Song XLV., pp.294-297.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

HE. 

WHere oxen do low, 

And apple trees grow; 

Where corn is sown, 

And grass is mown; 

Fate give me for life a place. 

– 

SHE. 

Where hay’s well cock’d, 

And udders are stroak’d; 

Where duck and drake 

Cry, quack, quack, quack; 

Where turkeys lay eggs, 

And swine suckle pigs; 

Oh! there I would pass my days. 

– 

ΗΕ. 

On nonght we will feed, 

But what we can breed: 

– 

SHE. 

And wear on our backs 

The wool of our flocks; 

And tho’ linnen feel 

Rough, spun from the wheel, 

‘Tis cleanly tho’ coarse it comes. 

– 

HE. 

Town follys and cullys, 

And mollys and dollys, 

For ever adieu, and for ever: 

– 

SHE. 

And beaux, that in boxes 

Lye smugg’ling their doxies, 

With wigs that hang down to their bums. 

– 

HE. 

Good b’uye to the mall 

The park and canal, 

St. James’s square, 

And flaunters there, 

The gaming house too, 

Where high dice and low 

Are manag’d by all degrees. 

– 

SHE. 

Adieu to the knight 

Was bubled last night, 

That keeps a blowze, 

And beats his spouse, 

And then in great haste, 

To pay what he’as lost, 

Sends home to cut down his trees. 

– 

НЕ. 

And well fare the lad 

Improves ev’ry clod, 

Who ne’er sets his hand 

To bill or to bond: 

– 

SHE. 

Nor barters his flocks, 

For wine or the pox, 

To chouse him of half his days. 

– 

HE. 

But fishing and fowling, 

And hunting and bowling, 

His pastime is ever and ever. 

– 

SHE. 

Whose lips, when ye buss ‘em, 

Smell like the bean blossom; 

Oh! he it’s shall have my praise. 

– 

НЕ. 

To taverns, where goes 

Sow’r apples and floes, 

A long adieu! 

And farewell too 

The house of the great, 

Whose cook has no meat, 

And butler can’t quench my thirst. 

– 

SHE. 

Farewell to the change, 

Where rantipoles range; 

Farewell cold tea, 

And rattasie, 

Hide-park, where pride 

In coaches ride, 

Altho’ they be choak’d with dust. 

– 

HE. 

Farewell the law gown, 

The plague of the town, 

And foes of the crown, 

That shou’d be run down: 

– 

SHE. 

With city jack-daws, 

That make staple laws, 

To measure by yards and ells. 

– 

HE. 

Stock-jobbers and swobbers, 

And packers and tackers, 

For ever adieu, and for ever: 

We know what you’re doing; 

And home we are going; 

And so you may ring your bells. 

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