Hand up the pewter, farmer, you shall have a share [13]
A kindness, for a toby gloque, you must say is rare;
That's right--tip up the kelter, it will make my bones amends, [14]
And wherever we may meet, farmer, we'll be the best of friends!
So mount your trotter and away, [15]
And if you ever come this way,
Take better care of your gold!
Derry down.


VI

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_].