But be a loving father to thee,

And brag the name o’t.

THE FORNICATOR
Tune: Clout the Cauldron

Ye jovial boys who love the joys,

The blissful joys of Lovers;

Yet dare avow with dauntless brow,

When th’ bony lass discovers;

I pray draw near and lend an ear,

And welcome in a Frater,

For I’ve lately been on quarantine,

A proven Fornicator.

Before the Congregation wide

I pass’d the muster fairly,

My handsome Betsey by my side,

We gat our ditty rarely;

But my downcast eye by chance did spy

What made my lips to water,

Those limbs so clean where I, between,

Commenc’d a Fornicator.

With rueful face and signs of grace

I pay’d the buttock-hire,

The night was dark and thro the park

I could not but convoy her;

A parting kiss, what could I less,

My vows began to scatter,

My Betsey fell – lal de dal lal lal,

I am a Fornicator.

But for her sake this vow I make,

And solemnly I swear it,

That while I own a single crown,

She’s welcome for to share it;

And my roguish boy his Mother’s joy,

And the darling of his Pater,

For him I boast my pains and cost,

Although a Fornicator.

Ye wenching blades whose hireling jades

Have tipt you off blue-boram,

I tell ye plain, I do disdain

To rank you in the Quorum;

But a bony lass upon the grass

To teach her esse Mater,

And no reward but for regard,

O that’s a Fornicator.

Your warlike Kings and Heros bold,

Great Captains and Commanders;

Your mighty Cèsars fam’d of old,

And Conquering Alexanders;

In fields they fought and laurels bought

And bulwarks strong did batter,

But still they grac’d our noble list

And ranked Fornicator!!!

THE JOLLY BEGGARS – A CANTATA

RECITAVO

When lyart leaves bestrow the yird,

Or, wavering like the bauckie-bird,

Bedirn cauld Boreas’ blast;

When hailstanes drive wi bitter skyte,

And infant frosts begin to bite,

In hoary cranreuch drest;

Ae night at e’en a merry core

O randie, gangrel bodies,

In Poosie-Nansie’s held the splore,

To drink their orra duddies:

Wi quaffing and laughing,

They ranted an they sang,

Wi jumping an thumping,

The vera girdle rang.

First, niest the fire, in auld red rags,

Ane sat; weel brac’d wi mealy bags,

And knapsack a’ in order;

His doxy lay within his arm;

Wi usquebae an blankets warm

She blinket on her sodger:

An ay he gies the tozie drab

The tither skelpin kiss,

While she held up her greedy gab

Just like an aumous dish:

Ilk smack still did crack still

Like onie cadger’s whup:

Then, swaggering an staggering,

He roar’d this ditty up –

AIR
Tune: Soldier’s Joy

I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars,

And show my cuts and scars wherever I come:

This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench

When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.

Lal de daudle, etc.