Читать книгу W. H. Ainsworth Collection: 20+ Historical Novels, Gothic Romances & Adventure Classics - William Harrison Ainsworth - Страница 47

In a box37 of the stone jug38 I was born, Of a hempen widow39 the kid forlorn. Fake away, And my father, as I’ve heard say, Fake away. Was a merchant of capers40 gay, Who cut his last fling with great applause, Nix my doll pals, fake away.41

Who cut his last fling with great applause,42 To the tune of a “hearty choke with caper sauce.” Fake away. The knucks in quod43 did my schoolmen play, Fake away, And put me up to the time of day; Until at last there was none so knowing, Nix my doll pals, fake away.

Until at last there was none so knowing,

No such sneaksman44 or buzgloak45 going. Fake away. Fogles46 and fawnies47 soon went their way, Fake away, To the spout48 with the sneezers49 in grand array. No dummy hunter50 had forks51 so fly; Nix my doll pals, fake away.

No dummy hunter had forks so fly,

No knuckler52 so deftly could fake a cly,53 Fake away. No slour’d hoxter54 my snipes55 could stay, Fake away. None knap a reader56 like me in the lay. Soon then I mounted in swell-street high. Nix my doll pals, fake away.

Soon then I mounted in swell-street high,

And sported my flashiest toggery57, Fake away. Firmly resolved I would make my hay, Fake away, While Mercury’s star shed a single ray; And ne’er was there seen such a dashing prig,58 Nix my doll pals, fake away.

And ne’er was there seen such a dashing prig,

With my strummel faked in the newest twig.59 Fake away. With my fawnied famms,60 and my onions gay,61 Fake away; My thimble of ridge62, and my driz kemesa63; All my togs were so niblike64 and splash, Nix my doll pals, fake away.

All my togs were so niblike and splash,

Readily the queer screens I then could smash;65 Fake away. But my nuttiest blowen,66 one fine day, Fake away, To the beaks67 did her fancy man betray, And thus was I bowled out at last68 Nix my doll pals, fake away.

And thus was I bowled out at last,

And into the jug for a lag was cast;69 Fake away. But I slipped my darbies70 one morn in May, Fake away, And gave to the dubsman71 a holiday. And here I am, pals, merry and free, A regular rollicking romany.72 Nix my doll pals, fake away.

Much laughter and applause rewarded Jerry’s attempt to please; and though the meaning of his chant, even with the aid of the numerous notes appended to it, may not be quite obvious to our readers, we can assure them that it was perfectly intelligible to the Canting Crew. Jerry was now entitled to a call; and happening, at the moment, to meet the fine dark eyes of a sentimental gipsy, one of that better class of mendicants who wandered about the country with a guitar at his back, his election fell upon him. The youth, without prelude, struck up a