CAMBRIDGE.
The way some folks make love, I'm sure, When on flirtation bent, is curious ; Some look deligh+ed, some demure. And some contrive to get quite furious. Snch was the case on Sunday last, When Johnny Mac, the noted nailer, As he with Alice dear walked past, Along with Harry, butcher-tailor. Poor Jack, in accents wild and atronsr, The eirl's fond love to himself beseeches, And prays her not to do him wrong, But discard the one who stitchea breeches. He used to massace, too, the sheep. And cattle, too, he often murdered ; He's also made me lose my sleep ; Now of my girl he wants me plundered. Then up spoke Hal, in plaintive tones. And in lansruage suitable for the nailer, 1 Your breeches suit your lanky bones, But were never made by a Cambridge tailor.' • The lass then spoke, and thus replied — ' Now, Johnny, you know you're in my bad books ; My love to you must be denied. Because you're partial to female cooks. * With other girls you may dance and jig, For you're a nailer, that is true ; For you I do not care a figNo, Johnny the nailer, I'm not for you.'
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/TO18910117.2.52.13
Bibliographic details
Observer, Volume X, Issue 629, 17 January 1891, Page 18
Word Count
196CAMBRIDGE. Observer, Volume X, Issue 629, 17 January 1891, Page 18
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