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THE DEATH OF NELSON.

WHILE England beams one universal blaze,
The faithful tribute of a nation's praise !
For naval deeds achiev'd, of high renown,
And honours added to the British Crown,
Is there a Briton's breast that does not beat
At Nelson's triumph! and the foe's defeat ?
However poor, he shares the gen'rous flame,
And glows, exulting, at the hero's name.
Immortal Nelson; here my throbbing heart,
Swelling with sorrow, acts no borrow'd part,
May I not say, and say it with a tear,
That, with his death, the triumph's bought too dear?
But who can murmur? Glorious was his doom:
The heart of ev'ry Briton is his tomb !

“ The nation's fav'rite, and his sovereign's pride,
He rul'd despotic Lord of Ocean's tide!
Each coast remembering from some deed of fame,
Was made illustrious by great Nelson's name:
Denmark, Iberia, Egypt's trophied shore,
Heard the dread thunder of his cannon's roar :
While laurel's, won from every hostile fleet,
He laid, in triumph at his Monarch's feet;
And Hist'ry ever shall record the day,
Bright with his glory in Trafalgar's bay."

In torrid climes where nature pants for breath,
Or tainted gales bring pestilence and death ;
Where hurricanes are born, and whirlwinds sweep
The raging billows of the Atlantic deep,
Nelson had sought, but long had sought in vain,
The still retreating fleets of France and Spain ;
When found, at last he crush'd them on the flood,
And seal'd the awful conquest with his blood!

Yes as he liv'd, so did the hero fall-
Crouch'd at his feet, he saw the humbled Gaul;
Saw hostile navies into ruin hurl'd,
And England's trident rule the watery world!
Then did he laurel crown'd, and wrapp'd in fire,
Upborne on Vict’ry's outspread wings-expire !
Suspended be the shouts that rend the skies-
England's triumphant! but her Nelson dies!
A grateful nation mourns her hero dead,
And 'dews with tears the laurels on his head :
Laurels, for ever green ! for ever new !
Bequeath'd, with Nelson's dying breath to you!

MILITIA MUSTER FOLK.

AIR.--Voules vous dancer.

Now, Militia muster folk,

Friends and neighbours,'

Glory's labours,
Call upon us, 'tis no joke,

Then bring your guns and sabres ;
Or if arms you have not got,
Bring your pitchforks, and what not-

Umbrellas,

My good fellows,
Bean stalks, fishing-rods, I wot.

Spoken.] Ay, ay, my friends and neighbours, we must make no distinction of the personages now. The tradesman must be lost in the officer, the gentleman sunk in the soldier-so come, fall in, or we shall fall out-form a line there, form a line, if you please. Why, bless me ! do you call that a line? Why, you're zigzag at both ends, and crooked in the middle. Now do, gentlemen, alter. Neighbour Gizzard, don't you see your inside is quite hollow, and that it wants filling up.—Yes, and so would your's, if you'd come out without your breakfast, as I have.You should put a biscuit in your pocket, when you come to drill ; but come, we must get on. Stand at ease! Neighbour Cripplegait, why don't you stand at ease ?—I can't, Major ; for these here last breeches you've made me are so tight, they screw me like a wice.-Well, send 'em back after exercise, and they shall be let out. Now then, eyes right, you there with the spectacles. - I wish I could put my eyes right, Mr. Officer ; but all your tactics won't alter my optics, because, you see I squints.

Now gentlemen, you with the guns, come forward.—You with the umbrellas, wheel to the right. You with the bean-stalks and fishing-rods, turn to the left; and you with the pitch-forks and spits, go behind, and mind you don't stick them in any one's stibble end. Now shoulder-I didn't say arms. Well, but you might have said it, you know. Fall back, fall back, there. What the devil do you leave the ranks for, Pry?-Only come out, Captain, to ask if there had been any reduction on broad cloths, and what the news were ?-Pooh, nonsense! Farmer Waddle, what do you do out of the ranks ? Why, I beez going at command of Colonel Forbes, to the back of that there hedge !—Gentlemen, we shall never finish, if we begin in this manner, fall in, fall back.

Now, Militia muster folk,

Friends and neighbours,

Glory's labours
Call upon us, 'tis no joke-

Then hey for guns and sabres.
The manæuvring now begins,

Dressing, forming,

Charming, charming;
Now they exercise their pins,

Marching, counter-marching.
Now the corps is at fault,
Now they wheel, and now they halt-

Hours employing

In deploying,
Till their throats are parching.

Spoken.] Halt ! halt! halt !—why, gentlemen, you've left the rearguard behind.— Yes, so we have, we're beforehand with them. - Now, gentlemen, we're going to exercise, and in order that all may be correct, I'll give the word from my book of the New System : “ Rules and regulations for regulating the rules that rules the regulars.”—Stand at ease! Attention! Shoulder arms! Fix bayonets !-Why, Captain, how are we to fix bayonets when our guns are on our shoulders ? Oh! I beg pardon, I've turned over two leaves at once. Order arms! Unfix bayonets !-Why, we haven't fixed them yet, Captain.—That's true, but never mind. Ground arms! why, bless me, brother Falter, you've tumbled down-I hope you haven't hurt yourself ?-Yes, I've cut my nose, and bled a bushel, I guess.— Yes, he's wounded in the service, and shed blood in the cause, I calculate.--Yes, and there's one gentleman has run his bayonet into a very tender part of my frame, and I've only to inform this here corps that I am not bomb proof.—What have you put up your umbrella for, Sandy.—Because guess we shall have a pretty considerable damn'd heavy shower of rain soon, and though you may expect us to be able to stand fire, I believe there is no rule to oblige us to stand water.- Why, egad, that's true, and it is beginning to rain, sure enough-forward, umbrellas! shoulder umbrellas ! fall in three deep! take close order ! prepare umbrellas ! now then, fire umbrellas !—that's right—they are all up—this is what you may consider covering the regiment with a masked battery there, it's all over now, so we'll go on again.

Yes, Militia muster folk,

Friends and neighbours,

Glory's labours
Call upon us, 'tis no joke

Then hey for guns and sabres.
Every heart with ardour burns,

Pants for glory,

Live in story,
Each all thought of yielding spurns,

Like a true-born Yankee.
Now Columbia's valiant sons
Prove that they are sons of guns,

Fire and thunder,

Spreading wonder,
But no harm done, I thank ye.

Spoken.] Gentlemen, to avoid accidents, and perform our evolutions with military precision, you in the front row must kneel, and you in the second row must stand up ; that is what we call platonio firing ;—but mind, the gentlemen in the second row are not allowed to shoot the gentlemen's heads off in the front row; and if any gentleman in the front row should fall down, the persons behind them shall pick them up again, Now return ramrods-Eh ! bless me, Master Clayskull, what are you doing?

- Why, I'm returning my ramrod to neighbour Longstaff : I borrowed it of him the last time we went out shooting together, and now I'm giving him it back again ; if that an't returning ramrods, you may do the exercise yourself another time.-Gentlemen, if any of you should bite your cartridge at the wrong end, just be good enough to spit the ball out again.—Make readyWho's that firing before the time for shame, friend ! Quick, present—really, gentlemen, this is a waste of powder, I never heard any thing so bad as—there, again-now! gentlemen, fire! -Really, I never heard such irregular firing among a regular reginnent.--Fishing-rods, I never heard your report. Eh! why, gentlemen, what are you all dancing about in that manner for stand at ease attention !- damn the muskitoes-shoulder arms !-march.

Bravo, Militia muster folk,

Friends and neighbours,

Glory's labours
Call upon us, 'tis no joke

Then hey for guns and sa bres.

THE FARMER AND THE BARRISTER.

(Horace Smith.)

A COUNSEL in the Common Pleas,

Who was esteem'd a mighty wit,

Upon the strength of a chance hit,
Amid a thousand flippancies,
And his occasional bad jokes,

In bullying, bantering, brow-beating,

Ridiculing and maltreating
Women, or other tim id folks ;
In a late cause resolved to hoax
A clownish Yorkshire farmer-one

Who by his uncouth look and gait,

Appeared expressly meant by Fate, For being quizz’d and play'd upon.

So having tipp'd the wink to those

In the back rows, -
Who kept their laughter bottled down

Until our wag should draw the cork,
He smiled jocosely on the clown,

And went to work,

"Well, Farmer Numskull, how go calves at York ?

• Why-not, Sir, as they do with you, But on four legs instead of two.' • Officer !' cried the legal elf, Piqued at the laugh against himself,

‘Do pray keep silence down below there ; Now, look at me, clown, and attend, Have I not seen you somewhere, friend?'

• Yees--very like-I often go there.'

Our rustic's waggish-quite laconic,'
The counsel cried with grin sardonic.
I wish I'd known this prodigy,
This genius of the clods when I

On circuit was at York residing.--
Now, Farmer, do for once speak true,
Mind, you're on oath, so tell me, you
Who doubtless think yourself so clever,
Are there as many fools as ever

In the West Riding ?' • Why no, Sir, no; we've got our share, But not so many as when you were there.'

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