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Oft-times, in my shop, I've stood with great pleasure,
And cut out my cloth to my customers' measure.
With a full yard of cabbage, I then liv'd in clever,
But her cruel frowns have almost done me over.

The first time I saw her she was drest out so gayly,
I fell into fits, and they troubled me daily;
The girls do so jeer me, that I can go no-where
But they laugh, and gay. There goes the taylor done over.

The next time I saw her pass by my shop-window
My goose being hot, I burnt a sleeve to a cinder,
How cruel she must be, the sight does not move her,
I fear these sad fits will one day do me over.

The last time I saw her, she was with a bold Sailor,
She laugh'd, and said, There goes the done-over taylor:
Goodboy to you stitch-louse, I'm going to Dover,
I wish I was dead, for I'm fairly done over.

———O——

The Heaving of the Lead.

For England, when, with favouring gale
Our gallant ship up Channel steer'd,
And scudding under easy sail,
The high blne western land appear'd,