But, sad reverse! poor Tom no more

To faithless Poll enticing;
My starboard limb was shiver'd sore,
Beyond the power of splicing;
I found the fair one's clouded brow
Obscur'd her late allurings-

'Be gone!' she cried, you're fittest now To lie in Greenwich moorings.'

Then to our gracious king I'll drink,
And success to his navy;
Oh, may fell faction quickly sink,
Deep grappled by old Davy!
And here's to every gallant tar,

Brave soldier, and just trader;
In peace if Britain's kind, in war
He'll check each bold invader;
With two limbs less than God gave me,
I smile at past endurings,
And booze my can of grog with glee,
Laid up in Greenwich moorings.

........

AWAKE, MY LOVE.

(Allan Cunningham.)

AWAKE, my love, ere morning's ray
Throws off night's weed of pilgrim gray;
Ere yet the hare, cower'd close from view,
Licks from her fleece the clover dew;
Or wild swan shakes her snowy wings,
By hunters roused from secret springs;
Or birds upon the boughs awake,
Till

green Arbiglands' woodlands shake.
She comb'd her curling ringlets down,
Laced her green jupes and clasp'd her shoon;
And from her home, by Preston-burn,
Came forth the rival light of morn.

The lark's song dropt, now loud, now hush-
The gold-spink answered from the bush;
The plover, fed on heather crop,
Called from the misty mountain-top.
"Tis sweet, she said, while thus the day,
Grows into gold from silvery gray;
To hearken, heaven, and bush, and brake,
Instinct with soul of song, awake,
To see the smoke, in many a wreath,
Stream blue from hall and bower beneath,
Where yon blythe mower hastes along,
With glittering scythe and rustic song.
Yes, lovely one! and dost thou mark
The moral of yon carolling lark?

Tak'st thou from Nature's counsellor tongue,
The warning precept of her song?
Each bird that takes the dewy grove,
Warms its wild note with nuptial love;
The bird, the bee, with various sound,
Proclaims the sweets of wedlock round.

........

THE MUFFIN MAN. (T. Dibdin.)

WHILE your opera-squallers fine verses are singing, Of heroes, and poets, and such like humguffins; While the world's running round, like a mill in a sail,

I'll ne'er bother my head with what other folks ail, But careless and frisky, my bell I keep ringing, And walk about merrily crying my muffins.

CHORUS.

Lilly white muffins, O, rare crumpets smoking, Hot Yorkshire cakes, hot loaves and charming cakes,

One a-penny, two a-penny, Yorkshire cakes. What matters to me, if great folks run a gadding, For politics, fashion, or such botheration;

Let sailors and soldiers, contending for glory, Delight in the rattle of drums and of trumpets; Undertakers get living, by other folks dying; While actors make money by laughing or crying; Let lawyers with quizzies and quiddities bore ye, It's nothing to me, while I'm crying my crumpets.

SPOKEN.] What do I care for lawyers! A'nt I a baker and Master of the Rolls myself:-Droll enough, too, for a Master of the Rolls to be crying-Lilly white muffins, &c.

LOVE MAY RECEIVE INSTRUCTION FROM

FLOWERS.

(J. H. Payne.)

FROM flowers which we twine for the Temple of Love, Love itself may instruction receive; The love learn'd from Nature, comes straight from above,

Her's are lessons which cannot deceive.
'Twere surely enough to check pride in its birth,
Ere it whispers, the heart hath betray'd;
To know, that the sweetest flowerets on earth-
The violet-grows in the shade.

To souls that are bent on a stainless career,
What a moral the sunflower supplies;
From morning till eve, never known to appear,
With a look turn'd away from the skies.
And let the soul-stricken mourner complain,
But be taught by those blossoms of night;
Whose solitude, darkness frowns over in vain,
"Tis in darkness their colours are bright.

........

COME BUY MY WATER CRESSES.
MY Nanny, though thou can'st not boast
Of title, fame, or riches;

Still thou art oft a lover's toast,
And many a swain bewitches.
From street to street, from lane to lane,
Her calling she professes,
And daily cries in cheerful strain,
Come buy my water-cresses,

My nice young water-cresses.

The musky rose that breathes perfume,
And round its fragrance scatters;
Excels not Nan in beauty's bloom,
Though clad in humble tatters;
While proud ones scoff, and rich ones jeer,
At my sweet girl's distresses,

She constant cries, devoid of fear,
Come buy my water-cresses;

My nice young water-cresses.
Fresh as the balmy breath of morn,
My charmer daily rises

More fair than those who wealthy born,
Poor Nanny's state despises;
Yet she, regardless of each frown,
With lovely auburn tresses,

Is seen to cry from town to town,
Come buy my water-cresses;

My nice young water-cresses.

WHEN I was at home, with my father and mother,
I beat the old couple, and Teddy, my brother,
At larning, I mean; for I handled the spade,
And so nately I followed the turf-cutting trade.
But old father Murphy, our parish director,
He now and then gave me a bit of a lecture;
Arrah, Barney, says he, you're a frolicsome elf,
But be a good boy, and take care of yourself.
With your too ral lal loo, &c.

My Judy I lov'd, and oft gave her a kiss;
"Fie, Barney," says she, but ne'er took it amiss :
One night I took leave; says I, "Judy, I'm off,"
But heard, as I thought, in the closet, a cough;
So I opened the door, and I stared like a pig,
There stood old father Murphy, without hat or wig;
"Arrah, father," says I, "you're a frolicsome elf,
But be a good boy, and take care of yourself."
With your too ral lal loo, &c.

THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM.
RECITATIVE.

AT sight of each terrific form,
All trembling and with fear opprest,
The halcyon quits her sea-built nest,
Prophetic of a coming storm
To desolate a smiling land.

AIR.

Loud roars the spirit of the storm,
Their breasts the angry billows tear;
Bursting their bounds, they seem to arm
And battle with the murky air;
The mariner then calmly feels

The perils of his hapless state;
Before high heaven he trembling kneels,
And to his will resigns his fate.
Though horrors rise upon his view,
Resolved to steer the vessel true.

Hoarse brays the trumpet's throat-the while
The fiends of war their fire-brands shake;
And carnage, on some burning pile,

Sits brooding o'er an empire's wreck"Tis then the soldier's manly heart

To home one tear-drop doth bequeath; Bends to that power that points the dart, Just midway 'twixt life and death. Though horrors rise upon his view, Resolved to fight the battle true.

BY HIM WE LOVE OFFENDED. (Sheridan.)

BY him we love offended,
How soon our anger flies,
One day apart, 'tis ended,
Behold him, and it dies.
Last night your roving brother,
Enrag'd, I bade depart,
And sure his rude presumption
Deserv'd to lose heart:
my
Yet, were he now before me,
In spite of injur'd pride,
I fear my eyes would pardon
Before my tongue could chide.
With truth the bold deceiver

To me thus oft has said,
"In vain would Clara slight me,
In vain would she upbraid

THE MAD GIRL'S SONG.

(J. H. L. Hunt.)

THE lily enamels the vale,
And roses they purple above;
But how can their glories prevail

With a smile from the lips of my love? But my love he was false and unkind, When he bade me depart from the grove : And I'll go; for I have not a mind

That will laugh in the frowns of my love. I'll pick up the flowers that are dead, And deck all my bosom so gay, That love shall come, patting my head, And steal all their blossoms away; But no, he sha'n't rob me of these, Refusal his wishes shall prove; For he would not, my passion to please, Inspire the cold breast of my love.

I will visit the cypress so sad,

That hangs o'er the dark shadow'd grave; And I know, though they tell me I'm mad, That I'll tear off its branches to wave. Oh, then a sweet garland I'll twine,

And show all my friends how I wove; And all, but the leaves, shall be mine, For I'll give all the green to my love. But my love, I'm afraid, won't be press'd To take the poor gift, though so smart; For he scorn'd this fond fluttering breast, And all the warm wealth of heart my Then I'll keep it, and twine in my hair The green and the boughs that I wove; And, when it shall fade away there, Sing dirges to it and my love.

Then fly not now, O gentle sleep!

Fly not our humble dwelling; His anguish in oblivion steep,

The image of the past repelling;
And such soft visions of delight
From airy fancy borrow,

As he deserves, whose watchful night
From us poor peasants drives forth sorrow.

THE EOLIAN HARP.
(Dibdin.)
AMPHION'S lute and Orpheus' lyre
Pleased amateurs of yore,
Our amateurs' loud harps inspire,
And those we heard no more.
Harps that assist each female charm,
The snowy hand, and rounded arm,
That turn with more than mortal grace;
The stately neck, and lovely face,
As rapidly the fingers trace

Each natural, flat, and sharp;
But, most the senses to ensnare,
Give me the soft celestial strain
That gently floats upon the air,

That all can feel, but none explain,
In sounds the ear so smoothly greet,
From the seraphic, self-played, sweet
Æolian harp.

The love-sick maid her anxious pain
Vents from yon tow'r above,
And to the harp pours forth the strain
Sacred to night and love.

Now, while the lover scales the gates,
Disdaining watch-dogs or spring-guns,
The hour of assignation waits,

And into every danger runs:
Nor father, brother, husband shuns,
Their weapons e'er so sharp;
The open'd window lulls his fears,
While, softly riding on the breeze,
The well-known signal to his ears

Is gently wafted through the trees:
Sounds the charm'd ear so smoothly greet
From the seraphic, self-play'd, sweet
Æolian harp.

Each belle, thus holding in disdain
Apollo and his lyre,

Thumps, as she harps on the same strain,
The catgut and the wire :

The Irish harp, Scotch harp, Welsh harp,
The mania nought can stop;

The chords they ransack, strain, and warp,
Range from the bottom to the top,

And shift, and turn, and change, and chop Each natural, flat, and sharp. Yet nought the senses can ensnare

Like the dear soft celestial strain That gently floats upon the air,

That all can feel but none explain, In sounds the ear so smoothly greet, From the seraphic, self-play'd, sweet Eolian harp.

SALLY ROY. (Rannie.)

FAIR Sally, once the village pride,
Lies, cold and wan, in yonder valley;
She lost her lover, and she died;
Grief broke the heart of gentle Sally.
Young Valliant was the hero's name;
For early valour fir'd the boy,
Who barter'd all his love for fame,
And kill'd the hopes of Sally Roy.

Swift from the arms of weeping love,

As rag'd the war in yonder valley, He rush'd, his martial pow'r to prove, While, faint with fear, sunk lovely Sally. At noon, she saw the youth depart;

At eve, she lost her darling joy; Ere night, the last throb of her heart Declar'd the fate of Sally Roy, The virgin-train in tears are seen,

When yellow moon-light fills the valley, Slow stealing o'er the dewy green,

Towards the grave of gentle Sally; And, while remembrance wakes the sigh,

Which weans each feeling heart from joy; The mournful dirge, ascending high, Bewails the fate of Sally Roy.

THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, JAMIE. (Burns.)

THOU hast left me ever, Jamie,

Thou hast left me ever;

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie,
Thou hast left me ever.

Often hast thou vowed that death
Only should us sever,

Now thou'st left thy lass for ay—
I will see thee never!
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie,
Thou hast me forsaken;
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie,
Thou hast me forsaken.
Thou canst love another maid,
While my heart is breaking;
Soon my weary eyes I'll close,
Never more to waken, Jamie;
Never more to waken.

I'M the showman, with face so brass-mounted,
That none of the bufflers can startle me;
The high-go of the fair I am counted,

And wonder of wonders at Bartlemy!
If you come to my booth, there you'll see
A wise head-and, what's more strangely comi-
cal,

That the head of my blind pig will be

Full of science and skill astronomical! SPOKEN.] Walk up, ladies and gemmen; the first booth in the fair, though I am the last to say it. Show 'em in there! the most wonderful wonder in the world to be seen; though blind of both eyes, he is a real star-gazer-none of your shams! Thank you, ma'am; show that lady to the boxes, she has just paid a penny! Walk up here! Show 'em in there; just going to begin: all ready now but the brads. Now is your time; only two-pence a-piece, and a penny for a whole one. Here's the wonderful pig from Constantinople; only ten months old and speaks eleven of the learned languages! He is just arrived from the East, and is as deep as the North Star. All ready; just going

to begin-the

O-whee! whee! such a wonder true Bartlemy fair never knew! He is the Milton of swine and the Moses Of grunters; I don't blush in telling it; When Copernicus' system he noses,

He knows it from Newton's by smelling it!

Tycho Brah, he allows, might know much, But accounts himself more philosophical; And says-Ptolemy's wisdom was such

As a blind pig must call phantomophical! SPOKEN.] There, ladies and gemmen, there! only look at his proboscis; there is a countenance; all wisdom to the tip end of his nose! "Dear Lard, what a pretty creeter!" Pretty, ma'am, he is quite handsome; beautiful as a Circassian vestal, or a Spanish bona-roba! Constitutionally warm, his ideas all are tropical; and the zenith of his learning is the nadir of his science; though he is blind, he knows all the stars when he looks at them, and can tell the left limb of the moon from the right end of a potatoe by astronomical instinct! "Can he tell my nativity, mister?" I'll ask him, ma'am. He says you live in Petticoat-lane. "Dear me! that's right; but I means my planet, when I was born?" I'll ask him that. He says Mercury and Venus were in conjunction, ma'am. "Oh, curse his little impudence!" Nay, don't be angry, ma'am; you see he is the real thing; and, as a star-gazer, he is allowed in-O-whee whee! &c.

Had
my pig been in fair requisition
(Through his science in poles and polarity)
To have sailed with the pole expedition

Success would have been, without parity!
But he says, as the North Pole they seek
Without him, he can clear through Mathesis see
The danger, if they the pole break,

Soon the world will all tumbled to pieces be!

SPOKEN.] There he is, ladies and gemmen; the first astronomer in the world and the greatest mathematician in Europe; a real Archimedes: knows the parallax of his appetite from the equator of his stomach, and measures the distance between his eye-tooth and his nasal hiatus by his tongue, with true mathematical accuracy; tells all the celestial luminaries, from a blazing comet to a wax taper. "Pray, sir, I would ask, does he know all the signs; the goat, the lion, the ram, the"-The ram, oh yes, sir, he knows the ram; that is here, in Smithfield. "Lard, sir, why my husband means the ram in the zodiac!" Oh! yes, madam, he knows every thing oddyic; but he does not like the ram, because it is an unchaste animal! He is very particular in every thing; eats nothing but lamb-pasties; and, although he is blind, he won't dine without a looking-glass before him; changes his coat three times a year, and makes a new almanack month! 66 every Amazing!" Quite as.. tonishing, maʼam! He is an—

O-whee! whee! &c.

Then away we pursued, brake, cover, and wood, Not quickset, nor thickset, our pleasure withstood!

Soho! master Renard-Jack Rivers he cried;
Old Ren, you shall die, daddy Hawthorn replied.
All gay as the lark the green woodlands we traced,
While the merry-ton'd horn inspired as we chased:
No longer poor Renard his strength could he
boast,

To the hounds he knocked under, and gave up the ghost!

The sports of the field, when concluded and o'er,
We sound the horn back again over the moor;
At night take the glass, and most cheerily sing,
The fox-hunters' round, not forgetting the king.

........

OH! TELL ME HOW TO WOO. (Marquis of Montrose, 1640.)

Ir doughty deeds my layde please,
Right soone I'll mount my steed,
And strong his arm, and fast his seat,
That bears frae me the meed;
I'll wear thy colours in my cap,
Thy picture next my heart;
And he that bends not to thine eyes
Shall rue it to his smart :

Then tell me how to woo thee, love,
For thy dear sake no care I'll take,
Although another trow me.

If gay attire thy fancy please,
I'll deck thee in array,
I'll tend thy chamber-door all night,
And squire thee all the day!

If sweetest sounds can win thine ear,
These sounds I'll strive to catch;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell,
That voice which none can match.
Then tell me how to woo,

But if fond love thy heart can gain,

I never broke a vow;

No maiden lays her skaith on me,—
I never loved but you!
For you alone I ride the ring,
For you I wear the blue,
For you alone I strive to sing-
Oh! tell me how to woo, &c.

LAUGHING FROHIBITED.

(Dibdin.)

&c.

Such joys are too formal by half; roar, and I revel,

Drive care to the devil,

And hold both my sides while I laugh.

For since Pleasure's Joy's parent, &c.

I hate all those pleasures we're angling and squaring, And fitting and cutting by rules;

And, d-me,-dear me, I beg pardon for swearing,
All that follow such fashions are fools:

They may say what they list on't,
But of life I insist on't,

That pleasure's the prop and the staff,
That sets every muscle
In a comical bustle,
And tickles one into a laugh.

For since Pleasure's Joy's parent, &c.

THE JOYS THAT SPARKLE IN THE BOWL, MY BOYS.

(Parry.)

IN battle some for glory seek,
Where death terrific sways,

While others hang on beauty's cheek,
And sigh away their days,

But we, more wise,
Shun sparkling eyes,

That would enslave the soul;
We know no joys

Like those, my boys,

That sparkle in the bowl.

Let love-sick swains the willow wear,
And draughts of sorrow quaff;
"Tis time enough to hail despair
When grown too old to laugh.
Let us be wise,

Shun sparkling eyes,

That would enslave the soul;

And taste the joys,
My merry boys,

That sparkle in the bowl.

TO LIVE WITH THEE, MY LOVE. (Sir Walter Raleigh.)

If all the world and love were young,
And truth on every shepherd's tongue,
These pleasures might my passion move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
But fading flowers in every field,
To winter floods their treasure yield;
A honey'd tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
Thy gown, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Are all soon withered, broke, forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs,
Can me with no enticements move

To live with thee, and be thy love.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, had age no need,
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.