BEADLE OF THE PARISH.

I'm a very knowing prig,

With my laced coat and wig,

Though they say I am surly and bearish;

Sure I look a might man,

When I flourish my rattan,

To fright the little boys,

Who in church-time make a noise,

Because I'm beadle of the Parish.

Here and there,--every where?

Hollo now,--What's the row?

Fine to do,--Who are you?

Why, zounds, I'm the Beadle of the Parish.

Whenever I come nigh,

How I make the beggars fly,

My looks are so angry and scarish,

Like other city folks,

I do business in the stocks.

That whate'er is lost I tell,

For you know I bear the bell,

Because I'm the Beadle of the Parish,

Noise and clatter,--What's the matter?

Holla, fellow--You are mellow,

Fine to do,--don't you see,

Why, zounds--I'm the Beadle of the Parish.

I'm an officer, don't laugh,

But indeed I'm on the staff,

And all sax I do pretty fairish;

On a Sunday strut about,

And I keep the rubble out,--

The Church-wardens march before,

Just to open the pew door,

Because I am Beadle of the Parish,

Puff away,--merry day,

Drink about,--See it out,

There will be--snacks for me,

Because I'm the Beadle of the Parish.