A NEW SONG OF NEW SIMILIES. My passion is as mustard strong; I sit all sober sad, Drunk as a piper all day long, Round as a hoop the bumpers flow; Pert as a pearmonger I'd be, Like a stuck pig I gaping stare, And eye her o'er and o'er; Plump as a partridge was I known, My cheeks as fat as butter grown; I, melancholy as a cat, Am kept awake to peep; But she, insensible of that, Sound as a top can sleep. Hard is her heart as flint or stone; And merry as a grig is grown, And brisk as bottled ale. The God of Love, at her approach, Is busy as a bee! Hearts sound as any bell or roach: Ah me! as thick as hops or hail, Strait as my leg her shape appears; As fine as fivepence is her mien; As soft as pap her kisses are: Methinks I taste them yet;, Brown as a berry is her hair, Her eyes as black as jet. As smooth as glass, as white as curds, Brisk as a body-louse she trips, Sweet as a rose her breath and lips, Round as the globe her breast. Full as an egg was I with glee, And happy as a king: Good Lord! how all men envied me! She lov'd like any thing. But, false as Hell, she, like the wind, Chang'd as her sex must do; Though seeming as the turtle kind, And like the gospel true. If I and Molly could agree, Till you grow tender as a chick, And warm as any toast, You'll know me truer than a die, And wish me better sped, Flat as a flounder when I lie, And as a herring dead.. Sure as a gun she'll drop a tear, And sigh, perhaps, and wish, When I am rotten as a pear, NEWGATE'S GARLAND: Being a new Ballad, showing how Mr. Jonathan Wilds' Throat was cut from Ear to Ear, with a Penknife, by Mr. Blake, alias Blueskin, the bold Highwayman, as he stood at his Trial in the Old Bailey, 1725. TO THE TUNE OF THE CUTPURSE. I: YE gallants of Newgate, whose fingers are nice Good news ye shall hear, How Jonathan's throat was cut from ear to ear, II. When to the Old Bailey this Blueskin was led, He drew his penknife, And made a sad widow of Jonathan's wife. Some say there are courtiers of highest renown, Who steal the king's gold, and leave him but a crown: Who meet once a year to rob courtiers again. To pillage the king, And get a blue riband instead of a string. Now Blueskin's sharp penknife hath set you at ease, And ev'ry man round me may rob, if he please. IV. Knaves, of old, to hide guilt by their cunning inventions Now ev'ry man may Rob (as safe as in office) upon the highway. V. Some cheat in the Customs, some rob the Excise: They may be more bold, And rob on the highway since Jonathan's cold: C 3 |