Catches, canons and drinking songs
Dost not thou remember Ned, how often we have heard
a natural chorus of brutes in Father Dodwell’s yard?
“Cock a doodle doo!” cried the cock,
and the duck, “Quack, quack!”
“Cobble, cobble, cobble, cobble, cobble!” cried the turkey cock,
“Wehee, wehee, wehee,” the hack,
and the little chick, “Peep, peep, peep!”
what ails the poor creatures such a coil to keep?
ev’n that, that once made the thirteen cows to bellow,
and to keep to our author: here’s to thee, my good fellow.