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Usually sung to an ancient English melody known by the name of “The Country Garden."

In good King Charles' golden days,

When loyalty no harm meant,
A zealous high churchman I was,

And so I got preferment:
To teach my flocks I never miss'd

Kings are by God appointed,
And damn'd are those that do resist,
Or touch the Lord's anointed.

And this is law I will maintain

Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever king shall reign,

I'll be the Vicar of Bray, sir.

* "The Vicar of Bray, in Berkshire," says D'Israeli, in his Curiosities of Literature, " was a Papist under the reign of Henry the Eighth, and a Protestant under Edward the Sixth. He was a Papist again under Mary, and once more became a Protestant in the reign of Elizabeth. When this scandal to the gown was reproached for his versatility of religious creeds, and taxed for being a turncoat, and an inconstant changeling, as Fuller expresses it, he replied: 'Not so neither; for if I changed my religion, I am sure I kept true to my principle, which is to live and die the Vicar of Bray, "Pendleton, the celebrated Vicar of Bray,” says another statement, which has recently gone the round of the newspapers,

subsequently became rector of St. Stephen's, Walbrook. It is related that in the reign of Edward VI., Lawrence Sanders, the martyr, an honest, but mild and timorous man, stated to Pendleton his fears that he had not strength of mind to endure the persecution of the times, and was answered by Pendleton, that he would see every drop of his fat and the last

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When royal James obtain’d the crown,

And Popery came in fashion,
The penal laws I hooted down,

And read the Declaration :
The Church of Rome I found would fit
Full well


constitution; And had become a Jesuit But for the Revolution.

And this is law, &c.

When William was our King declar'd,

To ease the nation's grievance,
With this new wind about I steer'd,

And swore to him allegiance;
Old principles I did revoke,

Set conscience at a distance;
Passive obedience was a joke,
A jest was non-resistance.

And this is law, &c.

When gracious Anne became our queen,

The Church of England's glory,
Another face of things was seen,

And I became a Tory:
Occasional conformists base,

I damn'd their moderation,
Although the Church in danger was
By such prevarication.

And this is law, &c.

morsel of his flesh consumed to ashes ere he would swerve from the faith then established.' He, however, changed with the times, saved his fat and his flesh, and became rector of St. Stephen's, whilst the mild and diffident Sanders was burnt in Smithfield.”

In a note in Nichols' “Select Poems," 1782, vol. viii. p. 234, it is stated ;-"The Song of the Vicar of Bray is said to have been written by an officer in Colonel Fuller's regiment, in the reign of King George I. It is founded on an historical fact; and although it reflects no great honour on the hero of the poem, is humorously expressive of the complexion of the times, in the successive reigns from Charles II, to George I.”

Extract of a letter from Mr. Brome to Mr. Rawlins, dated June 14, 1735 : I have had a long chase after the Vicar of Bray, on whom the proverb. Mr. Hearne, though born in that neighbourhood, and should have mentioned it (Leland, Itinerary, vol. v. p. 114), knew not who he was, but in his last letter desired me if I found him out to let him know it. Dr. Fuller in his Worthies,' and Mr. Ray from him, takes no notice of him in his *Proverbs. I suppose neither knew his name. But I am informed it is Simon Alleyn or Allen who was Vicar of Bray about 1540, and died 1588, so was Vicar of Bray near fifty years. You now partake of the sport that has cost me some pains to take.”-Letters from the Bodleian, vol. č. part I., p. 100.

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When George in pudding-time came o'er,

And moderate men look'd big, sir,
I turned a cat-in-pan once more,

And so became a Whig, sir.
And thus preferment I procur'd,

From our new faith's defender;
And almost every day abjur'd
The Pope and the Pretender.

And this is law, &c.

Th’ illustrious House of Hanover

And Protestant succession,
To these I do allegiance swear-

While they can keep possession;
For in my faith and loyalty

I never more will falter,
And George my lawful king shall be-
Until the times do alter.

And this is law, &c.


JOHN CUNINGHAM, born A.D. 1728.

SINCE wedlock's in vogue, and stale virgins despis'd,
To all bachelors greeting these lines are premis'd.
I'm a maid that would marry, but where shall I find
(I wish not for fortune) a man to my mind ?

Not the fair-weather fop, fond of fashion and lace ;
Not the squire, that can wake to no joys but the chase;
Not the free-thinking rake, whom no morals can bind ;
Neither this, that, nor t'other's the man to my


Not the ruby-fac'd sot, that topes world without end; Not the drone who can't relish his bottle and friend; Not the fool that's too fond, nor the churl that's unkind; Neither this, that, nor t’other's the man to my mind.

Not the wretch with full bags, without breeding or merit;
Not the flash that's all fury without any spirit;
Not the fine Master Fribble, the scorn of mankind;
Neither this, that, nor t'other's the man to my mind.

But the youth in whom merit and sense may conspire,
Whom the brave must esteem and the fair should admire;
In whose heart love and truth are with honour combin'd;
This—this—and no other's the man to my mind.

This author's poems were printed in 1771, and dedicated to David Garrick. He was the manager of the Newcastle Theatre, and an actor of some repute. The exact year of his death is unknown, but it was prior to 1780.


Poetry and music by HABBY CAREY, 1748.

From the court to the cottage convey me away,
For I'm weary of grandeur and what they call gay;

Where pride without measure,

And pomp without pleasure,
Make life in a circle of hurry decay.


Far remote and retir'd from the noise of the town,
I'll exchange my brocade for a plain russet gown;

My friends shall be few,

But well chosen and true,
And sweet recreation our evenings shall crown.


With a rural repast (a rich banquet for me),
On a mossy green turf, near some shady old tree,

The river's clear brink

Shall afford me my drink,
And temperance my friendly physician shall be.

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Harry Carey was the author of a great number of songs, among others, of "Sally in our Alley,” one of the most popular ever written, but a composition of no'merit, and solely indebted to the beauty of the melody to which it was sung for the extraordinary favour it enjoyed. Its popularity caused several imitations of it to be published, and Carey himself was among the first to set the example. Most of Carey's melodies are exceedingly beautiful.


I'll sing you a good old song,

Made by a good old pate,
Of a fine old English gentleman

Who had an old estate,
And who kept up his old mansion

At a bountiful old rate,
With a good old porter to relieve

The old poor at his gate :
Like a fine old English gentleman

All of the olden time.

His hall so old was hung around

With pikes, and guns, and bows,
And swords, and good old bucklers,

That had stood against old foes;
'Twas there “his worship’ held his state

In doublet and trunk hose,
And quaff'd his cup of good old sack,
To warm his good old nose :

Like a fine, &c.

When winter's cold brought frost and snow,

He open'd house to all ;
And though threescore and ten his years,

He featly led the ball :
Nor was the houseless wanderer

E’er driven from his hall;
For while he feasted all the great,
He ne'er forgot the small:

Like a fine, &c.

But time, though sweet, is strong in flight,

And years roll swiftly by ;
And autumn's falling leaves proclaim'd,

The old man he must die!
He laid him down right tranquilly,


life's latest sigh;
And mournful stillness reign'd around,
And tears bedew'd each eye

For this good, &c.

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