Transcription
A Merry Dialogue, in the Tolbuith of Edinburgh ; Betwixt Tonny Ashton. And John Curry . Tonny. COME, my couragious Jack, my metl'd Scot Why may'nt we kindle Kindness with a Pot, Yow've run the Ghent-loup, and yow've try'd theTron, Your Suffrings are expir'd, when mine comes on: Adamn'd fowr looking Dog, is your Jack Catch, And proudly Whips, with fury aud Dispatch ; The Cobler wirh his Auld, your Ear did bore; But with ,his Lingle, did not mend the sore And when he fix'd yow firm, how did he Jeer ? Curry can bind a Book, and I can bind an Ear. He ev'ry Day, puts Ears unto a Shoe, And yet refuses, a New one to yow; Yet surely Jack, he was more fierce, than wise, S ampiug Calf-leather's part of the Excise, A supervisor, should have marked yow, And Claimd the duety, which the Law makes due; Your Leather's enterd, prithee drive a Trade, For stock on hand, is finely tann'd and Taed. Curry. Bully, your words slow down, like Haisty showrs, My Leather's entered ; but who enter'd yowrs Yow are a Leather Merchant very fine, Your Crimes more crying ; Blacker far than mine: Many a Play I've bound, but may I rot, If yours, hath not the most damnation Plot: There is a Play, call'd Marriage a la mode But yow have basely, thro' that dramma trode How will yow Look, Pock-pudding, tell your mind, For to be hiss'd, by all the Womenkind ; Bully, a Rape is death, and all men hope The Rape will bring yow, to Dalgleishes Rope. Or if yow save your Bacon, I must tell, That sly Rob Forbes, Are Actors for the Church; and they, Play fine, Yow'l find, their scourging, sharper is than mine. An ounce or two of Pomit, cures the Back; But they can make yow, on the Creepie crack, The whigs will smile, to see you in that Lurch: Playhouse pull'd down and Tonny in the Church. 'Twill be a Joyfull sight, to see yow there ; The D---is Factor, in the House of Prayer, Tonny, a mighty diffrence will Appear, 'Twixt a Scots Preacher; and the Spainish Frier He'll spread your stinking Concience. cursed Life, And make yow odious, to your self, and Wife, Till they who pelted Eggs upon my bones, Give yow a Handsom Compliment of Stones.
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Date of publication:
1728 shelfmark: L.C.Fol.76(104)
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