Then Lord Derby came swaggering down, Bet ten guineas to a crown, If this Charcoal Black it gets fair play, He will rip the wings of your Bonny Grey. O, these two cocks, they came to the sod, Cries the Liverpool lads, how now? what odds? The odds the Prescot lads did say, The Charcoal Black and the Bonny Grey. The cock battle it was fought, Whilst the Charcoal he lay dead at last, The Liverpool lads gave a loud huzza, And carried away the Bonny Grey. _THE KING AND WEST COUNTRYMAN._ THERE was an old chap in the west country, A flaw in his lease the lawyers had found, It were all about felling of five oak trees, And building some houses upon his own ground. _Chorus._ Ri tooral, looral, looral, looral, Ri tum looral i, do. Now this owd chap to Lunnon did go, To tell the King a part of his woe, Likewise to unbosom to him his grief, In hopes King George would give him relief. When this owd chap to Lunnun had come, He found the King to Windsor had gone, But, if he’d a known he’d not been at home, He dom’d his buttons, if ever he’d come. Now this owd chap to Windsor did stump, But the gates were barred, and all secure, So he knocked and thumped with his oaken clump, There’s room for I within, to be sure. Pray, Mr. Noble, show I the King, What’s, that the King, as I see there? If that chap’s a king, I vow and declare, I’ve seen finer Kings at Bartlemy Fair. Pray, Mr. King, how do you do? I’ze gotten for you, a bit of a job, Which, if you’ll have the kindness to do, I’ve got a summut for you in my fob. The King, he took the lease in hand, To sign it he was likewise willing, And the farmer, to make him some little amend, He lugged out his bag, and gi’ed him a shilling. The King, to carry on the joke, Ordered ten pounds to be paid down, Likewise ten shillings, and half a crown, For years and years after for ever more. The farmer, he stared and looked very funny, But to take up the cash, he was likewise willing But, if he’d a known, he’d half so much brass, He dommed his wig if he’d gi’en him the shilling. _HODGE IN LONDON._ JOHN HODGE bid his dad and his mammy good bye, And he set off for London his fortune to try, For he, by a great many folks had been told, That in London the streets were all paved with gold. But, when he came there, to his great surprise, Like a duck against thunder, he rolled up his eyes; He search’d all around, but the devil a one, Could poor Johnny find, but was paved with stone. Now, in London, says John, I have heard people say, That your pockets they’ll pick in the midst of the day! I’ll take pretty good care that they shall not pick mine, If they do, not a penny in them will they find.