He To Tavern where goes,
Sow'r Apples and Sloes,
A long adieu!
And farewel too,
The House of the Great,
Whose Cook has no Meat,
And Butler can't quench my Thirst.
She Good b'uye to the Change,
Where Rantepoles range;
Farewel cold Tea,
And Rattafee,
Hide-Park too, where Pride
In Coaches do ride,
Altho' they be choak'd with Dust.
He Farewel the Law-Gown,
She The plague of the Town,
He And Foes of the Crown,
That should be run down,
She With City-Jack-daws;
That make Staple Laws,
To Measure by Yards and Ells.
He Stock-Jobbers and Swobbers,
And Packers and Tackers,
For ever adieu, and for ever;
CHORUS.
We know what you're doing,
And home we're both going,
And so you may ring the Bells.
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