Air, Bow Wow.
Silence, humbugs all, and I’ll sing you a merry song;
Like our lives, ’tis a medley, neither short nor very long;
I mean plainly to prove, that in high and low station,
Hub, bub, bub, bub, boo, is the business of the nation.
Hub, bub, boo, fal, lal, &c.
As late from the hall Hurlow Thrumbo came growling,
A carman’s great dog at his coach set up howling;
Enrag’d with the brute, Hurlow let down the glass, sir,
Cry’d, “whose dog is that?” quoth the carman, “ask his a—, sir.”
The coachman drove on; but ere he’d driven very far,
Two wheels were left behind, and snap went the splinter bar;
Hurlow roar’d out aloud (tho’ no doubt he did wrong to’t),
For he blasted the bar, and all that belong’d to’t.
’Tis not long ago, since poor Jack, the Brighton taylor,
For stitching well a button-hole, was pinn’d up by the jailor:
The trial tells us, by surprise, snip seiz’d an artless lass, sir,
And cabbag’d her virginity, the best piece of her a—, sir.
The maiden scream’d, and snip teem’d with love’s delicious liquor;
O there never was a taylor that could stitch it nine times quicker;
Twas ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto,
Till he work’d up all the thread, then he ripp’d up the slit O.
“R—,” dames cry, “what a ravishing creature!
“His pipe! and his shake! and each delicate feature!”
But la! what a pity, divine R—!
Your pipe can but carry the p— from your belly!
Bow, wow, wow, &c.
If wedlock’s your plan, ere you scheme to open trenches,
Humbugs pray take heed of our modern made-up wenches:
Fore and aft they are plump to view, but feel, and you will find, sir,
They’ve bubbies like blown bladders, and all is hum behind, sir.
Oh poverty! our purses spare, and pains, do not perplex us,
Still the cheerful song we’ll chaunt, nor shall trifles ever vex us;
But leave to dreary dull dogs their cheerless hours to spend, sir,
Whilst we, in mirthful mood, meet our bottles, c—s, and friends, sir.
Now the sequel of my song mark well each humbug brother,
Tho’ here we laugh, drink and joke, and humbug one another;
When out of wind, Death hums us, and we’re sent the Lord knows where, sir,
If we’ve humbugg’d the Devil, I’ll be d—d if we need fear, sir.