THE MORN MAY SHED ITS SUNNY RAY.

(Miss Bryant.)

Air-" Had I a Heart for Falsehood framed." THE morn may shed its sunny ray,

The rose may meet my view,

When Sol shall drive in tears away,

Its glittering early dew.

Though beauty smile and friends caress,

Yet all those charms must fly,

If Heaven should cease this heart to bless,
And, dearest, you should die.

Then never doubt, my dark eyed love,
I only live for thee;

Though brighter eyes more beauteous rove,
Thine, thine, are all to me.

And though the grave may take thee, dear,
Dismiss the tear and sigh;

A breaking heart would meet thee there,
My dearest, if you die.

OR, THE JEW AND THE PIG.
Air" The Coronation."

A JEW, they call'd him Isaac Mo,
Along the road did go, sirs,
And swagger'd most ungraciously
Into a ditch of snow, sirs.
A pig was journeying that way,
Who caught him by the skirt, O!
And wouldn't let poor Isaac lay,
But dragg'd him through the dirt, O!
Grunting, pulling all the way,
A week! a week! his cry, sirs,
And Isaac cried, Ma Cot! ma Cot!
I'm sure that I shall die, sirs.

Now when the pig was satisfied,
And he had done his play, sir,
Says Isaac, Come here, Mr. Pig,
I have a word to say, sir.
Will you come home and live with me?
Come-for how long will you stay, sir?
The pig cried, "Week!" and Isaac soon
With piggy marched away, sir.

Grunting, pulling, &c

Mo took the pig for piggy's week;
Then, like a knowing elf, sirs,

Says he, your pigship now I'll keep
Just for one week myself, sirs.

But he was caught, was tried, and hang'd,
Just after he was taken;

And this said Jew, for stealing pig,
Was hang'd as dead as bacon.

Grunting, pulling, all the way,
A week! a week! he cried, sirs.
The drop it fell, 'tis known full well,
And poor Mo Isaacs died, sirs.

First I began with Lundy Foot,

To please Hibernian Betty,

Then Prince's mixture, black as soot,
Took to please the Welsh girl, Letty.
Snuff! snuff! snuff!

Fol rol de riddy iddy, snuff, snuff, snuff' Dutch Carrot next I learnt to take,

When I went to Amsterdam, sirs;
Then scented snuff, for Mary's sake,
Though her love for me was sham, sirs.
Then next of all, my brown rappee
I took with Widow Waddle,
But she took my snuff and money too,
And then she bade me toddle.

Then I began to take Brazil

Snuff! snuff! &c.

When I went to Buenos Ayres, For the tender passion I did feel

For the sex that can ensnare us. But when to Leith I bent my way

The plaid made my heart full, sirs, So high-dried Scotch I took each day, And took it from my mull, sirs.

Snuff! snuff! &c.

JOCKEY said to Jeany," Jeany, wilt thou do't?"
"Ne'er a bit," quo' Jeany, "for my tocher good;
For my tocher good, I winna marry thee,"
"E'en 's ye like," quo' Jockey, "I can let ye be.
"I hae gowd and gear, I hae land eneugh,
I hae seven good owsen ganging in a pleugh;
Ganging in a pleugh, and linkin' o'er the lee,
And gin ye winna tak me, I can let ye be.
"I hae a good ha' house, a barn and a byre,
Peat stack before the door, I'll mak a rantin fire;
I'll mak a ranting fire, and merry shall we be;
And gin ye winna tak me, I can let ye be."
Jeany said to Jockey," Gin ye winna tell,
Ye sall be the lad, I'll be the lass mysel';
Ye're a bonnie lad, and I'm a lassie free,
Ye're welcomer to tak me than to let me be."

I'M LONGING TO BE MARRIED.
Tune-"Green grow the Rashes, 0!"—(Bryant.)
SOME years I now have been a maid,
And at this inn I've tarried, O!
Still, alack a-day! I'm quite afraid
I never shall be married, O!

I never shall be married, O!
I never shall be married, O!
Alack a-day! I'm quite afraid,
I never shall be married, O!

My mother said, when quite a child,
My boldness it would make me, O!
But though on many a youth I smiled,
I've not found one to take me, O!

So I never shall be married, O! &c.
Folks tell me it is quite a shame,
And the joke too far is carried, O!
But be assured I'm not to blame,
For I'm longing to be married, O!

I'm longing to be married, O! &c. Some folks have rudely mocked my woe, And to this day they task me, O! So if single men my mind would know, I'll thank them if they'll ask me, O!

For I'm longing to be married, O! &c.

WOULD you wish, my jovial hearts,

To laugh when graver mortals cry;
Wine and glee their powers impart,
So drink and laugh, boys, till you die.
Bacchus thrilling through each vein;
Tunes the soul to lively strain
Ne'er then load wing'd time with sorrow,
Enjoy to-day, nor trust to-morrow.
How foolish what those wise ones say
Who chill warm hearts with frigid rules;
Their maxims ne'er can care allay,
Let's leave them then to knaves and fools.
Bacchus thrilling, &c.

Let us enjoy the jocund scene,
With friendship, wit, and wine adorn,
With women bright as beauty's queen,
For such Anacreon's sons were born.

Bacchus thrilling, &c.

The churlish man, with envy's eye,
May frown at this, our festive hour,
The fates to him our joys deny,
We sip life's sweet, and he the sour.
Bacchus thrilling, &c

Each gloomy thought is held to be,
In this gay court, the type of folly;
Our souls in sentiment agree,
And while we live, boys, we'll be jolly.
Bacchus thrilling, &c.

....

HEY NONNY. (Shakspeare.)

WHEN it is the time of night
That the graves all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite
In the churchway paths to glide;

And the faries that do run,

By the triple Hecates' team, From the presence of the sun,

Following darkness like a dream. Now are frolic-then I'll come, And will lead him up and down, Scaring him through field and town. Some there be that shadows kiss, Such have but a shadow's bliss. There be fools alive, I wis, Silvered o'er, and so is this. Hey nonny, nonny! There be fools alive, I wis, Silvered o'er, and so is this, Hey nonny, nonny!

DENNIS M'PHANE.

SEARCH Erin all over, you cannot discover
So fickle a lover as Dennis M.Phane;
The simple and witty, the gay and the pretty,
In town and in city, know Dennis M.Phane;
His flattering tongue wins old and young,

Bewilders the senses, and puzzles the brain,
And yet you'll find each maid inclin'd

To listen with pleasure to Dennis M Phane.
Oh!
get thee gone Dennis,

Thou'rt true to none Dennis,

But veering about like a light weather vane,
Oh! fie for shame, Dennis,
Thou'rt much to blame, Dennis,
But I cannot blame thee, dear Dennis M'Phane.
From Cork to Kilkenny, you cannot find any

Who've flatter'd so many as Dennis M Phane; No creature has ever, with baneful endeavour, More true lovers sever'd than Dennis M Phane; His flattering tongue wins old and young,

Against the deluder they struggle in vain, And yet you'll find they're still inclin'd To listen with pleasure to Dennis M'Phane. Oh! get thee gone, &c.

My name's Jerry Blossom, you know by my feace. Ee Yorkshire they tell'd ma, which made heart

my

glad, Folks e Lunnun were kind to a poor simple lad; Sae I pack'd up my claes, top ut coach I were stuck,

And I pray'd all the way for a bit of good luck ;,
But the day I got here I sal never forget,
For I thou❜t all the world e Lunnun were met.
Leak which way I would, they coom'd just as fast,
Sae I thou❜t I'd stand still till t' mob were gone past;
I ax'd a good many if ow't were t' matter,
But they push't ma aboot, and said, haud thy
feal's chatter;

I'd a brayed yan chap weel wi' ma stick on his nob,
But I felt something warm sliding into ma fob;
"Twere a gentleman's hand, that were drest nation

fine,

He'd mista❜en his own pocket, and got into mine.
He made a loo boo, and I made him another,
For manners I fancied were due to each other.
I thou't I'd just look like, if ou't were t' wors,
For my brass it were all in a new leather purse;
When I foon'd it were gone, I thou❜t I were dead,
Sike a queer sort of dizziness coom'd e ma head.
Had I known his tricks, I'd ge'en him a drilling,
He stole ho'f a crown and ma Queen Anne's new
shilling.

But Lunnun's t' pleace where the devil do reign, And that must have been him, or I'm sadly mista'en.

I got rarely bang'd up, too, how I'll tell if I may, Or sing, if you please, in my countrified way.

SONG.

Ee the north, while with feyther and mother I dwelt,
Noither hunger, nor hardship, nor sorrow I felt;
But they deed, and left poor sister and Jerry,
Now I'se cum'd here, I'se resolv'd to be merry;
I'll work, and I'll sing, all my money I'll save,
If I please in my pleace, 'tis all that I crave.
As I star'd e the streets, at t' pictures and shops,
A lass ga ma a nation hard bat e the chops;
I seiz'd upon madam, by gom she were fuddled,
Sho'ad a rare bonny feace, if it had not been rud-
dled;

I never before had seen ou't o' this kind,
For they tell'd ma as hoo shoo was bang up and
primed.

As I wander aboot, hoo t' lasses all stare,
They titter, and whisper, and bloosh, I declare,
I stood near to yan that were drest very natty,
Shoo tell'd ma reet plump, I were devilish pratty.
In making ma boo to this rare bonny lass,

I pusht ma head plump throf a large pane o' glass.
I run'd for dear life till I reach'd master's door,
Pusht it open sa quick, sent him smack upat floor,
I knock't down, and master got bang'd by t' lasses,
Lost first quarter's wages for breaking o' glasses,
And yet eftre all that has fell'd to my lot,
I'd be sorry to quit this good pleace that I've got.
Sood poor lattle Jerry again hither stray,
To amuse your spare hours e laftet away,
Your smiles will cheer the blossom you rear,
And gratitude ever will find a place here;
Nae lad e t' world is mair willing than I,
To gain your good wishes I ever will try.

To win me o'er she took great pains, But Fred a drunken wife disdains, So single still poor Poll remains,

pass along,

How the pretty damsels sigh.

SPOKEN.] Bless ma heart! vel, vat can I do; I console with them as well as I am able; and, though a circumscribed Jew, I tickle their fancy as vell as the best, for I always make 'em sing Fal lal la, &c.

Den my uncle Aarons died,
And I was heir for life;
So I thought myself as how
To get a little vife;
I'd kissed and toyed away
With many a vixen shc,
But I vanted one alone

To kiss and toy vid me.

Ye ladies take a hint from me, Ne'er with the bottle make too free, Until you safely married be,

Think of Poll.

IT'S A WAY I HAVE GOT.

Tune-" The tight little Soldier."-(Bryan.. SOME girls say of marriage they're always afraid, But I am resolved I'll not die an old maid,

For I'll ogle some youth till his heart shall grow hot,

With, excuse me, dear sir, it's a way I have got,
It's a way I have got,
It's a way I have got,
Excuse me, dear sir, it's a way I have got.
If he says will you wed me, I'll never say no,
But I'll hang on his arm and to church I will go;
I'll say love, honour, obey; oh yes, and what

not,

So married soon And sung

Fal lal la, &c.

got,
"begone, dull care,"

And nine months after that
I danced a little heir;

Then Jacob, Mo, and Sue,
Vid Samuels so sly,
How happy was the Jew

Vid such a family.

(Translated from C. M. Von Weber.) THOUGH clouds by tempest may be driven Across the glorious throne of day,

The sun, that never sets in heaven,

Soon laughs the gathering clou's away, For though o'er earth the clouds may lower, O'er him, in heaven, they have no power. And thus, although the clouds of sorrow A shadow o'er the soul may throw, Yet hope, that dwells within the morrow, Though hidden, may not cease to glow, For though round mortals care may lower, O'er him in heaven it has no power.

A FIG for nonsensical speeches,

For sighing, and dying, and stuff,
Dear girl, 'tis a man that beseeches,
I love you, and that is enough.
To pronounce you a goddess were lying,
To swear you're a charmer is true,
Then why should I vow I am dying,
When I mean to live ages for you.
Your beauty might any heart fetter,

I've mettle enough, as you'll prove,
The less that is said then the better,

For I am for action, my love! When the time and the place are inviting, My love shall your kindness repay, You will not shun danger by slighting, For danger still lies in delay.

THE WEAVERS.

Air "O the Roast Beef of Old England."
COME, ladies and gents, I've a song ready made,
And to hear it, I'm sure you will not be afraid,
For I'll tell you, at once, I'm a weaver by trade.
So we'll sing success to the weavers,
The weavers for ever, huzza!

Some tradespeople always are making a fuss,
But their merits are trifling when talking to us,
And in argument we leave them at a non plus.
So we'll sing success, &c.

Here are goods every day we're exporting by bales,
And in merchandize ours, as an art, never fails,
For each ship leaving port owes the weaver for sails.
So we'll sing success, &c.

The king in his robes may so gracefully stand,
And his nobles about him may look great and grand,
Still they get all their cloth by the work of our hands.
So we'll sing success, &c.

But for us how your soldiers would often repent, When houseless to sleep on their knapsacks they're sent,

But the weaver, you see, gives each soldier his tent. So we'll sing success, &c.

If exhausted you feel, and by Morpheus you're beat, In the heat or the cold a small rest will be sweet, Then think of the weaver's fine blanket and sheet. So we'll sing success, &c.

less,

The ladies are pretty, as all will confess,
And he's stupid or blind, I'm sure, who says
But then to the weavers they're indebted for dress.
So we'll sing success, &c.

Then since we for mankind are sent here to weave, O'er our looms and our shuttles we'll not idly grieve,

But my song is just ended-so I'll take leave. my So we'll sing success, &c.

THE LIGHTERMAN.

Air-" Rum Old Mcg."

COME, all you heroes, that delight To hear of love and var,