Says the Butcher, I’ll knock down the dog like an ox, Cries the Constable bold--put the knave in the Stocks; Says the Chandler, when once to the Pill’ry he hies, Rotten eggs will I furnish to bung up his eyes. Boney down, &c. Says the Doctor, I’m ready to give him a pill, For the doctors, like Boney, they know how to kill; Says the Lawyer, I’ll make the cur presently mute, When once I shall bring him the cost of his suit. Boney down, &c. Cries the Huntsman, I long on his shoulders to ride, I warrant a good pair of spurs I’ll provide. Says the Welchman, I’ll toast him as I would toast cheese; Says Paddy, I’ll whack him, as long as you _plase_. Boney down, &c. Cries a brave bonny Scot, Mon, gee mee his _lug_, And I’ll squeeze him as flat as a _bonnock_ or bug; Says old Suds, I will shave him with razor so notch’d, As shall leave his black muzzle most famously scotch’d. Boney down, &c. Says the Dust-man, I’ll _dust_ him--you know what I mean, I’ll give him a hide, all black, blue and green; Says the Mason, I’ll case him in good bricks and mortar, No, no, says Jack Ketch--don’t you see this nice _halter_? Boney down, &c. Says the Baker, the Rogue in my oven I’ll poke; Cries young Sweep--in the chimney I’ll give him a smoke; The Cobler will give him a stitch in the heel, And here’s Moll, who would skin him as clean as an eel. Boney down, &c. But here’s Tom the Miller, who swears he’ll have Boney, And grind him as close as--Old Hunks keeps his money. Nay, stop, cries the Joiner, I’ll saw off his head, Cries the Surgeon, we’ll have him as soon as he’s dead. Boney down, &c. Then stretch the Dog out, and when flat on his back, We’ll cut out his heart to see if it’s black; For sure such another, no mortal e’er saw, Unless vomited forth, from old Belzebub’s maw. Boney down, &c. But now for his flesh--we must lay bare his bones, And then let him stand clear of Old _Davy Jones_,[77] But Davy will have him, as sure as a gun, So now Master Boney, here ends all your fun. Boney down, &c. The Soldiers will stick him--the Sailor he cries, He’ll never come hither, the Rascal’s too wise; He knows that the Tars of Old England ne’er shrink, But him, and his flat-bottom’d boats they will sink. Boney down, &c. ’Twou’d weary your patience to hear folks repeat, How Boney the _Pigmy_ they’re anxious to treat; So let him come hither, we’ll soon make a ring, Then fight till we die, for our Country and King. Boney down, &c.