Bow'd off, winking Crape to look out for a job. “Hur Taffy will never awake from his nap! Ap-Tudor! ap-Jones! oh!” cried nurse Jenny-ap- Shenkin ap-Jenkin ap-Morgan ap-Rice-- But Taffy turn'd round, and call'd out in a trice, “Jenny ap-Rice, hur could eat something nice, A dainty Welch rabbit--go toast hur a slice Of cheese, if you please, which better agrees With the tooth of poor Taffy than physic and fees.” A pound Jenny got, and brought to his cot The prime double Glo'ster, all hot! piping hot! Which being a bunny without any bones, Was custard with mustard to Taffy ap-Jones. “Buy some leeks, Jenny, and brew hur some caudle-- No more black doses from Doctor McDawdle!” Jenny stew'd down a bunch into porridge, (Welch punch!) And Taffy, Cot pless him! he wash'd down his lunch. On the back of his hack next mom Doctor Mac Came to see Jenny preparing her black! Ap answer'd his rap in a white cotton cap, With another Welch rabbit just caught in his trap! “A gobbling? you ghost Δ the Leech bellow'd loud, “Does your mother know, Taffy, you're out of your shroud?” “Hur physic'd a week--at hur very last squeak, Hur try'd toasted cheese and decoction of leek.” “I'm pocketting fees for the self-same disease From the dustman next door--I'll prescribe toasted cheese And leek punch for lunch!” But the remedy fails-- What kills Pat from Kilmore, cures Taffy from Wales. CHAPTER X. |In the year 1776,” continued the Lauréat, “Mr. Philip Astley * transferred his equestrian troop to the 'Rounds.' To him succeeded Saunders, ** who brought forward into the 'circle' that 'wonderful child of promise,' his son, accompanied by the tailor riding to Brentford! To thee, Billy Button! and thy 'Buffo Caricatto,' Thompson, the tumbler, we owe some of the heartiest laughs of our youthful days. Ods 'wriggling, giggling, galloping, galloway,' we have made merry in St. Bartlemy!” * In the early part of his career Mr. Astley paraded the streets of London, and dealt out his hand-bills to the servants and apprentices whom his trumpet and drum attracted to the doors as he passed along. ** Master Saunders, only seven years old, jumps through a hoop, and brings it over his head, and dances a hornpipe on the saddle, his horse going three-quarters speed round the circle! The Tailor riding to Brentford, by Mr. Belcher.-- Bartholomew Fair, 1796.”