TOM TACK'S GHOST.

Written by C. DIBDIN, Jun., and Sung with unbounded Applause by Mr. BANNISTER. Composed by Mr. W. REEVE.

I COURTED Polly of Spithead,
And ax'd her to be married:
At first she was most cruel kind,
But she prov'd false, as you shall find.
With a chip chow, fol lol, tol de rol de da,

I had of dollars sitch a show,
And rig'd her out from top to toe;
My purse grew thin, my togs grew queer,
Then she grew cowl'd, as you shall hear.

Tom Tack he com'd from Bony's Ayrs,
At first, says I, " for him who cares;"
But then this coming wrought me voe,
He mizzled Poll, as you shall know.

All in the togs that I had bought,
With that 'ere Tom she did consort,
Vich gave my feelings great consarn,
And caus'd a row, as you shall larn.

So challenge that 'ere Tom I did;
Ve met, shook hands, and took a quid;
I shot poor Tom, the vorse for me,
It brought his Ghost, as you shall see.

Says he, "I'm Tom Tack's Ghost," that's flat;
Says I, "now only think of that;"
My pipe burnt blue, my blood ran cold,
The ghost look'd grim, as you'll be told.

The Ghost it said, "I am not here,
But in my grave:" says I, "that's queer;"
Says he, "I'm come to torment you now,"
Which was hard lines, aye you'll allow.

Says I, "Friend ghost, belay your jaw,"
For if on me you claps a claw,
My locker yonder vill reveal,
A tight rope's end, as you shall feel.

Then off his vinding sheet he throw'd,
And by his trowsers Tom I know'd;
He vas'nt dead, but come to mess,
So there's an end, as you may guess.