The Famous Ratketcher
with his travels into France, and of his returne to London
(To the Tune of Tom a Bedlam)
There was a rare Rat-catcher,
Did about the Country wander,
The soundest blade of all his trade,
Or I should him greatly slaunder.
For still would he cry, a Tatt tat at tat
tara ra rat to ever
To catch a mouse, or to carouse,
Such a Ratter I saw never.
Upon a Poale he carried
Full fourty fulsome Vermine:
Whose cursed lives without any Knives,
To take he did determine.
And still would he cry, &c.
His talke was all of India
The Voyage and the Navie
What Mice or Rattes or wild Plcats,
What Stoates or Weesels have yee.
And still would he cry, &c.
In London he was well knowne,
In many a stately House
He layde a Bayte, whose deadly fate
Did kill both Ratte and Mouse.
And still would he cry, &c.
But on a time, a Mayden,
Did him so fair entice,
That for her a Baite, he layed straight,
Would kill no Rate nor Mice.
And still would he cry, &c.
And on the baite she nibbled
So pleasing in her taste,
She likt so long, that the Poysin strong,
Did make her swell i’the waiste.
For still would he cry, &c.
He subtly this perceiving,
To the Country straight doth hie him,
Where by his skill, he poysoneth still,
Such vermine as come nigh him.
And still would he cry, &c.
He never careth whether
He be sober, lame, or tipsie,
He cab Collogue with any Rogue,
And cant with any Gipsie,
And still would he cry, &c.
He was so brave a bowzer,
That it was doubtful whether
He taught the Rats, or the Rats taught him
To be drunke as Rats, together.
And still would he cry, &c.
When he had tripped this Islande,
From Bristow unto Dover,
With Paineful Bagge and painted Flagge,
To France he sailed over.
And still would he cry, a Tatt tat at tat
tara ra rat to ever
To catch a mouse, or to carouse,
Such a Ratter I saw never.