Part 6

In their daddy’s last moments and on his death bed, He sent for their nunky, and to him he said, “I feel I am going, come, tip us your fin, Look after my babbies, take care of their tin: But should they both croak, vich I hope they vont do, The whole of their ochre I give unto you.” Says he “My dear brother, I’ll do all I can--” But their nunky he vos a deceitful old man. Their nunky he vos, etc.

He’d scarce laid his brother under the ground, Vhen he sold all the things in the house vot vos found; He took the two babbies home to his abode, And he bought ’em some hard bake to eat on the road, He bought ’em some apples--he bought ’em parched peas, A new penny loaf, and a ha’porth of cheese; He blowed out their bags vith all sort of scran, But their nunky he vos a deceitful old man. Their nunky he vos, etc.

Vhen he looked at the kids, he longed for their gold; In damp sheets he laid ’em, ’cos he thought they’d catch cold; They both caught the measles, and the whooping cough, And he prayed every night that it would take em off, But they got over that, and all other disease Vich kids mostly have--which it didn’t him please; So to cook the poor babbies, he thought on a plan, For their nunky he vos such a vicked old man. Their nunky he vos, etc.

He hired two barbers vot vos both out of vork, To take the two babbies to Norwood to burk, Now ven they got there, they altered their minds-- They both cut their sticks--left their babbies behind. They wandered about, did these infants so good They ate all the blackberries that growed in the wood, Vith hips, haws, and sloes, their bellies did cram, Through their nunky who vos such a vicked old man, Their nunky he vos, etc.

They liv’d till next night ven they guv up the ghost, They vos both on ’em freezed as stiff as a post; A cock robin vos perched on a tree close by,-- He vept as he vitnessed those babbies die; Then he kivered ’em over, as nice as could be, Vith some cabbage leaves fresh, vot he picked off a tree, And he hopped, and he twittered, and the song that he sang, Vos “Their nunky he must be a vicked old man. Their nunky he vos, etc.”

Not a vink of sleep, after, nunky he got, The whole of his body was seized vith the rot, The whole of his toes dropped off his feet, And teeth tumbled out of his mouth in the street. The ghosts of the babbies, next night it is said, They com’d and they tore all the hair off his head; And vhen he valked out, the boys arter him ran, Crying, cruel old nunky, you vicked old man. Cried after their nunky, etc.

He dwindled away to a mere bag of bones, Till the neighbours von night vos alarmed at his groans, His house on that night vos burned down to the ground, Not a remnant of nunky vos there to be found. The ruins so strongly of brimstone did smell, And the neighbours all round this story do tell; That the devil that night avay vith him ran, ’Cos their nunky he vos such a vicked old man. Cos their nunky he vos, etc.

_KATE’S YOUNG MAN._

SOME servant girls at Croydon fair, A dancing with young fellows were, But there was none among the clan, So spruce and smart, as Kate’s young man. They were seen home by Kate’s young man-- And asked to tea was Kate’s young man-- And cookey prepared a sop in the pan, Next day, to give to Kate’s young man.

As Kate’s young man got talk’d about, And as the old Misses was going out, The three young missesses form’d a plan, To have a peep at Kate’s young man. They heard the ring of Kate’s young man, They sent down wine to Kate’s young man, Then several times in the kitchen they ran, To have a peep at Kate’s young man.

With Kate’s young man, so full of glee, That night below, the street door key The housemaid got, and then began Through it to quiz at Kate’s young man. Upon my honour, a nice young man, You’re what we call Kate’s young man, Then, romping round for the key he ran, And, take it away did Kate’s young man.

When Kate’s young man went off with the key, Miss Kate let out her jealousy, And at the housemaid she began, For romping about with her young man. Pray, is he your, or my young man? Why don’t you get your own young man? And then they were within a span Of scratching each other, for Kate’s young man.

About Kate’s young man, was all this fuss, When Kate cried out, Where is my purse? And vere’s my vatch, said Cooky, and Ann Exclaim’d, confound that Kate’s young man. I’ve lost my brooch by Kate’s young man, Oh, he’s taken the things in fun, said Fan, They thought it so, and then they began To laugh at the wit of Kate’s young man.

That very night, as sure as fate, Some thief got in, and stole the plate, And the street door key reminded Ann, It might be done by Kate’s young man. Oh, Kate, I fear it is your young man, Oh, my goodness, gracious, Ann! They call’d the policeman, who began To ask a deal about Kate’s young man.

At the office of police, next day, The servants went to say their say, When lo! and behold, from the prisoner’s van, The first who came out was Kate’s young man, An old offender was Kate’s young man, And over the water went Kate’s young man.

(Spoken) And Kate, crying, accused the housemaid of causing his ruin, ’Cos if she hadn’t romp-foozled with the key, as oughtn’t he wouldn’t have taken it, as couldn’t. When Ann, rather nettled, retorted, with the following golden maxim, and wished that every missus would have it put up in every kitchen--that she did--

Let servant girls get what they can, But not get any like Kate’s young man.

_HE WAS SUCH A NICE YOUNG MAN._

IF pity dwells within your breast, Some sympathy pray spare, Of love, that breaks young lady’s rest, Indeed, I’ve had my share. His form is ever in my sight, Forget, I never can, I’m haunted by him day and night, He was such a nice young man.

’Twas at a ball held at the west, On me he first did glance, So gently he my fingers prest, And ask’d me out to dance, I blush’d and simpered, No, no, no. Then, smiling, dropt my fan, For how could I refuse to dance, He was such a nice young man.

The dance now o’er, my hand he took, And led me to a seat, And, sighing, gave me such a look, I ne’er saw one so sweet. Refreshments beg’d of me to take, I did the dainties scan, Alas, I’d lost my appetite, He was such a nice young man.

When growing late, about to leave, It rain’d in torrents fast, Said he, Dear Miss, I really grieve, I feel that it will last. Then, quick he hurried from the room, And for a coach he ran, His kindness quite overpowered me, He was such a nice young man.

As through the hall we went along, He begg’d for my address, I gave it him, not thinking wrong, He was in such distress. His card emboss’d he handed me, With “Captain,” Miss, I am, My stars, thought I, Oh here’s a chance, He was such a nice young man.

Next morning, drest, and breakfast done, Heart beating with desire, The hall door bell was loudly rung, Enough to break the wire. I thought I should have died with fright, Up came our servant Anne, A gentleman, Miss, waits below, He is such a nice young man.

Almost I’d sunk, ’twixt hope and fear, I wish’d I was afar, Guess my surprize him now to hear Conversing with Mamma. Such language elegant he used, He did her heart trepan, She said she no objection had, He was such a nice young man.

Now, stop and dine with us, you must, I will not take denial. Excuse me ma’am, this visit first, Is far too great a trial. Well, call again whene’er you please, For visit here you can, I’ll call again to-morrow, ma’am, Said my very nice young man.

From th’ house he was scarcely out of sight, When, from the lower rooms, A servant maid came in a fright, And cried, He’s stole the spoons! Ah! fetch him back, Mamma she cried, Off ran our footman Dan, Who brought him back, we found the spoons, Yes, upon this nice young man.

A caution, ladies, give I must, The moral I well know, ’Tis never the appearance trust, Of any dashing beau. For this is what I should have done, When to notice he began, But, who’d have thought he was a thief? He was such a nice young man.

_MRS. MONDAY._

ONE Sunday I went out, and as I walk’d up Holborn Hill, (I like to be particular,) the streets were very muddy, When just about the half way up, quite shock’d I stood stock still; A lady slipt down flop before me, fat and plump, and ruddy. She was in the kennel sprawling, To me for assistance calling, Quick was I pulling, hauling; She did wish to shun day. The mud had spoil’d her Sunday dressing, “Dear,” she said, “’tis quite distressing. Lawk! I am a pretty mess in; Look,” said Mrs. Monday.

As soon as she recover’d, she return’d her thanks so free, And in my ears no voice was e’er so sweet, tho’ she did tumble; She said, that when she started, she was going out to tea, But stopt by this unfortunate and unlucky tumble. Mobs of people now surrounded, She and me were both confounded; Low lived jokes and jeers abounded, Tho’ it was a Sunday. Heeding not their taunts and titters, I ask’d her if my taste would fit her’s. Would she have some brandy-bitters, “I will,” said Mrs. Monday.

We both went in to Thompson’s then, and had a glass a piece, The people still were grinning all, to see her clothes so dirty; Her face with perspiration look’d, as if ’twere dipp’d in grease; Her age was, I suppose, about some two or three and thirty. Her face look’d just like one that’s muddled, Clothes on her were completely huddled, All at once she got quite fuddled; Shocking for a Sunday! Thank’d me for my being so handy, Declar’d that I was quite the dandy, Drank three glasses more of brandy; Shocking! Mrs. Monday.

What was I to do? egad! I could not get away, She stuck to me as tight as wax, and liquor drank the faster; And every glass she swallow’d down, she call’d on me to pay, And then compell’d to see her home, safe out of her disaster. Thro’ the streets by jeers saluted, Mob at every step recruited, While they halloo’d, laugh’d, and hooted, Shocking! for a Sunday; Ev’ry step made mis’ry double, Took her home through every hubble, And got, for all my care and trouble, Blow’d up by Mr. Monday.

_ALL TO ASTONISH THE BROWNS._

THERE liv’d, and maybe living still, In one of the streets of the town, A respectable man who was call’d By the neighbours, “Gentleman Brown.” Very grand parties he gave, At which in champagne, you might drown, Now he cut such a dash, all the street, Was jealous of Gentleman Brown. Jokery, jeering, quiz, To the story I’m telling, oh list, How happy we mortals might be, If jealousy did not exist.

The Caggs’ who resided next door, Were ever in sneers and in frowns, And bursting with spleen when they saw Such fine goings on at the Browns. One night Mrs. C. said to Caggs, “Some husbands are such stingy clowns, Or they would give dinners and balls, And show off as well as the Browns.” Jokery, jeering, quiz. In the course of your life, find you may, That a man has no power, when his wife Is determined to have her own way.

“Consider my income!” said Caggs, “Don’t talk in that way, Mr. C. I warrant I’d make it suffice, If you would but leave it to me. Last Monday, I saw, well enough, When the tradesmen were going their rounds, Although they had money from us, I’m sure they had none from the Browns.” Jokery, jeering, quiz. It’s one of the greatest of ills, When tradesmen will send in their bills, And nothing else but their bills.

Caggs submitted to his better half, Or rather two thirds, I should say, And she soon sent her orders about, Determined to make a display. Her daughters were full of delight, On Sunday they sported new gowns, And exclaimed, as they went to the church, “How we shall astonish the Browns!” Jokery, jeering, quiz. What pleasures arise in the breast, When we, as we walk through the streets, Are conscious of being well dressed!

Preparations were made for a feast, Tinted cards, highly glazed and embossed, Invited the neighbours, who came, And many in wonder were lost. Champagne, Ices, Claret, Milk punch, And cakes ornamented with crowns, Soups, jellies, and scented pastilles, And all to astonish the Browns. Jokery, jeering, quiz, Most people are fond of a feast, And they love them that give ’em the most, More than those folks who give ’em the least.

One party soon drew on another, And, then, to continue the game, As the Browns were a going to the races, The Caggs must, of course do the same. “Lauk! how surpriséd they will be, When they see us appear on the Downs, We will go in a carriage and four, And we shall so astonish the Browns.” Jokery, jeering, quiz, The neighbours said “Caggs was clever, But as sure as eggs be but eggs, Such things won’t continue for ever.”

Whatever was done by the B’s, The C’s tried to do more than equal, But as they had not the same means, They failed, as you’ll see by the sequel. They were forc’d to run off from the street, For fortune looked on them with frowns, And, what was more galling than all, It did not astonish the Browns. Jokery, jeering, quiz, Many folks in this world’s ups and downs, Very often astonish themselves, When they try to astonish the Browns.

My tale I’ll conclude with a proverb, In which there’s a great deal of sense, Your pounds may be left to themselves, If you will take care of the pence. In this you’ll discover my moral, A moral worth mitres and crowns, If you would save silver and gold, You must always beware of the Browns. Jokery, jeering, quiz, Be cautious in great London town, Or, in trying to do, you’ll be done, And not only done--but done brown.

_THE RATCATCHER’S DAUGHTER._[28]

IN Westminster not long ago, There lived a Ratcatcher’s Daughter. She was not born at Westminster, But on the t’other side of the water. Her father killed rats and she sold sprats, All round, and over the water, And the gentlefolks, they all bought sprats, Of the pretty Ratcatcher’s Daughter.

She wore no hat upon her head, Nor cap, nor dandy bonnet, Her hair of her head it hung down her neck, Like a bunch of carrots upon it. When she cried sprats in Westminster, She had such a sweet loud voice, Sir, You could hear her all down Parliament Street, And as far as Charing Cross, Sir,

The rich and poor both far and near, In matrimony sought her, But at friends and foes she cocked her nose, Did this pretty little Ratcatcher’s daughter. For there was a man cried “Lily white Sand,” Who in Cupid’s net had caught her, And over head and ears in love, Was the pretty little Ratcatcher’s daughter.

Now, “Lily white Sand” so ran in her head, When coming down the Strand, oh, She forgot that she’d got sprats on her head, And cried “buy my lily white Sand oh!” The folks, amazed, all thought her crazed, All along the Strand, Oh, To hear a girl with sprats on her head, Cry, “buy my lily white Sand, oh!”

The Ratcatcher’s Daughter so ran in his head, He didn’t know what he was arter, Instead of crying “Lily white Sand,” He cried “Do you want any Ratcatcher’s daughter.” His donkey cocked his ears and brayed, Folks couldn’t tell what he was arter, To hear a lily white sand man cry, “Do you want any Ratcatcher’s daughter?”

Now they both agreed to married be, Upon next Easter Sunday, But the Ratcatcher’s daughter had a dream, That she shouldn’t be alive next Monday, To buy some sprats, once more she went, And tumbled into the water, Went down to the bottom, all covered with mud, Did the pretty little Ratcatcher’s daughter.

When Lily white Sand he heard the news, His eyes ran down with water, Says he in love I’ll constant prove, And, blow me if I live long arter, So he cut his throat with a piece of glass, And stabbed his donkey arter, So there was an end of Lily white Sand, His ass, and the Ratcatcher’s daughter!

_HOT CODLINGS._

A LITTLE old woman, a living she got, By selling hot codlings, hot, hot, hot! Now this little old woman, as I’ve been told, Though her codlings were hot, she was monstrously cold, So to keep herself warm, she thought no sin, For to go and take a small drop of gin, Fol-de-rol, etc.

Now this little old woman went off in a trot, To get a quartern of hot, hot, hot! She swallowed a glass, and it was so nice, That she tipped off another, all in a trice, She fill’d the glass till the bottle it shrunk, And this little old woman I’m told got drunk.

Now this little old woman, while muzzy she got, Some boys stole her codlings, hot, hot, hot! Put powder in the pan, and ’neath it round stones, Cried this little woman, these apples have bones. The powder and the pan up they did send, This little old woman on her latter end.

Now this little old woman went off in a trot, All in a fury, hot, hot, hot! Sure such boys as these never were known, They never will let a poor woman alone, There’s a moral from this, so round let it buz If you want to sell codlings, you must never get muz.

This song, was, as far I can find, introduced by Grimaldi in Thos. J. Dibdin’s famous Pantomime of “Mother Goose,” which in 1806-7 had the unprecedented run of a hundred and fifty nights, and was a favourite for very many years. When Pantomimes were Pantomimes, and not mere spectacles, the clowns were real clowns (the Shakesperian and French hybrids not having been born), and the names of Grimaldi, Matthews, and others will go down to posterity. No Pantomime was complete without the clown singing this song, which was always encored, and, as a substitute, invariably was given “Tippetiwitchet,” of which the theme was an intoxicated man. Perhaps, if revived, Modern Society would not appreciate them, but forty or fifty years ago tastes were not so superfine, and these clowns and their songs afforded hilarious amusement.

_THE WONDERFUL CROCODILE._

NOW list, ye landsmen, all to me, To tell you the truth I am bound, What happen’d to me, by going to Sea, And of the wonders which I found. Shipwrecked I once was off Perouse, And cast upon the shore, So I resolved to take a cruise, The Country to explore.

But far I had not scudded out, When close alongside to the ocean, I saw something move, which at first I thought, Was all the earth in motion. But steering up alongside, I found ’twas a Crocodile, And from his nose to the tip of his tail He measured five hundred mile.

This Crocodile, I could plainly see, Was not of a common race, For I was obliged to climb a very high tree Before I could see his face.

And when he lifted up his jaw, Though perhaps you'll think 'twas a lie, It reach'd 'bove the clouds for miles three score, And his nose nearly touched the sky.

Whilst up aloft, and the stream was high, It blew a gale from the south, I lost my hold, and away did fly, Right into the Crocodile's mouth. He quickly closed his jaws on me, And thought to grab a victim, But I ran down his throat d'ye see, And that's the way I tricked him.

I travell'd on for a month or two, Till I got into his maw, Where I found of rum kegs not a few, And a thousand bullocks in store. Of life I banish'd all my cares, For in grub I was not stinted, So in this Crocodile I lived ten years, Very well contented.

This Crocodile being very old, One day, alas! he died, But he was three years a getting cold, He was so long and wide. His skin was ten miles thick, I'm sure, Or very near about; For I was full six years or more, Cutting a hole for to get out.

But now once more I’ve got on earth, And resolv’d no more to roam, So in a ship that pass’d, I got a berth, And now I’m safe at home. And lest my story you should doubt, Should you ever travel the Nile, Just where he fell, you’ll find the shell, Of this wonderful Crocodile.

_THE THIEF’S ARM._

I SING of a man to some well known, Who went and listed in the King’s Own, For he was tall, and mighty grown, Full six feet high of flesh and bone. Ri lol, lol, lay, etc.

Now this man to battle did go, The balls flew thick, and whistled so, There was one came straight and gave him a blow, And knocked off his arm above his elbow.

When the surgeon came to look at the wound A noted thief lay on the ground, Quite dead, but still he’d a perfect arm, So he sawed it off while it was warm.

Now this arm he spliced to our hero’s stump, And bound it fast, wasn’t he a trump? And in a short time it got well, As many of that brave corps can tell.

This man he turned out a thief, And was discharged for stealing beef, For with this cursed thief’s arm he got, He could let nothing be too heavy or hot.

Then up to London he did repair, To see if advice he could get there, And all the way that he did jog, The arm was at work, and found him in prog.

And when he got there he walked along, And strove to bustle through the throng, But the arm kept diving in every one’s pocket, He tried all he could, but he couldn’t stop it.

It stole him watches, gold and rings, And many other precious things, And one night he found he’d wealth in store, For Bandanna wipes, he had a score.

He robbed the Bank and Treasury, Likewise a Poet at the play, And, one night, ’tis really said, He stole a glass eye from an old woman’s head.

Now this arm had such a propensity For stealing, that it could not stay, It robb’d a regiment of its baggage, Likewise a tailor of all his cabbage.

Long time he carried on the trade, Until he had a fortune made, But for a crime he was afterwards taken, And sent by the Judge to be hung up like bacon.

And when he came to the gallows tree, With the Parson’s watch he did make free, And as Jack Ketch was tying the knot, He pick’d his pocket of all he’d got.

Now this man, he was buried, as you may suppose, And after that the arm arose, And join’d a body-snatching knave, Who stole his master out of his grave.

_CORK LEG._