A NEW SONG OF NEW SIMILIES.

My passion is as mustard strong;

I sit all sober sad,

Drunk as a piper all day long,
Or like a March hare mad.

Round as a hoop the bumpers flow;
I drink, yet can't forget her;
For, though as drunk as David's sow,
I love her still the better.

Pert as a pearmonger I'd be,
If Molly were but kind;
Cool as a cucumber could see
The rest of womankind.

Like a stuck pig I gaping stare,
And eye her o'er and o'er;
Lean as a rake with sighs and care,
Sleek as a mouse before.

Plump as a partridge was I known,
And soft as silk my skin;
My cheeks as fat as butter grown;
But as a groat now thin!

I, melancholy as a cat,

Am kept away to weep;
But she, insensible of that,
Sound as a top can sleep.

Hard is her heart as flint or stone;
She laughs to see me pale;

And merry as a grig is grown,
And brisk as bottled ale.

The God of love, at her approach,
Is busy as a bee!

Hearts sound as any bell or roach
Are smit, and sigh like me.

Ah me! as thick as hops or hail,
The fine men crowd about her:
But soon as dead as a door-nail
Shall I be, if without her.

Straight as my leg her shape appears;
O were we join'd together!
My heart would be scotfree from cares,
And lighter than a feather.

As fine as fivepence is her mien;
No drum was ever tighter;
Her glance is as the razor keen,
And not the sun is brighter.

As soft as pap her kisses are:
Methinks I taste them yet;
Brown as a berry is her hair,
Her eyes as black as jet.

As smooth as glass, as white as curds,
Her pretty hand invites;
Sharp as a needle are her words;
Her wit like pepper bites.

Brisk as a body-louse she trips,

Clean as a penny drest;

Sweet as a rose her breath and lips,
Round as the globe her breast.

Full as an egg was I with glee,

And happy as a king:

Good Lord! how all men envied me! She lov'd like any thing.

But, false as hell, she, like the wind,
Chang'd as her sex must do;
Though seeming as the turtle kind,
And like the Gospel true.

If I and Molly could agree,
Let who would take Peru
Great as an emp'ror should I be,
And richer than a jew.

NEWGATE'S GARLAND:

Being a new Ballad, showing how Mr Jonathan Wild's throat was cut from ear to ear, with a penknife, by Mr Blake, alias Blueskin, the bold highwayman, as he stood at his trial in the Old Bailey, 1725.

TO THE TUNE OF THE CUTPURSE.*

[The history of Jonathan Wild, whose practices gave rise to the character of Peachum in the Beggar's Opera, is pretty well known. He was a thieftaker by profession, which he united with the seemingly inconsistent character of heading a band of thieves and robbers. He received their booty, paid them for it according to his own rates, and restored it to the proprietors when it benefited his purse or reputation to do so. He had even such influence over his banditti, that he could every now and then make a sacrifice to justice of any one who he suspected had run his race, or who had murmured against his authority. In such cases, Jonathan was both the person who apprehended, and whose evidence convicted his associate. But one Blake, or Blueskin, although he had been under Wild's tuition from a child, finding himself apprehended and condemned for house-breaking, and seeing his tutor in guilt the chief evidence against him, was filled at once with the feelings of indignation and despair, and clapping his hand suddenly under Jonathan's chin, in the presence of the Court, still sitting, cut a gash in his throat, with a folding-knife, which had nearly proved mortal. Jonathan Wild survived the wound, however, and being convicted under the statute for receiving money for recovery of stolen goods without apprehending the thieves, he, on 24th May 1725, suffered at the gallows, for which he had bred, and to which he had conducted so many victims.]

* The well-known song in Ben Jonson's Bartholomew Fair, of which the burden runs :

Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.

I.

YE gallants of Newgate, whose fingers are nice
In diving in pockets, or cogging of dice;

Ye sharpers so rich, who can buy off the noose,
Ye honester poor rogues, who die in your shoes,
Attend and draw near,

Good news ye shall hear,

How Jonathan's throat was cut from ear to ear, How Blueskin's sharp penknife hath set you at ease, And ev'ry man round me may rob, if he please.

II.

When to the Old Bailey this Blueskin was led,
He held up his hand; his indictment was read;
Loud rattled his chains: near him Jonathan stood;
For full forty pounds was the price of his blood.
Then, hopeless of life,

He drew his penknife,

And made a sad widow of Jonathan's wife.
But forty pounds paid her, her grief shall appease,
And ev'ry man round me may rob, if he please.

III.

Some say there are courtiers of highest renown, Who steal the king's gold, and leave him but a

crown:

Some say there are peers and parliament men,
Who meet once a year to rob courtiers again.
Let them all take their swing,

To pillage the king,

And get a blue riband instead of a string.

Now Blueskin's sharp penknife hath set you at ease, And ev'ry man round me may rob, if he please.