An Original Collection of Songs sung at the Theatres Royal, Public Concerts &c. &c. By W. T. Moncrieff |
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CHAPTER OF FISHING. |
 | An Original Collection of Songs |  |
219
CHAPTER OF FISHING.
[_]
Sung by Mr. Fltzwilliam, Mr. C. Taylor, and Mr. Howell, at Public Dinners, &c. Air—We're a' nodding.
They're all fishing, fish, fish, fishing—
They're all fishing, every one you meet.
Many folks about fishing have of late made a pother,
But we're all of us fishing for something or other—
All's flesh fishified, and my faith is unshaken,
That each man has his bait, which some time will be taken.
They're all fishing, &c,
They're all fishing, every one you meet.
Many folks about fishing have of late made a pother,
But we're all of us fishing for something or other—
All's flesh fishified, and my faith is unshaken,
That each man has his bait, which some time will be taken.
They're all fishing, &c,
The Statesman's a Kingfisher,—a good haul who wishes—
He still baits us with bread, to secure the loaves and fishes—
The Patriot a Smelt is, still fishing for place,
Who'll change like a Dolphin, if one stares him in the face,
For they're all fishing, &c.
He still baits us with bread, to secure the loaves and fishes—
The Patriot a Smelt is, still fishing for place,
Who'll change like a Dolphin, if one stares him in the face,
For they're all fishing, &c.
The Soldier's a Pike fish— a blood worms his bait—
He fishes for glory, still trusting to Fate—
Dancing Masters are Trout fish, who fish to catch eels,
And Counsellors all are still fishing for the seals.
For they're all fishing, &c.
He fishes for glory, still trusting to Fate—
Dancing Masters are Trout fish, who fish to catch eels,
And Counsellors all are still fishing for the seals.
For they're all fishing, &c.
The Doctor's a Leech, who can bite very sharp—
The Critics, when fishing, inclined are to Carp—
The Lawyer with Gudgeons himself still consoles,
And our Pastors, good Christians, are fishing for souls.
And they're all fishing, &c.
The Critics, when fishing, inclined are to Carp—
The Lawyer with Gudgeons himself still consoles,
And our Pastors, good Christians, are fishing for souls.
And they're all fishing, &c.
Lovers soft roed fish are, for maids who still angle—
Their bait a fine May fly—they themselves oft entangle—
The Ladies are White Bait, by which we're oft hook'd,
For they sometimes preve Thornbacks in church when we're book'd!
And they're all fishing, &c
Their bait a fine May fly—they themselves oft entangle—
220
For they sometimes preve Thornbacks in church when we're book'd!
And they're all fishing, &c
The Bsnkers are Stockfish—the Gold fish they like—
The Dandy's a Flat fish, who still seeks to strike—
The Sailor's a Jack, who spurns fresh water fish,
And who on the ocean can every one dish.
And they're all fishing &c.
The Dandy's a Flat fish, who still seeks to strike—
The Sailor's a Jack, who spurns fresh water fish,
And who on the ocean can every one dish.
And they're all fishing &c.
With the Miser all fish is that first comes to net—
He baits with a Sprat still a Herring to get—
The Sharper's a slippery fish—he is a Skate—
While the Clown is a Tickleback, a mere straw his bait.
And we're all fishing, &c.
He baits with a Sprat still a Herring to get—
The Sharper's a slippery fish—he is a Skate—
While the Clown is a Tickleback, a mere straw his bait.
And we're all fishing, &c.
The Author's a queer fish, who fishes with lines,
Who, though sometimes he flounders, as oftentimes shines—
I, an odd fish, am fishing, and not without cause—
Do I wish for good sport—I fish for your applause!
And we're all fishing, &c.
Who, though sometimes he flounders, as oftentimes shines—
I, an odd fish, am fishing, and not without cause—
Do I wish for good sport—I fish for your applause!
And we're all fishing, &c.
| An Original Collection of Songs | |