May the sign of the King ever meet with respect, And our great Constitution each Britain protect; And may he who would humble our old British Crown, Be hung on a Sign-post till I take him down.
_As sung by MR NOBLE, at the Theatre Royal, in 1803._
Talk no more of brave Nelson, or gallant Sir Sidney, ’Tis granted they’re Tars of a true British kidney; And people are curious, such heroes to see, But neither, are half so much follow’d as Me; O when, ding dong, ding dong, my Bell goes, Carts, Barrows, are stopt at the sound; Each news-loving Porter, straight makes a fill pause, And wonder-struck, shews the full stretch of his Jaws, When sonorous I publish all round.----
LOST! on Saturday Evening last, between Love Lane and the Long Stairs; a _Tarrier Dog_, entirely White, with two Brown Ears and a Black Spot upon his Tail, and answers to the Name of _Shak’em_; the Dog was last seen at the Entrance of the Close: and has got an ugly Trick of shaking his Right Ear and Tail as he walks;--is considered to be rather deaf, as he does not always answer to the first call----Whosoever will bring him to me shall be handsomely rewarded: and any detaining him after this Notice, will be prosecuted according to Law.----
With Orators sir, e’en senate to grace, What town’s better stock’d, pray, than this canny place, Ah! would you, the flow’r of those Orators see? _Ecce Homo’s_ the word,--you behold him in Me! O when ding dong, ding dong, my Bell goes, Shoe-makers with joy catch the sound; And truly like so many Larks they are found: Each swiftly descends from his garret on high; When sonorous I publish all round.
STOLEN or Strayed, from a field in Pandon Dean, three beautiful _smoke colour’d Sheep_, marked T.G. justly esteemed the most picturesque Ornaments of that celebrated Vale.----The Admirers of rural Scenery hereby offer a _handsome Reward_ to whoever will bring them back to the Dean, if strayed, or give such information as may convict the _Mutton-loving Rogues_, who have stolen them.
The Town Marshal proclaims peace, incomp’rably well, Few, at calling a Fair, the Sheriff’s Serjeant excell; But in _Pathos_, the Critics, _mem. con._ do agree, The Marshal and Serjeant must both yield to Me; O when ding dong, ding dong, my Bell goes, Barbers prick up their ears at the sound; And heedless how half-shaven customers swear, Come eagerly running my budget to hear, When sonorous I publish all round.