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THERE lived a man in Ballinacasey,
He wanted a wife to make him uneasy;
Long had he sighed for his dear Alley Croaker,
And thus the gentle youth bespoke her,

Will you marry me, dear Alley Croaker? Will you marry me, dear Alley Alley Croaker?

This artless young man, just come from the schoolery,

A novice in love and all its foolery;
Too dull for a wit,-too grave for a joker,
And thus the gentle youth bespoke her-

Will you marry me, &c.

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THE MERRY LITTLE SOLDIER.

(Alford.)

I'm a merry little soldier,

Fearing neither wound nor scar; When in battle, no one bolder, Honour is my leading star.

To arms, to arms, we'll fly,
When honour calls, no foe appals,
We'll conquer or we'll nobly die :
Then march away, march away,
Trumpets sound, and cymbals play;
March away, march away!
To the merry fife and drum.
Hark! the martial trumpets sounding,
Notes that echo loud alarms;

To support our troops in India,
Sons of Britain! now to arms.

To arms, to arms, &c.

Sons of Britain! sons of freedom!

Draw your swords, raise high your shields; Haste for India's future safety,

Make the proud black tyrants yield.

To arms, to arms, &c.

Pretty maids, with arms extended,
For protection loudly call;

We from harm will try to shield them,
Or, for them, in glory fall.

To arms, to arms, &c.

Lovely woman is a treasure,
What is man without their aid!
To protect them is a pleasure;
I've a heart that's not afraid.

To arms, to arms, &c.

THE BANKS OF AYR.
Air-" Roslin Castle."-(Burns.)
THE gloomy night is gathering fast,
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I see it driving o'er the plain :
The hunter now has left the moor,
The scatter'd coveys meet secure;
While here I wander, press'd with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.

The autumn mourns her ripening corn,
By early winter's ravage torn;
Across her placid azure sky

She sees the scowling tempest fly;
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr.
Farewell! Old Coila's hills and dales,
Her heathy moors and winding vales,
The scenes where wretched fancy roves,
Pursuing past unhappy loves:
Farewell, my friends; farewell, my
My peace with these, my love with those;
The bursting tears my heart declare,
Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr.

foes ;

BRETHREN FREEMASONS, LET'S MARK THE GREAT NAME.

WE brethren freemasons, let's mark the great

name,

Most ancient and loyal, recorded by fame;
In unity met let us merrily sing,

The life of a mason's like that of a king;
No discord, no envy, amongst us can be,
No confusion of tongues, but let's all agree;

Not like building of Babel, confound one another,
But fill up your glasses, and drink to each brother.
A tower they wanted to lead them to bliss,
I hope there's no brother but knows what it is;
Three principal steps in our ladder there be,
A mystery to all but to those that are free:
Let the strength of our reason keep the square of
our heart,

And virtue adorn every man in his part.
The name of a novice we'll not ridicule,
But pity his blindness, nor count him a fool.
Let's lead a good life whilst power we have,
And, when our bodies are laid in the grave,
We hope, with good conscience, to heaven to climb,
And give Peter the pass-word, the token, and
sign;

St. Peter, he opens, and so we pass in,

To a place that's prepared for all those free from sin;

To that heavenly lodge which is tyled most secure, A place that's prepared for all those that are pure.

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My cravats I work black, so black I let them keep, "Twas truly a good knack of making washing cheap; My hat I cock'd awry, my brutus to display, With quiz glass to my eye, for that's the time of day.

Too ral loo ral loo, &c. Some fine long bills I run, by promising to pay, And when they came to dun, why then I run away; The Bench was in my rout, there snug three months I lay,

When white-wash'd clean, walk'd out, for that's the time of day.

Too ral loo ral loo, &c.

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I buckled on my knapsack, to cross the wide ocean, Savourneen, &c.

Brisk were our troops, all roaring like thunder, Pleased with the voyage, impatient for plunder, My bosom with grief was almost rent asunder, Savourneen, &c.

Long I fought for my country, far, far from my true love, Savourneen, &c. All my pay and my plunder I hoarded for you, love, Savourneen, &c. Peace was proclaim'd; escap'd from the slaugh

ter,

Landed at home, my sweet girl, I sought her; But sorrow, alas! to the cold grave had brought her,

Savourneen, &c.

WHEN VULCAN FORGED THE BOLTS OF
JOVE.
(Dibdin.)

WHEN Vulcan forg'd the bolts of Jove,
In Etna's roaring glow,
Neptune petition'd he might prove

Their use and power below.
But finding in the boundless deep
Such thunders would but idly sleep,
He with them armed Britannia's hand,
To guard from foes our native land.
Long may she hold the awful right,

And when, through circling flame,
She darts her vengeance in the fight,
May Justice guide her aim:

And when engaged in future wars,
Our heroes bold, and gallant tars,
Shall launch her fires, from every hand,
On every foe to Britain's land.

TUNEFUL KITTY AND PRATTLING
NANCY.
(Akenside.)

KITTY'S charming face and voice,
Syren-like, first caught my fancy;
Wit and humour now takes place,
Now I coat on sprightly Nancy.
Kitty tunes her pipe in vain

With airs most languishing and dying,
Calls me false ungrateful swain,

And tries, in vain, to shoot me flying. Nancy, with resistless art,

Always humourous, gay, and witty, Has talked herself into my heart,

And quite excluded tuneful Kitty.

Ah, Kitty! love, a wanton boy,

Now pleased with song, and now with prattle,

Still longing for the newest toy,
Has changed his whistle for a rattle.

THE CHARMS OF LONDON.

IN London I never knew what to be at,
Enraptured with this and enchanted with that;
I'm wild with the sweets of variety's plan,
And life seems a blessing too happy for man.
Derry down, &c.

But the country, Lord bless us, sets all matters
right,

So calm and composing from morning till night;
Oh! it settles the spirits, when nothing is seen
But an ass on a common, or goose on a green.

THE PADDINGTON COACHES.

COME, young men and maidens, and likewise your dads,

Your attention a moment I wish to engage; Come, come, then, my coveys, and fork out your brads,

And just take a ride in a Paddington stage:
From Paddington Green in a crack we take leave,
At the Stingo a moment, a short time we stop;
To take up a cove at the Adam and Eve,
We pull up the coach and call or a drop.
you wish for a drop, then hasten away,
Where they handle the ribands, and tickle the
prads;

If
Derry down, &c.
In town, if it rains, why it damps not our hope,
The
eye has its range, and the fancy its scope;
Still the same, tho' it pour all night and all day,
It spoils not our prospects, it stops not our way.
Derry down, &c.

In the country, how bless'd, when it rains, in the
fields,

To feast upon transports that shuttlecock yields;
Or go crawling from window to window to see
A hog on a dunghill, or crow on a tree.
Derry down, &c.
In London, how easy we visit and meet,
Gay pleasure the theme, and sweet smiles are our
treat;

Our morning's a round of good humour, delight,
And we rattle in comfort and pleasure all night.
Derry down, &c.

In the country, how charming our visits to make,
Through ten miles of mud, for formality's sake;
With the coachman in drink, and the moon in a
fog,

And no thought in our head but a ditch and a bog.
Derry down, &c.

I've heard how that love in a cottage is sweet,
When two hearts in one link of sweet sympathy

meet

I know nothing of that, for, alas! I'm no swain
Who requires, I own it, more links to my chain.
Derry down, &c.

Your jays and your magpies may chatter on trees,
And whisper soft nonsense in groves, if they
please;

But a house is much more to my mind than a tree,
And for groves, oh! a fine grove of chimneys for

me.

Derry down, &c.

Then in town let me live, and in town let me die,
For, in truth, I can't relish the country, not I;
If one must have a villa in summer to dwell,
Oh! give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall.
Derry down, &c.

THE MANLY HEART WITH LOVE O'ER-
FLOWING,

THE manly heart with love o'erflowing
Each fairer virtue calls its own,
"Tis beauty's task, soft smiles bestowing,

To share and soothe the lover's moan.
Hail, sacred love! through heaven and earth,
Hail, sacred flame that gave us birth!
And love, the ills of life beguiling,

The soul in willing bondage leads,
And while to peace each trouble smiling,
Its potent sway all nature pleads;
Nor aught can dearer raptures prove
Than two fond hearts that truly love:
Love and truth, and truth and love,
Emulate the joys above.

neck

For in our short stages they make no delay, But scamper away do we Paddington lads. But scamper away, &c. This way, marm-going up? SPOKEN.] Going up, marm; who's for the city? Tell you vhat, Jim, she doesn't go wi' you, because you see the voman's going wi' me, and I starts afore you does. Vhy, then, I'll tell you vhat marm, if you goes with Hopposition Joe, I vouldn't insure your a safe arrival in the city. What! is he on the opposition side? Yes, marm, he is. Then I'll tell you what, sir, I'll go with you, for I doosn't like no opposition to nothing, and that my husband can vouch for. Dare say he can, marm. If I go with you, Mr. Coachman, you von't drive fast, will you? Oh no, marm, my tits are as quiet as lambs. But, Mr. Coachman, did you never meet with any accident on the road? Never, marm, but one, and that wa'n't my fau't; it cost me a hog and a screen though. How was that, Mr. Coachman? Vhy, I'll tell you, marm: a young voman and a child took it into their foolish heads to valk under the wheels of my wehicle, and they went dead; they tried me at Quarter Sessions for't, but the jury said as how killing a voman was manslaughter, and so by paying one pound one I got deliberated. Now's the time, sir, going up this vay? How long will it be, Mr. Coachman, before you starts! Not above a minute, sir, the moment we give a blow up; I say, Bill, tip them a turn on the horn, vil you, and then ve'll go directly. (Boy blows the horn.) My eye, how that 'ere fellow blows the horn -I say, my rum'un, how do you do it, ay? Vhy, my master, I'll tell vhy you see I puts that 'ere hole to this here mouth, and then this here vind goes into that 'ere horn, and then this here mouth and that 'ere horn, with this here vind together, makes Very explanatory, 'pon honour; but I think I could do it. You'd you like to try, sir? Yes, I should. Vell, then, try, but mind how you does it. Very well. But are you sure you knows how? Certainly. Vell, then, take it, and blow as hard as ever you can; give it mouth, and niver mind your vind; go on, sir. (Attempts to blow.) My vig, what a lot of vind it takes? O, try again, sir. (Blows again, but horribly out of tune.) I say, what are you at there? you're spitting in my horn-that's half a gallon fine. Is it? why then you may pay for it, for I won't. You von't, but you vill, though, or else you'll have a duck in this here horse-trough. Why, then, sooner than be duck'd in this here nasty horse-trough, I doesn't mind paying for it; but I hope you'll give us a drop on't to drink. Come, Coachee, ar'n't you off yet? you've been. here above five minutes. Vhy, we're going directly we've had in this here gentleman's heavy wet that he lost. (Smacking the whip heard.) Holloa, Jim! why you're starting 'fore your time. Am I? then you're starting behind it. Yes, but I'll soon be alongside of you. (sets off.) Ya hip' st! st! Oh! Mr. Coachman, what are you at

a tune.

you :

there? What's the matter, ma'am? Why, your furious driving has caused such a pain in my— Inside place, ma'am. So

If you wish for a ride, then hasten away, &c.

Ya hip! then away in double quick pace,

With our whips and beavers, we show them some play:

In vain opposition with us try to chase,
For we tip them the go-bye every day.
Such coaches and coachmen are not to be seen
But in Paddington road, where they merrily

range,

The moment we've started from Paddington Green,
In one little half hour we're at the Exchange.
In one little half hour, &c.

SPOKEN.] (Noise of breaking down.) Oh! my eye, Coachee, what's that? Only Paddington Sam, what drives the Preserver, upset, that's all. La! I hope there's nobody hurt. Not above nine or ten; but here they come. O, my arm! O, my eye! O, my head! O, my thigh! O, ma'am, what's the matter? What's the matter, you brute? here's my arm completely dislocated, and I must have the limb amputated, to save the rest of my body. Bless your body, ma'am, I could'nt help it. You could, you brute, and you shall be tried at the Quarter Sessions, for assault and battery of my person. I tell you, ma'am, I couldn't help it; it vas all owing to Regency Dick vat drives the Vellington; he vanted to get through BattleBridge gate afore me, vich vasn't fair; so I touch'd up my leaders under the flank, away they goes, for Dick doesn't drive such cattle as I does, but the moment we came through the gate, out came the linchpin, and off came the wheel, and down came we and the coach together, right under the dusthill so you see, ma'am, my loss is greater than yourn; I'm sorry for the haccident you've met with, and I hope you'll take all these here things into your consideration, and remember the coachman. Remember you! that I shall, all the days of my life. Shall you? why, then,

:

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SPOKEN.] Come, Coachee, ar'n't you off, yet? you've been here above ten minutes. Why, we'll go directly the boy comes back with a ha'p'orth of whipcord; you see I've lost my lash. Pray, Mr. Coachman, have you got two insides? No, ma'am, only one. Beg pardon, but misunderyou stand me; I mean two inside places. Yes, ma'am, I'm licensed to carry six ins and sixteen outs. What a many ins and outs you must have seen. Yes, and ups and downs too, ma'am. There, that will do, I'll get down here, if you please, Mr. CoachDo, ma'am, take care of your legs. La! Mr. Coachman, what are all those men a-top of your coach, in black? are they undertakers? No, ma'am, lawyers? Indeed! where did they come from? Can't tell, ma'am, but I believe they're going to the Commons. Aye, aye, common enough, I dare say. Come, Coachee, why don't you go along? Start directly. [Horn.] O, my eye, how fast your norses do go, Mr. Coachman! what fine fat norses they are! I say, what do you give your norses to heat? Hay. I said,

man.

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HE THE BRIDEGROOM-SHE THE BRIDE.
(Translated from Weber by W. M'Gregor Logan.)
If a youth should meet a maiden,
Need she run away with fright,
If his looks should win her favour,
Sure the girl may use her sight.
Though she must, in maiden manner,
Seem her glances to conceal,
Where's the harm if she, unnoticed,
Seek a side-long look to steal?
Should their eyes by chance encounter,
I therein no guilt can find;
Though her cheeks may blush a little,
Sure it will not strike her blind,
Looking hither, looking thither,
Looks are followed soon by sighs;
Then a little courage taking,

He makes love and she denies.
But, before a twelvemonth passes,
Forth they ramble side by side,
Marriage ends the village scandal,
He the bridegroom-she the bride.

........

THE MARGATE HOY IN QUARANTINE.
Air-" Garry Owen."

VONE Mister Vill Vilkins, vone wery fine day,
Call'd up Mrs. Vilkins, and to her did say,
Vhat think you, vife, Molly, if ve start avay,

On board of the hoy, to Margate.
There's board and lodging in the ship,
There's wictuals to eat, and vine to sip,
Then, Molly, vill you take a trip,

On board of the hoy, to Margate? Like a dutiful vife, she complied vith his vishes, And pack'd up his linen, coat, vaistcoat, and— smallclothes,

And avay they sail'd ower salt vater and fishes,
On board of the hoy, to Margate.
The sailors vere svearing and smoking pig-tail,
Weering the wessel and vetting the sail,
Vhilst 'gainst vind and veather the captain did rail,
On board of the hoy, to Margate.

Now, vhen Mr. Vilkins lost sight of St. Paul's,
He trembled, for fear of the sea-faring squalls,
Vhich are dangerous for those who are not born
vith cauls,

Going by vater to Margate.
The vinds blew high, and the vaves did roll,
'Gainst a wessel in quarantine they ran foul,
The vatchmen saw it, and stopp'd every soul
Going their voyage to Margate.

Six veeks in limbo the wessel must stick,
Sure never vas packet e'er serv'd such a trick!
It made Mister Vilkins confoundedly sick
Of going by vater to Margate.
Such camphorating, fuming, and smoking,
Passengers sick'ning, and sailors joking;
Oh, I vish, said Vilkins, I'd never been poking,
On board of the hoy, to Margate.
The whole forty days Vilkins grumbled and swore,
Oh, a plague take the plague-ship! I'm sick and
I'm sore!

Vhen the quarantine's finished I vill go on shore,
And not go on a voyage to Margate.
The camphor and winegar vhirl in my brain,
Retching and heaving my bowels do strain,
Oh, blow me! you vont catch me going again,
On board of the hoy, to Margate.

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PADDY CAREY'S FORTUNE. (Cherry.)

"TWAS at the town of nate Clogheen That Serjeant Snap met Paddy Carey; A claner boy was never seen,

Brisk as a bee, light as a fairy.
His brawny shoulders four feet square,

His cheeks like thumping red potatoes;
His legs would make any chairman stare,
And Pat was loved by all the ladies.
Old and young, grave and sad-
Deaf and dumb, dull or mad--
Waddling, twaddling, limping, squinting,
Light, tight, and airy!

All the sweet faces

At Limerick races,

From Mullinavat to Magherafelt,

At Paddy's beautiful name would melt; The sowls would cry,

And look so shy,

Och! Cushlamachree,

Did you never see,

The jolly boy, the darling joy,

The coaxing boy, the ladies' toy!

Nimble-footed, black-eyed, rosy-cheek, curly

headed,

Paddy Carey!

O sweet Paddy!

Beautiful Paddy!

Nate little, tight little, Paddy Carey!

His heart was made of Irish oak,

Yet soft as streams from sweet Killarney; His tongue was tipt with a bit o' the brogue, But the devil a bit at all of the blarney. Now Serjeant Snap, so sly and keen,

While Pat was coaxing duck-legg'd Mary,

A shilling slipt, so neat and clean;
By the powers! he listed Paddy Carey.
Tight and sound, strong and light:
Cheeks so round, eyes so bright:

Whistling, humming, drinking, drumming, Light, tight, and airy!

All the sweet faces, &c. The sowls wept loud, the crowd was great, When waddling forth came widow Leary; Though she was crippled in her gait,

Her brawny arms clasp'd Paddy Carey. Och, Pat,' she cried, " go buy the ring; Here's cash galore, my darling honey Says Pat, you sowl! I'll do that thing,' And clapt his thumb upon her money

Gimlet eye, sausage nose,Pat so sly, ogle throws, Leering, tittering, jeering, frittering, Sweet widow Leary!

All the sweet faces, &c.

When Pat had thus his fortune made
He pressed the lips of Mrs. Leary,
And mounting straight a large cockade,

In captain's boots struts Paddy Carey;
He, grateful, praised her shape, her back,
To others like a dromedary;

Her eyes, that seem'd their strings to crack,
Were Cupid's darts to Captain Carey!
Neat and sweet, no alloy,-
All complete love and joy:
Ranting, roaring, soft adoring,
Dear widow Leary!

All the sweet faces

At Limerick races,

From Mullinavat to Magherafelt,
At Paddy's promotion sigh and melt;
The sowls all cry,

As the groom struts by,
Och! Cushlamachree,
Thou art lost to me!

The jolly boy, the darling boy!

The ladies' toy, the widow's joy!

Long swords girted, neat, short-skirted,

Head cropp'd, whisker-chopp'd,

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