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 MY WATCH Attend, my dear Polly, attend to my song, And as 'tis a short one, it cannot be long; The Squire, my dear Polly, is full of deceit, As full, my dear Polly, as an egg's full of meat Derry down, &c. An egg, if once cracked, will never be sound And its virtue, dear Polly, oft falls to the ground; With you it will be, should the Squire prevail For virtue, when cracked, from that moment is frail. Derry down, &c. Say your virtue's as sound as bottled brown stout, Which nought but the corkscrew of wedlock draws out; On your side, like a bottle, unless that's the case, You'll lie safe and sound, till the parson says grace Derry down, &c. MoRAL. Pure maids and pure liquor for ever will please, But damaged, grow stale, like wine on the lees; Then wire down your honour for virtuous use, Or else it may burst, like a bottle of spruce Derry down, &c. MY Y ATCH Six years ago, at one of the pugilistic benefits in Windmill Street, in expectation of meeting my old acquaintance, Jack- son, I was one of the mélange de haut en bas-such they proved to me. I had been but a few minutes in the place, which was densely crowded, and was endeavouring to advance to the temporary stage, when a whiskered dandy, in a braided blue frock coat, was continually placing himself in my way. Although I tried to avoid him, if possible, he seemed still 40