_A Parody of Jack’s Yarn._ ’Twas on a Monday morn, and the Tailor played the horn, On which he’d been a blowing all the way; He was sitting on a van, and out on the randan, A going to Rye House to spend the day. For a few hours free from strife, ’cos he’d got a nagging wife, But his plan to keep it quiet was in vain, For a pal just for a game, went and told the Tailor’s dame, So she took her eighteenpenn’orth down by train. Singing, Hilly holly ho, listen to my tale of woe, Of this Tailor’s dinner anniversary, When every jolly snip, was enjoying of his trip, Singing, Hilly holly hilly holly ho! When the Tailor ceased to play, he was looking far from gay. He showed us where his face and neck were scored; When we got to the Rye, the first thing we did spy, Was his wife, and Holy Moses, how she jawed! And then it was such fun, for to see the Tailor run, Round the river bank, she in pursuit of he; ’Till at length she tripped and fell, in the water with a yell, I reckon you’d a heard across the Lea. (_Chorus._)――Singing, &c. Every man to this day brags, how long it took to find the drags, Tho’ they hung near, and handy on a tree, The drags not being found, of course the old girl drowned, And so the poor old snip was free. So here’s good luck and life, to the man what drowned his wife, And so saved the heavy undertaker’s fee. All the dragging was in vain, she ne’er was seen again, That’s why there’s good eel fishing in the Lea. Singing, Hilly holly ho, listen to my tale of woe, Of this Tailor’s dinner anniversary, When every jolly snip, was enjoying of his trip, Singing, Hilly holly, hilly holly ho! ――――:o:―――― THE GUNPOWDER PLOT I sing a doleful tragedy,―― Guy Fawkes, the prince of sinisters, Who once blew up the House of Lords, The King, and all his Ministers; That is, he would have blown them up, (And folks will ne’er forget him,) His will was good to do the deed,―― That is, if they’d have let him! Tow, row, row! tol di ridy, tol di ridy, tow, row, row! He straightway came from Lambeth side, And wished the State was undone, And crossing over Vauxhall Bridge, That way came into London: That is, he would have come that way, To perpetrate his guilt, sirs, But a little thing prevented him――the bridge it wasn’t built, sirs!