Iv

And then so sociably we ride!-- While some have places, snug, inside, Some hoping to be there anon. Through many a dirty road hang on. And when we reach a filthy spot (Plenty of which there are, God wot), You'd laugh to see with what an air We take the spatter--each his share. So ya-hip, Hearties! etc.

[1: drive a hackney-coach] [2: talk slang] [3: horses; whip] [4: money] [5: drive] [6: money]

SONNETS FOR THE FANCY: AFTER THE MANNER OF PETRARCH [Notes] [c. 1824]

[From Boxiana, iii. 621. 622].

Education.

A link-boy once, Dick Hellfinch stood the grin, At Charing Cross he long his toil apply'd; "Here light, here light! your honours for a win," To every cull and drab he loudly cried. In Leicester Fields, as most the story know, "Come black your worship for a single mag," And while he shin'd his Nelly suck'd the bag, And thus they sometimes stagg'd a precious go. In Smithfield, too, where graziers' flats resort, He loiter'd there to take in men of cash, With cards and dice was up to ev'ry sport, And at Saltpetre Bank would cut a dash; A very knowing rig in ev'ry gang, Dick Hellfinch was the pick of all the slang.

Progress.

His Nell sat on Newgate steps, and scratch'd her poll, Her eyes suffus'd with tears, and bung'd with gin; The Session's sentence wrung her to the soul, Nor could she lounge the gag to shule a win; The knowing bench had tipp'd her buzer queer, For Dick had beat the hoof upon the pad, Of Field, or Chick-lane--was the boldest lad That ever mill'd the cly, or roll'd the leer. And with Nell he kept a lock, to fence, and tuz, And while his flaming mot was on the lay, With rolling kiddies, Dick would dive and buz, And cracking kens concluded ev'ry day; But fortune fickle, ever on the wheel, Turn'd up a rubber, for these smarts to feel.

Triumph.

Both'ring the flats assembled round the quod, The queerum queerly smear'd with dirty black; The dolman sounding, while the sheriff's nod, Prepare the switcher to dead book the whack, While in a rattle sit two blowens flash, Salt tears fast streaming from each bungy eye; To nail the ticker, or to mill the cly Through thick and thin their busy muzzlers splash, The mots lament for Tyburn's merry roam, That bubbl'd prigs must at the New Drop fall, And from the start the scamps are cropp'd at home; All in the sheriff's picture frame the call Exalted high, Dick parted with his flame, And all his comrades swore that he dy'd game.

[1: penny] [2: man; woman] [3: half-penny] [4: spent the money] [5: made a lot of money] [6: cute fellow] [7: i.e. fraternity] [8: sentenced the pick-pocket] [9: picked pockets] [10: burgling] [11: goal] [12: gallows] [13: coach; women] [14: steal a watch; pick a pocket] [15: Newgate] [16: hangman's noose]

THE TRUE BOTTOM'D BOXER [1825]

[By J. JONES in Universal Songster, ii. 96]. Air: "Oh! nothing in life can sadden us."