Page:London barber's wedding.pdf/2





Liquorpond-ſtreet, as is well known to many,

An artiſt reſided who ſhav’d for a penny,

Cut hair for three halfpence, for three-pence he bled,

And would draw for a groat ev’ry tooth in your head.

What annoy’d other folks never ſpoil’d his repoſe,

’Twas the fame thing to him whether ſtocks fell or roſe:

For a blaſt and for mildew he car’d not a pin;

His crops never fail’d, for they grew on the chin.

Unvex’d by the cares that ambition and ſtate has,

Contented he din’d on his daily potatoes;

And the pence that he earn’d by exciſion of briſtle

Were nightly devoted to wetting his whiſtle.

When copper ran low he made light of the matter,

Drank his purl upon tick at the Old Pewter Platter;

Read the news, and as deep in the ſecret-appear’d

As if he had lather’d the miniſter’s beard.