Vivace.

THE MAID OF THE GREEN, PRETTY SALLY.
The Words by Upton; the Music by Hook.

I've tra-vell'd a- far from my dear na-tive home, And seen love-ly wo-men past tell-ing; In

of the green, The maid of the green, The maid of the green, pretty Sal - ly

When en beset by this beauty and that,

My tongue in their praise never falter'd;
With each one I prattled, and bumour'd their chat,
But still my fond heart never alter'd.

No, no! for, in whatever climate or place
I chanc'd when a rover to dally,

I saw in my fancy the beautiful face
Of Sally, my sweet pretty Sally,

The maid of the green, pretty Sally.

And ever shall she be the pride of my song,
Whose constancy nothing could sever;
For, though far away from my charmer too long,
Her love was as faithful as ever

Then come to my bosom, thou malden divine!
A passion so true who can rally?

For thee I can splendour and riches resign-
For Sally, my sweet pretty Sally,
The maid of the green, pretty Sally!

Andantino.

THE WREATH YOU WOVE.

The Poetry by Thomas Moore; the Music by Michael Kelly.

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove, Is fair, but oh! how fair, Is fair, but

ATTUNE THE PIPE, ATTUNE THE GLADSOME LAY.
Composed by Pleyel.
Largnetto.

THE LAND IN THE OCEAN.

The Words by Thomas Dibdin; the Music by T. Attwood.

ho there! Stands an is-land sur-pass-ing all o-thers by far: If you doubt it, you've

Pull away! pull a-way! pull away! pull, I say-As the snug bit of land in the o-cean. From the opposite shore puff'd with arrogant pride, Adam Duncan came next,-'twas in autumn, you Pull away! pull away, so clever, Pull away, pull away, so jolly- [knowThey've oft swore as how they would come alongside, That he made big Mynheer strike his flag to a foe And destroy the poor island for ever; 'Gainst whom all resistance was folly! [dunce, But Britannia is made of such durable stuff, And they sent, as you know, if you're not quite a And so tightly she's rigg'd, I've a notion, But a sad story home, I've a notion; She'd soon give the saucy invaders enoughPull away, pull away, pull away, pull, I sayIf they touch'd at the land in the ocean. There was Howe, ever bold in that glorious causePull away, pull away so stout, boys! Who gain'd on the first day of June such applause, And Mounseer he put to the rout, boys. The next was St. Vincent, who kick'd up a dust, As the Spaniards can tell, I've a notion; [must.' For they swore not to strike; says he, 'Damme, you Pull away, pull away, pull away, pull, I say, To the lads of the land in the ocean.

So Duncan he beat a whole winter at once-
Pull away, pull away, pull away, pull, I say,-
What d'ye think of the land in the ocean?
Now the Frenchmen again have come in for their
Pull away, pull away, so hearty,- [share-
For Nelson has set all the world in a stare,
And land-lock'd e'en the great Bonaparte;
And we'd beat them again, should their stomachs in-
But they're all pretty sick, I've a notion; [cline,
Then may Victory's sword to the olive resign-
Pull away, pull away, pull away, pull, I say,
And Peace crown the land in the ocean.

Glo's-tershire; And as for this world, or the world that's to come, For to puz-zle bisnod-de’twas

never the ne'ar, For he never was known to set foot in a church, Till the

day he

took Dorothy there for

a wife; And says John, 'By the Lord, 1 was

never before In a place like

a church all the days of my life,'-Tol lol de rol,

lol de rol, lol lol lol de rol,
'For there I look'd up, and zeed nine or ten fellows,
A zinging as loud as their lungs cou'd clink;
So, thinking that I was got into an ale-house,
I look'd up and ax'd, if they'd nothing to drink,
When up come a man, and he pull'd off my hat,
And he told me no drink was allow'd in the place:
I thought that for zartain he must be the landlord,
Or else I'd have fech'd him a punch in the face.
'Howsomdever, I fancied 'twas never the ne'ar
For to kick up a dust, and to frighten the bride;
So I went further in for to look at the place,
And, lord! what a comical zight I espy'd!
There was men-folk and women-folk penn'd up to-
gether,

Like so many wethers and ewes at a fair;
Besides a long booby-hutch built up for holding
The whole corporation justases and mayor.
'Then up got a little man into a tub,

And he look'd just as tho'f he'd been roll'd in the dirt,
For you cou'd not suppose he cou'd be very clean,
When he'd got nothing on but a long black shirt,
Excepting a little white slobbering bib,
Tuck'd under his chin, and slit in two ;-
To be perch'd in a tub, and to wear a black shirt,
I was puzzl'd to think what a plague he cou'd do.

'For while he did turn up the whites of his eyes,
And for mercy upon us did heartily pray,

Another below, that sat in a chest,

Was mocking of every word he did say ;

Tol de rol lol de rol lol de rol lol.
And when he had fairly tired him out,
To the very last word, to do nothing by halves,
I verily thought he was going to fight,
For he stood up and call'd for a couple of staves!
'But the little man, tho'f he had a black shirt on,
Whipp'd over'n another as white as a clout;
And then in a twink, with a twist of his fist,
He set open the tub, and he let himself out:
Upon which he took hold of a poor little babe,
And as tho'f he had got neither shame nor grace,
He dipp'd his fingers into a trough,
And splash'd the cold water all over its face!
'To be sure I thought 'twas a shameful thing
To serve a poor babe such a woundy trick;
For tho'f he did squeak like a pig that is stuck,
They did mind him no more than a goosemunchick.
Odsbobs and I thought if the meggot shou'd bite,
And they wanted to make but a child of a man,
Who cou'd tell but in turn, such a baby as I
Might be sous'd in the trough like a sop in a pan.
'So I took to my heels, and I scamper'd away,
Like a lusty fellow, for sure and sure;
And swore in my throat if they ever catch'd I,
O' the inside of a church door any more,
They shou'd plump me up to the eare in the hog-
trough,

Just like a toast in a tankard then,

And souse me and sop me, and sop me and souse me,
A hundred times over and over again.'

TAM GLEN.

The Poetry by Burns; the Music as sung by Mr. Wilson.

wal-low,

MACLAINE.

The Poetry and Music by Miss Ross.

-ners are waving o'er Mor-ven's dark heath, Clay-mores are flash-ing from