I look'd at her, she look'd at me, So bewitching, so bewitching; I look'd at her, she look'd at me, I look'd so very simple. Her cheeks were like the blooming rose, Which on the hedge neglected blows, Her eyes were black as any sloes, And near her mouth a dimple. I stood stock still, she did the same, Gazing on her, gazing on her; I stood stock still, she did the same, Thinks I, I've made a blunder; Just then her cheeks turn'd deadly pale, Says I, "My love, what d'ye ail?" Then she told me a dismal tale That she was scar'd with thunder. "Madam," says I, and made my bow, Scraping to her, scraping to her; "Madam," says I, and made my bow, "I'd quite forgotten t' weather; But if you will permission give I'll see you home, where-e'er you live;" So she pop'd her arm right thro' my sleeve, And off we set tegether. A bonny wild goose chase we had, In an out sir, in an out sir; A bonny wild goose chase we had, The bollar stones so gall'd me; At last she brought me to a door Where twenty lasses, hey, or more, Came out to have a better glore At bumkin as they call'd me. "Walk in," said she, "kind sir," to me, Quite politely, quite politely; "Walk in," said she, "kind sir," to me. "Poor chap," say they, "he's undone." "Walk in," says she. "No, no," says I, "For I've got other fish to fry, I've seen you home, so now good bye, I'm Yorkshire, tho' in London." My pockets soon I rummish'd over, Cautious ever, cautious ever; My pockets soon I rummish'd over, Found there a diamond ring, sir; For I had this precaution took, In each to stick a small fish hook; So in grapling for my pocket book, The barb had strip'd her finger. Three weeks I've been in London town, Living idle, living idle; Three weeks I've been in London town, It's time to go to work, sir; For I've sold the ring, and here's the brass, I have not play'd the silly ass; It will do to toast a London lass, When I get back to Yorkshire. FOOTNOTE: [Footnote 252: From _A Garland of New Songs_, printed by J. Marshall, in the Old Flesh-Market, Newcastle-upon-Tyne (_circa_ 1810).] THE GREAT EXHIBITION; OR, PRINCE ALBERT'S CURIOSITY SHOP. An entirely new comic song, written and sung by Mr. Burford, at the Theatre, Whitby, on the occasion of the Foresters' bespeak, and since received every evening with great applause. I am a native of fair Dublin city, To Whitby I've come for a spree; I've been up to London to visit The Great Crystal Palace, d'ye see: For there's wonders one top of the other, In that wonderful place to be seen, Faith the brains of a saint it would bother, To know what the government mean.