The canting academy, or, The devils cabinet opened wherein is shewn the mysterious and villanous practices of that wicked crew, commonly known by the names of hectors, trapanners, gilts, &c. : to which is added a compleat canting-dictionary, both of old words, and such as are now most in use : with several new catches and songs, compos'd by the choisest wits of the age ...

3. Canting Song.

Being a Wenches complaint for, and praise of her lusty Rogue, who rambled the Coun∣try with her.

NOw my Kinchin Cove is gone, By the Rum pad maunded none, In quarrons both for stamps and bone Like my Clapperdogeon.

Dimber damber fare thee well Palliards all thou didst excel, And thy Jocky bore the bell, Glymmer on it never fell.

Thou the Cramprings ne're didst scowre Harmans had on thee no power, Harmanbecks did never toure For thee, though Drawers still had loure.

Duds and cheats thou oft hast won Yet the Cuffin-quire couldst shun And thy Deusavile didst run, Else the chates had thee undone.

Cank and Dommerar thou couldst play Or Rum-Maunder in one day, And like an Abram-Cove couldst pray Yet pass with Jybes well jerk'd away.

When the Darkmans have been wet Thou the Crackmans down didst beat For Glymmar whilst a quacking cheat, Or Tib o'th' Buttery was our meat.

Red shanks then I could not lack, Ruff-peck still hung at my back, Grannam ever fill'd my sack, With lap and poplars held I tack.

To thy Bughar and thy skew, Filch and Jybes I bid adieu, Though thy Togeman was not new, Yet the Ruffler in't was true.

In English thus.

NOw my little Rogue is gone, By the High-way begs there none, In body both for length and bone, Like my Clapperdogeon.

Pretty Rascal fare thee well, Born beggars all thou do'st excel, Thy Sweep-stakes still shall bare the Bell, No Fire-ship yet aboard it fell.

Bolts my Bully ne'r•• did wear Never thou the stocks didst fear, For thee no Constable did swear, For thou hadst Mony and to spare.

Cloaths by stealth thou oft hast got, Yet the Justice took thee not, But through the Country thou didst trot, The Gallows else had been thy lot.

Dumb and Madman thou couldst play, Or a drivling Fool all day, And like a poor man thou couldst pray. Yet stap'd with Passes seal'd away.

When the Evening hath been wet, For Fire the Hedges down didst bear. Me then with stoln Duck didst treat, Or else a fat Goose was our meat

Mallards then I could not lack, Bacon hung always at my back,

Nor Corn wanted in my sack, With good Milk pottage I held tack.

To thy Dog and Dish adieu Thy Staff and pass I ne're must view, Though thy Cloak was far from new, In it my Rogue to me was true.

And now Prince Prig could forbear no longer, but that he must put in for a Continuer of this harmony; when he began to sing, he fix'd his eyes stedfastly on this fair, foul, bucksome, loathsome, courtly ragged Mistress of his, by which I guest the lines might concern her; and so they proved by the sequel.