English poem
Vi
by John Stephen Farmer (1854–1916)
Now listen to me, lads, and always you'll do well, Empty every clie of duke, commoner, or swell; But if you stop a game cove, who has little else than pluck, Do not clean him out, and you'll never want for luck. 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].