At Hampton-court a mansion stands,
A tavern, called the Toy, sir,
A captain there and ensign came,
A seeming beardless boy, sir;
The waiter shew’d ’em both a room,
And as the story teaches,
He shortly saw the captain’s hand
Within the ensign’s breeches!
The captain damn’d the waiter’s soul,
And bid him straight retire, sir,
The ensign swore, in bouncing tone,
He’d throw him on the fire, sir!
“I beg your pardon, sirs,” said he,
And thus express my sorrow,
“This is the Toy at Hampton-court,
“Not Sodom and Gomorrah!”
Away the waiter ran down stairs,
No waiter e’er ran faster,
Half out of breath he told the tale
To Boniface, his master;
A council at the bar agreed,
That chambermaid and cook, sir,
To give proof of their dirty tricks,
Should thro’ the key-hole look, sir.
So up went cooky first, and spied
The parties billing, cooing,
When to herself, she said, “God’s curse,”
“What nasty work’s a brewing;”
I’ll spit ’em, baste ’em, roast ’em too,
I’ll clyster-pipe the fellows,
Then straight with water scalding hot,
She fill’d the kitchen bellows.
Nell chambermaid next crept up stairs,
Saw th’ ensign on a table,
The captain charging ’twixt his legs,
With bayonet so able;
“I’ll tuck you up, I’ll warm your bed,
“And when warm in your places,”
Said Nell, “I’ll scorch your nasty scuts,
“Throw p—s in both your faces.”
The laundress swore she’d mangle ’em,
The dairy-maid would skim ’em,
The bar-maid vow’d she’d squeeze ’em too,
The ostler swore he’d trim ’em;
The post-boy was for whipping them,
The boots, for brushing, beating,
The scullion was for scow’ring them,
The waiter was for cheating.
The landlord up stairs led the way,
His servants follow’d after,
They found the captain full of play,
The ensign full of laughter;
The captain cry’d out, “Who’s afraid?”
But th’ ensign look’d disgrace, sir,
And carried, as the landlord said,
The colours in his face, sir.
Old Boniface said, “fie for shame!
“Sure, captain, you are no man,
“You lie,” said he, “and look ye here,
“My ensign is a woman;”
And when he ope’d her waistcoat wide,
The parties were struck dumb, sir,
For a pair of bubbies bolted out,
God Cupid’s kettle drums, sir.
The cook said to the ensign gay,
“I’m quite up to the rig, sir,
“You Sodomiters, people say,
“Have breasts as dumplings big, sir;
“And ’till I feel I’ll not believe,
“For I knows dogs from bitches,”
And saying this, she thrust her hand
Into the ensign’s breeches!
The captain, in a passion, flew
To his fair friend’s assistance,
He damn’d the cooky for a whore,
And bid her keep her distance;
She’d laid her hand upon the place,
That spreads the ensign’s p—s, sir,
Then looking humbly in his face,
Said, “beg your pardon MISS—SIR.”