Page:Molly O'Rigge.pdf/8

8 That whate’er is lost I tell,

For you know I bear the bell,

Because I'm the Beadle of the Parish,

Noise and clatter,—What’s the matter?

Holls, felliow—You are mellow,

Fine to do,—don’t you see,

Why, zounds—I’m the Beadle of the Parish.

I'm an officer, don’t laugh.

But indeed I‘m on the staff,

And all sax I do pretty fairish;

On a Sunday strut about,

And I keep the rabble out,—

The Church-wardens march before,

Just to open the pew door,

Because I am Beadle of the Parish,

Puff away,—merry day,

Drink about,—See it out,

There will be—snacks for me,

Because I‘in the Beadle of the Parish.

FINIS.