Mistaken lady's garland, or, The squire cheated/Just The Thing

JUST the THING.

ON Newgate steps Jack Chance was found,
And bred up near St. Giles’s pond,
(My story’s true deny it who can,)
By saucy leering Billingsgate Nan.

Her bosom glow’d with heart-felt joy,
When first she beheld the lovely boy,
Then home the prize she straight did bring,
And they all allow’d he was just the thing.

At twelve years old, as we are told,
The youth was sturdy, stout, and bold,
He had learnt to curse, to swear, to fight,
And every thing but read and write,
With daddies clean he’d slipt between,
A crowd and knap a clout unseen,
And what he got he home would bring,
And they all allow’d he was just the thing.

But when he grew to man’s estate,
His mind it ran on something great,
A thieving then he scorn’d to tramp,
So hired a pad and went on the scamp,
To strut in the park was all his pride,
With a flaming whore stuck by his side,
At clubs he all flash songs would sing,
And they all allow’d he was just the thing.

His manual exercise he’d gone thro’,
Both bridewell, pump and horse pond too,
His back had often felt the smart,
Of Tyburn jigs at the tail of a cart.
He stood the patter, but that’s no matter,
He gammon’d the twelve, and work’d on the water,
But a pardon he got from a gracious king,
And swaggering Jack he was just the thing.

Blue cockade in hat well aim’d for war,
With bludgeon stout or iron bar,
To bead a mob he ne’er would fail,
At gu(illegible text) a mass-house or burning a jail,
But a victim he fell to his country’s laws,
And died at last in religion’s cause,
No popery made the blade to swing,
And when tuck’t up he was just the thing.

F I N I S.