Peter the Wag

Lyrics

Policeman Peter Forth I drag From his obscure retreat: He was a merry, genial wag Who loved a mad conceit If he were asked the time of day By country bumpkins green He not unfrequently would say "A quarter past thirteen." If ever you by word of mouth Enquired of Mister Forth The way to somewhere in the South He always sent you North With little boys his beat along He loved to stop and play; He loved to send old ladies wrong And teach their feet to stray He would in frolic moments, when Such mischief bent upon Take Bishops up as betting men — Bid Ministers move on Then all the worthy boys he knew He regularly licked And always collared people who Had had their pockets picked He was not naturally bad Or viciously inclined But from his early youth he had A waggish turn of mind The Men of London grimly scowled With indignation wild; The Men of London gruffly growled But Peter calmly smiled Against this minion of the Crown The swelling murmurs grew — From Camberwell to Kentish Town From Rotherhithe to Kew Still humoured he his wagsome turn And fed in various ways The coward rage that dared to burn But did not dare to blaze Still, Retribution has her day Although her flight is slow: One day that Crusher lost his way Near Poland Street, Soho The haughty youth, too proud to ask To find his way resolved And in the tangle of his task Got more and more involved The Men of London, overjoyed Came there to jeer their foe-- And flocking crowds completely cloyed The mazes of Soho The news, on telegraphic wires Sped swiftly o'er the lea-- Excursion trains from distant shires Brought myriads to see For weeks he trod his self-made beats Through Newport, Gerrard, Bear Greek, Rupert, Frith, Dean, Poland Streets And into Golden Square: But all, alas, in vain, for when He tried to learn the way Of little boys or grown-up men They none of them would say Their eyes would flash — their teeth would grind — Their lips would tightly curl — They'd say, "Thy way thyself must find Thou misdirecting churl!" And, similarly, also, when He tried a foreign friend; Italians answered, "Il balen" — The French, "No comprehend." The Russ would say with gleaming eye "Sevastopol!" and groan The Greek said, Tvπτω, Tνπτoμαi Tνπτω, Tνπτεiv, Tνπτωv To wander thus for many a year That Crusher never ceased — The Men of London dropped a tear Their anger was appeased At length exploring gangs were sent To find poor Forth's remains — A handsome grant by Parliament Was voted for their pains To seek the poor policeman out Bold spirits volunteered And when at length they solved the doubt The Men of London cheered And in a yard, dark, dank, and drear They found him, on the floor — (It leads from Richmond Buildings — near The Royalty stage-door.) With brandy cold and brandy hot They plied him, starved and wet And made him sergeant on the spot — The Men of London's pet!