Salmagundi (Huddesford, 1791)/William of Wickham
WILLIAM OF WICKHAM,
A SONG,
FOR THE WICCAMICAL ANNIVERSARY, HELD AT THE CROWN AND ANCHOR TAVERN.
I sing not your heroes of ancient romance:
Capadocian George, or Saint Denis of France;
No chronicler I am
Of Troy and King Priam,
And those crafty old Greeks who to fritters did fry 'em:
But your voices, Brave Boys, one and all I bespeak 'em,
In due celebration of William of Wickham.
Capadocian George, or Saint Denis of France;
No chronicler I am
Of Troy and King Priam,
And those crafty old Greeks who to fritters did fry 'em:
But your voices, Brave Boys, one and all I bespeak 'em,
In due celebration of William of Wickham.
CHORUS.
Let Wickham's Brave Boys, at the Crown and the Anchor,
The flask never quit 'till clean out they have drank her;
And united maintain, whether sober or mellow,
That old Billy Wickham was a Very Fine Fellow.
Let Wickham's Brave Boys, at the Crown and the Anchor,
The flask never quit 'till clean out they have drank her;
And united maintain, whether sober or mellow,
That old Billy Wickham was a Very Fine Fellow.
The swain who in amorous servitude glories
Swears that Love builds his nest in the eyebrow of Chloris,
While shafts from the quiver
Of that Urchin Deceiver,
Like the quills of a porcupine, stick in his liver:
But at Wickham's Brave Boys should he brandish his dart,
We'll drown the Blind Rogue in a Winchester Quart.
CHORUS.
For Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
Swears that Love builds his nest in the eyebrow of Chloris,
While shafts from the quiver
Of that Urchin Deceiver,
Like the quills of a porcupine, stick in his liver:
But at Wickham's Brave Boys should he brandish his dart,
We'll drown the Blind Rogue in a Winchester Quart.
CHORUS.
For Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
Let fomenters of fierce Opposition exclaim
That our rulers are blind and our politics lame;
While their sole aim and wish is,
With loaves and with fishes
From the Treasury Board to replenish their dishes:
How such Orators fare, my Boys, who cares a button,
While We have good Claret and Winchester Mutton!
CHORUS.
For Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
That our rulers are blind and our politics lame;
While their sole aim and wish is,
With loaves and with fishes
From the Treasury Board to replenish their dishes:
How such Orators fare, my Boys, who cares a button,
While We have good Claret and Winchester Mutton!
CHORUS.
For Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
Let the Soldier, who prates about storming the trenches
Of fortified towns, and of fair-visag'd wenches,
My numbers give heed to,
And, drinking as we do,
Shut up in its scabbard his martial Toledo:
For we too shed blood, yet all danger escape,
Since the blood that we shed is the blood of the Grape.
CHORUS.
Let Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
Of fortified towns, and of fair-visag'd wenches,
My numbers give heed to,
And, drinking as we do,
Shut up in its scabbard his martial Toledo:
For we too shed blood, yet all danger escape,
Since the blood that we shed is the blood of the Grape.
CHORUS.
Let Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
Let Lawyers, accustom'd to quarrel and brawl,
Play the devil as usual in Westminster Hall;
Reputations bespatter,
Yet thrive and grow fatter,
While they dash Wrong and Right up as cookmaids do Batter:
Here good fellowship reigns and, what's stranger by far,
No mischief ensues from a Call to the Bar.
CHORUS.
Let Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
Play the devil as usual in Westminster Hall;
Reputations bespatter,
Yet thrive and grow fatter,
While they dash Wrong and Right up as cookmaids do Batter:
Here good fellowship reigns and, what's stranger by far,
No mischief ensues from a Call to the Bar.
CHORUS.
Let Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
The Empiric profound, who in heathenish Latin
Such potions prescribes as might poison old Satan,
With blister and bolus
And draught would cajole us,
'Till snug under ground he has clapt in a hole us:
But the wise Sons of Wickham his regimen slight,
They swallow no draughts but of Red Wine and White.
CHORUS.
Let Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
Such potions prescribes as might poison old Satan,
With blister and bolus
And draught would cajole us,
'Till snug under ground he has clapt in a hole us:
But the wise Sons of Wickham his regimen slight,
They swallow no draughts but of Red Wine and White.
CHORUS.
Let Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
Ye Poetical Tribe, on Parnassus who forage,
Who prate of Jove's Nectar and Helicon-porridge,
Yet, for beef-steaks and brandy,
Set each Jack-a-dandy
On a level with Frederick, or Prince Ferdinandy:
What's the sword of King Arthur or Admiral Hosier
To William of Wickham and his Jolly Old Crosier!
CHORUS.
Let Wickham's Brave Boys at the Crown and the Anchor, &c.
Who prate of Jove's Nectar and Helicon-porridge,
Yet, for beef-steaks and brandy,
Set each Jack-a-dandy
On a level with Frederick, or Prince Ferdinandy:
What's the sword of King Arthur or Admiral Hosier
To William of Wickham and his Jolly Old Crosier!
CHORUS.
Let Wickham's Brave Boys at the Crown and the Anchor, &c.