Little Lord John Out of Service. Service
You lads of this nation, in every station,
I pray give attention, and listen to me,
I’m little Jack Russell, a man of great bustle,
Who served Queen Victoria by land and by sea;
They call me a Proosian, an Austrian, a Roosian,
And off to Vienna they sent me afar;
They’d not me believe then, they vowed I’d deceived them,
And called me Friend of the great Russian Czar.
Chorus.
I’m little Jack Russell, a man of great bustle,
I’m full of vexation, grief, sorrow, and care,
I have got in disgrace, and am now out of place;
But I never broke windows round Bel-ge-rave Square.
In great London City for me they’ve no pity;
And Moon the Lord Mayor to my face told me plain,
All the freemen would scout me, and old women rout me,
If ever I went to the City again.
I’m the son of old Bedford, I’m going to Deptford
To look for employment, and find out a friend,
And then I’ll come back with a pack on my back,
Bawling frying-pans, saucepans, and kettles to mend.
Chorus, I’m, &c.
I have lost all my riches, I have worn out my breeches,
I am turned out of place, and have nowhere to go,
My state is most shocking, great holes in my stocking,
And my poor tender toes peeping out of my shoe—
Why should they so serve me, and try for to starve me?
I fought for my country and stood by my Queen.
Bad luck to the Prussians, the Austrians, and Russians,
And jolly bad luck to old Lord Aberdeen.
Chorus. I’m, &c.
I went like a wary plenipotentiary,
To the town of Vienna to settle the war,
Where I saw Francis Joseph, King Peter, and Moses,
And I fought Alexander, the great Russian Czar;
And when I came back they began for to clack,
They blamed me and gamed me and pulled out my hair,
They threatened to lick me, and nicely they kicked me,
Bawling pickled eel’s feet around Bel-ge-rave Square.
Chorus. I’m, &c.
I love Queen Victoria, I dearly adore her,
Although at Vienna I did her displease;
I wish all the Russians and Austrians and Prussians
Were tied in a blanket, and smothered with fleas.
Oh dear, hey down diddle, I have the Scotch fiddle,
I know that I caught it of old Aberdeen,—
Now I will so clever sing England for ever,
Down with the Russians, and God save the Queen.
Chorus. I’m, &c.
John Morgan.