With Custom-house officers close in their rear, But shooting and popping, And many a Custom-house bullet goes slap And squirts all about, And many a heart grew sad that day That lawless crew, Away, and away, and away they flew! He sticks to the skirts of Smuggler Bill! Smuggler Bill is six feet high, He has curling locks, and a roving eye, And there is not a farmer's wife in the Isle, To the Foreland Light, But that eye, and that tongue, and that smile will wheedle her To have done with the Grocer and make him her Tea-dealer; There is not a farmer there but he still Fodder his steed, In lieu of Lent-corn, with a Quicksilver feed; Down Chislett Lane, so free and so fleet Bill thinks it fun; "Ho! ho! the old tub-gauging son of a gun— His wind will be thick, and his breeks be thin, Ere a race like this he may hope to win !” Away, away Goes the fleet dapple-grey, Fresh as the breeze, and free as the wind, "I would give my soul," quoth Exciseman Gill, A voice cried "Done!" "Ay, dun," said Exciseman Gill, and he spied A Custom-house officer close by his side, On a high-trotting horse with a dun-coloured hide.— "Devil take me," again quoth Exciseman Gill, “If I had but that horse, I'd have Smuggler Bill !” From his using such shocking expressions, it's plain That Exciseman Gill was rather profane. He was, it is true, As bad as a Jew, A sad old scoundrel as ever you knew, And he rode in his stirrups sixteen stone two. -He'd just uttered the words which I've mention'd to you, When his horse coming slap on his knees with him, threw Him head over heels, and away he flew, And Exciseman Gill was bruised black and blue. When he arose His hands and his clothes Were as filthy as could be,-he'd pitch'd on his nose, And his nose and his chin were all covered with blood; "Mount! Mount!" quoth the Custom-house officer, "get On the back of my dun, you'll bother him yet. Your words are plain, though they're somewhat rough, 'Done and done' between gentlemen's enough! always I'll lend you a lift-there-you're up on him- so, Dash'd up the hill, And mark'd not, so eager was he in pursuit, Smuggler Bill rides on amain, He slacks not girth and he draws not rein, Yet the dapple-grey mare bounds on in vain, Sounds the tramp of a horse-""Tis the Gauger again !" Smuggler Bill Dashes round by the mill That stands near the road upon Monkton Hill,— "Now speed,-now speed, My dapple-grey steed, Thou ever, my dapple, were good at need! For Manston Cave, away! away! Now speed thee, now speed thee, my good dapple-grey. It shall never be said that Smuggler Bill Was run down like a hare by Exciseman Gill!" Manston Cave was Bill's abode; A mile to the north of the Ramsgate road, That is, levell'd, and filled up with chalk and clay, Still good at need, Though her chest it pants, and her flanks they bleed, Dashes along at the top of her speed; But nearer and nearer Exciseman Gill Cries "Yield thee! now yield thee, thou Smuggler Bill!" Smuggler Bill, he looks behind, And he sees a dun horse come swift as the wind, And sparks round his ears snap, crackle, and play, Every hair in his mane seems a porcupine's quill, Crying "Yield thee! now yield thee, thou Smuggler Bill!" Smuggler Bill from his holster drew A large horse-pistol, of which he had two! He pull'd back the cock As far as he could to the back of the lock ; The shot told true on the dun-but there came From the hole where it enter'd,-not blood,—but flame -He changed his plan, And fired at the man; But his second horse-pistol flashed in the pan ! And Exciseman Gill with a hearty good will, The dapple-grey mare made a desperate bound To stand on that fearful verge, and peep No horse in the world could tell chalk from cheese- Next day on the ground By an elderly gentleman walking his round, But where was the dun? that terrible dun? One and all declare, When the "Crowner's 'Quest" came to sit on the pair, They heard a loud Horse-laugh up in the air!— -If in one of the trips Of the steam-boat Eclipse You should go down to Margate to look at the ships, Of that quarry of chalk ; Or go over-it's rather too far for a walk, But a three-shilling drive will give you a peep At that fearful chalk-pit-so awfully deep, |