of their mouths, dad cries with the other.
Empty pockets, and no fresh supply to be had, sir;
Loud bray'd a jack ass; says spouse, in jeering carriage,
“One of your relations,”—“Yes, my dear, says he, by marriage:”
Then they scold and they wrangle, and make a pitious pother,
And laugh with one side of their mouths, tho' they cry with the other.
Pelisse of velvet, scuttle hats, and for warmth wear inexpressible;
Indeed, I've heard it for a fact, new changes so bewitches,
Next spring, when fashions come from town, the ladies wear the breeches:
Bless their hearts! they encourage trade, from little miss to mother,
May they laugh with one side of their mouths, and ne'er have cause to cry with the other.
And we are left to tan his hide, if our water once he crosses;
With nations under thumb land breezes France can weather,
But whene'er we meet them on the sea, John Bull blows 'em all up together
Our wooden walls with Britons man'd, the enemy still bother,
And laugh with one side of our mouths, whilst they cry with the other
LIFE'S COUNTRY DANCE.
Rich enter sure, some exit poor, seven ages act the man Sir;
And women too, in turns pursue, their partners, kick and prance Sir,
Rich, poor, lame, blind, are all inclin'd, to join life's dance;
Each couples scour, the marriage bower, all sorts and sets embark Sir,
Led by their loves, in herds and droves, like beast to Noah's Ark Sir;
Mama says you must not go, you're yet too young to prance Miss,
Indeed says she, I've learnt the step of life's grand dance.
(Speaking)
Ah, (says her old maiden aunt) when I was a young
woman I cou'd not bear the fellows, I always Spit upon 'em—Ah
Aunt that was because your mouth water'd at 'em—Manys
the time and oft, I myself have stood up to my knees in snow of
a cold frosty night, blowing my fingers 'till my tongue froze to my
mouth, my lips to my teeth, and my heart to my belly; but one
single smile from my charmer warm'd my heart like a glass of
brandy; then we talk'd of Gretna Green,—but how to compass
the cash;—Oh, what has money to do with love? A great deal
for if we marry for love, we may chance to fight for victuals.
“If that won't, nothing else will do” Sing
Loddi iddi, toddi iddi, Loddi iddi, toddi iddi,
Love flies away, I've heard folks say, should poverty assail us,
Hands across and back again, life's dance in time will fail us,
Then foot away, whilst fiddles play, the Devil amongts the Tailors.
And when a bride has chang'd her side, cros'd over figur'd in Sir,
She cannot bear to see them pair in pleasures mazes prance Sir,
But longs again to join the strain of life's grand dauce:
She'll fret and fume about the room and make a woeful din Sir,
Then sob and sigh and wipe her eye, second marriage is a sin Sir,
Learing, glancing thus advancing, once again to prance Sir,
The knowing jade is not afraid to join life's dance.
(Speaking)
Paddy O'Blarney was the boy for her, and being of a
nation not easily put out of countenance, arrah my dear says he
what is that hanging in chains upon your bosom? Oh, Mr.
O'Blarney, that is the picture of my poor dear late husband
Alderman Swallowpudding: What! Alderman Swallowpudding,
says Paddy, placing his hand on her bosom and looking at the
At his command she gave her hand, what the duce can ail us?
Irishmen not one in ten I ever yet knew failers,
They splash a way and always play the Devil amongst the Tailors.
Smiles embrace her parchment face and joins the scampering crew Sir
She'll leer then try to cock her eye and squint an amorous glance Sir,
For I am told I'm not too old to join life's dance.
Resolv'd she tries, a husband buys, a charming honey moon Sir,
My love my dear but not sincere hey! presto change the tune Sir,
A pouting temper spouse wou'd pemp her on nothing make her prance Sir,
They munch and mumble, growl and grumble thro' lifes dance.
(Speaking)
You rogue! you rascal! I shou'd like to reward your
impertinence with a box on the ear, so you may regard the blow
as actually given,—And if I had a sword I wou'd run you thro'
the body, you may therefore consider yourself as dead,—and if
you offer to say another crooked word I'll beat your brains out;—Why
then Rams Horns you dog if I die for it.—then they
begin to Sing.
Falling out zounds what a rout, you never heard such railers,
She'll wag her jaw and scratch and claw and fight like british sailors,
Keep up the fray and always play the Devil amongst the Tailors.
Oh, what a joy! a charming boy, being sure he's all his own Sir,
Kisses pretty, suck a tiddy, jump him, kick and prance Sir,
Hush a bye and wipe an eye and join life's dance,
Soon elbow'd out by folks about our children we would chuse Sir,
To shuffle cut and wish to put their feet in our old shoes Sir,
Each beauteous maid like roses flat when times quick step advance Sir,
'Tis pleasures plan join whilst you can in life's grand dance.
(Speaking)
Marriage has many pains but a single life has no pleasures,
I am a good husband for I never contradict my wife, but
do you know that want of contradiction is fatal to a woman
for that alone is exercise and health—et optima medicamentum the
best medicine in the world for all women. A man that has a
whining wife scarcely knows she whimpers he's so used to it, like
Youth the season made for joy prove you are not failers,
Old age no crime yet tell tale time for ever will assail us,
And master death will stop our breath and play the very devil amongst the Tailors.
The Great Booby.
At tops and marbles beat each lad, but never learnt my book;
My daddy fed me wi' treacle bread, put sugar in my tea,
But my A B C I ne'er cou'd learn, like a great Booby.
I cried gee for off, and off for who't, so I cou'd make nought out:
Dad took the whip to learn I to drive, he cou'd make nought of me,
Then he leather'd me sore, 'till I loudly did roar, like a great Booby.
My genus led me not to books, it led to drinking ale;
To this town I am come, but the folks do me hum, to be sure they make mighty free,
Silly Billy they call me, and softly Sam, and a great Booby.
Boat chuck'd me out, I swam about, just like a lump of lead;
By the hair of the head they lug'd me out, and thus they said to me,
It is not thy fortune to be drown'd, thou great Booby.
The Mounseers ne'er will dare to come, for, dang 'em, we defy 'em;
For volenteers all, to this motto will stand, Britons will be free,
And he that do fear Bonaparte will come here, is a great Booby.
When I got up on the wrong side, they'd let me ride no more;
Both left and reet I shifted my feet, they said I were rickety,
Neither walk nor ride, so they shov'd me aside, like a great Booby.
She'll meet a pratty lad, I trust, if she's got plenty of brass;
I've seen you before, says I, Dolly, my love, you're just such a beauty as me.
“You may see me behind” says she (slapping my chops) “thou great Booby.”
I ax'd their meister for a place, he bad me snuff the candles;
One benefit night, I sang 'em a song, the folks all laugh'd at me,
They said I were like Jem Robertson, a great Booby.
For nature will be nature still, so I can act the fool:
The place that I got I detarmin'd to keep, it so delighted me!
And every year, I'll come and sing here, like a great Booby.
Cloddy's Courtship in Thick-Puddle-Dale.
'Till I came to a neat little cot;
There I spied a sweet face, the lass of the place,
And, I cried, “Will you have me or not?”
Toll de roll, &c.
Oh! her beauty so brightly did glow,
My heart, it went bump, and it gave such a thump,
I thought it were odd, (I suppose) so do you.
I cou'd drink you all like a syllabub;
But if cross you appear, in a fit of despair,
I cou'd tumble you into the swilling-tub.”
And, my celler, when empty, is fill'd again;
I've a hole in my heart, you may through it drive a cart,
And my breasts' like an old empty kilderkin.
And I told 'em, how cruel was Betty;
“Ne'er mind her,” said he, “But go back, now, with me,
Thou shalt have her, because thou'rt so pratty.”
And, if you my tale do not listen to,
I surely shall die, like a pig in a stye,
And, you, an old maid, may grow wizzen'd too.
I never was in love before;
I don't know what to say, or to do all the day,
And, at night, I do nought but roar.
I love her far better than custard;
Neither mutton nor beef, can give such relief,
Though it's ever so flavour'd with mustard.
And I think it will fall to my share;
I think 'tis my fate, and I'm not asham'd to say it,
She is as like me as ever she can stare.
And, with prudence, adhere to this plan,
Ne'er let it be said, there goes an old maid,
But get married—I mean, if you can.
Love and Pudding, a Burlesque.
My small guts fret and fry;
Tho' love of pudding may be wrong,
Don't say it's all my eye:
Well mix'd with flour, with plumbs, with spice,
The dish fell on the floor;
Ah, Gramachree! pudding for me,
My stomach's very sore!
That treats with all that's good in;
Or sugar roll, when crisply bak'd,
Or else a hunting pudding:
To bake it well, I too the dish,
But tumbled on the floor:
Ah, Gramachree! pudding for me,
My stomach's very sore!
I thought to end my woes;
I'th pantry crept to view pork pye,
With joy I snuff'd my nose:
The cat mew'd loud, the cook in came,
Then bang'd me on the floor;
Ah, Gramachree! pudding for me,
My stomach's very sore!
Zounds, how I'd munch and chew;
Ducks, geefe, young pork, a leg of lamb,
Or cow-tails made in stew;
With such nice bits I'd wag my chops,
Till they could wag no more;
Ah, Gramachree! pudding for me,
My stomach's very sore!
The Countryman's Discription of London.
I tell you the truth, my name is call'd Ned;
Not far from this town I first receiv'd birth,
Oh! this county beats all the counties on earth:
I put on two boots, and my best cloaths beside,
Resolv'd I were up to London to ride;
I bid father good bye, and cuddled our Nanny,
Shook Tom by the fist, and kiss'd my old granny—Toll de roll, &c.
When I came to Stone-Henge, lord, how I did stare;
For so many gallow's there did appear,
I said, sure, the 'sizes are kept there t'year;
The best reth' matitians that e'er I did see,
Cou'd never tell rightly how many there be;
I reckon'd the stones about twenty times o'er,
Then I were no wiser than I were before.—Loll loll, &c.
And when I seed it, I knew not what to do;
For what with the noise, and what with the smoke,
I were deaf in my ears, and were ready to choak;
My head were so stunn'd with the noise of their cries,
Of their curds and their creams, and their hot mutton pies;
But the sluts be so nasty, I'll wager a crown,
I had rather eat (any body's) pies in (any) Town—Toll loll, &c.
I thought that the world was turn'd upside down;
For the horses struck fire, and the coaches did fly,
Like thunder and lightning from out of the sky:
And there the rogues stole my best hat away;
Alack and alass! ben't this a sad case!
There shou'd be such thieving in such a fine place?—Toll loll, &c.
When they told me I shou'd see King Charles the first;
And when I came to Charing Cross,
I see'd a black man sit upon a black horse:
Then I went to the tower, but there did not tarry,
For they show'd me a lion, and call'd his name Harry;
But he look'd so grim wi' his claws and his beard,
Had you been there (you Tommy Brown in the corner) ecod, he'd a made you afraid.—Toll loll, &c.
I saw all the noblemen going to court;
I saw a fine coach as it were in a ring,
I pop'd my head in the crowd, and saw our good king:
God bless his sweet face, he fills well his station,
May we still have his race, as guards of the nation;
I know by my sen, 'tis each briton's desire,
May King George rule this land 'till the globe is on fire.—Toll loll, &c.
Five-and-Twenty Fiddlers all on a row.
With their fiddle faddle, diddle daddle, double simi dimi quaver down below:
Therefore we'll keep holiday,
And come for to be merry.
Five-and-twenty bird-catchers all on a row,
(repeat.)
with their bullfinches, chaffinches,
greenfinches, and all the finches in the grove; with their fiddle faddle, &c.
Five-and-twenty doctors all on a row,
(repeat.)
bleed'em, blister'em, kill'em, glister'em,
pill purge, and bolus'em; quack, quack, quack, cry bullfinches, &c.
Five-and-twenty methodists all on a row,
(repeat.)
Lord, have mercy upon us!
Bleed'em, blister'em, &c.
Five-and-twenty butchers all on a row,
(repeat.)
with their rumps and buttocks,
veal chops, lamb chops, mutton chops,—“Pray, how much does that weigh?”
It weighs just—sixteen pence, take it or leave it; Lord have mercy upon us! &c.
Five-and-twenty old maids all on a row,
(repeat.)
“Miss Quisby, Miss Quisby,
how do you do, to-day?” “Oh! Miss Fuzby, Miss Fuzby, I am shockingly!
that fellow Rakish so haunts me up and down, that I shall certainly give way in some
unguarded moment!” “Oh, Miss Fuzby! my sweetheart will be here to-night!
but I hate all your filthy male creatures, with their rumps and buttocks, &c.
Five-and-twenty old washerwomen all on a row,
(repeat)
up to their elbows in
suds, trussing up, bucking away! “Hand me that lump of soap.” “Ah, Goody,
Goody, you and I are the only people that work hard for bread;” my sweetheart
will be here to-night; but I hate all your male creatures, with their rumps, &c.
Five-and-twenty members of parliament all on a row,
(repeat)
there was minority
and majority, loyalty and treason, without one word of reason; there was Mr. ------
and Mr. ------ up to their elbows in suds, buckiug away, trussing up; “Ah, Goody,
Goody, you and I are the only people that work hard for our bread;” “My sweetheart
will be here to-night; but I hate all your filthy male creatures, with their rumps
and buttocks, veal chops, mutton chops, lamb chops; “Lord, have mercy upon
us!” bleed'em, blister'em, kill'em, glister'em, pill, purge, and bolus'em; quack,
quack, quack, cry bullfinches, chaffinches, greenfinches, and all the finches in the
grove; with their fiddle faddle, diddle daddle, double simi dimi quaver down below,
Therefore we'll keep holiday,
And come for to be merry.
Young Paddy Murphy.
I was taught, by the priest, the whole duty of man;
‘Paddy Murphy,’ says he, ‘Child, your lesson begin;
‘Make your bow, my fine fellow, and hold up your chin;
‘Pray, what was you made for?’ Says I, ‘Sir, because,—
‘I was made, holy father, the ladies to please;’
And sure and I was, for the women they smil'd,
Saying, ‘'Faith, Master Murphy's a promising child.’
(Speaking).
To be sure, when I was no bigger than an apple-pottato, my mother
used to say, ‘I was too pretty to live long;’ for before I cou'd speak a single
word, I cou'd sing,—Whack fal de riddle lal, &c.
I must swear a round hand, all from out of my mouth;
And caper and wriggle in all kinds of ways,
And fight like a devil, the ladies to please:
There was tall Katty Kallaghan, short Betty Burke,
There was fat Bridget Bralagen, hop-leg'd Mrs. Quirk;
And, sure, for to please them, was no sinecure,
'Till squinting dear Judy first threw me a lure.
(Speaking).
Och! she was a swate crater! with a bloom on her face like a Munster
pottato.—Where do you come from, my dear, says I?—‘From Clanterduffy, sir.’
says she—And, what's your name, my dear?—‘Ally M'Gullock, sir.’ says she.
Och! what a soft beautiful name! Come along with me, and I'll teach you to
sing—whack fad de riddle, &c.
Says I, by the hoky, you're surely divine;
My eyes, then, so modestly star'd in her face,
And I told her, for love my great guts burn and blaze:
And, Turks, buy their wives, like our chickens, by dozens;
In England, they never break sticks, it is said,
But, married folks, often break—each others head.
(Speaking).
And, England's not the only place for that work! little Ireland can
match them! for my mother had an agreeable way of throwing the poker at my
father's head—then he used to take his shelaly, and make her sing—whack fal, &c
And, in Holland, they smoke 'till they're all put to bed;
At a wedding, in Ireland, they're wond'rous frisky,
With black eyes, bloody noses, punch, claret, and whisky:
By whatever forms we are join'd to each other,
May husband and wife live like father and mother;
For old Ireland with England's united for ever,
Like folks that are married, to seperate never.
(Speaking).
And may the union last for ever and a day, and we all live to see it.—
(Read any thing you please).
Now, perhaps, you'll be after asking me what my
song is about.—Why, I think it's about—long enough. So I'll finish singing,
Whach fal de riddle, &c.
Let us all fall a yawning together.
Nor yet have I been a great weeper,
Though like a true lazy-bred calf,
I must own I'm a mighty greet sleeper;
I've horrible dreams and dull nights,
Occasion'd by badness of weather;
I'll sing about mildews and blights,
Then, let's all fall a yawning together.
Ye—e—w, ye—e—w, ye—e—w,
Let's all fall a yawning together.
That kiss'd Mother Mump in the celler,
That frighten'd the barber's boy dead,
And set us all yawning together;
Let us fancy fresh duty on snuff,
Cats, lapdogs, or monkeys, so clever;
I'm sure there are taxes enough,
To set us all yawning together.
Ye—e—w, ye—e—w, ye—e—w.
Let's all fall a yawning together.
'Cause going to kiss her one morning,
And, scarce had our lips but just met,
When, some devil, sure, set me a yawning;
I mourn for the days that are past,
When our hearts were as light as a feather:
Let's suppose that this day is our last,
So, let's all fall a yawning together.
Ye—e—w, ye—e—w, ye—e—w.
Let's all fall a yawning together.
Of devils, black, blue, white, and yellow,
Of fire, and brimstone, and flood,
To set us all yawning together;
Bring gout, or bring shoots from your corn,
Bring all the dull news you can gather,
Bring a methodist preacher forlorn,
Then, let's all fall a yawning together.
Ye—e—w, ye—e—w, ye—e—w,
Let's all fall a yawning together.
Once, I being shav'd very nice, sir,
I gap'd, and, then, Mr. Strap,
With his razor, he gave me a slicer;
'Twou'd take, all my griefs once to tell,
A whole day, in long summer's weather;
I think, mum wou'd be just as well,
So I'll leave you all yawning together.
Ye—e—w, ye—e—w, ye—e—w,
So I'll leave you all yawning together.
BURLESQUE SONG.
Betty Stumps's Ghost.
In bounc'd Betty Stumps's ghost, and tweak'd John Oftler's nose!
In bounc'd Betty Stumps's ghost, (crying, ‘Waw!’) and pull'd him by the nose!
Like a parsnip, pale, her face, which once blush'd like a red cabbage;
Like a parsnip, pale, her face, (poor dear creature!) she blush'd like a red cabbage.
‘And give me back my mutton pies, and give me back my broth!’
‘And, how cou'd I, sad silly fool, believe your cursed lies?’
‘If you're Betty Stumps's sprite, I'll ne'er beguile you more;
‘If you're Betty Stumps's sprite, (‘I am, you wicked rogue! baw!’)’ Oh, lord, ‘how loud you roar!’
She pull'd him out of bed, and bump'd him on the floor;
She pull'd him out of bed, and bruis'd his numpkin sore!
‘I am a ghost! and come for yow; you baulk'd me once; but I'll have you now!’
Betty Stumps fell in his arms; so he found the ghost a hum;
And you'll find ghosts all my eye, if you kick 'em on the bum.
Moral.
To conclude this pretty song, this moral keep in mind,To do right, you'll do no wrong, nor delude poor woman kind;
For you know it's very wrong (Now, isn't it, Tommy Brown, in the corner? with your arm round that young woman in the red cloak. You know it's very wrong,) to delude poor woman kind.
Laughing Song.
Laugh and dance, and sing with me:
Live to laugh, since life's a jest,
Who laughs the most enjoys it best.
Who laughs the most, &c.
(Speaking).
Moderate laughing is the best medicine in the world, except when
you burst your Sides. A friend of mine was taken before a magist rate the other
day, who observ'd to the prisoner, “How do you live?” Pretty, well, sir; generally
a joint of meat and a pudding for dinner. “I mean, how do you get your
Bread?” Sometimes at the baker's, and sometimes at the uxter's shop. “You
may be as witty as you please; but I simply mean, how do you do?” Pretty
well, I thank you; how are you?
Ha, ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha!
Ha, ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha!
Ha, ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha!
Dashing bucks, and formal quiz;
Ladies, bring your smiling graces,
You shall laugh while I make faces.
(Speaking).
Men have been wise different ways; but they always laugh'd the
same way. Can you tell me why my wig is like a giblet pye? Why? because it
has a goose's head in it.
Ha, ha, ha, ha! &c.
Provs a laughable affair;
Grave men put on wisdom's cloak,
Turn 'em out, it's all a joke.
(Speaking).
Laugh and be fat is a saying of old. Come, let's laugh a bit. Oh,
you can't? then I'll tell you a story.—A clergyman taking a ride, overtook a
country boy with a small basket, containing red ruddle to mark sheep with: Having
a dirty lane to go through, the parson humanely bad the boy get up behind him,
and he wou'd give him some instructions; adding, between every sentence,
“Mark me well, boy.” I will sir. Having got to the end of the lane, and the
end of his task, he says to the boy, “Mark me well; do you hear?” I can't mark
you any more, maister; I've us'd all the ruddle.
Ha, ha, ha, ha! &c.
All the world is full of fun;
Holland apes the Gallic grin,
England still must laugh and win.
(Speaking).
Traveling through Ireland, I overheard the following dialogue: Holloo,
house! “I don't know any of that name.” Are you the master of the inn?
“Yes, sir, please your honour, when my wife's from home.” Have you any porter?
“Yes, sir; Pat's an excellent porter; he'll go any where.” I mean, porter to
drink “Oh, sir, he'd drink the ocean; never fear him for that.” Have you a bill
of fare?” Yes sir; the fair of Mollingar and Ballinaslee are the next week.”
Have you any fish? “They call myself an odd fish.” I think so; but I hope you
are no shark. “No sir; indeed I'm not a lawyer.” Have you any wine? “Yes,
sir, all kinds; from Irish white wine (butter-milk) to burgundy.” Have you any
mountain? “Yes, sir; this country is full of mountains.” Have you any wild
fowl? “Yes sir; but they are tame enough now, they have been kill'd these four
days.” I must see myself. “And welcome, sir; I'll fetch you the looking glass.
Ha, ha, ha, ha! &c.
THE CROOKED FAMILY, Or, more ROSCIUS'S than one.
A Gentleman by trade full of jibes & jeers,
'Twas Moll in the Wad, gave my heart a thump,
Tho' she smack'd my face and box'd my ears;
O'fie Sir says she, Arrah will have me,
Have pity you Devil, says I in a rage,
Now sure as a gun, we two are but one,
For we're married and live like two cats in a cage.
[Speaking]
To be sure I am always master of the house when
my Wifes from home and our young ones crawl round us like pigs
in a stye, then we feed 'em upon roast and boil'd (potatoes) and they
drink nothing but Irish white wine, (butter milk my jewel) they thrive
and are as good looking children as any man need wish to stick a knife into Sing
I have Lords for my sons having humps on their back,
They snuffle they blink they walk awry,
And are christen'd the Crooked Family,
Grey eyes like a cat, Pat Murphy they bother,
No handle she's got to her beautiful face,
So one eye you know always leers at the other;
She's mild in her speaking both sleeping and waking,
And scarce ever cried in her cradle good troth,
Her mouth is beside, like Temple Bar wide,
So we fed the dear child with the Ladle for broth,
(Speaking)
Oh! she was a sweet creature with a charming
open countenance, for her mouth was from ear to ear, then she
was so ingenious, she made all your fashionable straw bonnets
with hay, but poor soul she came to an untimely end for running across
the common Paddy Murphy's Bull kill'd her dead as a door nail,
and the jury bad luck to 'em brought it in Manslaughter, for the loss
of her I could not help crying,
And take after me arrah! faith I'm no joker,
With a pair of black eyes as brisk as the morn
Like two holes in a blanket thats burnt by a poker
With a neat row of teeth oh! she's two by my soul
Her lips in a bustle will ope' like a muscle
And her tongue lays between like a toad in a hole.
(Speaking)
One of them is a sly devil and often wears her
stockings on the wrong way outwards to hide a hole on the other
side, and the other I'm afraid will live single because “The little
Gipsey cocks her nose” and I have remarked that your cock'd up
noses are very fond of saying no. Arrah will kiss me my dear
Alley croker? No no; Arrah will you marry me my dear Alley
Croker No no no no no no. Is to be wonder'd at then that all these
cock'd up noses are generally Old Maids, and are oblig'd to grunt,
For a Pendelum surely his snout has the power,
Yet he never quarrels or scolds in the least,
Only phillip his nose it will shake for an hour,
His brother no hum is as deaf as a drum,
Should you sing e'er so loud watch your lips he'll begin
Both Incledon Braham to him are the same
He'll cry “Lord how they're grip'd father bring 'em some gin.
(Speaking)
To be sure I can't help being vex'd with him myself
now and then because whenever I want any thing in a hurry, he comes
with his stupid way saying, did you want me Papa? Begone you
spalpeen don't you see I'm angry? Oh you're hungry. Get along or
I'll knock out your Brains! A Calve's Head and Brains. I'll knock
your head off your shoulders! Oh! you want a Cods head and
shoulders. Lets have non of your sauce. Oh some Cockle sauce!
Begone or I'll beat you to a Jelly! What a Cod's head with a pudding
in its belly. Sing,
Like a Cuckoo he'll sing on a cold frosty morn
His temper's as smooth as a Crocodile's back
When his body's erect it's like a Rams horn
He snuffles with all tho' his voice is but small
With a queer looking squnit and a cast of his eye,
Fine singers can mock, just like a Peacock,
And he's got a beautiful short leg and thigh.
(Speaking)
Oh! I intend to bring him out on the London
stage as a Young Roscius, in the crooked line, and he'll bother the
Cockneys, for give 'em any thing out of the common way and they
To encourage Young Roscius your hands give a clap,
He'll snuffle and squint and walk awry,
And bring fame to the Crooked Family.
| Collection of comic songs | |