391 THE YORKSHIRE CONCERT. Sung by M. Emery, at Covent Garden Theatre.

I'ZE a Yorkshireman just come to town,
And my coming to town was a gay day,
For Fortune has here set me down
Waiting-gentleman to a fine lady:
My lady gives galas and routs,
And her treats of the town are the talks here,
But nothing I'ze seen here abouts,
Equals one that was given in Yorkshire.
Ri tol, &c.

Johnny Fig was a green and white grocer,
In business as brisk as an eel, sir;
None than John to the shop could stick closer,
But his wife thought it quite ungentleel, sir:
Her neighbours resolv'd to cut out,
And astonish the rustic parishioners,
She invited them all to a rout,
And ax'd all the village musicianers.
Ri tol, &c.

The company met gay as larks, sir;
Drawn forth all as fine as blown roses;
The concert commenced with the clerk, sir,
Who chaunted the Vicar and Moses.
The barber sung Gall'ry of Wigs, sir,
The gem'men all said 'twas the dandy;
And the ladies encor'd Johnny Fig, sir,
Who volunteer'd Drops of brandy.
Ri tol, &c.

The baker he sung a good batch,
While the lawyer for harmony willing,
With the bailiff he join'd in the catch,
And the notes of the butchers were killing:
The wheelwright he put in his spoke,
The schoolmaster flogg'd on with furor;
The coalman he play'd the black joke,
And the fishwoman sung a bravura.
Ri tol, &c.

To strike the assembly with wonder,
The Miss screams a quintette loud as Boreas,
Sung and wak'd Farmer Thrasher's dog Thunder,
Who, starting up, join'd in the chorus,
While a donkey the melody marking,
Chim'd in too, which made a wag say, sir,
Attended to the rector of Barking's
Duet with the Vicar of Bray, sir.
Ri tol, &c.

A brine-tub half full of beef salted,
Madam Fig had trick'd out for a seat, sir,
Where the taylor, to sing, was exalted,
But the cov'ring crack'd under his feet, sir:
Snip was sous'd in the brine, but soon rising,
Bawl'd out, while they laugh'd at his grief, sir,
" Is't a matter so monstrous surprising
" To see pickl'd cabbage with beef, sir.
Ri tol, &c.

To a ball after the concert gave way,
And for dancing no soul could be riper;
So struck up the Devil to pay,
While Johnny Fig paid the piper;
But the best thing came after the ball,
For to finish the whole with perfection,
Madam Fig ax'd the gentlefolks all,
To sup on a cold collection.
Ri tol, &c.

Published 12th April, 1805,

BY LAURIE AND WHITTLE,
No. 53, Fleet Street, London.