The Last Charley
“Pity the sorrows of a poor old man.”
St. Giles’s clock had sounded two,
The moon was on the wane,
And bitterly the north wind blew;
In torrents fell the rain.
When like a goblin from the grave,
A ghastly form appear’d,
And thrice a grievous groan it gave,
Thrice scratch’d its grisly beard.
Tall, wretched, shiv’ring, pale and thin,
It brav’d the pelting storm,
Without an upper Benjamin
To keep the carcase warm.
Prostrate upon the flags it lay,
Where Seven Dials meet;
And “Och!” it cried, “is this the way
A jontleman to treat?
“I soon must haste to join the throng
On Pluto’s dreary coast—
I’ve given up my spirits long,
Now I’ll give up the ghost.
“Yes! I must go, at fate’s command,
In Charon’s ferry boat,
And change the rattle in my hand
For rattles in my throat.
“That rattle which the prigs to catch
Would other Charleys bring,
Watchmen, we know, are like a watch—
Nothing without a spring.
“My lanthorn!—and the thought, I vow,
The sob of sorrow draws;
No lanthorn can I carry now,
Except my lanthorn jaws.
“With grief unfeign’d my heart is big—
The power of utterance fails,
And losing thee, my old Welsh wig,
This tortur’d heart be-Wails.
“My night-cap red, which this poor head
Hath screen’d from damp and dew,
Like my poor cap, I’ve lost my nap,
And I am worsted too.
“Snug in my box I bore the shocks
Of drunkard’s jeer and scoffing;
Now the vile cough will take me off,
And box me in a coffin.
“To thee, my pipe, my bosom yearns—
Those moments, free from pain,
In which I sat and smok’d returns,
Will ne’er return again.
“This New Police has laid me flat—
Let Christian hearts condole;
And in the mud they roll poor Pat,
Who once was a Patrol.
“Och! when I think of former years,
It almost drives me crazy;
Bear up, my sowl—be dry, my tears—
My throbbing heart be azy.
“Once I was young, but now I’m owld,
Once full of fun and frisky—
But now I shudder with the cowld
And the devil a drop of whisky!”
He spoke, and sadly gaz’d around
(The last words he could utter),
Then with a mournful guttural sound,
Roll’d headlong in the gutter.
Country Orders punctually attended to.
Every description of Printing on the most reasonable terms,
Children’s Books, Battledores, Pictures, &c.
THE SPREES OF
TOM, JERRY AND LOGIC;
A New Song, of Flash, Fashion, Frolic, and Fun.
Come all ye swells and sporting blades who love to see good fun,
Who in the dark, to have a lark, a mile or two would run;
Here’s a dish of entertainment which cannot fail to please,
The rigs of Tom and Jerry, and all their jolly sprees.
With their dash along, flash along, to Life and London haste away,
Where sprees and rambles, larks and gambols, is the time of day.
From Hawthorn-Hall young Jerry came to see his cousin Tom,
And with his friend Bob Logic acquainted soon became,
Then to cut a dash, he learns the flash, to act high life and low,
And up and down through all the town at night they rambling go.
In a morning at Tattersall’s you may them often see,
’Mong jockies, grooms, and chaunters, a knowing company;
In the afternoon they’re lounging in Burlington Arcade,
And at night they’re at the Opera, Ball, or Masquerade.
Among the milling kiddy coves young Jerry took delight,
And was always first to raise a purse to have a glorious fight.
A Fancy blade he then became, and his courage ran so high,
That in his room, he floor’d his groom, and black’d his valet’s eye.
Then off to Leicester-fields they’d march, the Strand, or Drury-lane
Among the sporting ladies to carry on the game,
They’d take them to a gin-shop and treat them round so civil,
Then spur them on to fight and scratch each other like the devil.
While rambling up and down one night they came to Temple-Bar,
And to have a spree, they did agree, ’gainst the Charlies to make war,
Then in the twinkling of an eye a watch-box was upset,
The Watchy roar’d till all was blue, but out he could not get.
They smash’d their lanterns, kick’d their shins, and did their pipkins crack,
And laid them down so neatly one by one upon their backs,
The prigs and sporting ladies all joined in the row,
But Jerry, Tom, and Logic by the pigs [watchmen] were ta’en in tow.
Then to the Holy Land they went disguis’d from top to toe,
To see the Beggar’s Opera where all the Cadgers go,
With Mahogany Bet they had a lark, Black Moll, and Dumpling Kate,
And treated all the apple-women with a yard of tape [gin].
Now, with your leave good folks I will conclude my flashy song,
I hope you’re entertained, and I’ve not detain’d you long,
And Logic, Tom, and Jerry, do cordially unite,
To thank you for your patronage, and wish you all Good Night.
With their dash along, &c.
LONDON:
Printed by J. CATNACH, 2 Monmouth Court, 7 Dials.
Battledores, Lotteries, and Primers sold cheap.
Travellers and Shopkeepers supplied with Sheet Hymns. Patter and Slips.
Songs as Cheap and Good as any Shop in London. Where an
Immense number of songs are always ready.
☞ Cards, &c., Printed cheap.
I’M A CONSTABLE IN MY OWN RIGHT.
I’m a Constable in my own right,
I think that I am of some use;
A searching by day and by night;
Correcting of every abuse.
I carries my staff in my hand,
My power to let the folks see;
I’m certain all over the land
There’s no one so busy as me.
And I’m a Constable, &c.
A Beggar I know by his rags,
A thief I can tell by his looks;
My eyes and my nose never flags,
I puts ’em down in my black books;
The blind beggars when they sees me
A coming ne’er stops to stand still;
Tho’ ever so lame, they walk free,
Or else they would walk to the mill.
For I’m a Constable, &c.
The Publicans all are polite,
As soon as they sees me come in,
They press, and entreat, and invite
To choose of rum, brandy, or gin;
But from me they gets a rebuff,
The offer I always decline;
I scorns to take such vile stuff,
As I never drinks nothing but wine.
And I’m a Constable, &c.
The Watchmen don’t dare go to sleep,
They knows they’d be fined if they do;
Round with the Patroles I creep,
Each morning between one and two.
The Patrole’s don’t like it, ’tis true,
But of me they all are afraid,
And I’m resolved my duty to do,
For I know there’s some cash to be made.
For I’m a Constable, &c.
Old women who sits with the fruit,
Had better not come in my claw;
I pulls ’em up——won’t let ’em do’t,
Because ’tis contrary to law:
Such nuisances ought to be fin’d
And I get a share of the pelf;
My trouble I never don’t mind,
’Cause I keeps a green-grocer’s myself.
And I’m a Constable, &c.
The Watch-house owns me for its king,
I reigns there without a control;
If any blackguards they bring,
I sends ’em down to the black hole;
But if a gentleman gets drunk, so free,
And is brought in——mayhap for a whim
If he behaves genteel to me,
Why I behaves genteel to him.
For I’m a Constable, &c.
When I sits in my chair of a night,
Should any unfortunate gals
Be brought in, I thinks it but right
To commit ’em along with their pals.
The Toms and the Jerrys I hooks,
And takes them to Bow Street, next day;
Tho’ when very sorry they looks,
I lets them off if they can pay.
For I’m a Constable, &c.
The butchers’ and chandlers’ shops,
What used to be serving o’ Sunday,
So shockingly wicked, I stops;
I pulls them all up on the Monday,
I shows no favours to none,
My labours they seem to prove double,
And thinks before I have done,
I shall save Mr. Johnson some trouble.
For I’m a Constable, &c.
Our Parish has got a bad plan,
’Tis always to quarrel and storm;
I’m sure I shall do all I can
To bring on a speedy reform:
Our Overseers are all quite strange,
And that any body may see;
It would make a most wonderful change,
If they all were as busy as me.
For I’m a Constable, &c.
LONDON:
Printed by GOLD and WALTON, Wardour Street, Oxford Street,
For T. Hudson, Kean’s Head, Russell Court, Drury Lane,
1828.
When again shall we Three meet,
Amongst the Swells in Regent Street?
Come soon, my boy—come with glee,
For lots of Fun—another Spree!
With respect to the publication of Life in London; or, the Day and Night Scenes of Tom and Jerry. The proverbial everybody seems for the nonce to have been pleased with the work. The thirty-six scenes from Real Life, designed and etched by the Brothers Cruikshank had much to do with its success, and everybody seems to have made a great deal of money out of the circumstance—save and except the author, Pierce Egan, for he very loudly and frequently, and also “cry-baby-like,” declared inter alia, that he received—“more of the kicks than the halfpence” by reason of the Pirates and Thieves being ever on the alert to prig his thoughts and ideas, and that the whole crew of them united to grab all the “lively things!” out of his head, and so render the “cash account” at his bankers all but nugatory. Then—“came the cry of immorality, so loudly raised by the Actor’s old rivals the Religious Tract Society, the Methodists, and other sectarian parties.” Yet, in spite of all that could be said or sung in the matter Pierce wrote that—“he was too game to be made a dummy of: therefore he was determined to take the leap, and have another “shy-up,” and go “double or quits,” with that supreme goddess of the gods FAME!!! and try his luck once more in the field of literature and announced the publication of his new work The Finish thus:—
The AUTHOR to the READERS of
LIFE
IN and OUT of LONDON.
After the lapse of Seven Years the Author has once more seized hold of the feather, and the Artist his pencil, with an earnest endeavour to follow the advice of our immortal bard, or rather adopt him as a model, “nothing to extenuate, or set down aught in malice!” and:—
To hold as ’twere
The Mirror up to Nature; to show Virtue her own feature,
Vice her own image, and the very age
And body of the Time, its form and pressure.
Then thus it is—the “glorious uncertainty” of pleasing every class of society respecting a knowledge of Life in London being essential towards the improvement of the junior branches of mankind; and although contrary to the established and sapient rules of the College of Physicians, and the practice pursued by our learned friends in Westminster Hall, we are, nevertheless, anxious to give advice without a fee, in order to prove that, in all cases, whether connected with youth or more mature age, Prevention is much better than Cure; indeed, so anxious are we to set ourselves right with the public, as to our future intentions respecting this work, and that we may see our way clearly, and tread on the firmest ground, we feel inclined to adopt the latin proverb so often quoted by Bob Logic to the unsuspecting Jerry, on his first arrival in the metropolis:—
Incidit in Scyllam qui vult vitare Charybdim.
The necessity is absolute; or, rather, an apology is required for the introduction of the Author and Artist to the notice of reader, previous to the second appearance of those heroes—Corinthian Tom, Logic and Jerry, on the great theatre of the world! pour quoi? to vindicate the characters of the Author and Artist from unmerited aspersion of having attempted, by the joint efforts of real tales, original anecdotes, and animated sketches, to demoralize the rising generation; and likewise to refute the charge of having turned the heads of older folks towards the commission of acts of folly and intemperance enough! To our task——“Hark forward’s the word, see the game is in view!” and our exertions will be vigorously directed to establish, if possible. “Tâche sans tâche.” Our principal aim being to realize, to the utmost extent, the attractive motto:—
Pro Bono Publico!
Proceed, my boy, nor heed their further call,
Vain his attempts who strives to please you all!
THE
FINISH TO THE ADVENTURES
OF
TOM, JERRY, AND LOGIC,
In their Pursuits through
Life In and Out of London,
BY PIERCE EGAN.
With numerous Coloured Illustrations by
Robert Cruikshank.
London:
George Virtue and Co.,
Ivy Lane,
Paternoster Row.
The Finish to Life in London is embellished with thirty six illustrations by Robert Cruikshank, and contains XV. Chapters of letter-press matter. Tom, Jerry and Logic are again brought on the scene, and several additional characters are introduced into the work, notably Sir John Blubber, Knt., a second Falstaff, without stuffing, a most facetious, jolly, good-natured soul, one of that class of persons deemed independent, and his property enabled him to “care for nobody.” The adventures of the personnæ in their pursuits of Life in and Out of London are fully described, and the “Finish!” of Logic, the Oxonian, and Corinthian Tom narrated as follow.