Oh, if my hands adhere to cash,
My gloves at least are clean,
And rarely have the gentry flash
In sprucer clothes been seen.
Sweet Public, since your coffers must
Afford our wants relief,
Oh! soothes it not to yield the dust
To such a charming thief?
“‘And John may laugh at mine,’—excellent!” cried Gentleman George, lighting his pipe, and winking at Attie; “I hears as how you be a famous fellow with the lasses.”
Ned smiled and answered, “No man should boast; but—” Pepper paused significantly, and then glancing at Attie, said, “Talking of lasses, it is my turn to knock down a gentleman for a song, and I knock down Fighting Attie.”
“I never sing,” said the warrior.
“Treason, treason!” cried Pepper. “It is the law, and you must obey the law; so begin.”
“It is true, Attie,” said Gentleman George.
There was no appeal from the honest publican’s fiat; so, in a quick and laconic manner, it being Attie’s favourite dogma that the least said is the soonest mended, the warrior sung as follows:—
Air: “He was famed for deeds of arms.”
I never robbed a single coach
But with a lover’s air;
And though you might my course reproach,
You never could my hair.
Rise at six, dine at two,
Rob your man without ado,
Such my maxims; if you doubt
Their wisdom, to the right-about!
( Signing to a sallow gentleman on the same side of the table to send up the brandy bowl.)
Pass round the bingo,—of a gun,
You musty, dusky, husky son!
John Bull, who loves a harmless joke,
Is apt at me to grin;
But why be cross with laughing folk,
Unless they laugh and win?
John Bull has money in his box;
And though his wit’s divine,
Yet let me laugh at Johnny’s locks,
And John may laugh at mine
[Much of whatever amusement might be occasioned by the not (we trust) ill-natured travesties of certain eminent characters in this part of our work when first published, like all political allusions, loses point and becomes obscure as the applications cease to be familiar. It is already necessary, perhaps, to say that Fighting Attie herein typifies or illustrates the Duke of Wellington’s abrupt dismissal of Mr. Huskisson.]
Attie, the bingo’s now with me;
I can’t resign it yet, d’ ye see!
Resign, resign it,—cease your dust!
(Wresting it away and fiercely regarding the sallow gentleman.)
You have resigned it, and you must.
You have resigned it, and you must.
While the chorus, laughing at the discomfited tippler, yelled forth the emphatic words of the heroic Attie, that personage emptied the brandy at a draught, resumed his pipe, and in as few words as possible called on Bagshot for a song. The excellent old highwayman, with great diffidence, obeyed the request, cleared his throat, and struck off with a ditty somewhat to the tune of “The Old Woman.”
Are the days then gone, when on Hounslow Heath
We flashed our nags,
When the stoutest bosoms quailed beneath
The voice of Bags?
Ne’er was my work half undone, lest I should be nabbed
Slow was old Bags, but he never ceased
Till the whole was grabbed.
CHORUS. Till the whole was grabbed.
When the slow coach paused, and the gemmen stormed,
I bore the brunt;
And the only sound which my grave lips formed
Was “blunt,”—still “blunt”!
Oh, those jovial days are ne’er forgot!
But the tape lags—
