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Post by Administrator on Dec 12, 2009 23:27:57 GMT
MOLLY MOGG
On the 7th March 1766, died Mrs. Mary Mogg, of the Rose Tavern, Wokingham, who had been, forty years before, the subject of a droll ballad by Gay, in association (as is believed) with Pope and Swift. This ballad almost immediately found its way into print, through the medium of Mist's Journal of August 27, 1726, prefaced with a notice stating that ' it was writ by two or three men of wit (who have diverted the public both in prose and verse), upon the occasion of their lying at a certain inn at Wokingham where the daughter of that house was remarkably pretty, and whose name is Molly Mogg.'
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Post by Administrator on Dec 12, 2009 23:31:00 GMT
THE MOLLY MOGS
In all the pubs in all the world singled out for praise,
It’s the Molly Mogs in Soho for all the funds they raise,
Specially for our mariners and veterans of war,
And the unsung heroes that struggled at the fore.
On the corner of Old Compton Street this pub’s a little gem
Built in seventeen hundred, her pedigree’s from then,
Plenty are the bar stools but not a lot of space,
Hearty entertainment is the highlight of the place.
Some clientele enthral with witty quips so gay,
Bonding all together in their camp and funny way,
They recognize the value of duty to the end,
Selfless with their time and energy they lend.
Famous for its drag shows and fabulous inside,
Historic and important for old London’s pride,
Performers are just marvellous, open and sincere,
Collecting for our heroes when punters come for cheer.
Raising cash for brave folk is humble and sublime,
Patrons of the Molly Mogs do it all the time,
This cultured bar is friendly to all of us out there,
Best of all a grand spot for those that really care.
Joe Earl Nov. 2009
We are both lucky and pleased to have a friend in Captain Joe Earl, we appreciate his work and the fact that he not only shares this with us, but allows us to post here for the benefit of all.
We only ask if you wish to copy or use any of his work in tribute and for no financial gain etc, please simply ask us at Tregenna and we will contact Joe on your behalf.
hernamewas.ss@tiscali.co.uk
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Post by Administrator on Dec 12, 2009 23:32:26 GMT
Molly Mog
The Fair Maid of the Rose Inn, Wokingham
Says my Uncle, I pray you discover,
What hath been the cause of your woes,
Why you pine and you whine like a lover?
I've seen Molly Mog of the Rose.
Oh, nephew, your grief is but folly,
In town you may find better prog;
Half-a-crown there will get you a Molly,
A Molly much better than Mog.
I know that by wits 'tis recited
That Women at best are a clog,
But I'm not so easily frightened
From loving my sweet Molly Mog.
The School Boy's delight is a play day,
The School Master's joy is a flog.
The Milkmaid's delight is a May day,
But mine is on sweet Molly Mog.
Will of wisp leaves the traveller gadding
Through ditch and through quagmire and bog.
But no light can set me a?madding
Like the eyes of my sweet Molly Mog.
For guineas in other men's breeches
Your gamester will palm and will cog,
But I envy them none of their riches,
So I may win sweet Molly Mog.
The heart when half wounded is changing,
It here and there leaps like a frog.
But my heart can never be ranging,
'Tis so fixed upon sweet Molly Mog.
Who follows all Ladies of pleasure
In pleasure is thought but a hog.
All the sea cannot give so good measure
Of joys as my sweet Molly Mog.
I feel I am in love to distraction,
My senses all lost in a fog,
And nothing can give satisfaction
But thinking of sweet Molly Mog.
A letter when I am indicting,
Comes Cupid and gives me a jog,
And I fill all the paper with writing
Of nothing but sweet Molly Mog.
If I would not give up the three Graces
I wish I were hanged like a dog,
And in court all the drawing-room faces,
For a glance of my sweet Molly Mog.
Those faces want nature and spirit
And seem as cut out of a log;
Juno, Venus and Pallas's merit
Unite in my sweet Molly Mog.
Those who toast all the family Royal
In bumpers of hogan and nog,
Have hearts not more true or more loyal
Than mine to my sweet Molly Mog.
Were Virgil alive with his Phillis,
And writing another eclogue,
Both his Phillis and fair Amaryllis
He'd give up for sweet Molly Mog.
While she smiles on each guest like her liquor,
Then jealousy sets me agog,
To be sure she's a bit for the Vicar,
And so I shall lose Molly Mog.
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