Читать книгу Modern Street Ballads - John Ashton - Страница 30

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Some Policemen are right honest men,

And some we know are gluttons,

Some cookey darling courting goes,

To taste her roasted mutton:

Some can twirl the rolling-pin

If girls should them draw nigh, sir,

Some are fond of rabbit skins,

And some of rabbit pie, sir.

A house the Sergeant had to keep,

At least for to look after,

He was a guardian of the peace,

And had a wife and daughter.

The Sergeant in the parlour lived,

And his lady in the kitchen,

And such a game they carried on,

Good lack a day, at Mitcham.

Such a lot of property was there,

Belonging to Captain Higging,

And so it seems the Sergeant and

His lady went a prigging.

They took the sofas and the beds,

The blankets and the cradles,

The silver plate, the chamber mug,

Chairs and mahogany tables.

Two hundred sovereigns worth of goods,

Pianoforte and shawls, sir,

And then for safety placed them in

The hands of Uncle Balls, Sir.

The neighbours say they had as much

As they could well desire,

And then to hide the wicked deed,

They set the place on fire.

The Captain of his rights,

They did so nicely fleece him,

But great suspicion fell upon

The Sergeant of Policemen.

The Sergeant thought to cut his stick,

And bolt across the water,

But Justice the Policeman caught,

His honest wife and daughter.

Alas! poor Bob has gone to quod,

And that I know won’t suit him,

They know him well at Mitcham, and

In Merton, and in Tooting.

For soon he will his trial take,

And hard bull beef be munching,

He’ll lose his lantern, coat and cape,

And curse his wooden truncheon.

To steal another’s goods his hands,

And fingers were a itching

And he will run and look so blue,

About the job at Mitcham.

Poor Sergeant Bob has gone to quod

A place that does not suit him,

They know him well at Merton round,

In Mitcham and in Tooting.

When the present Police force was first organized it was composed of men decidedly inferior in physique, intelligence, and education, to those constables whose protection we now enjoy. They were made the butt of every kind of coarse witticism, and were generally addressed by some slang name. Above all they were chaffed for their supposed partiality for the society of Cooks, and I reproduce one ballad bearing on this subject, a parody of the song of “Katty Darling.”