THE
Baregarding Crissening:
OR, A
New Brood of Towzers,
OR,
Jolly TOWZER Babtizd,
AT THE
Bare-Garding-Funt, etc.
Composed by Samuel Wilde. To the Tune of, the French Man, and Oyster-Wench.
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COme brave Boys, my Jovel Harts of Gould,
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Did ever any hear such a Fancy told,
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Of a Babtiz'd Babe of the Bare-garden Fould
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His name is Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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At White Chappel-Bar's if narrowly you hunt,
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Oh! there you may finde out the Man has dunt,
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Who Crissen'd a Babe at the Bare-garding Funt,
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His Name is Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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With the Froth of the Tankerd he crossed his Face,
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And made him his adopted Babe of grace,
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From the Nose to the Ears he was Sprinkled in the place,
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And called Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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He's a Sprightful Cur, and very, very Firce,
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Ther's none in the Grownd so Firce as he,
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'Tis a Fancy a Butcher Transformed should be,
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And change his name to a Towzer.
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With Ogelling Eyes he looks about as Quaint,
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His comical Actions Scornes to paint,
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He is there Cannoniz'd for a Bare-garding Saint,
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And known by Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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When to the Stake poor Taurus they pull,
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And all the whole Garding is Crowded full,
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He's as good as ever Run at the Nose of a Bull,
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Then hie for Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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And when the Bull is pinned to the Grond,
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This busy bawling Elfe runs yelping Round,
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Tho all the Doggs make a thundering Sound,
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You may hear the Echoe of Towzer.
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The Bull and the Bare they know him very well,
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And when he begins to Mouth and Yell,
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He makes such a Noys you'd think you was in Hell
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Ther's such a Yelping with Towzer.
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Like Mad Mallion in a Revel Rout,
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When he sees the Bull caught fast by the Snout.
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Oh! then he sets the Rabble to hollow and shout,
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Then hie for Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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The Bare-garding game's a very pritty thing,
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To see Whipping Tom gallop round the Ring,
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With a Staff on his Shoulder as great as a King,
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Then hie for Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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Towzer, Towzer is a Bar-garding Name,
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And sutes to this Sporting Cock of the Game,
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He loves a hollow Bitt, and he'll Fight for the same,
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Then hie for Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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Women, Women, have a special care,
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If ever you doe see the Bull or Bare,
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He loves to hunt a Cuny as Hounds hunts a Hare,
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'Tis Sport to Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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Hunts-Man. Hunts-Man, keep away your Hounds,
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For if they come in the Bare-garding Bounds,
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He'll poyson your Doggs with the juce of bloody wounds,
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'Tis Sport to Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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Butchers, Butchers if ever you doe find,
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A Dog to answer this pray be so kind,
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You shall have a Reward when old Nick he is blind
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To play with Jolly, jolly Towzer,
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Bould Robin Hood and all his merry Men,
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Did Combat with three score Doggs and Ten,
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There's never a Masstif the Fryer had than,
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Could answer Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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Trumpeting Towzer Singing Towzers too,
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With Fife and Druming Towzers of the Crew,
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Your Summons'd to apear to the old Rendevew,
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To Crissen Joll, jolly Towzer.
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Fidling Towzer prithe come away,
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For We will have a joyful Crissening day,
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We'll hollow and shout and the Mussick shall play,
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To wellcome Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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And thus I end my Merry, Merry Song,
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In hopes it may never offend or wrong,
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Tis only a Joak of the Bare-garding throng,
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In the praise of Jolly, jolly Towzer.
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