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tell them why I sit till morn, And fill my glass a-gain, And fill my glass a-gain.

'Tis by the glow my bumper gives,

Life's picture 's mellow made;

The fading light then brightly lives,
And softly sinks the shade.

Some happier tint still rises there,
With every drop I drain,

And that I think 's a reason fair

To fill my glass again.

My Muse, too, when her wings are dry
No frolic flights will take,
But round the bowl she'll dip and fly,
Like swallows round a lake.

Then, if each nymph will have her share,
Before she'll bless her swain,

Why, that I think 's a reason fair-
To fill my glass again.

In life, I've rung all changes through,
Run ev'ry pleasure down,
'Mid each extreme of folly, too,
And liv'd with half the town:

For me, there's nothing new nor rare,
Till wine deceives my brain,
And that I think 's a reason fair—

To fill my glass again.
There's many a lad I knew is dead,
And many a lass grown old,
And, as the lesson strikes my head,
My weary heart grows cold:
But wine awhile drives off despair,-
Nay, bids a hope remain ;-
Why, that I think 's a reason fair-
To fill my glass again.

I find, too, when I stint my glass,
And sit with sober air,

I'm pros'd by some dull reasoning ass,
Who treads the path of care;

Or, harder still, am doom'd to bear
Some coxcomb's fribbling strain,
And that I'm sure's a reason fair-
To fill my glass again.

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mem-ber me at early day, Ór when the ev-ning sha-dows haste, Or

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when the ev' - ning shadows haste. When high the pensive moon ap-pears, And night, with

all her star-ry train, Gives rest to human hopes and fears, Gives rest to human

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O! SWIFT WE GO.

The Poetry by J. T. Fields; the Music by Joseph Philip Knight.

Allegro sprito..

O! swift we go o'er the flee-cy snow, When moon-beams spar - kle

round; When

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bound, As

mer-ri- ly on we bound. As merrily on we

With a laugh and song we glide along,

Across the fleeting snow;

With friends beside, how swift we ride
On the beautiful track below!

O! the raging sea has joy for me,

When gale and tempest roar;
But give me the speed of a foaming steed,
And I'll ask for waves no more.
O swift we go, &c.

THE FRIEND OF MY HEART.

The Words by M. P. Andrews; the Music by Miss Abrams.

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friend of my heart, If the friend of my heart, must par-take of them too.

Had fate from its bounty propitiously lent
Enough but to furnish the cot with content,
The dictates of love in that cot I'd pursue,

For the friend of my heart would partake of it too.

But Nancy, with naught but her truth to endear,
With nothing to give to distress but a tear,
Can ne'er look for comfort, with ruin in view,
And the friend of her heart to partake of it too.

Moderato.

WHA WADNA FECHT FOR CHARLIE.
A Jacobite Song.

Wha wad - na fecht for Charlie? Wha wad - na draw the sword? Wha wad - na

up and ral-ly At the roy-al prince's word? Think on Sco-tia's an-cient he-roes; Think on

foreign foes re-pell'd; Think on glorious Bruce and Wallace, Who the proud u

surp -ers quell'd! Wha wad na fecht for Charlie? Wha wad - na draw the sword?

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Vivace.

Wha wadna, &c.

~~

the royal prince's word?
See the northern clans advancing!
See Glengarry and Lochiel!

See the brandish'd broadswords glancing!
Highland hearts are true as steel!
Now our prince has rais'd his banner;
Now triumphant is our cause;
Now the Scottish lion rallies,—

Let us strike for prince and laws.
Wha wadna, &c.

THE DE'IL'S AWA WI' TH'EXCISEMAN.
The Poetry by Burns; the Music as sung by Mr. Wilson,

The de'il cam fiddlin' through the toun, And danc'd a-wa' wi' th' ex-cise - man;

And ilka wife cries-Auld Ma-houn, I wish you luck o' the prize, man! The

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danc'd a wa', he's danc'd a wa', He's danc'd a wa' wi' th'ex - cise

· man.

We'll mak our maut, we'll brew our drink,

We'll dance, sing, and rejoice, man! And mony braw thanks to the meikle black de'il, That danc'd awa' wi' th' exciseman.

The de'il's awa', &c.

There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels,
There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man;
But the ae best dance e'er cam' to the land,
Was, 'The de'il's awa' wi' th' exciseman.'
The de'il's awa', &c.

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throbs, throbs; Yet his heart with soft e-motion throbs to leave his love be- hind, - - To Fine.

leave his love be - hind

To leave, to leave his fove behind.

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fears paint ev'ry dan - ger In a ri-val left at home.

SALLY PELL.

The Music tv Charles E Horn.

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bash-ful and shy: Pa - pa he was in haste, That of mar-riage I should taste; For the

mat-ter of that-so was I, so was I,-For the matter of that-so was I.

So I thought with Sally Pell, Who was then a village belle, My fortune in wedlock to try.

O, 'Will you be my bride?'
'I am ready, sir,' she cried;
Says I, 'Sweet Sally-so am I.'

But, for want of children, we
Never had a family,

For which Mrs. L. she would sigh:
So she took a little school,
And to follow such a rule,
For the matter of that-so did I.

But, alas! one rainy day,

She talk'd her breath away,

And, when the breath is out, one must die. 'Tis pity-yet 'tis true,

Yet just the same must you; and,
For the matter of that-so must I.
The defunct Mistress L.,
As the tombstone will tell,
Now rests for a time-quietly;
And ever since the cough
That took my poor wife off,
For the matter of that-so have I.

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