He look'd so neat, and he row'd so steadily,
The maidens all flock'd in his boat so readily;
And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an air,
That this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.
What sights of fine folks he oft row'd in his wherry!
'Twas clean'd out so nice, and so painted withal;
He was always first oars when the fine city ladies
In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall.
And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering,
But 'twas all one to Tom their gibing and jeering;
For loving or liking he little did care,
For this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.
And yet but to see how strangely things happen,
As he row'd along, thinking of nothing at all,
He was ply'd by a damsel so lovely and charming,
That she smil'd, and so straightway in love he did fall.
And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow,
He'd wed her to-night, and not wait till to-morrow;
And how should this waterman ever know care,
When, married, was never in want of a _fair_.
_Charles Dibdin_.
CALLER HERRIN'.
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