SONGS AND TOASTS.
Tally High Ho.
|
GO search the World round and about,
|
And many a freak youll be finding;
|
But what do you think is all the go?
|
By the hookey its nothing but grinding.
|
Tally high ho, scandal the devil bind her,
|
The world is all how come you so, and every
|
profession are grinders.
|
The law is a state mill, those devouring elves
|
The lawyers, are terrible giants;
|
They grind all the grist for themselves,
|
And leave all the chaff for their clients.
|
The doctors grind you for their fees,
|
They kill you for mere preservation;
|
For they know if you live to get well,
|
They must die sure enough by starvation.
|
The misers grind north, east, west, and south,
|
The barber at grindings a crammer,
|
The churchwarden has got a wide mouth,
|
And his grinders are like a sledge hammer.
|
The gamester he grinds by the cards,
|
Youd swear hes the devils own cousin;
|
The taylor he grinds by the yard,
|
And the baker he grinds by the dozen.
|
Thus like coblers, to make both ends meet,
|
Each man sticks close to his leather.
|
But Old Nick, who all grinders can beat,
|
Will soon grind the whole boiling together.
|
Britains grinders, beware of her wooden walls,
|
The Cambrians and Scots are not behind her,
|
But the cornfactor grinds us the worst,
|
Im sure hes the devils own grinder.
|
If ever a rafts formd at Brest,
|
Tho your favours are ever so binding
|
May the devil grind me with the rest,
|
So just gently finish your grinding.
|
|
|
|
|
|