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 prick 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!