A link-boy once, Dick Hellfinch stood the grin, At Charing Cross he long his toil apply'd; "Here light, here light! your honours for a win," [1] To every cull and drab he loudly cried. [2] In Leicester Fields, as most the story know, "Come black your worship for a single mag," [3] And while he shin'd his Nelly suck'd the bag, [4] And thus they sometimes stagg'd a precious go. [5] In Smithfield, too, where graziers' flats resort, He loiter'd there to take in men of cash, With cards and dice was up to ev'ry sport, And at Saltpetre Bank would cut a dash; A very knowing rig in ev'ry gang, [6] Dick Hellfinch was the pick of all the slang. [7] _Progress._ His Nell sat on Newgate steps, and scratch'd her poll, Her eyes suffus'd with tears, and bung'd with gin; The Session's sentence wrung her to the soul, Nor could she lounge the gag to shule a win; The knowing bench had tipp'd her buzer queer, [8] For Dick had beat the hoof upon the pad, Of Field, or Chick-lane--was the boldest lad That ever mill'd the cly, or roll'd the leer. [9] And with Nell he kept a lock, to fence, and tuz, And while his flaming mot was on the lay, With rolling kiddies, Dick would dive and buz, And cracking kens concluded ev'ry day; [10] But fortune fickle, ever on the wheel, Turn'd up a rubber, for these smarts to feel. _Triumph._ Both'ring the flats assembled round the quod, [11] The queerum queerly smear'd with dirty black; [12] The dolman sounding, while the sheriff's nod, Prepare the switcher to dead book the whack, While in a rattle sit two blowens flash, [13] Salt tears fast streaming from each bungy eye; To nail the ticker, or to mill the cly [14] Through thick and thin their busy muzzlers splash, The mots lament for Tyburn's merry roam, That bubbl'd prigs must at the New Drop fall, [15] And from the start the scamps are cropp'd at home; All in the sheriff's picture frame the call [16] Exalted high, Dick parted with his flame, And all his comrades swore that he dy'd game. [1: penny] [2: man; woman] [3: half-penny] [4: spent the money] [5: made a lot of money] [6: cute fellow] [7: i.e. fraternity] [8: sentenced the pick-pocket] [9: picked pockets] [10: burgling] [11: goal] [12: gallows] [13: coach; women] [14: steal a watch; pick a pocket] [15: Newgate] [16: hangman's noose] THE TRUE BOTTOM'D BOXER [1825] [By J. JONES in _Universal Songster_, ii. 96]. Air: "_Oh! nothing in life can sadden us._" I