Page:Betsey Baker (1).pdf/6

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6

And when I meet with one that suits,
I'll tell you, York, you’re wanted.

A gentleman soon hired me:
I found he was a gambler;
Says he, I want a steady lad,
Says I, Sir. I’m no rambler,
But if you want a knowing one,
By few I am supplanted;
Oh, that is just the thing, says he
So, Mr. York, you’re wanted.

Now I knew somewhat of a horse,
And master just the same, Sir;
And if we did not do the fools,
E’cod we’d been to blame, Sir,
At races then we both looked out,——
For cash each bosom panted,——
And when we thought the flats would bite,
The word was,———York, you’re wanted.

Away I went one day to see,
I think ’twas the Old Bailey,
There stood the lords and lawyers grave,
Trigg'd out in robes so gaily,
There stood a chap for horse stealing
La———how the poor soul panted,
E’cod, I slipped out o’ court,
Lest York should nest he wanted.

A maiden lady, you must know,
Just sixty three years old, Sir,
There fell in love with my sweet face,
And I with her sweet gold, Sir: