Ballad of Bouts Rimes


Let others talk of paregoric,
Or cup the man of God plethoric —
I sing the little finger
That brings, at Ealing , to a Juno ,
Whom I, dear Spatterdash , and you know,
A pill — five grains — of Stringer .

No more of ex duobus tell,
If you're gallanting with a belle,
And fain to th' point would bring her.
Don't give her oximel or gum,
But wind her gently round your thumb,
Like skein of thread — with Stringer .

I cannot say that I would chuse
To be in Paccheerotti's shoes,
The first Italian singer;
But, if it ever is my fate
A Duncan's wig to fascinate,
I'd help my voice — with Stringer .

My wife I'd spill without remorse,
If you'd supply me with a horse
That now and then would fling her —
Because, if all her bones were broke,
'Twould only be an Ealing joke,
You 'd set her up with Stringer .

When H — , nice tit, shall go to church,
And leave the Corporal in the lurch,
Egad I 'll shew and ring her.
But, if she hopes to be with child,
I absolutely should be wild
That she 'd be dos'd with Stringer .

Forgive me! — but it has occurr'd,
If Peter T ***** should kill a bird,
We here could find him slingers;
Acquaint his wife that Peter's bound ,
And that his bowels are not sound,
But want a dozen Stringers .

If you should find i' th' Ealing corps
The loyal mind in every pore,
A Monarchy's un-king-er;
You need not carry him to Pitt ,
A recipe the case will fit —
A hundred pills of Stringer .

When panting but ingenuous Heirs
Beg Heaven may take Papa up-stairs,
And fear that he may linger;
With equal justice to them both,
Acquaint the Youngster, nothing loth,
Of your trump-card in Stringer .

In shooting at a nice hen-pheasant,
For us intended as your present,
If you should only wing her;
Instead of shot that faintly kills,
Let fly with half a dozen pills,
The bullets made of Stringer .
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.