395

Published June 3, 1805, by LAURIE & WHITTLE, 53 Fleet Street, London.

THE COUNTRY CLUB.

Written by C. DIBDIN, Esq.

1.
Now we're all met here together,
In spite of wind or weather,
To moisten well our clay;
Before we think of jogging,
Let's take a cheerful noggin,
Where's the waiter, ring away.
Where's the glees and the catches,
The tobacco, pipes, and matches,
And plenty of brown stout?
Fill the glasses, ere we start 'em,
Let's proceed *secundum artem*,
Let the clerk all the names read out.

*Spoken*.—Gentlemen of the Quizical Society, please to answer to your names—Farmer Scraggins; why I be here—Doctor Horsleach; here—Parson Paunch; here—Taylor Tit; here—Are you all assembled? all!

So here's to you Mr. Higgins,
Here's to you Mr. Wiggins,
So put the beer about.

2.
Come tell us what the news is,
Who wins and who loses,
Of the times, what do people say?
Hard, hard, the landlord racks us,
Then we've such a load of taxes,
Indeed? well, and how goes hay?
Why, now there's Master Wiseman,
He tells the Exciseman,
That the cause of this pother and rout,
Order, order, and sobriety,
The rules of this society,
Let the clerk read them out.

*Spoken*.—Every member of this society that spills his liquor in his neighbour's pocket, shall forfeit two-pence. Every member that singes his neighbour's wig with his pipe, shall forfeit two-pence. Every member that refuses to laugh at a good joke, forfeit two-pence. Every member who reproaches his neighbour with coming to distress by unavoidable misfortunes, shall forfeit two-pence. Mr. President, I move

that this forfeit be one shilling.—And I second that motion. Are you all agreed? I am; unanimously. A noble resolution! D'ye think so?

Then here's to you Mr. Higgins,
Here's to you Mr. Wiggins,
So put the beer about.

3.
And now the potent liquor,
Not even spares the Vicar,
But in all their noddles mounts;
Whilst amongst this set of queerers,
All talkers and no hearers,
Each his favourite tale recounts.

The soldier talks of battle,
The grazier sells his cattle,
Conversation to provoke,
Till the juice of the barrel,
Begets some curious quarrel,
While the company's lost in smoke.

*Spoken*.—Upon my soul, neighbour, I had no hand in the death of your wife; it was all in the way of business. Nay, but Doctor, 'twas a cursed unneighbourly thing of you—not that the woman was any such great things, but to put a body to sitch an expence.—Why you don't tell me so! killed fifteen with your own hands?—Fifteen by my laurels! D'ye hear that, Butcher? Hear it, yes; but I'll lay on what he dares he has not killed so many as I have by hundreds. Powder my whiskers—Come, come, gentlemen, says the Bellows-maker, no breezes!—Let me exhort you to temperance, says the Parson.—Amen, says the Clerk.—That's right, says the Undertaker, let us bury all animosity!—Now that's what I like, said the Fidler; I like to see harmony restored!—D'ye though—

Why then here's to you Mr. Higgins,
Here's to you Mr. Wiggins,
So put the beer about.