Then away they went to Mr. Scott, And fand him varry kind: Says he, 'Young men, I'll treat ye weel, Tho' here against your mind.'

'O Sir,' said they, 'you're very good, But faith this place luiks dark and frightful!'

Says Walton, 'What a sweet perfume!'

Says Watson, 'Lord, it's quite delightful!'

Whack, fal, &c.

But Watson myed Tom Carr to rue, Before 'twas varry lang: He had him tried before me Lord, And Carr fand he was wrang.

Me Lord tell'd Carr he had ne reet To shop them, e'en had it been lyater, Until he'd tyen them, first ov a', Before a Mister Magistrater.

Whack, fal, &c.

Now Tommy Carr may claw his lug, Th' expences he mun pay: But still there's nyen that's sorry for't; 'It sarves him reet,' they say.

So howay, lads, let's off to toon, We'll a' put wor bit better hats on; And if Tom Carr shops us agyen, Me sowl! we'll give him Waller Watson.

JOHNNY SC--TT AND TOMMY C--RR.

A DIALOGUE.

_Sc--tt_--Ah! woe's me! what shall I do, Tommy C--rr, Tommy C--rr?

For I have most cause to rue, Tommy C--rr!

Though your costs are very great, Yet much harder is my fate-- I may shut the Kitty gate, Tommy C--rr!

_C--rr_--I will soon be clear of mine, Johnny Sc--tt, Johnny Sc--tt!

For I will myself confine, Johnny Sc--tt!

Just for three short weeks or so, Up the nineteen steps I'll go, And be wash'd as white as snow, Johnny Sc--tt!

_Sc--tt_--Oh! that tyrant of a Judge, Tommy C--rr, Tommy C--rr!

He has surely had some grudge, Tommy C--rr!

Can we gain our honest bread, Now when cut off in full trade, We who've been so long well fed, Tommy C--rr!

_C--rr_--Oh! how trifling was our chance, Johnny Sc--tt, Johnny Sc--tt!

Oh! had Scarlett been at France, Johnny Sc--tt!

Brougham's help was all we had, Well he knew our case was bad; And au'd Bayley frown'd like mad, Johnny Sc--tt!

_Sc--tt_--I my huckstering shop may let, Tommy C--rr, Tommy C--rr!

No more customers we'll get, Tommy C--rr!

Mrs. Sc--tt has room to growl, There is not one hungry soul For to buy a penny roll, Tommy C--rr!

_C--rr_--Let us curse the day and hour, Johnny Sc--tt, Johnny Sc--tt!

That depriv'd us of our power, Johnny Sc--tt!

Fam'd Newcastle's rattling boys Will kick up a thund'ring noise, And for fun will black our eyes, Johnny Sc--tt!

TOMMY C--RR IN LIMBO.

Tune--"Scots wha ha'e," &c.

Ye that like a lark or spree!

Ye that's iv the Kitty free!

Now's the time for mirth and glee, For Tommy is up stairs.

Ye that never yet went wrang-- Ne'er did wa.r.s.e than sing a sang, Ye that offen had to gan And visit Mr. Mayor's.

Now then let your joys abound-- Now begin your neetly rounds, And myek the streets wi' mirth resound.

Since Tommy is up stairs.

Whe before Judge Bayley stood, For sending Watson into quod?-- Whe wad grace a _frame of Wood_?

But honest Tommy C--r.

And when fou, wi' cronies dear, Ye'd sally out to Filly Fair, Whe was sure to meet ye there?

But honest Tommy C--r: Wiv his beaver round and low, Little switch, and thick surtou', Like Satan prowling to and fro, Seeking to devour.

Whe was sure your sport to marr, And send ye off to Cabbage Square?

Whe was Judge and Jury there?

But honest Tommy C--r.

Whe wad never tyek yor word?

And if to walk ye'd not afford, Whe wad strap ye on a board?

But honest Tommy C--r.

THE KITTY PORT ADMIRAL AT THE BENCH; OR, DOGBERRY IN THE SUDS.

_Air--"The Opera Hat."_

Oh the Devil go with you, fat Tom C--r!

Bribe him well, he'll be your counsellor, Give you courage when at the bar, And grant you a special favour: Some folks thowt you were gyen to h.e.l.l, And other some to Derry: But sup the broth you've made yoursel', There's no one can be sorry.

So the Devil go with you, &c.

'Tis well you leave the scorn of those You've sent unto the work-house, For, hangman-like, you'd have cash and clothes, When their friends were glad of the carcase.

So the Devil, &c.

Bad luck, say I, to your brother brimair!

Your crimes 'twill not half smother; So go to Stuart's, in Denton-chare, And prithee choose another.

So the Devil, &c.

For if ever upon the Quay again, You beg for beef and biscuit, The sailor lads will surely cry, G.o.ds! lad, you've sairly miss'd it.

So the Devil, &c.

May the tread-mill turn to a whiskey-shop, The parrot into a monkey, And Tom C--r selling fine shirt neck b.u.t.tons, Upon a tripe-wife's donkey, So the Devil, &c.