Musa Pedestris - Three Centuries of Canting Songs and Slang Rhymes [1536 - 1896] Part 32

THE BOULD YEOMAN [Notes]

[1842]

[By PIERCE EGAN in _Captain Macheath_].

I

A chant I'll tip to you about a High-pad pal so down, [1]

With his pops, and high-bred prad which brought to him renown; [2]

On the road he cut a dash, to him 'twas delight!

And if culls would not surrender, he shewed the kiddies fight! [3]

With his pops so bright and airy, And his prad just like a fairy, He went out to nab the gold! [4]

Derry down, down, derry down,

II

He met a bould yeoman, and bid him for to stand; "If I do, I'm d.a.m.n'd!" said he, "although you cut it grand.

I'm an old English farmer, and do not me provoke I've a cudgel, look ye here, it's a prime tough bit of oak!

And I'll give you some gravy, [5]

Of that I'll take my davy, [6]

If you try to prig my gold [7]

Derry down."

III

Then the High-toby gloque drew his cutla.s.s so fine; Says he to the farmer, "you or I for the shine!"

And to it they went both, like two Grecians of old, Cutting, slashing, up and down, and all for the gold!

'Twas cut for cut while it did last, Thrashing, licking, hard and fast, Hard milling for the gold. [8]

Derry down.

IV

The High-pad quickly cut the farmer's towel in twain-- [9]

Pulled out his barking-iron to send daylight through his brain; [10]

But said he I will not down you, if you will but disburse Your rowdy with me, yeoman--I'm content to whack your purse! [11]

Down with the dust, and save your life, [12]

Your consent will end our strife, Ain't your life worth more than gold?

Derry down.

V

Hand up the pewter, farmer, you shall have a share [13]

A kindness, for a toby gloque, you must say is rare; That's right--tip up the kelter, it will make my bones amends, [14]

And wherever we may meet, farmer, we'll be the best of friends!

So mount your trotter and away, [15]

And if you ever come this way, Take better care of your gold!

Derry down.

VI

Now listen to me, lads, and always you'll do well, Empty every clie of duke, commoner, or swell; [16]

But if you stop a game cove, who has little else than pluck, [17]

Do not clean him out, and you'll never want for luck. [18]

So High-pads drink my toast, Let honour be our boast, And never pluck a poor cull of his gold.

Derry down.

THE BRIDLE-CULL AND HIS LITTLE POP-GUN [Notes]

[1842]

[By PIERCE EGAN in _Captain Macheath_].

I

My brave brother troopers, slap-up in the abode, Come listen unto me while I chant about "the Road"; Oh p.r.i.c.k up your list'ners if you are fond of fun [1]

A bridle-cull's the hero, and his little pop-gun. [2]

Fal, de, rol! lal! lal! la!

II

One morning early he went, this rollicking blade, [3]

To pick the blunt up, and he met a nice young maid; [4]

"I'll not rob you," said he, "and so you needn't bunk: [5]

But she lammas'd off in style, of his pop-gun afunk [6]

Fal, de, rol! lal! lal! la!"

III

Then up came a stage-coach, and thus the gloque did say, [7]

I'm sorry for to stop you, but you must hear my lay; "Come, stand and deliver! if not, sure as the sun, Your journey I will stop with my little pop-gun."

Fal, de, rol! lol! lol!

IV

"Tis by these little lays a High-padsman he thrives, [8]

"Oh take all our rhino, but pray spare our lives!" [9]

Cry the pa.s.sengers who anxious all are for to run, Frightened nigh to death by his little pop-gun."

Fol, de, rol.