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With Custom-house officers close in their rear,
And many a Custom-house bullet goes slap
And many a heart grew sad that day
That so much good liquor was so thrown away.
Away, and away, and away they flew!
Smuggler Bill is six feet high,
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
There is not a farmer there but he still
In lieu of Lent-corn, with a Quicksilver feed;
Down Chislett Lane, so free and so fleet
"Ho! ho! the old tub-gauging son of a gun-
Goes the fleet dapple-grey,
Fresh as the breeze, and free as the wind,
"I would give my soul," quoth Exciseman Gill, “For a nag that would catch that Smuggler Bill !— No matter for blood, no matter for bone, No matter for colour, bay, brown, or roan, So I had but one!"
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
When his horse coming slap on his knees with him,
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 roll'd over and over again in the mud,
And his nose and his chin were all covered with blood;
"Mount! Mount!" quoth the Custom-house officer, 66 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 between gentlemen's always
I'll lend you a lift-there-you're up on him—so,
Dash'd 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,
For nearer now-and he hears it plainSounds the tramp of a horse-""Tis the Gauger again !"
Dashes round by the mill
That stands near the road upon
"Now speed,-now speed,
Thou ever, my dapple, were good at need!
Now speed thee, now speed thee, my good dapple-grey.
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,
Though her chest it pants, and her flanks they bleed, Dashes along at the top of her speed;
But nearer and nearer Exciseman Gill
Crics "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
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;
To the sound of the weapon, it made such a bang;
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
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?
When the "Crowner's 'Quest" came to sit on the pair,
Of the steam-boat Eclipse
You should go down to Margate to look at the ships, Or to take what the bathing-room people call "Dips," You may hear old folks talk
Of that quarry of chalk;
Or go over-it's rather too far for a walk,