The Deansgate
BARBER.
Brushed up and Lathered into song
BY AN OLD SHAVER
Tune—"The Organ Grinder."
Come listen, all ye gay young men,
To a ballad newly made,
And a story true
I'll tell unto you
Of a Deansgate barber blade;
How he courted a girl called bonny Kate,
And sang such sweet refrains,
Till the barbarous man
Did her heart trepan,
And fairly turned her brains
With his strains.
So, boys, have a care
If you are on with the fair:
Deceitful thoughts ne'er harbour,
But ponder well
On what befell
The faithless Deansgate barber.
He met her first, I won't say when,
But I think you all know where.
She chanced to drop
In the barber's shop
For a pennyworth of oil for her hair.
Then he gave her an awful loving look
And squeezed her hand so hard,
As he passed her a lot
Of pomatum in a pot
Which he'd made from a bladder of lard
In the yard.
So boys have a care, &c.
Then he made her a present of twelve half-crowns
To buy a new wedding gown,
With a pink parasol,
False curls and a fall
To wear when she walked up town,
And he told her he'd eight hundred pounds in the bank,
And of rings and jewels he'd a many,
And all that he had
He'd give her and be glad
If she would be his half-penny.
[*]
So boys have a care, &c.
Then he took her to famed Belle Vue for a dance,
And then for a moonlight walk,
To a place he knew
Where buttercups grew
And they had a little private talk,
And he sat by her side on the bright green grass
And vowed her a solemn vow,
And the talked so much,
And her innocence was such,
She got ruined and she couldn't tell how.
What a row!
So boys have a care, &c.
When apples are ripe, they are sure to fall,
And all in time there came,
As a pledge of their love,
Such a dear little dove,
But it ain't got a penny to its name;
And the barber he refused to be its papa,
Though like him as a mutton to a mole!
It was marked—the little chap—
With a razor and a strap
And a full-length figure of his pole.
Upon my soul!
So boys have a care, &c.
Now the barber he married another girl
And Kate went to law straightway,
And four score pounds
Was the inside bounds
Of the damages he'd got to pay.
So mind, ye jolly young shavers all,
If a maiden's heart ye entail,
Don't squeeze too hard
Or give her hog's lard
If she calls for a pennyworth of oil
As a foil.
So, boys, have a care
If you are on with the fair:
Deceitful thoughts ne'er harbour,
But ponder well
On all that befell
The faithless Deansgate barber.
[* There seems to be a short line missing here; it should rhyme with "penny."] |
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