3
For she, the child, had lost her feet,
To every person she did meet,
Cry'd that s the real Dandy.
A chimney sweeper heard the fnn
As he through the street for foot did ran,
Crying, fire and smoke, we’re all undone,
By drinking stout at Brandy.
The Beggar.
A Beggar l am, of low degree,
For I’m of a begging family,
I'm lame, but when in a fighting 'bout
I whip off my leg and fight it out;
In running I leav: the beadle behind
And a laſe I can ſee, tho'alas! I am blind
Through town and village I gaily jog,
My music, the bell of my little clog.
Chorus, I’m cloth’d in rags,
I’m hung with bags,
That around me wags;
I’ve a bag for my salt
A bag for my malt
A bag for the eg of a goose
For my oats a bag.
For my groats a bag.
And a bottle to hold my booze:
It's now heaven bleſs you for your charity,
And then puſh the can about, fol de roldere.
SPEAKING
