Jack Flashman

Jack Flashman
By PIERCE EGAN in Captain Macheath.


Jack Flashman was a prig so bold,
Who sighed for nothen but the gold;
For sounding, frisking any clie, 1 robbing; pocket
Jack was the lad, and never shy.
Fol, de, rol.


Jack long was on the town, a teazer; 2 clever fellow
A spicy blade for wedge or sneezer; 3 silver plate; snuffbox
Could turn his fives to anything 4 hands
Nap a reader, or filch a ring. 5 pocket-book; steal a ring
Fol, de, rol.


Jack was all game, and never slack, 6 bold
In the darky tried the crack; 7 evening; burglary
Frisk’d the lobby and the swag;
“I’m fly to every move,” his brag. 8 aware of
Fol, de, rol.


But Jack, at last, got too knowen—
Was made a flat by his blowen! 9 betrayed by his mistress
She peached, so got him into trouble. 10 gave information
And then, tipp’d poor Jack the double! 11 deserted
Fol, de, rol.


Jack left the jug right mer-ri-ly, 12 prison
And vent and black’d his doxy’s eye! 13 sweetheart
Saying—look, marm, when next you split,
I’ll finish you with a rummy hit!
Fol, de, rol.


My blades, before my chaunt I end, 14 men
 Here the rag-sauce of a friend; 15 advice
Ne’er trust to any fancy jade,
For all their chaff is only trade!
Fol, de, rol.


Let all their gammon be resisted;
Vithout you vishes to get twisted! 16 hung
And never nose upon yourself— 17 talk about
You then are sure to keep your pelf.
Fol, de, riddle.


See Note to “Sonnets for The Fancy” p. 225. Captain Macheath was one of Egan’s latest, and by no means one of his best, productions. It is now very scarce.

Taken from Musa Pedestris, Three Centuries of Canting Songs and Slang Rhymes [1536―1896], collected and annotated by John S. Farmer.

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. . .
The Thieves’ Chaunt
The House Breaker’s Song
The Faking Boy To The Crap Is Gone
The Nutty Blowen
The Faker’s New Toast
My Mother
The High-Pad’s Frolic
The Dashy, Splashy.... Little Stringer
The Bould Yeoman
The Bridle-Cull and his little Pop-Gun
Jack Flashman
Miss Dolly Trull
The By-Blow Of The Jug
The Cadger’s Ball
Dear Bill, This Stone-Jug
The Leary Man
A Hundred Stretches Hence
The Chickaleary Cove
Blooming Æsthetic
’Arry at a Political Picnic
Rum Coves that Relieve us
. . .