KING DIONYSIUS. AND SQUIRE DAMOCLES: A NEW SONG TO AN OLD STORY. PROPER TO BE SUNG AT ALL FEASTS AND MERRY MEETINGS, THERE was a heathen man, sir, Belonging to a king; And if you don't believe me, He thought that jolly living He wanted to be great, sir, And feed on fare delicious; The king, to cure his longing, That all the court were thronging And there to tempt his eye, sir, Was fish, and flesh, and fowl; And when he was a-dry, sir, There stood the brimming bowl. Nor did the king forbid him O then to see the pleasure With greedy eyes the squire To eat as much as twenty. But, just as he prepar'd, sir, When he to eat intended, How did it change the feasting Then in a moment's time, sir, He loath'd the luscious feast; And dreaded as a crime, sir, The brimming bowl to taste. Now, if you're for applying The story I have told, "Tis worth its weight in gold. Ye gay, who view this stranger, Come let this awful truth, sir, And though you see no reason The sword on you may fall. So learn, while at your ease, sir, You drink down draughts delicious; To think of Damocles, sir, And old king Dionysius THE HACKNEY COACHMAN; OR, THE WAY TO GET A GOOD FARE. To the Tune of "I wish I was a Fisherman." I AM a bold coachman, and drive a good hack, Though poor, we are honest and very content, And while at a tavern my gentleman tarries, Yet though dram-shops I hate, and the dram-drinking friend, I'm not quite so good, but I wish I may mend; When a riotous multitude fills up a street, And the greater part know not, boys, wherefore they meet; If I see there is mischief I never go there; Now to church, if I take some good lady to pray, Then my glasses are whole, and my coach is so neat, Of the coachman that never asks more than his fare. Though my beasts should be dull, yet I don't use them ill; Though they stumble I swear not, nor cut them up hill; For I firmly believe there's no charm in an oath, That can make a nag trot, when to walk he is loath. And though I'm a coachman, I'll freely confess, I praise him each morning, and pray evr`y night, And 'tis this makes my heart feel so cheerful and light. When I drive to a funeral I care not for drink, That is not the moment to guzzle, but think; And I wish I could add, both of coachman and master, That both of us strove to amend a bit faster. |