He's for the scratch, and come up too in time;
For the victualling-office no favor he'll ask it,
For smeller and ogles he feels just the same;
At the pipkin to point, or upset the bread-basket,
He's always in twig, and bang-up for the game;
With going and tipping, and priming and timing
'Till groggy and queery, straight-forwards the rig;
With ogles and smellers, no piping and chiming,
You'll own he's the boy that is always in twig.




BOBBY AND HIS MARY [Notes]
[1826]

[From _Universal Songster_, iii. 108].
Tune--_Dulce Domum_.


In Dyot-street a booze-ken stood, [1]
Oft sought by foot-pads weary,
And long had been the blest abode
Of Bobby, and his Mary.
For her he'd nightly pad the hoof, [2]
And gravel tax collect [3]
For her he never shammed the snite.
Though traps tried to detect him; [4]
When darkey came he sought his home
While she, distracted blowen [5]