How slack is the crop till my Nancy return!
No duds in my pocket, no sea-coal to burn! [9]
Methinks if I knew where the watchman wou'd tread,
I wou'd follow, and lend him a punch o' the head.
Fly swiftly, good watchman, bring hither my dear,
And, blast me! I'll tip ye a gallon of beer. [10]
Ah, sink him! the watchman is full of delay,
Nor will budge one foot faster for all I can say.
X
Will no blood-hunting foot-pad, that hears me complain,
Stop the wind of that nabbing-cull, constable Payne? [11]
If he does, he'll to Tyburn next sessions be dragg'd,
And what kiddy's so rum as to get himself scragg'd? [12]
No! blinky, discharge her, and let her return;
For ne'er was poor fellow so sadly forlorn.
Zounds! what shall I do? I shall die in a ditch;
Take warning by me how you're leagu'd with a bitch.
[1: companions]
[2: accompanied]
[3: jailed]
[4: drink]
[5: light-hearted]
[6: picks oakum]
[7: Notes]
[8: gone]
[9: money]
[10: treat]
[11: Note]
[12: foolish]
YE SCAMPS, YE PADS, YE DIVERS [Notes]
[1781]
[From _The Choice of Harlequin_: or _The Indian Chief_ by
MR. MESSINK, and sung by JOHN EDWIN as "the Keeper of Bridewell"].
I
Ye scamps, ye pads, ye divers, and all upon the lay, [1]
In Tothill-fields gay sheepwalk, like lambs ye sport and play; [2]
Rattling up your darbies, come hither at my call;
I'm jigger dubber here, and you are welcome to mill doll. [3]
With my tow row, etc.