Page:Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist (1844).djvu/359
"I have indeed," replied Sylvester, smiling.
"Amused, sir!" exclaimed Obadiah, who started again to his feet. "Why, when William the Conqueror welted the French, he said to Boney, said he, 'Now I'll tell you what it is'—"
"Don't let's have any more speechifying," interrupted Quocks.
"What do you mean?" demanded Obadiah, contemptuously.
"I'd rather, myself, hear a song," observed Sylvester; "perhaps you will give us a song instead?"
"A song. With all my heart!" cried Obadiah; "I'm ready for anything in nature. If you want a song, I'm the boy to sing one."
"You can't sing," observed Pokey.
"Not sing, you fool. Why, I'm open to sing against any man in Europe, for anything aside you like to name. Not sing! Why, if you come to that, I'll sing you a song of my own composing. Now then!"
"Stop!" said Sylvester; "you've nothing to drink. Mr. Legge, you'd better replenish these glasses."
Legge, who was always on the qui vive, did so, when Obadiah put down his pipe, and commenced. "Anybody else," said he, "may call it what he likes, but I, my boys, call it
Old England, my Britons, would, but for the Tories,
Be merry, and happy, and perfectly free:
The flat flag of freedom-that emblem of glories-
Would wave, but for them, o'er the land and the sea.
Her men are so brave, generous, joyous, and witty,
It's seldom, indeed, you'll discover a rogue,
While the girls are so precious, plump, prattling, and pritty,
It's wonderful bigamy's not more in vogue.
Tol de rol, lol de rol, lol de rol, diddle lol,
Tol de rol, diddle lol, looral-li-day.
With Harry the Eighth, and old Boney to boot,
His most valiant soldiers, the moment they smelt us,
Were struck with such terror-pooh!-they couldn't shoot.
Then hurrah for Old England! She has boney fide,
A standard of liberty which, when unfurled,
Will govern the ocean! And she's in a tidy
Good juxtaposition to welt the whole world.
Tol de rol, lol de rol, lol de rol, diddle lol,
Tol de rol, diddle lol, looral-li-day.
"Bravo!" cried Sylvester; "bravo!"
"What do you think of that, my boys?" exclaimed Obadiah; "that's more than Bobby Peel could do, I'll bet a million."
"And is it really your own composition?" said Sylvester.
"My own, and nobody else's!"
"I should like to have a copy of it."
"That you shall have, with all the pleasure in life, because I know you're a boney fide trump!"
"And won't you let me have a copy?" said Pokey.
"Yes, my brave boy, you shall have a copy, too."