The songs of the Wilsons With a memoir of the Family, and several additional songs never before published. Edited by John Harland |
 |
PAGANINI; OR, MANCHESTER FIDDLING MAD. |
 | The songs of the Wilsons |  |
65
PAGANINI; OR, MANCHESTER FIDDLING MAD.
By Mr Alexander Wilson.
Oh, have you heard the noise of late,
About this fiddling wight so great?
If you have not, 'tis in my pate,
And a few good truths I will relate.
“The Deil cam' fiddlin' through our town,”
Said Scotia's bardie of renown,
It 's surely he who up and down
Goes turning his notes to guineas.
Foreigner like, he blinks John Bull,
And takes the thickness of his skull;
Then go it, old boy, though his pockets are full,
He 's an empty-headed ninny.
About this fiddling wight so great?
If you have not, 'tis in my pate,
And a few good truths I will relate.
“The Deil cam' fiddlin' through our town,”
Said Scotia's bardie of renown,
It 's surely he who up and down
Goes turning his notes to guineas.
Foreigner like, he blinks John Bull,
And takes the thickness of his skull;
Then go it, old boy, though his pockets are full,
He 's an empty-headed ninny.
CHORUS.
With leedle, tweedle, deedle dee,Poor John Bull, how he wheedles thee;
Too old to learn and too blind to see,
Thou 'rt gammon'd by Paganini.
And have you heard the news likewise,
With fighting coves and real flash boys?
His hand at the game of cribbage he tries;
D'ye see to what purpose he dusts your eyes?
And lately one in genteel clothes,
With nimble fingers, eyes, and toes,
The Signor over the left he throws,
And your three hundred sovereigns goes.
But keep your nose to the grindstone, John,
They 'll fiddle and squall till your money 's all gone,
And fleece you nicely one by one,
Like Signor Paganini.
With fighting coves and real flash boys?
His hand at the game of cribbage he tries;
D'ye see to what purpose he dusts your eyes?
And lately one in genteel clothes,
With nimble fingers, eyes, and toes,
66
And your three hundred sovereigns goes.
But keep your nose to the grindstone, John,
They 'll fiddle and squall till your money 's all gone,
And fleece you nicely one by one,
Like Signor Paganini.
Chorus.
—With leedle, tweedle, deedle dee, &c.
There 's none more fond of music's cheer
Than I myself, as you may hear;
Ten shillings an in go's rather queer,
I 'm not inclined to pay so dear.
With fiddle and bow in hand he came,
Newspaper puff and foreign fame,
High-sounding and jaw-breaking name,
Then gulls us prettily to our shame.
Italian, Pagan, Jew, or Turk,
From Charley Wetherell down to Burke,
I wish every man to be paid for his work,
But not like Paganini.
Than I myself, as you may hear;
Ten shillings an in go's rather queer,
I 'm not inclined to pay so dear.
With fiddle and bow in hand he came,
Newspaper puff and foreign fame,
High-sounding and jaw-breaking name,
Then gulls us prettily to our shame.
Italian, Pagan, Jew, or Turk,
From Charley Wetherell down to Burke,
I wish every man to be paid for his work,
But not like Paganini.
Chorus.
—With leedle, tweedle, deedle dee, &c.
Then native genius patronise,
And don't be gull'd by sound and lies,
By fiddles and brooms, and mice and noise,
And squalling, grinding trulls and boys.
If genuine talent you 'd maintain,
Be pleased to send to Ancoats Lane.
Blind Tom shall eclipse the Farm Yard strain,
And fiddle a week for a guinea.
A manly grace poor Tom can boast,
His form well fed on English roast,
A different thing to the fiddling ghost,
Who gammons and puffs the ninny.
And don't be gull'd by sound and lies,
By fiddles and brooms, and mice and noise,
And squalling, grinding trulls and boys.
If genuine talent you 'd maintain,
Be pleased to send to Ancoats Lane.
Blind Tom shall eclipse the Farm Yard strain,
And fiddle a week for a guinea.
67
His form well fed on English roast,
A different thing to the fiddling ghost,
Who gammons and puffs the ninny.
Chorus.
—With leedle, tweedle, deedle dee, &c. | The songs of the Wilsons | |