I was in Margate last July, I walk'd upon the pier,
I saw a little vulgar Boy--I said "What make you here?--
The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks any thing but joy;"
Again I said, "What make you here, you little vulgar Boy?"

He frown'd, that little vulgar Boy--he deem'd I meant to scoff:
And when the little heart is big, a little "sets it off";
He put his finger in his mouth, his little bosom rose,--
He had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose!

"Hark! don't you hear, my little man?--it's striking nine," I said,
"An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed.
Run home and get your supper, else your Ma' will scold--Oh! fie!--
It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!"

The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring,
His bosom throbb'd with agony--he cried like any thing!
I stoop'd, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him murmur--"Ah
I haven't got no supper! and I haven't got no Ma'!!--

"My father, he is on the seas,--my mother's dead and gone!
And I am here, on this here pier, to roam the world alone;
I have not had, this live-long day, one drop to cheer my heart,
Nor '_brown_' to buy a bit of bread with,--let alone a tart.

"If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ,
By day or night, then blow me tight!" (he was a vulgar Boy);
"And now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed intent
To jump, as Mr. Levi did from off the Monu-ment!"

"Cheer up! cheer up! my little man--cheer up!" I kindly said.
"You are a naughty boy to take such things into your head:
If you should jump from off the pier, you'd surely break your legs,
Perhaps your neck--then Bogey'd have you, sure as eggs are eggs!

"Come home with me, my little man, come home with me and sup;
My landlady is Mrs. Jones--we must not keep her up--
There's roast potatoes on the fire,--enough for me and you--
Come home,--you little vulgar Boy--I lodge at Number 2."

I took him home to Number 2, the house beside "The Foy,"
I bade him wipe his dirty shoes,--that little vulgar Boy,--
And then I said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of her sex,
"Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double X!"

But Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little noise,
She said she "did not like to wait on little vulgar Boys."
She with her apron wiped the plates, and, as she rubb'd the delf,
Said I might "go to Jericho, and fetch my beer myself!"

I did not go to Jericho--I went to Mr. Cobb--
I changed a s