A link-boy once, Dick Hellfinch, stood the grin,
At Charing Cross he long his bawling plied;
"Here light, here light, your honour, for a win,"
To every cull and drab he loudly cried.
In Leicester Fields, as most his story know,
"Come black your worship for a single mag";
And while he shined, his Nelly sacked the bag
And thus they sometimes stagged a precious go;
In Smithfields too, where graziers oft resort,
Dick loitered there to take in men of cash,
With cards and dice was up to every sport
And at Salt Petre Bank would cut a dash;
At every knowing rig in every gang,
Dick Hellfinch was the pink of all the slang.
Henry Lemoine (1756-1812)
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