There's staym injynes, That stands in lines, Enormous and amazing, That squeal and snort Like whales in sport, Or elephants a-grazing. There's carts and gigs, And pins for pigs, There's dibblers and there's harrows, And ploughs like toys For little boys, And illigant wheelbarrows. For thim genteels Who ride on wheels, There's plenty to indulge 'em: There's droskys snug From Paytersbug, And vayhycles from Bulgium. There's cabs on stands There's wagons from New York here; Have cross'd the seas, And jaunting cyars from Cork here. Amazed I pass From glass to glass, Look, here's a fan From far Japan, A sabre from Damasco: There's shawls ye get From far Thibet, And cotton prints from Glasgow. THE WOFLE NEW BALLAD OF JANE RONEY AND MARY BROWN AN igstrawnary tail I vill tell you this veek— I stood in the Court of A'Beckett the Beak, Vere Mrs. Jane Roney, a vidow, I see, Who charged Mary Brown with a robbin' of she. This Mary was pore and in misery once, And she came to Mrs. Roney it's more than twelve monce She adn't got no bed, nor no dinner, nor no tea, And kind Mrs. Roney gave Mary all three. Mrs. Roney kep Mary for ever so many veeks "Mrs. Roney, O Mrs. Roney, I feel very ill; Will you jest step to the doctor's for to fetch me a pill?" "That I will, my pore Mary," Mrs. Roney says she: And she goes off to the doctor's as quickly as may be. No sooner on this message Mrs. Roney was sped, Mrs. Roney's best linning gownds, petticoats, and close, flee Mrs. Roney's situation-you may think vat it would be! Of Mary, ungrateful, who had served her this vay, Ballad of Jane Roney and Mary Brown 553 She was leaning on the helbo of a worthy young man; They were going to be married, and were walkin hand in hand; And the church-bells was a ringing for Mary and he, And the parson was ready, and a waitin' for his fee. When up comes Mrs. Roney, and faces Mary Brown, Mrs. Roney, o, Mrs. Roney, o, do let me go, I acted most ungrateful I own, and I know, But the marriage bell is ringin, and the ring you may see, And this young man is a waitin, says Mary, says she. I don't care three fardens for the parson and clark, And the bell may keep ringing from noon day to dark. So, in spite of the tears which bejewed Mary's cheek, I took that young gurl to A'Beckett the Beak; On account of her conduck so base and so vile, Now, you young gurls of Southwark for Mary who veep, From pickin and stealin your ands you must keep, Or it may be my dooty, as it was Thursday veek To pull you all hup to A'Beckett the Beak. W. M. Thackeray. KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT AN ancient story Ile tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called King John; And he ruled England with maine and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right. And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, An hundred men, the king did heare say, How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne, Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe, And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this stead, Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, How soone I may ride the whole world about, And at the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly what I do think. |