(_From an Old Broadside without date._)
Come, my very merry gentle people, only list a minute,
For tho' my song may not be long there's something comic in
it;
A stranger I, yet, by the bye, I've ventured in my ditty,
To say a word at parting, just in praise of Gloucester city.
The Romans they this city built, and many folks came down
here,
Kings Richard, Henry, John, and Ned, did visit Glo'ster town
here;
King William dined each Christmas here, and Glo'ster folks it
pleases,
To know the food he relished most was double Berkeley cheeses.
The ladies, Heaven bless 'em all! as sure as I've a nose on,
In former times had only thorns and skewers to stick their
clothes on;
No damsel then was worth a pin, whate'er it might have cost
her,
Till gentle Johnny Tilsby came, and invented pins in Glo'ster.
Your fine cathedral when I saw, tho' much I was delighted,
Yet in the whisp'ring gallery I got most sadly frighted;
Some question there I asked myself, when not a soul was near
me,
And suddenly an answer came, as if the walls could hear me.
The Severn full of salmon fine enriches low and high land,
And then, for more variety, you've got a little island;
Of which I've read a Taylor's Tale, a dozen verses long, sirs,
And may I go to Old Harry, if it's not a clever song, sirs.
George Ridler's oven, I've been told, contains some curious
jokes, sirs,
And much of it is said by many Glo'ster folks, sirs;
But ovens now are serious things, and from my soul I wish,
sirs,
Your ovens here many ne'er want bread to fill the poor man's
dish, sirs.
Now if you will but all forgive this slight attempt at rhyme,
sirs,
I'll promise, like the little boys, to mend another time,
sirs;
May health, with every blessing, join this company to foster,
Till, with your leave, some future time I come again to
Glo'ster.