Cried Milwood, whose cruel heart’s core Was so flinty that nothing could shock it, If ye mean to come here any more, Pray come with more cash in your pocket: Make Nunky surrender his dibs, Rub his pate with a pair of lead towels, Or stick a knife into his ribs―― I’ll warrant he’ll then show some bowels. Rum ti, &c. A pistol he got from his love―― ’Twas loaded with powder and bullet; He trudged off to Camberwell Grove, But wanted the courage to pull it. There’s Nunky as fat as a hog, While I am as lean as a lizard; Here’s at you, you stingy old dog! And he whips a long knife in his gizzard. Rum ti, &c. All you who attend to my song, A terrible end of the farce shall see, If you join the inquisitive throng That follow’d poor George to the Marshalsea. If Milwood were here, dash my wigs, Quoth he, I would pummel and lam her well; Had I stuck to my prunes and figs, I ne’er had stuck Nunky at Camberwell. Rum ti, &c. Their bodies were never cut down; For granny relates with amazement, A witch bore ’em over the town, And hung them on Thorowgood’s casement. The neighbours, I’ve heard the folks say, The miracle noisily brag on; And the shop is, to this very day, The sign of the George and the Dragon. Rum ti, &c. In 1858 the late Mr. Shirley Brooks chose this burlesque as the basis of a parody he composed on the ecclesiastical procedure adopted by Samuel Wilberforce, then Bishop of Oxford. It contains nothing more offensive to religion than the somewhat familiar address to the Bishop as _Soapy Sam_, the origin of which _sobriquet_ is lost in doubt. It is said, that when asked its meaning by a lady, Bishop Wilberforce replied, “I believe they call me ‘Soapy Sam’ because I am so often in hot water, and always come out with clean hands.” SAM. _A Melancholy but Instructive Narrative, Founded on Facts, and on James Smith’s “George Barnewell”_ Sam Soapey stood at his Palace door, Promotion hoping to find, Sir; His Apron it hung down before, And the tail of his wig behind, Sir. A Lady, so painted and smart, Cried “Pardon my little transgression, But I know what is next to your heart, Now, what do you think of Confession?” Rum-ti-iddi-ti-ti. Her face was rouged up to the eyes, And red was her ladyship’s toggery, And folks who are thought to be wise, Recognised a professor of roguery. A bundle of Keys at her waist―― Says she, “I can help you, Sir, that I can, In the South I am very much graced, And I live at a place called the Vatican.” Rum-ti-iddi-ti-ti.