  An Election Song.—(20th September, 1780.) The following Verses, at an Election Song, being rather contrary to the general Arrangement of this Work, but possessing Novelty, must plead for its Insertion. Allons, sweet childs, of smooth complexion, Come see de grande, de rare election, Me show de hole in much perfection. Doodle, doodle, doo. No congstable on me doth frownee, In dis Newcastel famous townee, Vare some veare breaches, some de gounee. Doodle, doodle, doo. But den before dat I do callee, You give me sixpence, price is smallee; And den I’ll nothing ask at allee. Doodle, doodle, doo. In fronte, you see de agents coming, Vast great, much consequence assuming, Far, farther far, than is becoming. Doodle, doodle, doo. See dere de vulgar scum begin it, Den next de Sylock bankiers pin it; Ah dere!—de devil’s selfe is in it. Doodle, doodle, doo. O wonderful! how dey do tumble, Just like de Jack of cards dey tumble, De kings, with knaves and duces humble. Doodle, doodle, doo. Dare de parson, lawyer, scrambles, Dare physic doctors in de shambles, Vere some do make de long preambles! Doodle, doodle, doo. See all de shop-folks gaping, staring, Few understanding, fewer caring, Vether perjury be swearing! Doodle, doodle, doo. Oh bless us! how you slaves are roaring, Deir cunning patrons stagger snoring, Inclined pocket trusting more in. Doodle, doodle, doo. Next you do see, from street of tripee, De Goatside boys, for huzza ripee; Vith all de lads dat make de pipee. Doodle, doodle, doo. And next you do behold, so stirring, Like horned cattle in de murrain, Dose jolly blades dat speak so burring. Doodle, doodle, doo. Dese be good freemen, as dey’re called; ’Tis not for nothing dey have bauled; Huzza! till to de poll dey’re hauled! Doodle, doodle, doo. Stand fast—have care—see from de denny, Come, elbow forth, de gentlemeny, Vith all de brains—if dey have any. Doodle, doodle, doo. Now den, now den, de bright candidates, Up top hustings, hope and fear deir fates: Whilst all de congstables surround de gates. Doodle, doodle, doo. Ay now de mountain be in labour; Blo, blo de fifee, sound de tabre; Flash, flash de brade sword and de sabre. Doodle, doodle, doo. For toute le Monde vill see, no doubtee, Dat someting, noting, vill come outee, To make de people glore aboutee. Doodle, doodle, doo. If dat brave Monsieur Bowes De legs vill dance by score, by dozen, And all de grande vill call him couzen. Doodle, doodle, doo. Den come again, sweet childs, to-morrow, Me show you ten hundred joy—no sorrow; But bring de sixpence, if you borrow. Doodle, doodle, doo. |
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