Now a word I’ve got to say, to all you who poor rates pay, Tho’, of course, offence to none is intended, Before you your poor rates pay, just well look to the way, And inquire how your money is expended; Do as you’d be done to, that is the time of day, And with me you’ll agree, I am sure now, As you high taxes pay, it is but fair I say, To look a little to the comforts of the poor now. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London. THE GHOST OF WOBURN SQUARE. Strange doings in London there is I declare, So listen to me and a tale you shall hear, Some hundreds each night flock to Woburn Square, To just get a peep at the Ghost Great consternation it has caused all around, And each one to his neighbour declares, Have you seen the Ghost that each night is found A dancing round Woburn Square. They toddle along, the lame and the blind, The deaf and the dumb they will not stay behind, Saying, to Woburn Square, hasten lads, let’s be in time, And have a good look at the Ghost. Some say that his Ghostship that walks there at night, It is Mrs. Chang the Chinaman’s wife, And some say it’s Muller again come to life, To look for the cabman his friend. But whoever it is he has no business there, And he’ll stand a good chance, so help my bob, For disturbing the good folks of Woburn Square, To find himself some day in quod. But whoever he is he is togg’d all in white, And such antics he plays in the square every night, Like a long scaffold pole he stands bolt upright, This naughty Ghost of Woburn Square, As large as the soup plates is his glaring eyes, The sight of which puts you in dread, He’s a smart little fellow about ten feet high, With a monstrous donkey-like head. He escaped from St. Pancras churchyard I hear, Not liking the company he had got there, He stalks out at night just to take the fresh air, And get a drop for to moisten his clay; He is not at all quarrelsome you must allow For the devil a word does he speak, But when he is tired his Ghostship I vow In a jiffey he beats a retreat. The women did holloa, the boys they did shout, Mr. Ghost, how’s your mother, does she know you’re out? The peelers was sent to put them to the rout, And clear them away from the square. They collared some boys, but the Ghost was not found, Though they looked for him everywhere, And some will remember the time I’ll be bound-- The Ghost’s visit unto Woburn Square.