Thou art a liar, says Mess John, Thou shalt be whipp’d with a rod of birk; And shalt be set in the stocks to morn, For telling such lies o’ the kirk. SAIR FAIL’D HINNY. I was young and lusty, I was fair and clear; I was young and lusty, Many a long year. Sair fail’d hinny, Sair fail’d now; Sair fail’d hinny, Sin’ I kend thou. When I was young and lusty, I could loup a dyke; But now at five and sixty, Cannot do the like. Sair fail’d hinny, Sair fail’d now, Sair fail’d hinny, Sin’ I kend thou. Then said the awd man To the oak tree; Sair fail’d is ’e, Sin’ I kend thee. Sair fail’d hinny, Sair fail’d now; Sair fail’d hinny, Sin’ I kend thou. THE HARE SKIN. BY GEORGE KNIGHT, SHOEMAKER. Tune.--_Have you heard of a frolicsome ditty._ Come, gentlemen, attend to my ditty, All you that delight in a gun; And, if you’ll be silent a minute, I’ll tell you a rare piece of fun. Fal lal, &c. It was on the tenth of November, Or else upon Martinmas-day, A gentleman,[70] who lov’d pastime, Got a hare-skin well stuff’d with hay. Then into the field he convey’d her, And set her against a hedge-side; Our gunners were rambling the fields thro’, So that pussy was quickly espy’d. Mr Tindal, the first that espy’d her, Said that he lov’d a roast hare, And that he would have her _tit_ supper, For he for the law did not care. The better his purpose to answer, He charged his gun well with slugs, And firing right manfully at her, He _hat_ her betwixt the two lugs. But when that he went for to seize her, He found himself cursedly bit; And soon flung her down in a passion, And look’d as if he’d been b----t. The next was Will Dunn, our painter, Who wanted a novelty bit; And, taking good aim, let fly at her, And kill’d her stone-dead on her seat. When firing, he swore he had maul’d her, He ne’er miss’d a hare in his life; And then in great trouble was he, To get her safe home to his wife. The next was John Walker, a tailor, He thinking poor puss for to nap, Indeed, he endeavour’d to kill her, But his gun very often did snap. But then making all things in order, He at her let furiously drive; Our serjeant was to have her _tit_ supper, To make them all merry belyve. But I think he was damnable saucy, She ne’er was intended for he; He must get something else to his cabbage, For it and hare flesh ’ll ne’er agree. The next was Joe Dixon, the barber, One morning he rose in great haste, And swore he would have hare _tit_ his supper, And give all his neighbours a taste. When firing, he swore he had kill’d her; O then in great trouble was he, How that he might safely convey her, For fear any body should see.