The American songster; or, Federal museum of melody & wit. In four parts. : Containing a collection of much admired songs, selected from the writings of various English and American authors.

2009-04

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THE American Songster; OR, Federal Museum of Melody & Wit. IN FOUR PARTS. CONTAINING A COLLECTION OF MUCH ADMIRED SONGS, Selected from the writings of various English and American authors.

BALTIMORE: Printed and Sold by WARNER & HANNA, No. 2, North Gay-Street, 1799.

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THE American Songster. IN FOUR PARTS.

PART. I. American Patriotic Songs.

SONG.

COME, hail the day, ye sons of mirth,
Which gave your native country birth,
All hail th' important hour:
Let admiration mark the day
When Fathers to their sons did say,
Be free, till time's no more!

Columbia's sons have rear'd a tree,
The root, the branch, are liberty,
E
 [...]panding far and wide:
Refulgent years, have roll'd away,
Since Freedom blest America—
Like those, two thousand glide.

When time releas'd GEORGE WASHINGTON,
Not from affections he had won,
But from the height of care:

[Page 4]He left the reins of government,
To his successor's management,
Quite tir'd with noise and war.

O guide, ye gods, this rev'rend sage,
Until he's down the steep of age,
Then sooth his cares to rest:
Yet, may his virtues live again,
To vindicate the Rights of Man,
Of which we are possess'd.

JOHN ADAMS, with a finish'd mind,
Columbia's chosen son, inclin'd
To take th' important chair;
The hero takes the reins, and guides
America, 'gainst winds and tides,
To shun degrading war.

But, if to war's terriffic sound,
We must devote fair freedom's ground,
To stain with blood its soil:
Then ROUSE, Americans, and show.
That you can wealth, or life bestow,
Ere FREEDOM meets a foil.

Should Europe's factions once attempt,
T' annihilate our government,
Or tread upon our shore:
Burgoyn'd, Cornwallis'd, they would be,

[Page 5]Or Arnold like, this country flee,
Or fall, to rise no more.

Then hail the day, ye sons of mirth,
Which gave your native country birth
All hail th' important hour:
Let admiration mark the day,
When fathers to their sons did say,
Be free, till time's no more.

SONG. HAIL COLUMBIA. TUNE—PRESIDENT'S MARCH.

HAIL Columbia, happy land,
Hail ye Heroes—Heaven-born band,
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
And when the storm of war was gone,
Enjoy'd the peace your valor 
 [...].
Let independence be our boo
 [...]
Ever mindful what it cost;
Ever greatful for the prize,
Let its altar reach the skies.
Firm—united—let us be,
Rallying round our Libert
 [...]

[Page 6]As a band of brothers join'd,
Peace and safety we shall find.

Immortal Patriots, rise once more,
Defend your rights, defend your shore;
Let no rude foe with impious hand,
Let no rude foe with impious hand,
Inva
 [...]e the shrine where sacred lies
Of 
 [...]oil and blood the well earn'd prize.
While offering peace sincere and just,
In Heaven we place a manly trust,
That truth and justice will prevail,
And every scheme of bondage fail,
FIRM—UNITED, &c.

Sound, sound the trump of fame,
Let WASHINGTON's great name,
Ring thro' the world with loud applause,
Ring thro' the world with loud applause,
Let every clime to Feeedom, dear,
Listen with a joyful ear,
With equal skill and God-like power,
He governs in the fearful hour,

 [...]at 
 [...]orrid war, or guides with ease
Th
 [...] happier times of honest peace,
FIRM—UNITED, &c.

Behold the CHIEF who now commands,
Once more to serve his country stands—

[Page 7]The Rock on which the storm will beat,
The Rock on which the storm will beat,
But arm'd with virtue, firm and true
His hopes are fix'd on Heaven and YOU.
When hope was sinking in dismay,
An
 [...] glooms obscur'd Columbia's day,
His steady mind from changes free,
Resolv'd on Death or liberty.
Firm—united—let us be,
Rallying round our liberty:
As a band of brothers join'd,
Peace and safety we shall find.

SONG. Tune—RULE BRITANIA.

WHEN Britain with dispotic sway,
Would at her feet our freedom lay,
Would at, &c.
We rais'd the Standard—to arms, to arms, we cry'd,
Our patriots fought—they bled, they di'd.
Independent Columbians, they would be,
Resolved to perish, or be free.

Great WASHINGTON did then command;
He led the bold heroic band,
He led, &c.

[Page 8]They fought and conquer'd—Columbia's Sons were free,
Resolv'd on death or liberty.
Independent Columbians they would be,
Resolv'd to perish or be free.

When France her struggle first began
For liberty, the rights of man,
For liberty, &c.
Glowing with ardor—with ardor in her cause,
We scorn'd that Kings should give her laws.
Independent — may Gallia still be free
They fought at first for liberty.

But France, you now forget your friend,
Our amity is at an end,
Our amity, &c.
You rob our commerce, insult us on our coast,
Divide and conquer, is your boast.
Know proud Frenchmen, united we will be,
Resolv'd to perish or be free.

Shall we to France a tribute pay,
Or at her feet our freedom lay,
Or at, &c.
Forbid it Heav'n Columbia's freemen cry,
We will be free or nobly die.
Know proud Frenchmen united we will be,
Resolv'd on death or liberty.

[Page 9]
United then with heart and hand,
Our constitution firm shall stand,
Our constitution, &c.
Then raise the standard, let this your motto be,
Our fathers fought, and so will we.
Hail Columbians, united we will be,
Like them we'll conquer and be free.

SONG.

TO Columbia, who, gladly reclin'd at her ease,
On Atlantic's broad bosom lay smiling in peace,
Minerva flew hastily, sent from above,
And address'd her this message from thundering Jove:
"Rouse, quickly awake,
"For your freedom's at stake,
"Storms arise, your renown'd independence to shake;
"Then lose not a moment, my aid I will lend,
"If your sons will assemble your rights to de­fend,"

Rous'd Columbia rose up, and indignant declar'd,
That no nation she'd wrong'd, and no nation she fear'd,

[Page 10]That she wish'd not for war, but if war was her fate,
She could meet it with souls independent and great;
Then tell mighty Jove,
That we quickly will prove,
We'll de
 [...]erve the protection he'll send from above,
For ne'er shall the sons of America bend,
But united, their rights and their freedom de­fend.

Minerva smil'd cheerfully as she withdrew,
Enraptur'
 [...] to find her Americans true;
"For (sai
 [...] she) op
 [...]sly Mercury oft-times re­ports
"That your sons are divided"—Columbia re­torts:
Tell that vile god of thieves
His report out deceives,
And we care not what madman such nonsense believes.
For ne'er shall the sons of America bend,
But united, their rights and their freedom defend.

Jove rejoic'd in Columbians this union to see,
And swore by old Styx they deserv'd to be free;
Then assembled the gods, and to all gave consent,
Their assistance if needful in war to present;

[Page 11]Mars arose, and shook his armour,
And swore, his old farmer
Should ne'er in his country see ought that could harm her;
For ne'er should the sons of America bend,
But united, their rights and their freedom defend.

Minerva resolv'd that her Aegis she'd lend;
Had Apollo declar'd he their cause would be­friend;
Old Vulcan an armor would forge for their aid,
More firm than the one for Achillies he made;
Then said he I'll prepare,
A compound most rare,
Of courage and union each a full share.
That ne'er can the sons of America bend,
But their rights and their freedom most firmly defend.
Ye sons of Columbia then join hand in hand:
Divided we fall, but united we stand;
'Tis ours to determine, 'tis ours to decree,
That in peace we live independent and free.
And should from afar,
Break the horrors of war,
We'll always be ready at once to declare,
That ne'er will the sons of America bend,
But united, their rights and their freedom defend.

[Page 12]

SONG. AMERICA, COMMERCE AND FREEDOM.

HOW blest the life a sailor leads.
From clime to clime still ranging,
For as the calm the storm succeeds,
The seene delights by changing.
Tho' tempest howl along the main,
Some objects will remind us,
And cheer with hope to meet again
The friends we left behind us.
Then under full sail we laugh at the gale,
And the landsmen look pale, never heed them;
But toss off a glass to a favorite lass.
To America, Commerce, and Freedom,

But when arriv'd in sight of land,
Or safe in port rejoicing,
Our ship we moor, our sails we hand,
Whilst out the boat is hoisting;
With chearful hearts, the shore we reach,
Our friends delighted greet us,
And tripping lightly o'er the beach,
The pretty lasses meet us.
When the full flowing bowl enlivens the soul,
To foot it we merrily lead them,

[Page 13]And each bonny lass will drink of her glass.
To America, Commerce and Freedom.

Our prizes sold, the chink we share,
And gladly we receive it,
And when we meet a brother Tar,
That wants, we freely give it:
No free-born sailor yet had store,
But chearfully would lend it,
And when it's gone—to sea for more,
We earn it but to spend it.
Then drink round my boys, 'tis the first of our joys,
To relieve the distress'd, clothe and feed them,
'Tis a duty we share with the brave and the fair,
In this land of Commerce and Freedom.

SONG.

YE Sons of Columbia, unite in the cause
Of Liberty, Justice, Religion and Laws,
Should foes then invade us, to battle we'll hie,
For the God of our fathers will be our ALLY.
Should Frenchmen advance, tho' Europe join France,
Designing our conquest and plunder,

[Page 14]United and free, we ever will be,
And our cannon shall tell them in thunder,
That foes to our freedom we'll ever defy,
'Till the continent sinks, and the ocean is dry.

When Britain assail'd us, undaunted we stood,
Defended the land we had purchased with blood,
Our liberty won, and it shall be our boast,
If the old world united should menace our coast,
Should millions invade, in terror array'd,
And bid us our freedom surrender,
Our country they'd find, with bayonets lin'd,
And WASHINGTON here to defend her,
For foes to our freedom, &c.

We are anxious that peace may continue her reign,
We cherish the virtues which sport in her train,
Our hearts ever melt when the fatherless sigh,
And we shiver at horror's funeral cry;
But still tho' we prize that child of the skies,
We'll never like slaves be accosted,
In a war of defence, our means are immense,
And we'll fight till our all is exhausted,
For foes to our freedom, &c.

The Eagle of freedom with rapture behold
O'er shadow our land with his plumage of gold;

[Page 15]The flood gates of glory are open'd on high,
And WARREN and MERCER descend from the sky,
They come from above with a message of love,
They bid us be firm and decided,
At liberty's call, unite one and all,
For you conquer unless your divided.
UNITE, and the foes of your freedom, &c.

Americans, seek no occasion for war!
The rude deeds or rapine still ever abhor,
But, if in defence of your rights you should arm,
Let no toils discourage, no danger alarm;
For foes to your peace will ever increase,
If freedom and fame you should barter,
Let those rights be yours, while creation endures,
For OMNIPOTENCE gave you the CHARTER.
Then foes to our freedom, &c.

SONG.

GOD save the United States,
Free from the worst of fates;
Vile Gallic sway,
May they forever be,
Just, Independent, free,
L
 [...]erty's nursery,
Without dismay.

[Page 16]
O God, great Adams save,
The firm, the good, the brave,
Who now commands,
May every enemy,
Far from his presence flee,
And be dire anarchy,
Crush'd by his hands.

Save too great WASHINGTON,
Columbia's dearest son,
To be our shield.
When war's renew'd alarms,
Shall call again to arms,
And threat'ning danger warns
Us to the field.

"O Lord, our God arise;
"Scatter our enemies,
"And make them fall,
"Confound their politics,
"Frustrate their knavish tricks,
"On thee our hopes are fix'd,
"O save us all."

Let all with one consent;
Unite with government;
Our rights to guard,
May jarring discord cease,
Our social joys encrease,

[Page 17]And smiling Heaven born peace
Be our reward.

SONG. Tune—VICAR OF BRAY.

FROM th' soil our fathers dearly bought,
No foe their sons shall sever;
The laws for which our heroes fought,
Shall guard their rights forever.
When foes invade with heart and hand,
We'll croud the field of action;
From Gallic weeds, we'll purge our land,
And crush the reptile faction.

Ere Jacobins shall lord it here,
Or we for Frenchmen labor,
The pruning hook shall dart, a SPEAR,
The ploughshare glow, a SABRE!
When foes, &c.

Let Gallia's pirates cross the waves,
To ask a contribution;
On land, we'll point them to their graves,
By Sea, the CONSTELLATION.
When foes, &c.

[Page 18]
Our swains shall quit their lover's arms,
And WASHINGTON shall lead 'em;
The husband leave domestic charms,
And know no friend, but Freedom.
When foes, &c.

The free-born child, the tender wife,
Shall brave each sad disaster:
The wolf's dread yell, the savage knife;
But spurn a Ga
 [...]lic master.
When foes invade, Columbia's friends
Shall croud the field of action,
Back to the waves repel the fiends,
That sow the seeds of faction.

SONG.

COLUMBIA's Bald Eagle displays in his Claws,
The arrows of Jove, to confound her proud foes;
While the artful French bear, with his wide spreading paws,
Would ensnare us by hugs far more fatal than blows.

[Page 19]But his hugs and his blows we will meet them like men,
And the Eagle shall drive the beast back to his den.

The terrible bear, not yet sated with blood,
Growls around his huge den, o'er the bones of his prey;
Tho' now gorg'd to the full, he still howls for more food,
And would lure by his tricks fair Columbia away.
But his tricks and his howls we despise them like men,
And the Eagle shall drive the beast back to his den.

Not a Frog e'er shall bribe him to stay his rude shocks,
For the Eagle disdain, to retreat from his ire:
We will marshal our columns as solid as rocks,
And receive the proud Frenchmen in vollies of fire,
Like true sons of Columbia, we will act still like men.
And her Eagle shall drive the Bear back to his den.

[Page 20]

SONG. TRUXTON's VICTORY.

WHEN freedom, fair freedom her banner dis­play'd,
Defying each foe whom her rights would invade,
Columbia's brave sons swore those rights to maintain,
And o'er ocean and earth to establish her reign.
United they cry,
While that standard shall fly,
Resolv'd, firm and steady.
We always are ready
To fight and to conquer, to conquer or die.

Tho' GALLIA through Europe has rush'd like a flood,
And delug'd the earth with an ocean of blood;
While by FACTION she's led, while she's go­vern'd by KNAVES,
We court not her smiles, and will ne'er be her slaves:
Her threats we defy,
While your standard shall fly;
Resolv'd firm and steady,
We always are ready
To fight and to conquer, to conquer or die.

[Page 21]
Tho' France with caprice dares our statesmen upbraid,
A tribute demands, or sets bounds to our trade;
From our young rising NAVY our thunders shall roar,
And our Commerce extend to the earth's utmost shore.
Our cannon we'll ply,
While our standard shall fly;
Resolv'd firm and steady,
We always are ready
To fight and to conquer, to conquer or die.

To know we're resolv'd, let them think on the hour,
When TRUXTON, brave TRUXTON, off Nevis's shore,
His ship mann'd for battle, the standard unfurl'd,
And at the Insurgent defiance he hurl'd:
And his val
 [...]ant Tars cry,
While our standard shall fly.
Resolv'd, firm and stea
 [...]y
To fight and to conquer, to conquer or die.

Each heart beat exulting, inspir'd by the cause;
They fought for their country, their freedom, and laws:

[Page 22]From their cannon loud vollies of vengance they pour'd,
And the standard of France to COLUMBIA was lower'd.
Huzza! they now cry,
Let the Eagle wave high;
Resolv'd, firm and steady,
We always are ready
To fight and to conquer, to conquer or die.

Then raise high the strain, pay the tribute that's due.
To the fair CONSTELLATION, and all her brave CREW:
Be TRUXTON rever'd, and his name be enroll'd
'Mongst the Chiefs of the Ocean, the Heroes of old.
Each invader defy,
While such Heroes are nigh,
Who always are ready,
Resolv'd, firm and steady,
To fight and to conquer, to conquer or die.

SONG. Tune—RULE BRITANIA.

WHEN our great Sires this land explor'd,
A shelter from Tyrannie wrong!

[Page 23]Led on by Heav'ns Almighty Lord,
They sung—and acted well the song▪
Rise united! dare be freed!
Our sons shall vindicate the deed.

In vain the region they would gain,
Was distant, dreary, undisclosed,
In vain th' Atlantic roar'd between,
And hosts of savages oppos'd,
They rush'd undaunted heav'n decreed
Their sons should vindicate the deed.

'Twas freedom, led the vet'rans forth,
And manly fortitude to bear,
They toil'd, they vanquish'd! such high worth
Is always heav'ns peculiar care,
Their great example still inspires,
Nor dare we act beneath our Sires.

'Tis ours undaunted to defend,
The dear bought, rich inheritance:
And spite of each invading hand,
Well fight, bleed, die! in its defence,
Pursue our father's path to fame,
And emulate their glorious flame.

As the proud oak inglorious stands,
'Till storms, and thunder root it fast,

[Page 24]So flood our new, unpractic'd bands,
'Till Britain roar'd her stormy blast:
Then her they vanquish'd, fierce led on
By freedom and great Washington.

Hail, godlike hero! born to save!
Ne'er shall thy deathless laurels fade,
But on thy brow, eternal wave,
And consecrate blest Vernon's shade,
Thy spreading glories still increase,
'Till earth, and time, and nature cease.

Oh! may that spirit on thee shed,
Columbia's truest, noblest friend!
On thy successor's honor'd head,
In copious, double, showers descend!
This charge to Adams be consigned,
Be thou the second of mankind.

So when Elijah, call'd to heav'n,
Up in the flaming chariot rode,
Elisha took the mantle giv'n,
And rose a prophet— or a god!
Then shout great Adams! freedom's son!
Immortal her of Washington.

[Page 25]

SONG. COLUMBIA's GLORY. Tune.—A TRIP TO HARFORD.

COLUMBIA's greatest glory
Is her lov'd chief—fair freedom's friend,
Whose fame renown'd in story,
Shall last till time itself shall end:
Ye muses bring
Your harps and sing,
Sweet lays that in smooth numbers run;
In praise of our lov'd hero,
The great, the godlike WASHINGTON.

His fame through future ages,
Columbia's free-born sons shall raise;
The theme all hearts engages,
All tongues shall join to sing his praise.
With joy sound forth
His virtuous worth,
And tell the glorious acts he's done:
Of all mankind the greatest,
Is our beloved WASHINGTON.

And oh! thou Great Creator
Who form'd his youth, protect his age;

[Page 26]Until in course of nature,
Thou call'st him from this earthly stage.
Then power above,
Enthron'd in love,
Who wast before this world begun;
Receive into thy bosom,
Our VIRTUOUS HERO WASHINGTON.

SONG. Tune.—CEASE RUDY BOREAS.

WHILE o'er Europe's fairest regions,
Once with peace and plenty crown'd,
France sends forth her bloody legions,
Spreading desolation round;
Think, Columbians, how that nation,
All their wicked schemes employ,
'Gainst your wise administration,
That they may your peace destroy.

Think how Frenchmen, most perfidious,
With the hearts of hellish fiends,
Wore the friendly mask insidious,
'Till they gain'd their wicked ends,
How they sent their armies savage,
Urg'd by lust and thirst of gold,

[Page 27]Every peaceful state to ravage,
Murd'ring both the young and old.

Then remember, brother freemen,
How these French have us abus'd,
Destroy'd our commerce, chain'd our seamen,
Our messengers of peace refus'd.
Remember too, they boast insulting,
They've here a party at command,
Of Jacobins, who're now consulting
To bring French armies to our land.

Vile Talleyrand too is demanding,
That we shall meanly purchase peace,
Or he de
 [...]lares, in threats commanding,
Our independence soon shall cease,
We strove for reconciliation,
With all the ardor of a friend.
But all in vain, that artful nation,
Still on our Jacobins depe
 [...]

Urg'd by treatment so degrading.
Virtuous sons of freedom rise;
Prove to every foe invading,
You'll support the rights you prize.
Your country now your aid requiring,
To Columbia's standard run,
Liberty your hearts inspiring,
Led by godlike WASHINGTON.

[Page 28]
WASHINGTON, who march'd before ye,
Fighting for your freedom dear,
See him old in years and glory,
Again to guard your rights appear.
When he presided o'er the nation,
Every virtuous man's delight,
Through his whole administration,
He maintain'd Columbia's right.

Virtuous Adams now presiding,
Treads the steps of Washington,
All his hopes in heav'n confiding,
And in fam'd Columbia's sons.
Tho' the venal French oppose him,
Soon we'll let their tyrants see,
That Columbians who have chose him,
Will defend their liberty.

Freemen listen with attention,
To your country's sacred call,
Banish ev'ry foul dissention,
Be a BAND OF BROTHERS all.
Would we have our country righted,
And secure from foreign foes,
We must firmly be united,
And the Jacobins oppose.

When you see the French ships pouring,
Brutal armies on our shore;

[Page 29]See your sisters, wives imploring,
Babes and parents stretched in gore.
Too late in fruitless lamentation,
You'll curse the authors of your woes;
The vile adherents of a nation,
Who to God and man are foes.

SONG. Tune.—HAIL COLUMBIA.

Sainted shades, who dar'd to brave,
In Freedom's ark, the pathless wave,
Where, scarcely kenn'd by lynx eyed fame,
No TRAV'LLER, but the COMET came,
And, landing on our wilds at last,
Endur'd the tempest's ravening blast,
How rose your FAITH, when thro' the storm
Smil'd LIBERTY' celestial form,
Her lyre to strains of seraphs strung,
And thus the sacred paean sung!

CHORUS.
Sons of Glory, patriot band,
Welcome to my chosen land!
To your Children leave it free,
OR A DESERT LET IT BE!

[Page 30]
Round the consecrated ROCK,
Conven'd the patriarchal flock,
And there, while every lifted hand
Affirm'd the charter of the land,
The storm was hush'd and the zone
Of heaven the MYSTIC METEOR shone;
Which, like the RAINBOW seen of yore,
Proclaim'd that SLAVERY'S FLOOD was o'er;
That pilgrim man, so long oppress'd,
Had found his promis'd PLACE OF REST.

CHORUS.
Sons of glory, patriot band,
Swear to guard this chosen land!
To your Children leave it free,
OR A DESERT LET IT BE!

Festive honors crown the day,
With garland green, and votive lay,
From whose auspicious dawn we trace
The BIRTH-RIGHT of our favor'd race,
Which shall descend from sire to son,
While seasons roll, and rivers run,
Secur'd by CARVER's civic skill,
The sword of STANDISH guards it still.
For empire's wheels an ADAMS guides,
And WASHINGTON in arms presides—

CHORUS,
Sons of glory, patriot band,
Swear to guard your native land!

[Page 31]To your Children leave it free.
OR A DESERT LET IT BE!

Heirs of Pilgrims, now renew
The oath your fathers swore for you,
When first around the social board,
Enrich
 [...]d from Nature's frugal hoard,
The ardent vow to heaven they breath'd
To shield the rights theirs sires bequeath'd!
Let FACTION from your realm be hurl'd;—
United, you defy the world;
And, as a TRIBUTE, scorn to yield
This worm, that blights your blossom'd field!

CHORUS.
Sons of glory, patriot band,
Swear to guard your native land!
To your Children leave it free,
OR A DESERT LET IT BE!

SONG. COMMON SENSE. Tune,—"GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME."

OH why should weak deluded man,
So long continue blind, sir?

[Page 32]Why should he raise a fancied form,
To impose upon his mind, sir?
When all appear of equal worth
Before the eye of Heaven;
Why should he i
 [...]ly dread that power,
Which he himself has given.

Why should he tamely bow to those
Who class him with the swine, sir?
Who bid him eat his bitter bread,
Nor offer to repine, sir?
Who dare alas, with shameless front;
Assert that twould do good, sir;
If e'er he murmur forth his wrongs,
To silence them with blood, sir.

Why should the gewgaw tricks of state,
Impose upon his reason?
Such toys and play-things are but fit
For childhood's simple season.
The jewels sparkling on the breast,
A child's regard may win, sir,
The manly mind looks not for these
But asks the gem within, sir.

MAN wants no ornament of state,
No trick to make him greater,

[Page 33]The Pompous vestments but deface
The image of his Maker;
The simple garb and plain attire
The 
 [...]onest heart best suit, sir,
For VIRTUE only makes the MAN
Superior to the BRUTE, sir.

SONG. FLY YE TRAITORS.

FLY ye traitors from our land,
Fly ye Jacobinic band,
Who join the French and aid their cause;
Who join the French and aid their cause;
And should the storm of war come on,
No doubt you'
 [...] to their standard run
The independence which we boast,
By your vile arts was nearly lost;
Each true Columbian will despise
The traitors who the Frenchmen prize.
All their arts employ'd we see
To destroy our liberty,
Like a band of rascals join'd
May they be to h—ll consign'd.

[Page 34]
Ye democrats who strove once more
To make rude foes attack our shore,
Invited o'er the impious band,
Invited o'er the impious band,
Encourag'd by your artful lies
To wrest from us the rights we prize;
While ye oppose each measure just,
The French in you place all their trust,
That through your influence they'll prevail,
But all their wicked schemes shall fail.
All their arts, &c.

May public infamy and shame
Forever brand the traitor's name,
Who boasted he should not oppose
The French, should they come here as foes:
While they protect his interest dear,
He turns to them a joyful ear.
With matchless skill he makes his power
Assist his interest every hour;
For while he gain, his heart's at ease;
Tho' he destroys his country's peace.
All his arts, &c.

While those who league with Talleyrand;
Once more to cheat our country stand;
Ye Democrats on you they call,
Ye Democrats on you they call,
For all the Jacobinic crew

[Page 35]Their hopes had fix'd on hell and you;
But now o'erwhelm'd with dire dismay,
Their schemes expos'd in open day,
From vile French influence we'll be free,
Nor dread destructive annarchy.
Tho' all their arts employ'd should be
To introduce vile anarchy,
The band of rascals soon shall find,
Their names to infamy consign'd.

[Page]

PART II. Irish Patriotic Songs.

SONG. ERIN GO BRAH! TUNE.—SAVOURNA DEILISH.

GREEN were the fields where my forefathers dwelt, O;
"Erin ma vorneen! slan leat go brah! 


*
Although our farm it was small, yet comforts we felt O.
"Erin ma vorneen! slan leat go brah!
At length came the day when our lease did ex­pire,

[Page 38]And fain would I live where before liv'd my sire;
But, ah! well-a-day! I was forced to retire,
"Erin ma vorneen! slan leat go brah!

Though all taxes I paid, yet no vote could I pass, O;
"Erin ma vorneen! slan leat go brah!
Aggrandized no great man—and I feel it, alas! O;
"Erin ma vorneen! slan leat go brah!
Forced from my home; yea, from where I was born,
To range the wide world—poor helpless forlorn;
I look back with regret—and my heart strings are torn.
"Erin ma vorneen! slan leat go brah!

With principles pure, patriotic and firm,
"Erin ma vorneen! slan leat go brah!
To my country attached, and a friend to reform,
"Erin ma vorneen! slan leat go brah!
I supported old IRELAND—was ready to die for it;
If her foes e'er prevail'd, I was well known to sigh for it;
But my faith I preserved, and am now forc'd to fly for it.
"Erin ma vorneen! slan leat go brah!

[Page 39]
In the North I see friends—too long was I blind O;
"Erin ma vorneen! slan leat go brah!
The cobwebs are broken, and free is my mind, O,
"Erin ma vorneen! slan leat go brah!
North and South here's my hand—East and West here's my heart, O;
Let's ne'er be divided by any base art O,
But love one another, and never more part, O.
"Boie yudh ma vorneen! Erin go brah! 


†

But hark! I hear sounds, and my heart string is beating,
"Boie yudh ma vorneen! Erin go brah!
Friendship advancing—delusion retreating.
"Boie yudh ma vorneen! Erin go brah!
We have numbers—and numbers do constitute power;
Let's WILL TO BE FREE—and we're FREE from that hour:
Of HIBERNIA's Sons—yes, we'll then be the flower.
"Boie yudh ma vorneen! Erin go brah!

[Page 40]
Too long have we suffer'd, and too long lament­ed;
"Boie yudh ma vorneen! Erin go brah!
By courage undaunted it may be prevented.
"Boie yudh ma vorneen! Erin go brah!
No more by oppressors let us be allrighted,
But with heart, and with hand, be firmly UNIT­ED;
For by ERIN GO BRAH!—'tis thus we'll be righted!
"Boie yudh ma vorneen! Erin go brah!

SONG. THE HAPPY REFORMATION. Tune—MAGGY LAUDER.

BRAVE Countrymen both great and small,
Your FREEDOM now regain it;
A lesson I will give to you,
How we are to obtain it:—
In UNION's band be firm and true,
And still we'll grow the stronger;
Nor shall we groan beneath the yoke
Of tyrants any longer.
Tol, lol, &c.

[Page 41]
Dame nature form'd us all alike,
The brethren of one nation,
Why should we then jar and fight,
To please men in high station!
But patient, wise, and virtue prize—
This will be our salvation;
Let quarrels cease, and be in peace—
Oh! happy Reformation.
Tol, lol, &c.

The cause is good the works your own—
Then do it to perfection;
Let wisdom guide you in the way,
Walk strict by her direction,
Which, join'd with courage ne'er can fail,
And manly resolution,
For to accomplish LIBERTY,
And banish persecution.
Tol, lol, &c.

Go on, my boys, you know your rights,
Be sure that you do gain them:
Courtiers, creatures, and their power,
Now see that you disdain them;
Their pimps and spies, likewise despise—
Be steady in your station;

[Page 42]Assist the distressed and much oppress'd
Whether cousin or relation.
Tol, lol, &c.

SONG. THE GREEN FLAG. Tune—THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.

HIBERNIA's Sons, the Patriot band,
Claim their Emancipation,
Arous'd from sleep, they wish to be
An INDEPENDENT NATION;
United firm, like men of sense,
And truly patriotic,
They vow they will not pay their pence
To any power despotic.

See shame fac'd mis'ry at the door,
ERNE's Peasants starving;
While landlords, absentees and knaves
In England waste each farthing:
And thus their crimes our country stain.
Vile robbers and oppressors,
We hope that yet a time will come
To punish such transgressors.

[Page 43]
Hibernia then will raise her head,
The GREEN FLAG wide extending,
Her HARP well tun'd to Liberty,
Her sons their rights defending;
Justice then begins her reign,
Triumphant in our nation,
GOOD WILL ON EARTH, AND PEACE TO MAN,
Throughout the whole creation.

SONG. SEE YOUR COUNTRY RIGHTED. Tune "MAGGY LAUDER,"

ASSEMBLED in our country's cause,
Let's hail the happy season!
We fear no frowns nor court applause,
Pursuing Truth and Reason.
Boldly all with heart and hand,
Here we meet united,
And by each other firmly stand,
To see our country righted.

Long beneath the rod we lay,
Plundered and contented;

[Page 44]But no more shall tyrants sway,
Our wrongs shall be resented.
Boldly all with heart, &c.

See the rich and sumptuous board!
Harpies all surrounding,
Seize our wealth to swell the hoard,
In luxury abounding.
Boldly all with heart, &c.

Shall we tamely yet resign,
Our purse to these Collectors?
And hail them with a RIGHT DIVINE!
Away with such protectors.
Boldly all with heart, &c.

Fearless of their lawless pow'r,
Empty sons of thunder;
Let them bluster out their hour,
They shall soon knock under.
Boldly all with heart, &c.

Brave the dangers that surround,
Bid them all defiance!
Truth eternal is our ground,
THE PEOPLE our alliance.
Boldly all with heart, &c.

[Page 45]
See our numbers how they grow!
Crowding and dividing;
Eager all their rights to know,
Reason still presiding.
Boldly all with heart, &c.

Let us then as friends agree;
Kings and Priests dissemble;
War and strife they love to see,
UNION makes them tremble.
Boldly all with heart, &c.

SONG. THE IRISH VOLUNTEERS. Tune, "VOLUNTEER'S MARCH,"

IN what history can you find,
Of all the soldiers of mankind,
A host of heroes form'd in line,
Like IRISH VOLUNTEERS?

In ancient, or in modern days,
Did poets ever tune their lays,
To patriots crown'd with so much praise,
As IRISH VOLUNTEERS?

[Page 46]

What bright days throughout the year,

At our reviews the nation cheer,

When crowds immense haste far and near,

T' admire our VOLUNTEERS?

The brave alone deserve the fair:
The ladies who best judges are,
Assert no soldiers can compare,
With IRISH VOLUNTEERS?

SONG. THE NEGRO's COMPLAINT. Tune, "HOW PERFECT IS EXPRESSION."

FORC'D from home, and all its pleasures,
Afric's coast I left forlorn,
T' increase a stranger's treasures,
O'er the raging billows borne.
Men from England bought and sold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold;
Tho' theirs they have enroll'd me,
Minds are never to be sold.

Still in thought as free as ever,
What are England's rights? I ask,
From my delights to sever,

[Page 47]Me to torture, me to task?
Fleecy locks, and black complexion,
Cannot forfeit nature's claim:
Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in black and white the same.

Why did all-creating nature
Make the plant for which we toil?
Sighs must fan it, tears must water,
Sweat of ours must dress the soil.
Think, ye masters iron-hearted!
Lolling at your jovial boards,
Think, how many backs have smarted
For the sweets your cane affords!

Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,
Is there one who reigns on high?
Has he bid you buy and sell us,
Speaking from his throne the sky,
Ask him, if your knotted scourges,
Fetters, blood extorting screws,
Are the means which duty urges
Agents of his will to use?

Deem our nation brutes no longer,
Till some reason yet shall find,
Worthier of regard and stronger

[Page 48]Than the colour of our kind.
Slaves of gold! whose forbid dealings,
Tarnish all your boasted pow'rs,
Prove that you have human feelings,
Ere you proudly question our's!

SONG. THE GRAVE-DIGGER'S ADDRESS. TO THE PRINCE OF WALES. Tune, "MERRILY DANC'D THE QUAKER."

GO on, brave Prince, increase your debts,
They'll all be reimbursed:
So many friends you do support,
The rest are easy forced—
Go on, I say—advance your cause,
You'll soon come to the crown, sir,
And then with wars and luxury
You'll make my pot boil brown, sir.
Yet merrily will the people dance,
And merrily will they caper,
Merrily will they all rejoice
When freed from such a creature.

[Page 49]
And honour to the land you're sure,
To have in it BLOOD ROYAL;
And tho' the Peasant toils for you,
He's hang'd if not quite loyal,
Why then should GOD'S ANOINTED band
In luxury be bounded?—
Then throw the public wealth away,
As if the nation found it.
Yet merrily, &c.

When men for Liberty shall call,
You must like asses load them,
And then the smoother they will go,
When you incline to goad them:
They'll cry you're then a mighty prince,
A noble benefactor,
And pliant to your will they'll be,
As if you were PROTECTOR.
Yet merrily, &c.

But now as to your KING-CHANCE, sir
Indeed I would not buy it,
Or if I had it in my pow'r,
I would not like to try it.
Would as soon a Tinker be
And buckle on my budget,

[Page 50]As live upon the starving poor,
And here mankind begrudge it.
Yet merrily, &c.

Farewell GREAT, NOBLE, ROYAL SIR—
Your titles I've forgot them,
But if I had them in my pow'r,
I certainly would ROT them;
By ME, indeed, you should be prais'd,
Likewise your ROYAL DAD, sir,
For by his wars, and your excess.
I've got a fat Church-yard, sir.
Yet merrily will the people dance,
And merrily will they caper;
Merrily will they all rejoice,
When freed from such a creature.

SONG. THE UNION OF PARTIES, Tune "THE CUDGEL."

GRAND Juries those time serving knaves,
With arrogant pow'r maintain,
That Catholic emancipation

[Page 51]We have not a right to obtain.
But oh, for a UNION OF PARTIES,
A UNION OF PARTIES for me,
And when that we are all United,
Poor Ireland then will be free.

Arrah Jurymen tho' I'm a Connaughtman,
Yet I am sorry to see,
Yon tribe of oppressors combining
To hinder us all to be free.
But oh, &c.

Says the Jurymen, TEADY be easy,
I remember the time you were worse;
Says TEADY I well do remember,
That day was old Ireland's curse.
But oh, &c.

I was worse faith, but soon I'll be better,
Dear neighbours I'll let you to see;
For the faster the Romans are rising,
The sooner the country they'll free.
But oh, &c.

They said I had a house, and a garden
To give me potatoes and bread:

[Page 52]But on Michaelmas day, the Landlord
He canted them over my head.
But oh, &c.

Then from my house and my garden
I was forc'd with my family to go;
Obliged to travel the nation,
In poverty, hardships and woe.
But oh, &c.

When we have thrown by our division,
Our mis'ry will soon disappear,
And the tythers and taxers of mankind,
Will shrink with horror and fear.
But oh, &c.

No longer the agents of power,
Will by our hard labour be fed;
And the labouring poor of the nation
Will then find plenty of bread.
But, oh, for a Union of Parties,
A Union of Parties for me;
And when that we all are United,
Poor Ireland then will be free.

[Page 53]

SONG. THE PLACEMEN AND PENSIONERS' ADDRESS TO THE SWINISH MULTITUDE Tune "DERRY DOWN."

YE vile swinish herd, in the sty of taxation,
What would you be after disturbing the nation?
Give over your grumbling—be oft—to your sty!
Nor dare to look out if a king should pass by.
Derry down, down, down derry down.

Do you know what a king is?—By PATRICK I'll tell you,
He has power in his pocket to buy you and sell you:
To make you his soldiers, or keep you to work,
To hang you, or cure you, for ham or salt pork.
Derry down, &c.

Do you think that a king is no more than a man?
Ye Irish, ye swinish ironical clan!
I swear by his office, his right is divine,

[Page 54]To flog you, and feed you, and treat you like swine.
Derry down, &c.

To be sure I have said—but I spoke it abrupt,
That the state is defective, and also corrupt:
Yet, remember I told you with precaution to peep,
For swine at a distance we prudently keep.
Derry down, &c.

Now the church and the state, to keep each other warm,
Are married together, pray where is the harm?
How healthy and wealthy are husband and wife!
But swine are excluded the conjugal life.
Derry down, &c.

What use do we make of your money? you say▪
By the first law in nature—we take our own pay,
And next on our friends a few pensions bestow,
And to you we apply when our treasure runs low.
Derry down, &c.

What know you of commons, of kings or of lords,
But what the dim light of taxation affords?

[Page 55]Be contented with that and no more of your rout,
Or a new Proclamation will muzzle your snout.
Derry down, &c.

SONG. THE TRUMPET OF FAME. Tune, "PLANKSTY CONNOR."

GOOD people I pray you attend to me,
Who wish to set your Country FREE.
In UNION'S band
Join hand in hand,
And be ye firm UNITED;
The virtuous and brave will commend you,
And LIBERTY's Sons will befriend you,
The Ladies, so fair,
Your victories will share,
The prayers of the poor will attend you.
Tol, lol, &c.

Your Country's rights, on you depends,
Then cheer up your hearts my trusty friends:
In bondage perceive
Your brethren doth grieve,

[Page 56]By slavery so long degraded:
To LIBERTY'S arms I call you,
Let no dispotic power enthral you,
No time serving imps,
Their spies or their pimps;
Shall ever find shelter among you.
Tol, lol, &c.

Be wise, ye Irishmen, and brave,
Persevere—you will your country save;
The Bastiles you'll tear,
The SHAMROCK, you'll wear,
In spite of all knaves and usurpers;
With wisdom view man in his station,
Ye Sons of the brave Irish Nation;
May the Trumpet of Fame
Your FREEDOM proclaim,
And meet with mankind's approbation.

SONG. THE PATRIOT YOUTH. Tune,—"DONALD BRANN."

GALLANT nation foes no more,
Gen'rous Irish hail the day,

[Page 57]When from Hibernia's cultur'd shore
We chace tyrannic power away.
Tol, lol, &c.

Late a band of patriots rose,
Firm in Freedom's glorious cause;
Feeble slaves in vain oppose
Rights secur'd by equal laws.
Tol, lol, &c.

Verdant myrtles deck their brows,
Branchy leaves their blades entwine,
While, like us, they pay their vows
To each Patriot Hero's shrine.
Tol, lol, &c.

Martial youths in Ireland bred,
Kindled with cogenial zeal,
Freedom's path resolv'd to tread,
Jealous of the public weal.
Tol, lol, &c.

Should tyrannic power again
Raise its hydrae head on high,
Welcome then the hostile plain,
Freemen, dauntless, dare to die!
Tol, lol, &c.

[Page 58]
Verdant myrtles, branchy pride,
Shall their thirsty blades entwine;
No, gen'rous youth be not dismay'd,
The Rights of Man you'll ne'er resign.
Tol, lol, &c.

SONG. THE TRIUMPH OF TRUTH. Tune, "MORGAN RATLER."

ARRAH! PADDY, dear boy, my heart and my joy,
Tune up your HARP in the cause of our country;
With republican glee still let us agree,
And gallantly plant the tree of LIBERTY.
The people, you see, do now all agree,
In spite of the tribe that long divided them;
We'll throw off the yoke—huzza! for the stroke,
Sure, gramachree▪ PADDY, we'll have day about with them.
Tol. lol. &c.

Was Ireland Free, how snug I would be!
Myself and my neighbours would live so hap­pily;

[Page 59]No tax would we pay, but what would defray
The expence of the nation, laid out honestly:
Till that time shall come, let dissentions be mum;
What signifies quarrelling—we are Irishmen;
All religious disputes hereafter be mute,
And unite to oppose the men that first raised them,
Tol, lol, &c.

Hibernians you see, like brothers should be
And live like one family, happy and lovingly:
No artful knaves would then make them slaves;
But all would be mirth and conviviaity.
For the rights of Man we'll join heart and hand,
The cause it is good, we never will fly for it;
TRUTH, I'll be bail, in the end must prevail—
By the HOLY ST. PATRICK we'll fight till we die for it.
Tol, lol, &c.

Ye Irishmen bold, let truth now be told—
English influence has long enslaved us;
But now comes the time, our nation shall shine,
As Providence surely has assisted us.
Sweet Freedom appear, and every heart cheer,
Relieving from chains those bound by iniquity,
Let justice preside, our footsteps to guide,

[Page 60]And lead us to peace and joyous tranquility
Tol, lol, &c.

A CALL TO IRISHMEN▪ Tune, "WOLF AT QUEBEC."

NOW Hibernians bold and brave,
Let us all combine and save
This our nation, from dire slavery:
For they rob us of our rights:
And till Irishmen UNITES,
We need never expect to be FREE.

Let us pull those villains down,
Base minions of a crown,
To enslave us is all they desire;
And too well they did succeed:
But Hibernia shall be freed,
And fell tyranny shall soon expire.

Let us all our FREEDOM gain
And our LIBERTY maintain,
That our motto henceforward may be—
Let Hibernia rest in peace,
And each Party quarrel cease—
Let all Mankind Unite and be FREE.

[Page 61]
Let us cast away the yoke,
And our chains will soon be broke—
We will then be a Nation once more;
Then our honour shall revive,
When they see we are alive:
Lo! fair FREEDOM approaches our shore.

SONG. HONEST PAT. Tune, "GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME."

HIBERNIA's Sons, with hearts elate,
Who hate dispotic slav
 [...]ry,
Now join with us the cause is great,
Display your Irish brav'ry;
To cr
 [...]sh those knaves that us enslaves,
Our guns shall roar like thunder,
And let them see that we'll not be
By tyrants long kept under.

Old GRANU groans, laments and moans,
Sore goaded by oppressors:

[Page 62]We are her Sons, the only ones,
Can be her sole redressors:—
She loudly calls to one and all,
To cut her chains asunder:
Her tyrants hear, and greatly fear
That us they cant keep under.

To miss this time would be a crime,
Whilst Europe is affrighted;
With warlike rage, now is the age
To see your country righted.
A thing tyrannic, struck by PAT,
To dust shall moulder under;
The hero's feet shall trample it—
For us they shant keep under.

No Statesman great, Priest or prelate:
Shall stop our bold conceptions;
When we are join'd, with firmness bound,
We'll baffle their deceptions,
A bill of woe, by the junto,
Has passed through the House quick,
For to defile Hibernia's Isle,
And bind down honest PATRICK.

[Page 63]

SONG. THE VIRTUOUS WARRIORS. Tune, "ROSSIN CASTLE."

HAIL! undaunted Hibernians true offspring of light,
Whose hearts won't recoil, nor give back to the fight;
Whose minds are unshaken whose breasts cou­rage warms,
To try FREEDOM'S cause by the strong dint of arms;
There's a choice here before you, pray which will you take?
Will you stand by old Ireland and die for her sake?
Will you bring down oppression, or fall by its grasp?
Will you fly from your brethren, and leave them opprest?

Vile oppressors I'm ready your minions to fight,
Your threats and bravadoes my mind shan't af­fright;

[Page 64]I have one life to lose—I have laid it at stake,
I
 [...]m resolv'd—and you'll never my fortitude shake:
Why should heroes be backward their fate to receive,
Since all mankind must sleep in a dark silent grave?
We have a great CREATOR, who sees from on high,
And without his command not a Sparrow can die.

Do you think to affright me by weapons of death?
By power you may force me to yield up my breath;
Yet the high effervescence of glory I feel,
Condemning your actions—despising your steel:
What a glory it is for a warrior to fall,
By the thurst of a pike, or the force of a ball:
But what horrid disgrace from his country to fly,
Just because he a moment the sooner must die.

You think Irishmen cowar
 [...]s—the error you'll see,
They will yet be a nation—they soon will be Free;

[Page 65]It will surely surprise you to see them stand forth,
The rabble of the South with the swine of the North.
Let us boldly press forward with hearts undis­may'd,
For what should we tremble, or of what be afraid?
Let it ne'er be recorded Hibernians would fly—
But stand firm by each other, and conquer or die.

SONG. LIBERTY's ADDRESS TO HER FRIENDS IN IRELAND. Tune, "REJECTED MASON."

MY name is FREEDOM, new come o'er,
In private, to this Nation,
I travel'd round from shore to shore
To find out true relations;
My friends are free, and kind enough
To entertain a stranger,

[Page 66]But dare not own me openly
They're so exposed to danger.
Tol, lol, &c.

My trusty friends if you'll Unite,
And give me your asistance—
For Church and State are both combin'd
To banish my existance:
But if you'll true and trusty be,
And burst your chains asunder,
My Flag shall wave high in the air,
And make the nations wonder.
Tol, lol, &c.

Then we'll possess Hibernia's Isle,
And I no more will wander;
Young men and maids right joyfully,
Shall rally round the standard:
No hostile blood will stain the soil,
Each one their love enjoying;
Your hearts and spirits will rejoice
To see the Green Flag flying.
Tol, lol, &c.

My loving sons who are confin'd,
I hope you're not complaining,
Be not afraid—do not repine—
I'm sure you know my meaning:

[Page 67]For were it proper at this time,
You know it's my desire,
Your freedom soon should be obtained,
Tho' thousands should expire.
Tol, lol, &c.

SONG. PADDY AND NO MORE!

IN concert join each soul that loves,
The Patriotic tie;
Who dares the test of Union take,
And free will live—or die:
Unite your notes 'till echo strong,
Shall make the rafters roar;
With one who boasts himself to be—
A PADDY AND NO MORE.
Unite your notes, &c.

Unite my boys, unite, unite,
Quell discord—live in peace;
Forget your feuds, with mutual love
Let's brotherly embrace;
Let each man freely chuse his way
His MAKER to adore,

[Page 68]And teach the world that IRISHMEN
Are Paddies evermore.
Let each man, &c.

The times are bad and must be worse,
Ere Liberty can reign:—
There's some must bleed, and some must die,
Some grind the Tyrant's chain;
But when fell Tyrants bite the dust,
Stain'd with their filthy gore;
Then shall our children Paddies-be,
From that day evermore.
But when all, &c.

But should foul terror take th' alarm
Our voices must be mute;
For who, with IRISH JUSTICE, now
Dare venture to dispute;
But should we to the dungeon go,
Our friends went there before;
Yet in the CELL, or on the SOD,
We're Paddies evermore.
But should, &c.

Our Patriots—the best of men,
In galling irons lie,
Hush! hark my boys, do not you hear

[Page 69]The imprison'd patriots sigh?
But oh! that sigh shall not be lost,
'Twill sound from shore to shore,
And rouse the spirit of freedom in
Our Paddies Ireland o'er.
But oh! that sigh, &c.

Our Patriotic VIRGIN band,
Have hoisted the GREEN COCKADE;
Whose charms nor smiles can not be won
By slaves—of death afraid:
Assert the rights of IRISHMEN,
We ask this—and no more,—
And then we'll FOLD you in our ARMS,
And LOVE ye evermore.
Assert the rights, &c.

SONG. THE RED NIGHT-CAP. Tune, "DERRY DOWN."

SURE, master John Bull, I shan't know till I'm dead,
Where the devil you're driving to, HEELS OVER HEAD!

[Page 70]Troth, I've watch'd you, my dear, day and night like a cat;
And, bad luck to myself if I know what you're at.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.

But, the reason you waste all this blood, and this gold,
Is a SECRET they say—that can NEVER be told;
To be sure for SUCH secrets MY tongue isn't fit;
For I cant keep it still, without SPEAKING A BIT.
Derry down, &c.

But your foes, my dear John, say your brains are of lead,
That the fog of your Island's ne'er out of your head,
That alike you misjudge of good measures o
 [...] bad,
And are STUPIDLY DROWSY—OR WILFULLY MAD!
Derry down, &c.

By my soul, John I've study'd your nature awhile;
And I think' when they say so, they don't miss a mile;

[Page 71]The world's wide, to be sure; but as INTEL­LECTS go,
You're as CLUMSY AND BOTHER'D A BEAST as I know.
Derry down, &c.

Don't you think it's a pretty political touch—
To keep shooting your gold in the DAMS OF THE DUTCH?
Sending troops to be SWAMP'D, where they can't DRAW THEIR breath;
And buying a load of fresh taxes with death?
Derry down, &c.

Then comes the account, John: and faith, to be frank,
The cost is unbounded; the credit—a blank!
It's a right FLEMISH bargain, where all you can claim,
Is a plentiful balance of—TAXES AND SHAME.
Derry down, &c.

A WHILE you brave TARS, the great PROP OF YOUR STATE,
Have, by glory and conquest, John, put OFF your fate;

[Page 72]But, if e'er on FRENCH DECKS shouts of VIC­TORY ROAR,
THE CROWN'S A RED NIGHT-CAP—AND BRI­TAIN'S NO MORE!
Derry down, down, down, derry down.

SONG. THE RACE OF KINGS. Tune, "YE GODS, YE GAVE TO ME A WIFE."

OUR fathers left a race of kings,
And we were glad to find them;
O how we lov'd the pretty things,
And laugh'd and ran behind them.

We laid our necks beneath their feet,
So humble and so lowly:
They then did make us slaves complete,
Well pleas'd to see our folly.

But warmly now our hearts incline,
To rule the land without them;
The mouldy parchments we resign,
And from the globe we'd route them.

[Page]

PART. III. DIBDEN's SONGS.

BALLAD—IN THE CHELSEA PENSIONER.

SING the loves of John and Jean,
Sing the loves of Jean and John;
John, for her, would leave a queen,
Jean, for him, the noblest don.
She's his queen,
He's her don;
John loves Jean,
And Jean loves John.

What'er rejoices happy Jean,
Is sure to burst the sides of John,
Does she, for grief, look thin and lean,
He instantly is pale and wan:
Thin and lean,
Pale and wan,
John loves Jean,
And Jean loves John.

'Twas the lily hand of Jean
Fill'd the glass of happy John:
And, heavens! how joyful was she s
 [...]en
When he was for a license gone!

[Page 74]Joyful seen,
They'll dance anon,
For John weds Jean,
And Jean weds John.

John has ta'en to wife his Jean,
Jean's become the spouse of John,
She no longer is his queen,
He no longer is her don.
No more queen,
No more don;
John hates Jean,
And Jean hates John.

Whatever 'tis that pleases Jean,
Is certain now to displease John;
With scolding they're grown thin and lean,
With spleen and spite they're pale and wan
Thin and lean,
Pale and wan,
John hates Jean,
And Jean hates John.

John prays heaven to take his Jean,
Jean at the devil wishes John;
He'll dancing on her grave be seen,
She'll laugh when he is dead and gone.
They'll gay be seen,

[Page 75]Dead and gone,
For John hates Jean,
And Jane hates John.

BALLAD—IN THE DESERTER.

THERE was a miller's daughter
Liv'd in a certain village,
Who made a mighty slaughter;
For I'd have you to know
Both friend and foe,
The clown and the beau,
She always laid low;
And her portion, as I understand,
Was three acres of land,
Besides a mill,
That never stood still,
Some sheep and a cow,
A harrow and plough,
And other things for tillage:
What d'ye think of my miller's daughter?

This miller's pretty daughter
Was a damsel of such fame si
 [...],
That knights and squires sought her▪
But they soon were told
That some were too bold,
And some too cold,

[Page 76]And some too old;
And she gave them to understand
That, though they were grand,
She'd never be sold:
For says Betty, says she,
Since my virtue to me
Is dearer than gold,
Let 'em go from whence they came sir.
What d'ye think of my miller's daughter?

But when the miller's daughter
Saw Ned, the morrice-dancer,
His person quickly caught her;
For who so clean
Upon the green
As Ned was seen,
For her his queen:
Then blithe as a king,
His bells he'd ring,
And dance, and sing,
Like any thing:—
Says he, 'My life,
'Woot be my wife?'
A blush, and yes, was Betty's answer.
What d'ye think of my miller's daughter?

BALLAD—IN THE WATERMAN.

INDEED, Miss, such sweethearts as I am,
I fancy you'll meet with but few,

[Page 77]To love you more true I defy them,
I always am thinking of you.

There are maidens would have me in plenty,
Nell, Cicely, Priscilla, and Sue,
But instead of all these were there twenty,
I never should think but of you.

False hearts all your money may squander,
And only have pleasure in view,
Ne'er from 
 [...] a moment I'll wander,
Unless to 
 [...] money for you.

The tide, when 'tis ebbing and flowing,
Is not to the moon half so true,
Nor my oars to their time when I'm rowing,
As my heart, my fond heart is to you.

BALLAD—IN THE SERAGLIO.

THE world's a strange world, child, it must be confest,
We all of distress have our share;
But since I must struggle to live with the rest,
By my troth 'tis no great matter where.
We all must put up with what fortune has sent,
Be therefore one's lot poor or rich,

[Page 78]So there is but a portion of ease and content,
By my troth 'tis no great matter which.

A living's a living, and so there's an end;
If one honestly gets just enow,
And something to spare for the wants of a friend,
By my troth 'tis no great matter how.
In this world about nothing we busy'd appear,
And I've said it again and again,
Since quit it one must, if ones conscience be clear,
By my troth 'tis no great matter when.

BALLD—IN POOR VULCAN.

COME all ye gem'men volunteers,
Of glory who would share,
And leaving with your wives your fears,
To the drum head repair;

Or to the noble serjeant Pike,
Come, come, without delay,
You'll enter into present pay,
My lads the bargain strike.

A golden guinea and a crown,
Besides the lord knows what renown,
His majesty the donor,
And if you die

[Page 79]Why then you lie
Strech'd on the bed of honor.

Does any 'prentice work too hard.
Fine cloaths would any wear,
Would any one his wife discard,
To the drum head repair,
Or to the, &c.

Is your estate put out to nurse,
Are you a cast-off heir,
Have you no money in your purse,
To the drum head repair.
Or to the, &c.

BALLAD—IN POOR VULCAN

COME, every man now give his toast,
Fill up the glass, I'll tell you mine,
Wine is the mistress I love most,
This is my toast—now give me thine.

Well said my lad, ne'er let it stand,
I give my Chloe, nymph divine,
My love and wine go hand in hand;—
This is my toast—now give me thine

Fill up your glasses to the brink,
Hebe let no one dare decline,

[Page 80]'Twas Hebe taught me first to drink;—
This is my toast—now give me thine.

Gem'men I give my wife, d'ye see;
May all to make her blest combine,
So she be far enough from me;—
This is my toast, now give me thine.

Let constant lovers at the feet
Of pale-fac'd wenches sigh and pine,
For me the first kind girl I meet
Shall be my toast—now give me thine.

You toast your wife, and you your lass,
My boys, and welcome; here's the wine,
For my part, he who fills my glass
Shall be my toast—now give me thine.

Spirit, my lads, and toast away,
I have still one with yours to join;
That we may have enough to pay;
This is my toast—now give me thine.

BALLAD—IN POOR VULCAN.

MADAM, you know my trade is war,
And what should I deny it for?

[Page 81]When'er the trumpet sounds from far.
I long to hack and hew;
Yet madam credit what I say,
Were I this moment call'd away,
And all the troops drawn in array,
I'd rather stay with you.

Did drums and sprightly trumpets sound,
Did death and carnage stalk around,
Did dying horses bite the ground,
Had we no hope in view;
Were the whole army lost in smoke,
Were they the last words that I spoke,
I'd say, and dam'me if I joke,
I'd rather stay with you.

Did the foe charge us front and rear,
Did e'en the bravest face appear
Impress'd with signs of mortal fear,
Though never veteran knew
So terrible and hot a fight,
Though all my laurels it should blight,
Though I should loose so fine a sight,
I'd rather stay with you.

BALLAD—IN THE QUAKER.

I LOCK'D up all my treasure,
I journied many a mile,

[Page 82]And by my grief did measure
The passing time the while.

My business done and over,
I hasten'd back amain,
Like an expecting lover,
To view it once again.

But this delight was stifled,
As it began to dawn:
I found the casket rifled,
And all my treasure gone.

DUET.

JOE.

WHEN serjeant Belswagger, that masculine brute,
One day had been drinking, to swear a recruit,
He kiss'd you, I saw him, or else may I die,
And you cruel Maudlin, ne'er once cry'd O fie!

Again, when the squire had come from the chase,
You receiv'd him, O Gods, with a smile on your face,
Henceforth, then, my sheep harum skarum may run,
For Maudlin is faithless, and I am undone.

MAUDLIN.

[Page 83]

Ah, Joe! you're a good one; one day in my place—
My husband at home—I was forced to send Grace:
I know for a truth, which you cannot gainsay,
You touzled her well on a cock of new hay.

Nay, swore you'd be hers—and, what is worse yet,
That you only lov'd me just for what you could get;
As for charms then I ne'er will believe I have one,
For Joey is faithless, and I am undone.

JOE.

Will you know then the truth on't? I touz'd her I own,

Though I rather by half would have left it alone,

But I did it to see if you jealous would prove,

For that, people say, is a sure sign of love.

MAUDLIN.

And for me, if the squire said soft things in my ear,

I suffer'd it, thinking he'd call for strong beer;

And as to the serjeant, 'tis always a rule,

One had better be kiss'd, than be teaz'd—by a fool.

[Page 84]

SONG—IN THE QUAKER.

WOMEN are Will o' th' Wisps 'tis plain,
The closer they seem, still the more they retire;
They teaze you, and jade you,
And round about lead you,
Without hopes of shelter,
Ding dong, belter skelter,
Through water and fire;
And, when you believe every danger and pain
From your heart you may banish,
And you're near the possession of what you de­sire,
That instant they vanish,
And the devil a bit can you catch them again.

By some they're not badly compared to the sea,
Which is calm and tempestuous within the same hour,
Some say they are Sirens, but, take it from me,
They're a sweet race of angels o'er man that has pow'r,
His person, his heart, nay his reason to seize,
And lead the poor devil wherever they please.

[Page 85]

BALLAD—IN THE QUAKER.

A Kernel from an apple's core
One day on either cheek I wore,
Lubin was plac'd on my right cheek,
That on my left did Hodge bespeak;
Hodge in an instant dropt to ground,
Sure token that his love's unsound,
But Lubin nothing could remove,
Sure token his is constant love.

Last May I sought to find a snail,
That might my lover's name reveal,
Which finding, home I quickly sped
And on the hearth the embers spread;
When, if my letters I can tell,
I saw it mark a curious L:
O may this omen lucky prove,
For L's for Lubin and for love.

BALLAD—IN THE FRIENDLY TARS.

WHILE up the shrouds the sailor goes,
Or ventures on the yard,
The landsman, who no better knows,
Believes his lot is hard.

[Page 86]

But Jack with smiles each danger meets,

Casts anchor, heaves the log,

Trims all the sails, belays the sheets,

And drinks his can of grog.

When mountains high the waves that swell
The vessel rudely bear,
Now sinking in the hollow dell,
Now quiv'ring in the air.
Bold Jack, &c.

When waves 'gainst rocks and quicksands roar
You ne'er hear him repine,
Freezing near Greenland's icy shore,
Or burning near the line.
Bold Jack, &c.

If to engage they give the word,
To quarters all repair,
While splinter'd masts go by the board,
And shot sing through the air.
Bold Jack, &c.

BALLAD—IN THE OLD WOMAN OF EIGHTY.

HOW kind and how good of his dear majesty,
In the midst of his matters so weighty,

[Page 87]To think of so lowly a creature as me,
A poor old woman of eighty.
Were your sparks to come round me, in love with each charm,
Says I, I have nothing to say t'ye;
I can get a young fellow to keep my back warm,
Though a poor old woman of eighty.

John Strong is as comely lad as you'll see,
And one that will never say nay t'ye;
I cannot but think what a comfort he'll be
To me, an old woman of eighty.

Then fear not, ye fair ones, though long past your youth,
You'll have lovers in scores beg and pray t'ye,
Only think of my fortune, who have but one tooth,
A poor old woman of eighty.

BALLAD—IN THE TOUCHSTONE.

MY name's Ted Blarney, I'll be bound,
And man and boy, upon this ground,
Full twenty years I've beat my round,
Crying Vauxhall watch:

And as that time's a little short,
With some small folks that here resort,

[Page 88]To be sure I have not had some sport,
Crying Vauxhall watch.

Oh of pretty wenches drest so tight,
And macaronies what a sight,
Of a moonlight morn I've bid good night,
Crying Vauxhall watch.

The lover cries no soul will see,
You are deceived my love, cries she,
Dare's that Irish taef there—meaning me—
Crying Vauxhall watch.

So they goes on with their amourous talk,
Till they gently steals to the dark walk,
While I steps aside, no sport to balk,
Crying Vauxhall watch.
Oh of pretty wenches, &c.

BALLAD—IN THE REASONABLE ANIMALS. —A Wolf who had been a Lawyer.—

By roguery, 'tis true,
I opulent grew,
Just like any other professional sinner:
An orphan, d'ye see,
Would just wash down my tea,
And a poor friendless widow would serve me for dinner.

[Page 89]
I was, to be sure,
Of the helpless and poor
A guardian appointed to manage the pelf;
And I manage'd it well,
But how—says you—tell?
Why I let them all starve, to take care of myself.

With these tricks I went on
Till. faith sir, anon,
A parcel of stupid, mean-spirited souls,
As they narrowly watch'd me,
Soon at my tricks catch'd me.
And, in their own words, haul'd me over the coals.

In the pillory, that fate
For rogues, soon or late,
I stood, for the sport of a dissolute mob;
'Till my neck Master Ketch
Was so eager to stretch,
That I gave the thing up as a dangerous job.

Now a wolf—from their dams
I steal plenty of lambs,
Pamper'd high, and well fed—an insatiable glutton—
In much the same sphere
When a man, I move here,

[Page 90]Make and break laws as pleasure, and kill my own mutton.

Then since, for their sport,
No one here moves the court,
Nor am I amenable to an employer,
I shall ever prefer,
With your leave, my good sir,
The life of a wolf to the life of a lawyer.

BALLAD—IN THE REASONABLE ANIMALS. A bull who had been an Irishman.

IS'T my story you'd know?—I was Patrick Mulrooney,
A jolman, and Ireland my nation,
To be sure I was not a tight fellow too, honey,
Before my transmogrification.

I did not at all talk of flames and of darts,
To conquer the fair—the dear jewels!
And wid husbands, because why I won their wives hearts,
I did not fight plenty of duels.

Then arrah, bodder how you can,
You'll ne'er persuade me, honey,

[Page 91]For I shall always, bull or man,
Be Patrick Mulrooney.

When at Almack's, or White's, or at Brooke's, or Boodle's,
I've sat up all night in the morning,
'Mongst black legs, and coggers, and pigeons, and noodles,
The calling to use I was born in:

To be sure many honest gold guineas it yields,
But, since 'its a service of danger,
I'm a better man now I'm a bul
 [...] in the fields,
To popping and tilting a stranger.

BATLAD—IN LIBERTY-HALL.

WHEN faintly gleams the doubtful day,
Ere yet the dew drops on the thorn,
Borrow a lustre from the ray
That tips with gold the dancing corn,
Health bids awake, and homage pay,
To him who gave another morn.
And, well with strength his nerves to brace,
Urges the sportsman to the chase.

Do we pursue the timid hare,
As trembling o'er the lawn she bounds?

[Page 92]Still of her safety have we care,
While seeming death her steps surrounds,
We the defenceless creature spare,
And instant stop the well taught hounds:
For cruelty should ne'er disgrace
The well-earn'd pleasure of the chase.

Do we pursue the subtle fox,
Still let him breaks and rivers try,
Through marshes wade, or clime the rocks,
The deep-mouth'd hounds shall follow fly.
And while he every danger mocks,
Unpitied shall the culprit die:
To quell this cruel, artful race,
Is labour worthy of the chase.

Return'd, with shaggy spoils well stor'd,
To our convivial joys at night,
We toast, and first our country's lord,
Anxious who most shall do him right;
The fair next crowns the social board,
Britains should love as well as fight—
For he who slights the tender race,
Is held unworthy of the chase.

BALLAD—IN THE ISLANDERS.

THE ladie's faces, now a-days,
Are various as their humours,

[Page 93]And on complexions oft we gaze,
Brought home from the perfumer's.

Hid as it were beneath a cloak,
The beauty's false that wins you,
Then parpon me, by way of joke,
If I prefer my Dingy.

A handkerchief can rub away
Your roses and your lillies;
The more you rub, the more you may,
My Dingy dingy still is.

Besides, her hair is black as jet,
Her eyes are gems from India;
Rail as you list then, I shall yet,
For joke's sake love poor Dingy.

BALLAD—IN PANDORA.

WHAT naughty things we women are,
Who long for fruit forbidden;
Though 'twere our bane, we cannot bear,
The least thing from us hidden.
But what we see will we believe,
Though ill on ill we're heaping,
Though to this day, from mother Eve,
We have always paid for peeping.

[Page 94]
Thus curious girls, urged by their youth,
Thoughtless what they were doing.
Have falshood found disgius'd like truth,
And mask'd like pleasure ruin.
Instead of smiling, who must grieve,
Whose joys are turned to weeping,
And who too late, like mother Eve,
Find they have paid for peeping.

Should I to my desires give way,
I may encounter sorrow,
And that I think a good to-day.
May prove an ill to-morrow.
Yet, cautious prudence, by your leave,
The secret's in my keeping;
I am weak woman, and, like Eve,
Cannot refrain from peeping.

BALLAD—IN THE BENEVOLEFT TAR.

A PLAGUE of those musty old lubbers,
Who tells us to fast and to think,
And patient fail in with life's rubbers,
With nothing but water to drink,
A can of good stuff! had they twigg'd it,
'Twould have set them for pleasure agog,
And, spight of the rules
Of the schools,

[Page 95]The old fools
Would have all of 'em swigg'd it,
And swore there was nothing like grog.

My father when last I from Guinea
Return'd, with abundance of wealth,
Cry'd Jack, never be such a ninny
To drink:—said I—father your health,
So I shew'd him the stuff, and he twigg'd it,
And it set the old codger agog,
And he swigg'd, and mother,
And sister, and brother,
And I swigg'd, and all of us swigg'd it,
And swore there was nothing like grog.

T'other day as the chaplain was preaching,
Behind him I curiously slunk,
And while he our duty was teaching,
As how we should never get drunk,
I shew'd him the stuff, and he twigg'd it,
And it soon set his rev'rence agog.
And he swigg'd, and Nick swigg'd,
And Ben swigg'd, and Dick swigg'd,
And I swigg'd, and all of swigg'd it,
And swore there was nothing like grog.

Then trust me there's nothing like drinking,
So pleasant on this side the grave;
It keeps the unhappy from thinking,

[Page 96]And makes e'en the valiant more brave.
As for me, from the moment I twigg'd it,
The good stuff has so set me agog,
Sick or well, late or early,
Wind foully o
 [...] fairly,
Helm a-lee or a-weather,
For hours together,
I've constantly swigg'd it,
And, dam'me, there's nothing liks grog.

BALLAD—IN THE BENEVOLENT TAR.

WHAT argufies pride and ambition?
Soon or late death will take us in tow;
Each bullet has got its commission,
And when our time's come we must go.

Then drink and sing—hang pain and sorrow,
The halter was made for the neck;
He that's now live and lusty—to-morrow
Perhaps may be stretch'd on the deck.

Then drink and sing—hang pain and forrow,
The halter was made for the neck;
He that's now live and lusty—to-morrow
Perhaps may be stretch'd on the deck.

[Page 97]
There was little Tom Linstock of Dover
Got kill'd, and left Poll in pain,
Poll cry'd, but her grief was soon over,
And then she got married again.
Then drink, &c.

Jack Junk was ill used by Bet Crocker,
And so took to guzzling the stuff,
Till he tumbled in old Davy's locker,
And there he got liquor enough.
Then drink, &c.

For our prize money then to the proctor,
Take of joy while 'its going our freak;
For what argufies calling the doctor
When the anchor of life is apeak.
Then drink, &c.

BALLAD.

A Tinker I am,
My name's Natty Sam,
From morn to night I trudge it;
So low is my fate,
My personal estate
Lies all within this budget.

[Page 98]Work for the tinker ho, good wives,
For they are lads of mettle—
'Twere well if your could mend your lives,
As I can mend a kettle.

The man of war
The man of the bar,
Physicians. Priests, free-thinkers,
That rove up and down
Great London town,
What are they all but tinkers?
Work for the tinker, &c.

Those 'mong the great
Who tinker the state,
And badger the minority,
Pray what's the end
Of their work, my friend,
But to rivet a good majority?
Work for the tinker, &c.

This mends his name,
That cobbles his fame,
That tinkers his reputation:
And thus, had I time,
I could prove in my rhyme,
Jolly tinkers of all the nation.
Work for the tinker, &c.

[Page 99]

DUET—IN CLUMP AND CUDDEN.PLATOON.
SAY Fanny, wilt thou go with me?
Perils to face, by land and sea,
That tongue can never tell ye?
And wilt thou all these dangers sco
 [...]n,
Whilst in these arms
I hold thy charms,
Enraptur'd ev'ry opening morn,
When the drum beats reveillez.
FANNY.
Yes, yes, Platoon—I'll go with thee
In danger, whatsoe'er it be—
Believe 'tis truth I tell you:
My constant mind shall peril scorn,
Brave all alarms,
So in my arms
I hold the every opening morn,
When the drum beats reveillez.
PLATOON.
Still Fanny wilt thou go with me?
Suppose the cruel fates decree,
Alas how shall I tell you?
The news should come—thy soldier sell,
And thou shalt hear,
Appall'd with fear,

[Page 100]Next morning his fatal passing bell,
When the drum beats reveillez.
FANNY.
Still fearless will I go with thee,
Resign'd to cruel fate's decree,
And bravely this I tell you:
When on the spot my soldier fell
I'd shed a tear,
The world should hear,
Mingling with his, my passing bell,
When the drum beats reveillez.
BOTH.
To the world's end I'd go with thee,
Where thou art, danger ne'er can be;
My joy no tongue can tell ye:
And sure such love may perils scorn,
Brave all alarms,
While in my arms
I hold thee every op'ning morn,
When the drum beats reveillez.

BALLAD—IN TOM THUMB.

THE younker, who his first essay
Makes in the front of battle,
Stands all aghast, while cohorns play,
And bullets round him rattle;

[Page 101]But pride steps in, and now no more
Fell fears his jav'lin lances,
Like dulcet flutters the cannons roar,
And groans turn country dances.

So frights, and flurries, and what not,
Upon my fancy rushes,
I fear I know not why or what,
I'm cover'd o'er with blushes,
But let the honey season fly,
To second well my clapper,
The kitchen's whole artillery
Shall grace my husband's napper.

BALLAD.

COTCHLEN sat all alone,
Devil a soul beside her,
While from Taddy, who was gone,
Oceans did divide her;
His pipes, which she'd been used to hear,
Careless left behind him,
She thought she'd try, his woes to cheer,
Till once again she'd find him.
'Twill not do, you loodle,
Arrah now be aesy,

[Page 102]Tad was born with grief to make
Cotehelin run crazy.

She takes them up, and lays them down,
And now her bosom's panting,
And now she'd sigh, and now she'd frown,
Caze why? 
 [...]ere's something wanting:
And now she plays the pipes again,
The pipes of her dear Taddy,
And makes them tune his favourite strain,
Arrah be aesy Paddy,
Ah 'twill not do, you loodle loo,
Arrah now be aesy,
Tad was born with grief to make
Cotchelin run crazy.

Taddy from behind a bush,
Where he'd long been listening,
Now like lightening forth did rush,
His eyes with pleasure glistening,
Snatching up his pipes, he play'd,
Pouring out his pleasure,
While half delighted, half afraid,
Pat the time did measure:
Ah well will do this loodle loo,
Arrah now be aesy,
Tad was born with joy to make
Cotchelin run crazy.

[Page 103]

BALLAD—IN HARVEST HOME.

WOUNDS, here's such a coil! I am none of your poor.
Petty 
 [...]arlets, who flatter, and cringe, and pro­cure;
I'm a freeman, a nabob, a king on his throne,
For I've chattles, and goods, and strong beer of my own;
Besides, 'tis a rule that good fellows ne'er fail
To let any thing wait but the generous ale.

My interest I love; thee I love too, good wife,
But still I love better a jovial life:
And for thee, or my lady, with duty devout
I'll run to Old Nick, when the dobbins's drank out.
But 'tis always a rule that good fellows ne'er fail
To let any thing wait, but the generous ale.

SONG—IN HARVEST HOME.

AWAY, pale fear and ghastly terror!
Fly, at a parent's voice away!
Correcting every youthful terror,
She deigns to bid, and I obey:

[Page 104]

And Oh, my heart! thou murmur'st treason,

Perturb'd and frighten'd thus, to move;

This sacrifice I make to reason,

Lie still, poor flutt'rer, and approve!

BALLAD—IN THE ISLANDERS.

THIS life's a days journey, we rise in the morn,
The sun, trees, and flowers our prospect adorn,
When, perhaps, we have scarcely been set out an hour,
But slap we're o'ertaken and soused in a shower:
To shelter then quickly, and see now 'tis o'er,
And in pretty good spirit we set out once more,
Now up hill, now down, now even, and now
We are cover'd with dust, and now popp'd in a slough.

Thus we jog on till dinner, now wet and now dry,
And now we've a low'ring, and now a clear sky,
With the fire, the goost landlord, the wine, and the cheer,
Now refresh'd we set forward to end our career:
But the roads are uneven, we trip, are bemired,
And jolted, and jostled, and tumbled, and tired,
Yet we keep a good heart, and our spirits are light,
In hopes we shall meet with a good inn at night.

[Page 105]

BALLAD.

IF, my hearty, you'd not like a lubber appear,
You must very well know how to hand, reef, and steer,
Yet a better manoeuvre 'mongst seamen is found
'Tis the tight little maxim to know how to sound.
Which a sailor can tell from a bay to a shoal,
But the best sort of sounding is sounding the bowl.

I've sounded at land, and I've sounded at sea,
I've sounded a weather, and sounded a lee,
I've sounded my quine, at the r
 [...]divoo 
 [...]ouse,
And I've sounded my purse without finding a sou
 [...]e:
What then, we've a brother in each honest soul,
And sailors can ne'er want for sounding the bowl.

All men try for soundings whenever they steer,
Your nabobs for soundings strive hard in Cape Clear,
And there is not a soul from the Devil to the Pope,
That could live but for the sounding the Cape of Good Hope:
No fear then nor danger our hearts shall controul,
Though at sea, we're in soundings while sound­ing the bowl.

[Page 106]

BALLAD.

CURS'D be the sordid wretch of yore,
Who from the bowels of the earth,
First drew crude heaps of shining ore,
Stamp'd the rude mass, and gave it worth,
Ere yet distinctions and degrees
In lovers wishes bore a part,
Truly to love was then to please,
And heart was made the price of heart.

Henceforth ye lovers nothing hope,
Youre sire is dead, your ardour cold:
Love has no influence, pow'r or scope,
But that which it derives from gold:
Long you may languish, long expect,
Vows lavish, wishes, sighs employ,
A brittle temple to erect,
Which gold can in an hour destroy.

BALLAD—IN THE WAGS.

I BE one of they sailors who thinks 'tis no lie,
That for every wherefore of life there's a why,
That be fortune's strange weather, a calm or a squall,
Our births, good or bad, are chalk'd out for us all:
That the stays and the braces of life will be found
To be some of 'em rotten and some of 'em sound

[Page 107]That the good we should cherish, the bad ne'er seek,
For death will too soon bring each anchor a-peak

When astride on the yard, they top-lifts they let go,
And I com'd like a shot, plump among 'em be­low,
Why I cotch'd at a halliard, and jump'd upon deck,
And so broke my fall, to save breaking my neck,
Just like your philosophers, for all their jaw:
Who less than a rope, gladly catch at a straw;
Thus the good we should cherish, the bad never seek,
For death will too soon bring each anchor a-peak.

Why now that their cruise that we made off the banks,
Where I pepper'd the foe, and got s
 [...]ot for my thanks,
What then she soon struck, and though crippled on shore,
And laid up to refit, I had shiners galore:
At length live and looking, I tried the false main,
And to get more prize money, got shot at again:
Thus the good we should cherish, the bad never seek,
For death will too soon bring each anchor a-peak.

[Page 108]
Then just as it comes, take the bad with the good,
One man's spoon's made of silver, another's of wood,
Whats poison for one man's another man's balm,
Some are safe in a storm, and some lost in a calm:
Some are rolling in riches, some not worth a souse,
To-day we eat beef, to-morrow lobs-souse:
Thus the good we should cherish, the bad never seek,
For death will too-soon bring each anchor a-peak.

BALLAD.FRESHLY now the breeze is blowing,
As yon ship at anchor rides,
Sullen waves incessant flowing,
Rudely dash against her sides:
So my heart its course impeded,
Beats in my perturbed breast;
Doubts, like waves by waves succeeded,
Rise, and still deny it rest.

[Page 109]

BALLAD—IN THE WAGS.

THE wind was hush'd the storm was over,
Unfurl'd was every flowing sail,
From toil released, when Dick of Dover,
Went with his messmates to regale:
All danger's o'er, cried he, my neat hearts,
Drown care then in the smiling can,
Come bear a hand, let's toast our sweethearts,
And first I'll give you buxom Nan.

She's none of those that's always gigging,
And stem and stern made up of art:
One knows a vessel by her rigging,
Such ever slight a constant heart:
With straw hat and pink streamers flowing,
How oft to meet me has she ran;
While for dear life would I be rowing,
To meet with smiles my buxom Nan.

Jack Jollyboat went to the Indies,
To see him stare when he came back,
The girls were all off of the hinges
His Poll was quite unknown to Jack:
Tant masted all, to see who's tallest,
Breastworks, top gant-sails, and a fan,
Messmate, cried I, more sail than ballast,
Ah still give me my buxom Nan.

None in life's sea can sail more quicker,
To shew her love, or serve a friend.

[Page 110]But hold, I'm preaching o'er my liquor,
This one word then, and there's an end:
Of all the wenches whatsomedever,
I say then find me out who can
One half so tight, so kind so clever,
Sweet, trim, and neat as buxom Nan.

BALLAD—IN THE WAGS.

LOVELY woman, pride of nature,
Good, and sweet, and kind, and fair
Than man a higher stile of creature,
Perfect as celestials are:
See Myra come, like stately Juno,
Ever fair, and ever young,
Completely like, as I and you know,
For Myra, like Juno, has a tongue.

Young Celia's charms that beam so sweetly,
To paint ah what can words avail,
She's Venus' self, and so completely,
That Celia is, like Venus, frail:
To woo the charming Gloriana,
Audacity would stand afraid;
She chaste and icy as Diana,
And, like Diana, an old maid.

Thus woman boast a near relation,
'Tis plain to the celestial race,

[Page 111]Thus we of their divine creation
A family resemblance trace:
If then some faults of this complexion,
Like spots upon that sun, their fame,
Rust this same model of perfection,
The stars, not women, are to blame.

BALLAD—IN THE WAGS.

WHY don't you know me by my scars?
I'm soldier Dick come from the wars;
Where many head without a hat
Crowds honour's bed—but what of that?
Beat drums, play fifes, 'tis glory calls,
What argufies who stands or falls:
Lord what should one be sorry for?
Life's but the fortune of the war:
Then rich or poor, or well, or sick,
Still laugh and sing shall soldier Dick.

I used to look two ways at once,
A bullet hit me on the sconce,
And dowsh'd my eye, d'ye think i'd wince?
Why lord I've never squinted since,
Beat drums, &c.

Some distant keep from war's alarms,
For fear of wooden legs and arms,
While others die safe in their beds
Who all their lives had wooden heads.
Beat drums, &c.

[Page 112]
Thus gout or fever, sword or shot,
Or something sends us all to pot:
That we're to die then do not grieve,
But let's be merry while we live.
Beat drums, &c.

RONDEUA—IN THE WAGS.

ONE negro, wi my banjer,
Me from Jenny come,
Wid cunning yiei
Me savez spy
De buckra world one hum,
As troo a street a stranger
Me my banjer strum:

My missy for one black dog about the house me kick,
Him say, my nassy tawny face enough to make him sick;
But when my massa he go out, she then no longer rail
For first me let the captain in, and then me no tale:
So aunt Quashy say,
Do tabby, brown, or black, or white,
You see um in one night,
Every sort of cat be gray.
One negro, &c.

[Page 113]
To fetch a lily money back, you go to law they call,
The court and all the tie-wig soon strip you shirt and all;
The courtier call him friend and foe,
And fifty story tell,
To day say yes, to morrow no,
And lie like any hell:
And so though negro black for true,
He black in buckra country too.
One negro, &c.

BALLAD—IN THE WAGS.

FAR remov'd from noise and smoak,
Hark I hear the woodman's stroke,
Who dreams not as he fells the oak,
What mischief dire he brews;
How art shall shape his falling trees,
For aid of luxury and ease,
He weighs not matters such as these,
But sings, and hacks, and hews.

Perhaps, now fell'd by this bold man,
That tree shall form the spruce sedan,
Or wheelbarrow, where oyster Nan
So runs her vulgar rig;

[Page 114]The stage where boxers crowd in flocks,
Or else quacks, perhaps, the stocks,
Or posts for signs, or barber's blocks,
Where smiles the parson's wig.

Thou mak'st bold peasant, oh what grief,
The gibbet on which hangs the thief,
The seat where sits the great Lord Chief,
The throne, the cobler's stall:
Thou pamper'st life in every stage,
Mak'st 
 [...]olly's whims, pride's equipage,
For children toyes, crutchers for age,
And coffins for us all.

Yet justice let us still afford,
These chairs, and this convival board,
The bin that holds gay Bacchus' hoard,
Confess the woodman's stroke:
He made the press that bled the vine,
The butt that holds the generous wine,
The hall itself, where tiplers join,
To crack the mirthful joke.

VAUXHALL BALLAD—IN THE WAGS

TIME was, for oh there was a time,
Sweet Phoebe by my side,
The softest verse I sung in rhime,
Where falling pools do glide:

[Page 115]But, Phoebe hence, I'm left alone,
Nor verse nor rhime can please,
And pools stand still to see me moan,
In whispers through the trees.

The pride of laughing nature stood
In fertile heaths confess'd,
When birds, in yon impervious wood,
With phoebe saw me blest,
But laughing nature's now in tears,
Thy heaths begin to mourn,
Birds hoot in my melodious ears,
For Phoebe's glad return.

To shun fierce sol's meridian heat,
Upon yon verdant green,
How oft, at close of eve, I'd meet,
Sweet Phoebe, beauty's queen:
But lost the sunshine of her charms,
The verdant green's all brown,
And I, with nothing in my arms,
Lie hard on beds of down.

Then come sweet fair, and leave behind
All sorrow, pain, and woe,
The birds shall smile, and the north wind
Like Boreas gently blow:
So shall the daisy-mantling green,
The cowslip-studded brook,
In sable robes all crimson seen
Reflect each azure look.

[Page 116]

RONDEAU—IN THE WAGS.

JACK dances and sings, and is always content,
In his vows to his lass he'll ne'er fail her,
His anchor's a-trip when his money's all spent,
And this is the life of a sailor.

Alert in his duty, he readily flies,
Where winds the tir'd vessel are flinging,
Though sunk to the sea gods, or tos'd to the skies,
Still Jack is found working and singing:

Long side of an enemy, boldly and brave,
He'll with broadside on broadside regale her,
Yet, he'll sigh to the soul o'er that enemy's grave,
So noble's the mind of a sailor.

Let cannons roar loud, bursts their sides let the bombs,
Let the winds a dread hurricane rattle,
The rough and the pleasant he takes as it comes,
And laughs at the storm and the battle:

In a fostering power while Jack puts his trust,
As fortune comes, smilling he'll hail her,
Resign'd, still, and manly, since what must be must,
And this is the mind of a soilor.

[Page 117]

Though careless and headlong, if danger should press,

And rank'd 'mongst the free list of rovers,

Yet he'll melt into tears at a tale of distress,

And prove the most constant of lovers:

To rancour unknown, to no passion a slave,
Nor unmanly, nor mean, nor a railer,
He's gentle as mercy, as fortitude brave,
And this is a true hearted sailor.

BALLAD—IN THE WAGS.

BLEST Friendship hail! thy gifts possessing,
That happy mortal's rich indeed:
Thou willing giv'st each earthly blessing
To all but those who stand in need:

Thy words are sweet as Hybla's honey,
In accents kind, and mild, and civil,
Flows thy advice:—thou giv'st not money,
For money is the very devil:

And rather than the foul temptation
Should into scrapes thy friend betray,
Disint'rested consideration,
Thou kindly tak'st it all away.

[Page 118]

Are his affairs at rack and manger,

Lest a bad world thy friend should chous [...],

No time for thee to play the stranger,

Thou deign'st to manage all his house:

To make him thy good pleasure tarry,
To kiss thy feet, to leap o'er sticks,
To run, to hop, to fetch, to carry,
And play a thousand monkey tricks.

Nay, if thy liquorish chops should water,
To ease him of domestic strife,
Thou rid'st him of a flirting daughter,
Or, kinder still, thou steal'st his wife.

Come then, my friend, prevent my pleasure,
And out of doors politeness kick,
With me and mine pray keep no measure,
Drench me with bumpers, make me sick:

My cellar bleed, devour my mutton,
Upon my vitals dine and sup:
Come on thou kind, thou friendly glutton,
Kill, barbecue, and eat me up.

Then, to the last a friend, desert me,
That wise by dear experience grown,
And having no kind friend to hurt me,
I may, at last, become my own.

[Page 119]

RONDEAU—IN PRIVATE THEATRICA [...]

BEAUTY I sell, who'll buy? who'll buy▪
Roses and lilies girls, here am I;
Neither black, brown, nor fair, shall have cause for complaint,
They shall look like angels, and all without paint:
Who'll buy? Who'll buy?
Here am I.

Come maids and be beautiful, easy's the task,
Use the rouge newly taken from modesty's mask;
As it blooms shall fair truth shew your heart in the flush,
And duty's enamel shall polish the blush,
For duty gives charms that shall last all your lives:
None but dutiful daughters make beautiful wives.
Beauty I sell, &c.

Now's your time, all ye wives, would ye beau­tiful grow,
Draw some drops from content's lucid fount as they flow;
Take the mildness of love, throw away all the art,
Mix these in endearment's alembic, the heart,
Let the fire of attention the whole gently boil,
Then add nature's best glos
 [...], a perpetual smile,
Beauty I sell, &c.

[Page 120]
C
 [...]me round me, I've wares for maid, widow, and wife:
This essence of truth to the eyes gives a life,
This ticture of sweetness shall lilies disclose,
And from this, virtue's balm, shall spring beau­ty's best rose;
Then while art's in fashion, how can you refuse,
That which nature and reason permit you to use?
Beauty I sell, &c.

BALLAD—IN PRIVATE THEATRICALS

I THAT once was a ploughman, a sailor am now,
No lark that aloft in the sky,
Ever flutter'd his wings to give speed to the plough,
Was so gay or so careless as I:
But my friend was a carfindo aboard a king's ship,
And he ax'd me to go just to sea for a trip,
And he talk'd of such things,
As if sailors were kings,
And so teizing did keep,
That I left my poor plough to go plouging the deep:
No longer the horn
Call me up in the morn,

[Page 121]I trusted the carfindo and the inconstant wind,
That made me for to go and leave my dear behind.

I did not much like for to be aboard a ship;
When in danger there's no door to creep out:
I like the jolly tars, I like bumbo and flip,
But I did not like rocking about:
By and by comes a hurrican, I did not like that:
Next a battle that many a sailor laid flat:
Ah, cried I, who would roam
That like me had a home?
Where I'd sow, and I'd reap,
Ere I left my poor plough, to go ploughing the deep:
Where sweetly the horn
Call'd me up in the morn,
Ere I trusted the carfindo and the inconstant wind,
That made me for to go and leave my dear be­hind.

At last safe I landed and in whole skin,
Nor did I make any long stay,
Ere I found by a friend, whom I ax'd for my kin,
Father dead, and my wife ran away.
Ah who but thyself, said I, hast thou to blame,
Wives losing their husbands, oft lose their good name;

[Page 122]Ah why did I roam,
When so happy at home,
I could sow, and could reap,
Ere I left my poor plough, to go ploughing the deep:
When so sweetly the horn
Call'd me up in the morn:
Curse light upon the carfindo and the inconstant wind,
That made me for to go and leave my dear be­hind.

Why if that be the case, said this very same friend,
And you ben't no more minded to roam,
Gis a shake by the fist, all your cares at an end,
Dad's alive, and your wife safe at home!
Stark starting with joy, I leapt out of my skin,
Buss'd my wife, mother, sister, and all of my kin:
Now cried I, let them roam,
Who want a good home;
I am well, so I'll keep,
Nor again leave my plough to go ploughing the deep:
Once more shall the horn
Call me up in the morn,
Nor shall any dam'd carfindo, nor the inconstant wind,
E'er tempt me for to go, and leave my dear be­hind.

[Page 123]

BALLAD—IN PRIVATE THEATRICALS.

DEAR John prithee tell me, cried Ruth,
To Gubbins, her husband, one day,
Dost not think, in good sooth,
I should swear but the truth
Did I swear what I am going to say?

That wedlocks's a state.
In good humour, that fate
Contriv'd to bless woman and man,
And that Giles here's an ass,
Who such fortune lets pass?
All should marry as soon as they can.

Why Goody, cried Gubbins, you know
My thoughts of the thing 'fore to day,
Nor, as I shall shew,
Need one many miles go
To prove what I am going to say,

Did wives ever scold,
Were they ugly, or old,
A spouse were a miserable man,
But smooth is their tongue,
They're all comely and young!
Giles get married as soon as you can.

If one's children one wish'd in their grave,
Still plaguing one day after day,

[Page 124]The girls fashion's slaves,
Thy boys puppies and knaves,
One then might have something to say;

But brats are no evil,
They ne'er play the devil,
Nor have wives from their duty e'er ran,
Then since, my friend Giles,
Wedlock greets you with smiles,
Get married as soon as you can.

Cried Ruth, will you let your tongue run,
Here you scurvy old villain I rule!
Rogues there are, said the son,
But, old Quiz, am I one?
Cried the daughter, my father's a fool.

Don't you see, Gubbins cried,
I've the tenderest bride,
And best children that ever blest man!
Giles would you be driven,
To bedlam or heaven,
Get married as soon as you can.

BALLAD—IN PRIVATE THEATRICALS▪

LADIES and gentlemen I'm a beau,
A beau I have been all my life,
And yet may the devil fetch me if I know

[Page 125]How I, whose whole trade is
To tickle up the ladies,
Have never yet got me a wife.
I started in life 'bout the year sixty two,
My small clothes were scarlet, my stockings were blue,
My shoes were half-boots, pudding sleeves too I wore,
My hat in the true pistol cock, and the more
O'er the fair to prevail,
I sported a fine 
 [...]amilie for a cue,
For what's a beau or a monkey without a tail.
Fashion thus yields to fashion, as night yields to day,
The huge hat that was cock'd with an air,
Soon was kick'd out of doors, of the smart Ni­vernois
The charm'd world sung the praises,
The belles put on jaxies,
And the beaux sported now their own hair.
By that time it came to the year seventy-two,
The fashions of mixture of old were and new;
Your hair like a bushel might look or a wig,
Or nine hairs of a side, with the tail of a pig,
For me o'er the fair to prevail,
I had seven yards of ribbon to make me a queue,
For what's a beau or a monkey without a tail?

[Page 126]
Again with the varying modes did I jump,
Of fashion I gave the grand pas;
My coat hung to my heels, or was tuck'd to my rump,
In all circles shoving,
A beau, or a sloven,
With a slouch, or a chapeau de bras:
Thus I sported my figure about eighty-two,
Drove a two-story gig, that four pony rats drew,
Wore a coat with seven capes, thirteen waist-coats in one,
And; that I might ne'er be in folly outdone,
With the fair to prevail,
A large proter's knot would have scarce held my queue,
For what's a beau or a monkey without a tail?

Thus in all sorts of modish assembles the first,
Have my purse, health, and spirits been hack'd,
But the polish worn off, nothing left but the rust,
I of fashion's strange stages,
Like Shakespeare's Seven Ages;
Play the farce, though I'm in at the last act,
Arrived to year of Our Lord ninety-two,
I dress, and I coax, and I flirt, but won't do;
At a hundred and one I should still be a fop,
But done up, and nick named by the world the grey crop,
Can I hope to prevail,
To play gallantry's part I have now lost my cue,
For what's a beau or a monkey without a tail.

[Page 127]

BALLAD—IN PRIVATE THEATRICALS.

SPANKING Jack was so comely, so pleasant so jolly,
Though winds blew great guns, still he'd whistle and sing,
Jack lov'd his friend, and was true to his Molly,
And, if honor gives greatness, was great as a king:
One night, as we drove with two reefs in the main sail,
And the scud came on low'ring upon a lee shore,
Jack went up a loft, for to hand the top gantsail,
A spray wash'd him off, and we ne'er saw him more:
But grieving's a folly,
Come let us be jolly,
If we've troubles on sea boy, we've pleasures 'sbore.

Whiffling Tom still of mischief, or fun in the middle,
Through life in all weathers at random would jog,
He'd dance, and he'd sing, and he'd play on the fiddle,
And swig with an air his allowance of grog:
Long side of a Don, in the Terrible frigate,
As yard arm and yard arm we lay off the shore,

[Page 128]In and out whiffling Tom did so caper and jig it,
That his head was shot off, and we ne'er saw him more:
But grieving's a folly, &c.

Bonny Ben was to each jolly messmate a brother.
He was manly & honest, good natured & free,
If ever one tar was more true than another,
To his friend and his duty, that sailor was he:
One day with the davit to weigh the cadge an­chor,
Ben went in the boat on a bold craggy shore,
He overboard tipt, when a shark and a spanker,
Soon nipt him in two, and we ne'er saw him more!
But grieving's a folly, &c.

But what of it all lads, shall we be down hearted
Because that may hap we now take our last sup?
Life's cable must one day or other be parted,
And death in safe moorings will bring us all up:
But 'tis always the way on't, one scarce finds a brother
Fond as pitch, honest, hearty, and true to the core,
But by battle, or storm, or some dam'd thing or other,
He's popp'd off the hooks, and we ne'er see him more!
But grieving's a folly, &c.

[Page 129]

BALLAD—IN PRIVATE THEATRICALS.

BLEAK was the morn when William left his Nancy,
The fleecy snow frown'd on the whiten'd shore,
Cold as the fears that chill'd her dreary fancy,
While she her sailor from her bosom tore:
To his fill'd heart a little Nancy pressing,
While a young tar the ample trowsers ey'd,
In need of firmness, in this station distressing,
Will check'd the rising sigh, and fondly cried,
Ne'er fear the perils of the fickle ocean,
Sorrow's a notion,
Grief all in vain;
Sweet love take heart,
For we must part
In joy to meet again.

Loud blew the wind, when leaning on that wil­low
Where the dear. name of William stood,
When Nancy saw, toss'd by a faithless billow,
A ship dash'd 'gainst a rock that topp'd the flood:
Her tender heart with frantic sorrow thrilling,
Wild as the storm that howl'd along the shore,
No longer could resist a stroke so killing,
'Tis he, she cried, nor shall I see him more!
Why did he ever trust the fickle ocean,
Sorrow's my portion,

[Page 130]Misery and pain!
Break my poor heart,
For now we part,
Never to meet again.

Mild was the eve, all nature was smiling,
Four tedious years had Nancy pass'd in grief,
When, with her children the sad hours beguil­ing,
She saw her William fly to her relief!
Sunk in his arms with bliss he quickly found her,
But soon return'd to life, to love and joy,
While her grown young ones anxiously surround her,
And now Will clasps his girl and now his boy:
Did I not say, though 'tis a fickle ocean,
Sorrow's all a notion,
Grief all in vain?
My joy how sweet,
For now we meet,
Never to part again!

BALLAD—IN PRIVATE THEATRICALS.

IN the motley feather'd race
Mankind you may distinctly trace,

[Page 131]Evermore on pleasure's wing
Idly roving,
Fighting, loving,
They chatter, croak, and hoot, and sing.

Nor is my simile unfair,
Among the people of the air
Are birds of night and birds of day,
Birds that on each other prey,
Birds that whistle, birds that croak,
Birds that are a standing joke,
Birds that decoy, and mock and call,
So like to birds are mortals all:
That in the motley feather'd race,
Mankind you may distinctly trace,
Evermore on pleasure's wing,
Idly roving,
Fighting, loving,
They chatter, croak, and hoot, and sing.

Thou hast seen upon the prowl,
Grave as any judge, an owl,
On birds and mice at random seize,
For wren. or linnet,
Watch the minute,
And make a snatch by 
 [...]ay of fees:
Lawyers, who deal in froth and words.
What are they all but humming-birds?
Geese are those who go to law,
A hoarding miser's a jackdaw,

[Page 132]Fond doves, like lovers, kiss and toy,
A bulfinch is an Irish joy,
Neglected worth's the humble wren,
While corm'rants are all aldermen!
Thus in the motley feather'd race, &c.

Vain peacocks thou hast seen, who hide
Their ugly feet, though puff'd with pride;
Thus, while they bask in sunshine's hour,
Spacious wonders,
Hide the blunders,
Of gaudy peacocks, plum'd with power—
Fools so love knaves one can't descry
The dove-house from the rookery:
The meerest dolt can tell your who
Are like the wagtail and cuckoo:
And all know those who swear and lie
Are like the noisy chatt'ring pie:
A hen's a flirt, with frizzl'd top,
And whats the duck-tail'd-jay?—A crop▪
Thus in the motley feather'd race, &c.

BALLAD—IN PRIVATE THEATRICALS.

WHEN I comes to town with a load of hay,
Mean and lowly though I seem,
I knows pretty well how they figures away,
While I whistles and drives my team:

[Page 133]Your natty sparks, and flashy dames
How do I love to queer,
I runs my rigs,
And patters, and giggs,
And plays a hundred comical games,
To all that comes near:
Then in a pet
To hear 'em fret,
A mobbing away they go—
("The scoundrel deserves to be hors-whipt!"
'Who, me ma'am?')
Wo Ball, wo!
So to mind them I ne'er seem,
But whistles and drives my team!

So as I seems thinking of nothing at all,
And driving as fast as I can,
I pins a queer thing against the wall,
Half a monkey, and half a man!
The mob came round him to put up his blood,
While he's trembling from top to toe,
My whip it goes spank,
I tips Ball on the flank,
Ball plunges, and paints him all over with mud,
Queers his stockings, and spoils the beau!
Then then the sweet pretty dear
Ah could you but hear,
("Odds curse you, I'll make you know,
"You infernal villain!"
'Lord bless your baby face, I would not hurt

[Page 134]'your spindle shanks for the world'!)
Wo Ball, wo!
So to mind 'em I ne'er seem,
But whistles and drives my team.

And so gets the finest fun
And frisk that ever you saw,
Of all I meets I can queer ev'ry one
But you gemmen of the law:
Though they can scarcely put me down,
Says I, to their courts when I'm led,
Where their tails of a pig
They hide with a wig,
How many ways in London town
They dresses a calf's head,
Then ev'ry dunce
To hear open at once,
Like mill-clacks their clappers go,
("Oh that's the fellow I saw grinning through
"the horse collar in the country,"
'I fancy you're the fellow I saw grinning through
'the pillory in London!')
Wo Ball, wo!
So to mind 'em I ne'er seem,
But whistl
 [...]s and drives my team.

[Page 135]

BALLAD—IN THE MISCHANCE.

FOR I am the girl that was made for my Joe,
And Joe is the lad that was model'd for me,
Our tempers agree;
And all the world over with him would I go,
And work late or early, nor think it a pain,
For I ne'er lov'd my Joe for the lucre of gain.

If so be, by good chance, such a fortunate thing
Was to happen, for me to be crownd a queen,
'Twould quickly be seen,
If they did not consent to moke Joey a king,
That for Bet they might get who they would for to reign,
For I ne'er lov'd my Joe for the lucre of gain.

O'Conner, he in the 
pae-aches that plies.
Ap Skenkin, the Welchman, MacPherson the Scot,
For his sake went to pot;
Nay, (though many a girl would have thought him a prize,)
I refus'd a Jew broker, from Petticoat-lane
For I ne'er lov'd my Joe for the lucre of gain

[Page 136]

BALLAD—IN ALL'S NOT GOLD THAT GLITERS

I AM a chairman my name as Mc Gee,
No flower in May was so blithe as me,
Till that bastard Cupid, lodg'd in disguise
In pretty Bridget's two good looking eyes,
Arrah is't you, the urchin cry'd,
I've a strong bow I never try'd;
Like a shelalah he then chose a dart,
And what a whack it gave my heart.

And since that time I grunt and sigh,
And sob, and moan, 
becase as why
I strive to hate, but am ne'er the nigher,
By her frosty looks I'm all on fier.
Oh! Bridget, Bridget, ease my pain,
Or give me back my heart again,
Or else, in troth, do all I can,
My partner'll soon be an old man.

BALAD—IN THE QUIZES.

PRAY ladies think not I presume
The art of love to teach you;
Proficients long ago become,
My council could not reach you:
A hint I offer, nothing more,
For your determination,
Love'
 [...] mysteries would you explore,

[Page 137]Observe the feather'd nation.
As in a mirror, may you there,
Of love, make your elections,
As you choose ribbands at a fair,
To suit with all complexions.

The cuckoo, that one fulsome tale,
Vaunts over so, and over,
May sooner than the dove prevail.
With some, by way of lover:
But I have heard the laughing loves,
More truly aim their arrows,
When Venus harnesses her doves,
Than when she's drawn by sparrows:
But if the smallest hint by you
To this should be objected,
With defference, so much your due,
I soon shall stand corrected.

The peacock, with such stated pride,
His hauty bosom throbbing,
May scorn, while hopping by his side,
The blest, though humble robin:
But, sparingly true joy is lent,
To envy, pride and malice:
'Tis said a cottage, and content,
Sometimes outweighs a palace:
Yet may. against my playful verse,
No fit of anger seizes you:
I would not, for the universe,
Do ought that could displease you.

[Page 138]
Jays, pies, and all the chattering crew,
To folly giv'n, and pleasure,
May turn to jest the chosen few,
Who love by virtue measure:
Not so the greatful nightingale,
Who soon as evening closes,
His orgies offers in the vale,
To heav'n, ere he reposes.
Of this you'll judge, as of the rest,
Yet, while the smile's beginning,
Ere you turn counsel to a jest,
Take care that laughing's winning.

BALLAD—IN THE QUIZES.

THE passing bell was heard to toll,
John wail'd his loss with bitter cries,
The parson prayed for Mry's soul,
The sexton hid her from all eyes.
"And art thou gone,"
Cried wretched John,
Oh dear 'twill kill me, I am dying:
Cried Neighbour Sly'
While standing by,
"Lord how this world is giv'n to lying!"

The throng retired, John left alone,
He meditated 'mongst the tombs,

[Page 139]And spelt out on the mould'ring stones,
What friends were gone to their long homes:
"You're gone before,"
Cried John, no more—
"I shall come soon, I'm almost dying:
Cried Neighbour Sly,
While standing by,
"Lord how this world is given to lying!"

'Here lies the bones, heav'n's will be done,
'Of farmer Slug:—reader would'st know
'Who to his mem'ry raised this stone?
''Twas his disconsolate widow.'
Cried John, "Oh oh!
"To her I'll go,
"No doubt with grief the widow's dying:"
Cried Neighbour Sly,
Still standing by,
"Lord how this world is given to lying!"

Their mutual grief was short and sweet:
Scarcely the passing bell had ceased,
When they were sped;—the funeral meat
Was warmed up for the marriage feast!
They vow'd, and swore,
Now o'er and o'er,
They ne'er would part till both were dying—
Cried Neighbour Sly,
Still standing by,
"Lord how this world is given to lying!"

[Page 140]
Again to hear the passing bell,
John now a sort of hack'ring feels;
Again his help-mate brags how well
She can trip up a husband's heels:
Again to the tomb
Each longs to come,
Again with tears, and sobs, and sighing,
For Neighbour Sly,
Again to cry,
"Lord how this world is given to lying!"

BALLAD—IN THE QUIZES.

COME all hands ahoy to the anchor,
From our friends and relations to go;
Poll blubbers and cries, devil thank her,
She'll soon take another in tow.
This breeze, like the old one, will kick us,
About on the boisterous main,
And one day, if death should not trick us,
Perhaps we way come back again.
With a will ho then pull away jolly boys,
At the mercy of fortune we go;
We're in for't then damme what folly boys
For to be downhearted, yo ho!

Our Boatswain takes care of the rigging,
More spessiously when he gets drunk;
The Bobstays supplies him with swigging,

[Page 141]He the cable cuts up for old junk:
The studding-sail serves for his hammoc,
With the clue-lines he bought him his call,
While Ensigns and Jacks in a mammock
He sold to buy trinkets for Poll.
With a will ho, &c.

Of the Purser this here is the maxim,
Slops, grog, and provision he sacks:
How he'd look, if you was but to ax him.
With the Captain's clerk who 'tis goes snacks:
Oh he'd find it another guess story,
That would bring his bare back to the cat,
If his majesty's honour and glory,
Was only just told about that.
With a will ho, &c.

Our Chaplain's both holy and godly,
And sets us for heaven agog:
Yet to my mind he looks rather oddly,
When he's swearing and drinking of grog.
When he took on his knee Betty Bowser,
And talk'd of her beauty and charms,
Cried I which is the way to heaven now sir?
Why you dog, cried the Chaplain, her arms.
With a will ho, &c.

The Gunner's a devil of a bubber,
The Carfindo can't fish a mast,
The Surgeon's a lazy land lubber,

[Page 142]The Master can't steer if he's aft,
The Lieutenants conceit are all wrapt in,
The Mates scarcely merit their flip,
Nor is there a swab, but the Captain,
Knows the stem from the stern of the ship.
With a will ho, &c.

Now fore and aft having abused them,
Just but for my fancy and gig,
Could I find any one that ill used them,
Damn me but I'd tickle his wig.
Jack never was known for a railer,
'Twas fun ev'ry word that I spoke,
And the sign of a true hearted sailor,
Is to give and to take a good joke.
With a will ho, &c.

BALLAD—IN THE QUIZES.

As Wit and Beauty, for an hour,
The other day were jarring,
Which held o'er man superior pow'r,
They almost came to sparring:
Cried Reason, Wit you're grown a fool,
You look quite ugly, Beauty:
Come take me with you, both be cool,
Sure mortals know their duty:
To them submit,
Whether 'tis Wit,
They most admire, or Beauty.

[Page 143]
So said, so done, out they both set,
With reason to protect 'em,
Resolv'd that the first man they met,
Should to the truth direct 'em.
Instant they ask'd a midnight throng,
Who, to Bacchus paid their duty,
Wit, cried out they, teems in our song,
But 'tis inspired by Beauty.
Learn wisdom, Wit,
Like us, submit
To the sweet power of Beauty.

Cried Wit, no tricks on travellers here,
I saw you smile, you gipsy;
'Twas brib'ry and corruption clear;
Besides, the rogues were tipsy:
Yon bard the truth will quickly hit:
Come, poet, do your duty:
Do you not owe your fame to Wit;
To Wit fool!—no, to Beauty.
Adieu to Wit.
When men submit
To be the slaves of Beauty.

Quaint rogue, with his satiric page,
The fellow is a lover:
If I'm condemn'd by yonder sage,
I'll give the matter over.
Did'st not the world, say Hermit, quit,
Imposing this hard duty,

[Page 144]Better to contemplate on Wit?
"No, to reflect on Beauty."
Then, in fond fit,
He turn'd from Wit,
And squeez'd the hand of Beauty,

"Wit rules the mind, Beauty the heart,
"Friend one, and wife the other;
"Thus, cleaving to the better part,
"Men leave friend, father, brother:
"Hence, cried the sage—my presence quit:
"Adieu friend, know thy duty:"
Then, shutting rude the door on Wit,
Was left alone with Beauty!
Since when, poor Wit,
Glad to submit,
Has own'd the pow'r of Beauty.

RONDEAU—IN THE QUIZES.OH the camp's delightful rigs,
At which such crouds are peeping,
Where chaises, dillies, cars, and gigs,
Serve both to ride and sleep in,
Oh the joys that there abound,
Where, lur'd by the fine weather,
Warriors of every rank are found,
Who, higgledy piggledy, on the ground,
Like gipsies pig together.

[Page 145]The morning gun
Begins the sun,
Reveilles next the drum beats,
The sprightly fife,
So full of life,
And then the silver trumpets.
And these, with all their might,
Announce a fine sham fight;
Marches, retreats, attacks, and routs,
Proclaim'd by guns, and shrieks, and shouts,
The air with various clangors fill;
While ranks of foot, and troops of horse,
Resistless in their headlong course,
Bear down, while sidling, shifting, trimming,
Beaux, bells, jew pedlars, and old women;
Who, left in topsy turvy plight,
Exhibit, O ye gods! a sight
That beggars Greenwich hill!
Now either army stilly stands,
The neighing horses cease to prance,
The trumpet, that erst cried advance,
Now sounds retreat;
Drums cease to beat;
Foes, turn'd to friends, eager shake hands;
On neither side the winner:
No longer arm'd for a sham fight,
They tooth and nail unite,
To exterminate—the dinner.
Oh the camp's delightful rigs, &c.

[Page 146]Oh for a muse of fire, to sing
The conflict of the day!
Upon a plain, in form a ring,
The foe within entrenchments lay;
A cover'd way
Hid each division:—At the sight
The heroes, eager for the fight,
Arm, and the enemy invest.
Each charge fresh vigour brings,
They thin the ranks,
Attacking flanks,
And wings:
Legs, heads, and carcases around,
They in one shapeless heap confound,
And, ris'n to such a savage beat,
Not only kill, but all they kill they cat!
And see, to urge their furious course,
Light troops the foe now reignforce;
On the instant, as they stand amazed,
New works are raised,
Like magic, to their wond'ring eyes,
Bastions, redoubts, and ravlins rise.
Again the signal's given;
Again with headlong fury driven;
Comfits, now discomfited.
Lie in promiscuous ruin spread;
Trifles, blanc mange, and jellies quake,
While' as with rage they teem,
Whole islands they devour of cake,
And drink whole seas of cream.
Again the general cries, charge all!

[Page 147]The word's the king!
Forward they spring,
And drink in savage joy the blood
Drawn from the grape, in purple stood,
And strew with mangled heaps the plain,
And fight the battle o'er again,
And slay the slain!
And now, the foe all kill'd or fled,
While those that can walk off to bed:
The solemn trumpet's slowly sounded,
Leave's given to carry off the wounded,
And bury all the dead.
Oh the camp's delightful rigs, &c

BALLAD—IN THE QUIZES,

WHILE Fancy, as she rules the mind,
Sits cock-horse on the brain,
A thousand methods mortals find
Elysium to obtain.
'Tis found by soldiers in brave deeds,
Tars trust it to the breeze,
Wives hope to find it in their weeds,
Physicians in their fees▪
Thus expectation in us plants
Alternate hope and fear,
I know of one whose bosom pants
To find elysium here.

The toper fancies he pursues
Elysium in the bowl,

[Page 148]The hunks in pelf he dare not use,
No, not to save his soul.
The slanderer when he can revile,
The churl when he can warn,
The lover in his mistress' smiles,
The parson in his brain.
Thus as they rule the mind by turns,
Hope soars above the fear;
I've half amind to tell who burns
To find elysium here.

I can't resist—hence prudence law's
I'll finish the dispute;
Of that elysium, your applause,
I'm now in warm pursuit:
But then, say you, to gain this heav'n,
What right can you assert?
Let it be by your goodness given,
It can't by my desert.
So shall ye bid my labours live,
So shall each following year,
While you confer, and I receive,
Both find elysium here.

BALLAD—IN THE GIPSIES.LOVE'S a cheat; we over-rate it;
A flatt'ring, false, deceitful joy;
A very nothing can create it,
A very nothing can destroy.

[Page 149]The light'ning's flash, which wondering leaves us,
Obscur'd and darker than before;
The glow-worm's tinsel, which deceives us,
A painted light, and nothing more.

BALLAD—IN THE GIPSIES.

GO, proud lover, go!
Take your heart back again!
For me 'tis too low,
Too unworthy a chain,
Be haughty, imperious, this gipsy despise:
You rise but to fall, while I fall to rise.

True love, never erring,
Has no selfish fears;
That, the more 'tis conferring,
The nobler appears:
It has no sordid views, no vile ends for its guide,
'T
 [...] Ti
 [...]ngovern'd by int'rest, uninfluenc'd by pride.

BALLAD—IN IMITATION OF ANACREON.

CUPID, cried Vulcan, 'tis no jest,
I'll forge thy darts no longer, boy!
I cannot get a moment's rest,
Thy folly gives me such employ.

[Page 150]Not against Pallas, no, nor Mars,
My worn-out patience so revolts,
To furnish arms for all their wars—
Nor e'en to forge Jove's thunderbolts.

Their conscience is in their demands,
But thou wouldst tire me 
 [...]ut in sooth,
Had I Briareus' hundred hands—
Cries Cupid—Dad, wilt hear the truth!
The darts thou makest, so blunt are found;
Scarce do I draw my bow at men,
But instantly heals up the wound,
And all my work's to do again.

Vainly I lavish heaps of darts,
And empty quiver after quiver;
Which, while they guard their well arm'd hearts,
These lovers into atoms shiver,
Find out some surer temper, new—
So shall, like Jove's resistless fiat,
My power grow fix'd as fate, and you
Will henceforth live a little quiet.

Old Mulciber began the work,
Forged dart the first, quoth Love, let's see!
Then pois'd his bow, and with a jerk,
He made his 
coup d'essai on me.
The stroke had power each wav'ring trace
Of folly from my mind to sever;
And now I feel, one lovely face
Has fix'd my willing heart for ever.

[Page 151]

BALLAD—IN THE COBLER,

GAY Bacchus, and Mercury, and I,
One evening a strange frolic took,
And left the queer dons of the sky,
To take at queer mortals a look:
But our visit ne'er alter'd the scene;
The same folly, the same senseless mirth
We still found, and 'tis this mortals mean
When they tell us of heaven upon earth.

We join'd a convivial crew,
Who push'd round the claret with spunk;
Bacchus swore it was nectar, and grew,
Like a lord, or a tinker, soon drunk,
To their concerts, that tortured my ears,
Noise and Discord so fairly give birth,
That I thought 'twas a crash of the spheres,
And thus music is heaven upon earth.

At Pharaoh we punted and cock'd,
Till we such an example were made,
That Mercury retired, quite shock'd,
To be foil'd at his own proper trade,
In love mortals all riot run,
Beauty, honour, esteem, private worth,
Politely give place to crim con.
And thus love is heaven upon earth.

As to me, my poor portion of wit,
In two minutes was knocked out of joint,

 [...]y pun, jeux d'esprit, lucky hit,

[Page 152]And quibble, conundrum, and point.
Thus below they act o'er the same scene
We play here, the same clamour and mirth,
And this is the nonsense they mean
When they tell us of heaven upon earth.

GLEE—IN THE CHELSEA PENSIONER.SWEETLY, sweetly, let's enjoy
The smiling moments made for love;
And while we clasp the dimpled boy,
The glass to you, to you shall move.
And drinking, laughing, jesting neatly.
The time shall pass on sweetly, sweetly.
Love's arrows, dipp'd in rosy wine,
To the charm'd heart like light'ning pass;
And Mars feels transport more divine,
When smiling Venus fills his glass.

GLEE—IN THE CHELSEA PENSIONER.TELL me, neighbour, tell me plain,
Which is the best employ?
Is it love, whose very pain
They say is perfect joy?
Is it war, whose thund'ring sound
Is heard at such a distance round?
Is it to have the miser's hoard?
Is it to be with learning stor'd?

[Page 153]Is it gay Pegasus to rein,
Tell me, neighbour, tell me plain?
No, no, will answer every honest soul,
The best employ's to push about the bowl.

SONG—IN THE CHELSEA PENSIONER.A WHILE in every nation
War may blaze around,
Still spreading desolation,
Yet there's hopes of peace.
A while the billows raging,
May sky and sea confound,
Yet winds and waves assuaging,
Storms at last will cease.
But man by vice o'ertaken,
A tempest in his mind,
His warring passions shaken,
Are reeds as in the wind.
Rare is the eloquence that has the charm,
To rule that pestilence, or quell the storm.

BALLAD—IN CASTLES IN THE AIR.

THE breeze was fresh, the ship in stays,
Each breaker hush'd, the shore a haze,
When Jack, no more on duty call'd,
His true love's tokens overhaul'd:

[Page 154]The broken gold, the braided hair,
The tender motto, writ so fair,
Upon his 'bacco-box he views,
Nancy the poet, Love the muse:
"If you loves I as I loves you,
"No pair so happy as we two."

The storm, that like a shapeless wreck,
Had strewed with rigging all the deck,
That tars for sharks had given a feast,
And left the ship a hulk, had ceas'd:
When Jack, as with his messmates dear
He shar'd the grog, their hearts to cheer,
Took from his 'bacco-box a quid,
And spelt, for comfort, on the lid,
"If you loves I as I loves you,
"No pair so happy as we two."

The battle, that with horror grim,
Had madly ravaged life and limb,
Had scuppers drench'd with human gore,
And widow'd many a wife, was o'er:
When Jack, to his companions dear,
First paid the tribute of a tear,
Then, as his 'bacco-box he held,
Restor'd his comfort, as he spell'd
"If you loves I as I loves you,
"No pair so happy as we two."

The voyage that had been long and hard,
But that had yielded full reward,
That brought each sailor to his friend,

[Page 155]Happy and rich, was at an end:
When Jack, his toils and perils o'er,
Beheld his Nancy on the shore,
He then the 'bacco-box display'd
And cried, and seized the willing maid,
"If you loves I as I loves you,
"No pair so happy as we two."

BALLAD—IN CASTLES IN THE AIR.

IF ever a sailor was fond of good sport,
'Mongst the girls, why that sailor was I,
Of all sizes and sorts, I'd a wife at each port,
But, when that I saw'd Polly Ply,
I hail'd her my lovely, and gov'd her a kiss,
And swore to bring up once for all,
And from that time black Barnaby splic'd us to this,
I've been constant and true to my Poll.

And yet now all sorts of temptations I've stood,
For I afterwards sail'd round the world,
And a queer set we saw of the devil's own brood,
Wherever our sails were unfurled:
Some with faces like charcoal, and others like chalk;
All ready one's heart to o'erhaul,
Don't you go to love me, my good girl,' said I 'walk!
I've sworn to be constant to Poll.'

[Page 156]
I met with a squaw out at India, beyond,
All in glass and tobacco pipes dress'd,
What a dear pretty monster! so kind, and so fond.
That I ne'er was a moment at rest.
With her bobs at her nose, and her quaw, quaw, quaw,
All the world like a barthelmy doll,
Says I, 'You Miss Copperkin, just hold your jaw,
'I've sworn to be constant to Poll.

Then one near Sumatra, just under the line,
As fond as a witch in a play,
'I loves you,' says she, 'and just only be mine,
'Or, by poison, I'll take you away.
'Curse your kindness,' says I, but you can't frighten 'me,
'You don't catch a gudgeon this haul,
'If I do take your ratsbane, why then, do you see,
'I shall die true and constant to Poll.

But I 'scap'd from them all, tawny, lily, and black,
And merrily weather'd each storm,
And, my neighbours to please, full of wonders came back,
But, what's better, I'm grown pretty warm.
And so now to sea I shall venture no more,
For you know, being rich, I've no call,
And live and die constant to Poll.

[Page 157]

BALLAD—IN CASTLES IN THE AIR.

THE auctioneer mounts, and—first hawing and hemming—

Addresses his audience with—Ladies and gemmen,

Permit me to make on this sale a few strictures,

'Tis comprised of some choice allegorical pictures.

Lot one is a portrait of Truth:—bid away!

For Truth, la'es and gentlemen, what shall we say?

Suppose we say twenty thousand pounds for Truth: ten thousand: five: one: five hundred: one hundred: twenty guineas: one guinea. Nobody put in Truth? No lover nor lawyer in company stands in need of a little truth? Any thing to begin with. ‘Sixpence!, And a half-penny!!’ Thank you Sir. A going, a going, a going—come, spirit, bid on; Will nobody bid more? A going—gone.

Set down Truth to the gentleman in the ragged cassoc.

Lot two is Frugality, modest and meek,
Mild content in her eye, the fresh rose on her cheek,
The offspring of Prudence, the parent of Health,
Who, in Nature's scant wishes, finds Craesus's wealth.
What d'ye say for Frugality, ladies? O fie!

[Page 158]What nobody bid! Nobody!!—John put Fru­gality by.

Lot three: Dissipation. That's engaged: I could have sold them if I had had a thousand. Lot four: Crim Con. Oh Lord that is disposed of, by private contract. Lot five, Fashion. Come, ladies, what shall we say for Fashion? 'Twenty thousand pounds.'—Thank you Ma|'am. "Twenty-five."—'Thirty.'—

A going, a going, a going—come, spirit, bid on—What nobody bid more?

'Mr. Smiler, to save trouble,' you may send Fashion to 'my house upon your own terms.' Much obliged to your Ladyship.

—Going—gone.

Set down Fashion to Lady Kitty Cockahoop.

Next Lot is the Cardinal Virtues:—why John
Some strange metamorphose they've all under­gone:
Why Fortitude trembles and looks like a sheep!
While Temp'rance is tipsy! and Justice asleep!
And as for Ma'am Prudence, she's quite in her airs!
Here, John, kick the Cardinal Virtues down stairs.

Let me see, what have we else? Conscience. Oh Lord! Honour. Worse and worse! A parcel of antiquated stuff. What's this? Anarchy!! Why John what business has Anarchy, here? I thought that you knew that it was sold long enough ago, for exportation—And now [Page 159] you talk of exportation, you know this portrait of Popularity is to be sent, as a public gift to the Royal Brothers, upon the continent. Loyalty. ‘A hundred thousand pounds—two hundred thousand—three—four—five—six—seven— eight—a million—two million—three million— A going, a going, a going—come courage, bid on: A going, a going—’

Ten million in five hundred places! Oh I knew it was utterly impossible ever to find a single purchaser for Loyalty.

—Going, gone.

Set down Loyalty to the whole nation.

What remains there is little occasion to heed;
Of Honour and Worth you have none of you need;
Good Humour, and Frolic, and Laughter, so plump,
I've sold you again and again, in a lump.
The last lot's Content, of sweet Pleasure the twin,
Come purchase Content, and I'll throw Plea­sure in.

Come, ladies and gentlemen, what shall we say for Content? It is your interest to buy Content. What beauty can smile, what alderman guttle, without Content? I had once an idea of buying it in, but my content receives all its value from the reflection of yours. Come, I'll take nods and smiles for money. Much obliged to [Page 160] you, Sir:—particularly favoured Ma'am:— highly honoured, Sir:—you flatter me exceedingly, Miss?

A going, a going, a going—come, courage, bid bid on: A going, a going—
Infinitively above the full value! I am over­whelmed with gratitude!
—A going—gone.
Set down content to the present company.

BALLAD—IN CASTLES IN THE AIR.

THE village was jovial, the month was May,
The birds were sweetly singing;
Of Numps and Madge 'twas the wedding day,
The bells were merrily ringing.
The bridegroom came in his holiday cloaths,
The bride with ribbons as red as a rose;
Never did revelry so abound,
The drums beat, and the joke went round:
All manner of instruments loudly play'd,
The hautboy squeak'd, and the bassoon play'd
Then to see them all foot it, and jig it, and prance,
Stump, figit, and reel, in the mazy dance;
Thus, from when the lark rose till the stocking was thrown,
The fun, and the frisk, and pastime went on.

[Page 161]Such whim and such frolic s
 [...]re never was seen,
Till wond'ring so long they had tarried,
Young Ralph of the village and Sue of the green,
Cry—what a rare thing to be married!

Now scarcely past the honey moon
Still Numps and Madge are singing,
But not exactly the same tune,
For the bells her clapper's ringing.
The Squire steps in, Numps smells a rat,
Love and dear, are changed to dog and cat;
Their loves turn'd hate, and grief their joys,
Contentment's strife, and pleasure noise:
Say a crooked word, and I'll kill you, cries he!
Rams horns, if I die for't, cries out she!
Night and day thus, at victuals, or up, or abed,
He curries her hide, and she combs his head,
In torment, vexation, and misery they dwell,
Converting that heaven, called marriage, to hell.
The neighbours maliciously viewing the scene,
While charmed that so long they had tarried,
Young Ralph of the village, and Sue of the green,
Cry—what a queer thing to be married!

At length to make sport of the bridegroom and bride,
Whose jars in droll ditty they're singing,
The wags of the village now skimmington ride,
While backward the bells they are ringing.
The ladles, the skimmers, the broomsticks they wield,
The porringer helmet, the potlid shield,

[Page 162]The ample ram's horns that so grace the parade,
And the petticoat rampant so gaily displayed,
Denote jars domestic, and family strife,
Where the dolt takes the distaff, the cudgel the wife.
Thus hissing, and hooting, and grunting of hogs,
And squalling of children, and barking of dogs,
And shrill penny trumpets, salt boxes, and bells,
And drums, and cow-horns, and a hundred things else,
Compose of confusions the drollest e'er seen,
While charm'd that so long they had tarried,
Young Ralph of the village and Sue of the green,
Cry—what a damn'd thing to be married.

BALLAD—IN CASTLES IN THE AIR.

A Watchman I am, and I knows all the round,

The houskeepers, the stays, and the lodgers,

Where low dev'ls, rich dons, and high rips, may be found,

Odd dickies, queer kids, and rum codgers:

Of money, and of property, I'm he that takes the care,

And cries, when I see rogues go by, Hey! what are you doing there?

‘'Only a little business in that house:—You understand me?' "Understand you!—well, I believe you are an honest man. Do you here, bring me an odd silver candle-stick—’

[Page 163]
Then to my box I creep,
And then fall fast asleep.
Saint Paul's strikes one,
Thus after all the mischief's done,
I goes and gives them warning,
And loudly bawls,
As strikes Saint Paul's
Past one o'clock, and a cloudy morning.

Then round as the hour I merrily cries,
Another fine mess I discover,
For a curious rope ladder I straightway espies,
And Miss Forward expecting her lover,
Then to each other's arms they fly,
My life, my soul, ah ha!
Fine work, Miss Hot-upon't, cries I,
I'll knock up your Pappa.

‘'No, no, you won't.' 'I shall; worthy old soul, to be treated in this manner." 'Here, here, take this.' "Oh you villain, want to bribe an honest watchman!—and with such a trifle too!" 'Well, well, here is more,' "More! You seem to be a spirited lad—now do make her a good husband—I am glad you tricked the old hunks—good night—I wish you safe at Gretna Green!—’

Then to my box I creep,
And then fall fast asleep.
What's that? St. Paul's strike two,
The lovers off, what does I do,
But gives the father warning,
And loudly bawls, &c.

[Page 164]
Then towards the square, from my box as I looks'
I hears such a ranting, and tearing;
'Tis Pharoah's whole host, and the pigeons, and rooks,
Are laughing, and singing, and swearing.
Then such a hubbub, and a din,
How they blaspheme, and curse!
That thief has stole my dimond pin,
Watch, watch, I've lost my purse!

‘'Watch, here I charge you,' 'and I charges you,' "'Tis a marvelous thing that honest people can't go home without being robbed: Which is the thief?" 'That's the thief that trick'd me out of two hundred pounds this evening,' "Ah that you know is all in the way of business, but which is the thief that stole the gentleman's purse?" 'That's him.' "What Sam Snatch? Give it to me Sam. He has not got your purse—you are mistaken in your man. Go home peaceably, and dont oblige me to take you to the watch-house—’

Then to my box J creep,
And then fall fast asleep,
What's that? St. Paul's strikes three—
Thus from all roguery I gets free,
By giving people warning,
And loudly bawls, &c.

[Page 165]

BALLAD—IN THE RAZOR GRINDER.

TOM Turnwell is my name, my boys,
I'll strike a stroke with any,
The trade that all my time employs,
To get an honest penny,
As good, as just, as most you'll find.
With rubbing stone,
And strop, and hone,
I whet the very sharpest steel:
And cry the while I turn my wheel,
Pen-knives, scissars,
Cleavers, Razors,
Chopping knives to grind.

I'm useful throughout all the town,
The smooth and pampered glutton,
When e'er to dinner he sits down,
Can never carve his mutton,
Unless his knife is to his mind.
With rubbing stone, &c.

The pretty dame who sweet can smile,
Who is for ever smirking,
And who the minutes can beguile.
With love as well as working,
Would she her scissars sharpened find.
With rubbing stone, &c.

My friend the barber o'er the way,
Who daily lathers many,
And picks up pretty well each day,

[Page 166]By shaving for a penny;
To me his razors are consign'd.
With rubbing stone, &c.

DUETTO—IN THE SHEPHERD'S ARTIFICE.

Strephon.

TURN, O turn, relentless fair,

Pity hapless Strephon's pain,

Raise him from the last despair,

Smile, and bid him live again.

Caelia.

Prythee lay aside your folly;

How can I or take or give

Sprightly mirth, or melancholy;

But if that contents you—live.

Strephon.

Too well you know your art and pow'r,

Ev'ry way my woes to calm,

The wound will heal from that sweet hour

Wherein you pour a friendly balm.

Caelia.

Truth I pity your condition,

But if your poor heart must bleed

'Till I act your kind physician—

Your case is desparate indeed.

[Page 167]

AIR—IN THE CESTUS.HOW happy she, who ne'er can know
The misery of the great;
Who, far from reach of scepter'd woe,
Finds in her low estate.
Joy in her innocence—delight
In scenes that still present;
Pleasures that health and strength excite,
And transport in content:
One brook, her mirror and her drink,
The happy wanderer seeks;
And as her lambs play round its brink,
Good Nature paints her cheeks.
Few are her wants, certain her joy;
For reason's glad consent
Points out her innocent employ,
And guides her to content.

BALLAD—IN GREAT NEWS.

INSPIRED by so greatful a duty,
In terms strongest art can devise,
Bards have written those raptures on beauty,
That lovers have wafted on sighs:
I, to fill the sweet theme more completely,
Sing the beauty of goodness the while,
For every face is dress'd sweetly,
Where beams a benevolent smile.

[Page 168]
While the heart so beneficient action,
Contemplates, with joy the eyes speak,
On the lip quivers mute satisfaction,
And a glow of delight paints the cheek.
Bliss pervades every feature completely,
Adding beauty to beauty the while,
And the loveliest face looks more sweetly,
Where beams a benevolent smile.

BALLAD—IN GREAT NEWS.

SWEET is the ship that under sail,
Spreads her white bosom to the gale,
Sweet, oh! sweets the flowing can;
Sweet to poise the labouring oar,
That tugs us to our native shore,
When the boatswain pipes the barge to man;
Sweet sailing with a fav'ring breeze:
But oh! much sweeter than all these,
Is Jack's delight his lovely Nan.

The needle faithful to the north,
To shew of constancy the worth,
A curious lesson teaches man:
The needle time may rust, a squall
Capsize the binacle and all,
Let seamanship do all it can:
My love in worth shall higher rise,
Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize,
My faith and truth to lovely Nan.

[Page 169]
When in the bilboes I was penn'd,
For serving of a worthless friend,
And every creature from me ran,
No ship performing quarentine,
Was ever so deserted seen;
None hail'd me woman, child, nor man;
But though false friendship's sails were furl'd,
Though cut a drift by all the world,
I'd all the world in lovely Nan.

I love my duty, love my friend,
Love, truth, and merit to defend,
To moan their loss who hazard ran;
I love to take an honest part,
Love beauty and a spotless heart,
By manners love to shew the man;
To sail through life, by honour's breeze—
'Twas all along of loving these,
First made me doat on lovely Nan.

BALLAD—IN GREAT NEWS.

SAY soldier which of glory's charms,
That heroes' souls enflame,
Gives brightest lustre to their arms,
Or best ensures their fame?
Is it her lion-mettled rage,
Let loose from ardour's den,
Legion with legion to engage,
And make men slaughter men?

[Page 170]Is it to a defenceless foe,
Mild mercy to forbear,
And glut the call of vengeance! No;
The brave delight to spare:
'Tis clemency pale misery's friend,
Foremost in glory's van,
To dry the starting tear, and blend
The hero with the man.

Then on the wretch fall double shame,
Who, in foul slander lored,
Knows war alone by murder's name,
The soldier by the sword:
As blessings out of evils come,
Let once the conflict cease,
The eagle brings the halcyon home,
War courts the smiles of peace:
Yet, he to higher merit vaults,
Who glory's track hath trod,
Great, generous merit that exalts,
A mortal to a God:
'Tis clemency, pale misery's friend,
Ever in glory's van,
To dry the starting tear, and blend
The hero with the man.

BALLAD—IN GREAT NEWS.

IN one thou'd'st find variety,
Cried Dick: would'st thou on wedlock fix?

[Page 171]I rather should expect, cry'd I,
Variety in five or six;
But never was thy council light,
I'll do't my friend—so said, so done,
I'm noos'd for life, and Dick was right,
I find variety in one.

Her tongue has more variety
Than music's system can embrace;
She modulates through every key,
Squeaks treble, and growls double base:
Divisions runs, and trills, and shakes,
Enough the noisy spheres to stun;
Thus, as harsh discord music makes,
I find variety in one.

Her dress boasts such variety,
Such forms, materials, fashions, hues,
Each animal must plunder'd be,
From Russian bears to cockatoos.
Now 'tis a feather, now a zone,
Now she's a gipsy, now a nun,
To change like the camelon prone,
En't this variety in one?

In wedlock's wide variety,
Thought, word, and deed, we both concu
 [...]
If she's a thunder storm to me,
So I'm an April day to her:
Devil and Angel, black and white,
Thus as we Hymen's gauntlet run.
And kiss, and scold, and love, and fight,
Each finds variety in one.

[Page 172]
Then cherish love's variety,
In spite of every sneering elf,
We're nature's children, and en't she,
In change, variety itself?
Her clouds and storms are willed by fate,
More bright to show her radiant sun,
Hail then blest wedlock in whose state,
Men find variety in one.

BALLAD—IN WILL OF THE WISP.

I NEVER shall survive it, cried Lumkin in dispair,
She's gone and I shall ever wail and cry,
I've lost my charming Caelia, the fairest of the fair:
Will no one comfort send me,
Why then these hands shall end me,
Hung by his garter on that tree I'll die;
Let none my fame be mangling,
While dangling, dangling, dangling,
On yon tree I die.

Young Kitty of the cottage, and Jenny of the mill,
And bonny Suke, and sprightly Peggy Sly,
And Fan and Nan, and Poll and Doll, I know will try their skill,
Tricked out in all their beauty,
To lure me from my duty:

[Page 173]But I can tell them they are deceived—I'll die!
These girls will all be angling:
'Twont do for dangling, dangling,
All for love I'll die.

I own that Kitty's eye brows some trait of Cae­lia's bear,
Suke has her nose, and Peg her sparkling eye;
Both Fan and Nan, her dimples, and Poll and Doll her hair;
But these shall all be slighted,
For Caelia's charms united,
Not all her sex combined can boast—I'll die!
Then let them all be wrangling,
And pulling caps for dangling,
They shall see me die.

And yet on recollection, Young Daelia formed to please,
Her dimples has, her hair, and sparkling eye;
Nay, Daelia is like Caelia as ever were two peas,
Has all those charms that won me,
Would she take pity on me!
But lord she'd never think of me—I'll die!
While hopes and fears are jangling,
I'll dangling, dangling, dangling,
All for Caelia die.

'Twixt hanging, and 'twixt marriage, still doubt­ful which to chuse,
As Lumkin paused, came Daelia tripping by,

[Page 174]Ads wounds, cried he, would'st thou consent
I'd tye the other noose,
She smiles, good bye poor Caelia,
I go to marry Daelia,
Not in a halter, but in her arms to die;
Better in wedlock wrangling,
Than dangling, dangling, dangling,
On a tree to die.

BALLAD—IN WILL OF THE WISP.

'TWAS a hundred years ago,
Or thereabout, I believe,
Liv'd a wife you must know.
As I quicklly shall shew,
A true bred daughter of Eve:
For this wife, though spouse, was civil,
For so the story ran,
Was tempted to evil,
But not by the devil,
But a devilish handsome young man.

This young man was an officer gay,
With a mien so militaire,
An ensign on half-pay,
Though no colonel, some say,
Had so fierce, and so noble an air:
Now the husband had but one eye,
And for this his crafty bride,
Chose him out by the bye,

[Page 175]Half her faults to espy,
And to catch him upon the blind side.

The husband was gone from home,
She tricked out smart and neat,
Now the officer's come,
Cupid braces his drum,
And a parley is presently beat:
When Betty, who closely watched,
Cried out, as she come unawares,
'If a lie can't be hatched,
'We are all of us catched,
'For my master's a coming up stairs.'

Cried the wife, 'I have hit on it sure;
'Come, come. 'tis no time to f
 [...]inch!
'We're from danger secure,
'Get behind the door,
'Wit never left wife at a pinch:
Then the husband came in sight:
Cried she in a counterfeit scream,
'What joy and delight,
'Does your presence excite,
'Dear Husband I dreamt a dream.

'A dream so extraordinary and rare,
'Pray heaven it prove not a lie,
'I dreamt in that chair,
''Tis as true as you're there,
'That fate had restored your blind eye:
Cried he, "What a rout, and a pother:"
'Nay, nay, at my hopes do not scoff;

[Page 176]'The blind eye's like its brother,
'Let me cover tother,'
This doing, the lover stole off.

Her mars safe retreated, she cried,
'Well love is the sight wholly lost?"
"Yes wife your dream lied,
"Though till doomsday you tried,
"I should yet see no more than a post:"
Then the devil take dreams I say,
For I'm more disappointed than you,
Quoth the husband, nay, nay,
When next I'm away,
Let us hope all your dreams may come true.

BALLAD—IN WILL OF THE WISP.

'TWAS post meridian, half past four,
By signal I from Nancy parted,
At six she lingered on the shore,
With uplift hands and broken hearted,
At seven, while taughtening the forestay,
I saw her faint, or else 'twas fancy,
At eight we all got under weigh,
And bid a long adieu to Nancy.

Night came, and now eight bells had rung,
While careless sailors, ever cheary,
On the mid watch so jovial song,
With tempers labour cannot weary:

[Page 177]I, little to their mirth inclined,
While tender thoughts rushed on my fancy,
And my warm sighs increased the wind,
Looked on the moon, and thought of Nancy.

And now arrived that jovial night,
When every true bred tar carouses,
When, o'er the grog, all hands delight
To toast their sweethearts and their spouses:
Round went the can, the jest, the glee,
While tender wishes filled each fancy,
And when, in turn, it came to me,
I heaved a sigh, and toasted Nancy.

Next morn a storm came on at four,
At six, the elements in motion,
Plunged me and three poor sailors more,
Headlong within the foaming ocean:
Poor wretches! they soon found their graves,
For me, it may be only fancy,
But love seemed to forbid the waves,
To snatch me from the arms of Nancy.

Scarce the foul hurricane was cleared.
Scarce winds and waves had ceased to rattle,
When a bold enemy appeared,
And, dauntless, we prepared for battle:
And now, while some loved friend, or wife,
Like lightning, rushed on every fancy:
To Providence I trusted life,
Put up a prayer, and thought of Nancy.

[Page 178]
At last, 'twas in the month of May.
The crew, it being lovely weather,
At three A. M. discovered day,
And England's chalky cliffs together:
At seven up channel how we bore,
While hopes and fears rushed on my fancy,
At twelve I gaily jumped ashore,
And to my throbbing heart pressed Nancy.

BALLAD—IN WILL OF THE WISP.

LIFE'S as like as can be to an Irish Wake,
Where their tapers they light,
And they sit up all night,
Wid your why would you leave your poor Pa­dy to moan,
Arrah how could you be such a cake?
Musha what will I do,
Lilly, lilly, lilly, la loo,
Oh hone!
Fait we're left all together alone:
But when the grief the liquor puts out, the fun
is all chang'd in a crack;
Away like smoke goes the whiskey about,
And they foot it, cross over, and back to back,
With their tiptelary, whack.

Poor miss, bolted safe wid a good lock and key;
Like Thisbe, may call
Through the hole in the wall,

[Page 179]How hard's my misfortune, I'm left here to moan,
Will no one take pity on me?
Musha, what will I do.
Lilly, lilly, lilly, la loo,
Oh hone!
I shall after be lying alone.
But when the rope ladder affords her relief,
And she turns on her mother her back;
'Mong her friends and relations, she leaves all her grief,
And away to Scotland they trip in a crack,
With their tiptelary whack.

The toper, next morning, low, sick, and in pain,
The glasses all breaks,
Beats his head 'cause it aches,
And wishes that wine may to poison be grown,
If e'er he gets tipsey again:
With his what will I do,
Lilly, lilly, lilly, la loo,
Oh hone!
From this moment I'll drinking disown;
But when, in a possee, come Bacchus's troop,
He changes his tone in a crack;
They drink, and they sing, and they hollow, and whoop,
Till they don't know the colour of blue from black,
And its tiptelary whack.

[Page 180]
And so 'tis through life, widows left in the nick
Dying swains in disgrace,
Patriots turned out of place,
Don't they, cursing their stars; make a horrible moan,
Just like when the devil was sick?
Wid their what will I do,
Lilly, lilly, lilly, la loo,
Oh hone!
Fait we're left all to grunt and to groan:
But when the widow gets married again,
When the lover is taken back,
When the patriot ousted a place shall obtain,
Away to the devil goes care in a crack,
And 'tis tiptelary whack.

[Page]

PART IV. Favorite Songs, "FROM VARIOUS GARDENS CULL'D."

SONG.

A BEAUTIOUS Sterling late I saw,
On lovely Sylvia's hand;
To check its flight, around its leg,
She ties a silken band.

In vain it flutters to be gone:
Confinement is its lot:
In vain it strives to break the band,
But can't untie the knot.

"Cease, cease, 
she cri'd, here you shall feed
"And in my bosom rest,"
No bird that ever wing'd the air,
Was half so much carest.

"If from my hand you should escape,
"You may perchance be shot:
"Then cease to peck 'tis all in vain;
"You can't untie the knot."

[Page 182]

The bird contented grows at length;

While Sylvia strokes his plumes,

Erects his little crest, and soon,

His former note resumes.

From what he'd heard the fair one say,
These words by rote he got,
And oft repeated, every day,

You can't untie the knot.

One evening youthful Damon sat,
With his Sylvia by his side;
Reward my love, at last, said he,
To-morrow be my BRIDE.

Her blushes in his favour rose,
Yet she consented not;
For ere she spoke the Sterling cri'd,

You can't untie the knot.

SONG.

TRUST not man for he'll deceive you:
Treach'ry is his sole intent;
For he'll 
court you, then he'll 
leave you,
Poor, deluded! to lament.

Form'd by nature to undo us,
They escape our utmost heed;

[Page 183]Oh! how 
humble when they woo us,
But how 
proud, when they 
succeed.

So the 
Bird when once deluded,
By the fowler's artful snare:
Pines out life, in cage secluded;
Fair ones, while you're young, beware!

SONG. PARODY ON THE ABOVE.

TRUST not 
Woman, she'll beguile you,
All her smiles are form'd by art:
First she'll 
flatter then 
exile you,
Sighing with a broken heart!

Form'd by nature to pursue us,
They outstrip the fleetest men;—
Ah! how sweet they bill and coo us,
But how proud they triumph then!

So the FISH the 
bait admiring,
On the 
angler's fatal snare,
Gasps out life, in pangs expiring!
LOVERS, of the 
hook be ware!

[Page 184]

SONG. THE NEGLECTED FAIR.

OF Columbia's boast the praise be mine;
What's that but American beauty?
With rapture I'd invoke the nine,
Ye men, learn hence your duty:
The sex were blessings all design'd,
With rapture hence enjoy them:
Nor so debase a female mind,
To conquer then destroy them;

Then, O protect Columbia's fair,

Be mindful of your duty;

May vengence ne'er the villain spare,

A foe to love and beauty.

That tender form you first seduced,
Why is it now neglected?
Behold her sad, my grief reduc'd,
Pale, meagre, and dejected!
Behold her begging with a sigh,
Behold her disregarded!
Then view the anguish in her eye,
And say, is love rewarded?

Then, O protect, &c.

Each female heart is free from guile,
'Till crafty men infect it;

[Page 185]With artful tale, or magic wil
 [...],
He wins and then neglects it:
Her pining soul finds no relief,
Sad tears flow fast and melt her;
Her o'er fraught bosom bursts with grief,
And in the grave finds shelter!

Then, O protect, &c.

When fortune frowns and friends forsake,
Still lovely woman cheers us;
Our grief or raptures they partake,
Distresses but endear us:
While man's professions all will fly,
Nor dying will abet you,
But meet your corpse as passing by,
And with a sigh forget you.

Then, O protect, &c.

While round your bed the mourning fair
Hangs like a drooping willow,
Each pang or sigh still anxious share,
Nor leave your woe worn pillow!—
Then charge your glasses to the fair,
May beauty ne'er be slighted—
That source of bliss, by whom we are
Conceiv'd, brought forth, delighted.

Then, O protect, &c.

[Page 186]

SONG.

ATTENTION pray give, while of Hobbies I sing;
For each has his hobby from cobler to king:
On some fav'rite hobby we all get a stride,
And when we'er once mounted full gallop we ride.
All on hobbies, all on hobbies, all on hob­bies Gee up, gee O.

Some hobbies are restive and hard for to go­vern,
E'en just like our wives, they're so cursedly stubborn;
The hobbies of scolds are their husbands to teaz,
And the hobbies of lawyers are plenty of fees,
All on hobbies, &c.

The beaux, those, sweet gentlemen's hobbies, good lack!
Is to wear great large poultices ty'd round their neck;
And they think in the ton and the tippey they're drest,
If they've breeches that reach from the ancles to chest.
All on hobbies, &c.

The hobbies of sailors when safe moor'd in port,

[Page 187]With their wives and their sweethearts to toy and to sport.
When our navy's completed their hobby will be▪
To shew the whole world that America's free.
All on hobbies, &c.

The hobbies of soldiers, in time of great wars,
Are breaches and battles, with blood wounds and scars:
But in peace you'll observe that quite diff'rent the trade is—
The hobbies of soldiers in peace, are the ladies.
All on hobbies, &c.

The Ladies, sweet creatures, yes, they now and then,
Get astride of their hobbies, ay, just like the men;
With smiles and with simpers beguile us with ease,
And we gallop, trot, amble, e'en just as they please.
All on hobbies, &c.

The American's hobby has long since been known;
No tyrant or king shall from them have a throne:
Their states are united, and let it be said,
Their hobby is WASHINGTON, peace and free Trade.
All on hobbies, &c.

[Page 188]

SONG.

AS musing I rang'd in the meads all alone,
A beautiful creature was making her moan,
The tears they were falling full fast from her eyes
She pierced the air and my heart with her cries.

I gently requested the cause of her moan,
She told me her sweet Senecino was gone;
And in that sad posture she ever would remain,
Unless her dear charmer return'd home again.

Perhaps it is some linnet, or blackbird, said I.
Perhaps it is the lark that has soar'd in the sky:
Come, dry up your tears, and abandon your grief,
I'll bring you another that shall give you relief.

It's no blackbird, nor linnet, nor sky lark, said she,
But one that is fairer by far, than all three,
My sweet Senecino, for whom I now cry,
Is sweeter than all the gay songsters that fly.

Adieu to Prunella, Corinna, likewise,
Whom stars, and whom planets extol to the skies;
Adieu! to the Opera, farewell to the ball!
My charmer has gone, and a fig for you all.

[Page 189]

SONG.

WHEN up to London first I came,
An aukward country booby,
I gap'd and star'd and did the same
As ev'ry other body.
With countenance demurely set,
I doff'd my hat to all I met.
With—'Zir, your humble servant!

Alas! too soon I got a wife:
And, proud of such a blessing,
The joy and business of my life,
Was kissing and caressing.
'Twas—"charmer! sweeting! duck & dove!"
And I, o'er head and ears in love,
Was Cupid's humble servant.

But when the honey-moon was past,
Adieu to tender speeches!
Ma'am lov'd quadrille, and lost too fast,
I swore I'd wear the breeches.
I storm in vain,—restraint she hates;
Adieu, she cries—the party waits;
My dear, your humble servant!

SONG.

ALAS! they've torn my love away,
To range a foreign part;

[Page 190]May heav'n preserve him night and day,
And cheer his faithful heart:
But mine, alas! no joy can find,
Tho' jocund swains appear,
In vain they strive to ease my mind,
For Henry is not there.

How oft beside the purling stream,
And often in the grove,
When shelter'd from the sultry beam,
He told his tender love;
Ah! then my heart was free from pain,
A stranger to all care;
But now all joy deserts the plain,
For Henry is not there.

Tho' absent from my charming youth,
My love is still the same:
May he return with equal truth,
And never rove again;
There happy in my rural cot,
I'll banish every fear,
Contented with my humble lot,
If Henry is but there.

SONG.

I'VE found my fair, a true love knot,
'Tis loose by some disaster,

[Page 191]Come then with me to yonder grot,
And let us tie it faster;
Or shall we to the grove repair,
There is no time to dally,
The church, the priest, awaits us there,
Let's tie the knot my Sally.

Methinks the knot was surely laid,
By Cupid's fond direction,
To prove, my sweet, my charming maid,
The Cement of affection:
'Tis form'd by some immortal hand,
Come, let us leave the valley,
And join in Hymen's silken band,
Let's tie the knot, my Sally.

No hand can e'er the band untie,
When once we are united:
For every guardian saint is by,
When lovers vows are plighted:
The deed recorded is above,
Then let's not shilly shally,
Oh, let us haste, my charming love,
And tie the knot my Sally.

SONG.

A GLASS is good, and a lass is good,

And a pipe to smoke in cold weather;

[Page 192] 
The world is good, and the people are good,

And we're all good fellows together.

A bottle it is a very good thing,
With a good deal of good wine in it;
A song is good when a body can sing,
And to finish we must begin it.
A table is good, when spread with good cheer,
And good company sitting round it;
When a good way off, we're not very near,
And for sorrow the devil confound it;

A glass is good, &c.

A friend is good when you're out of good luck,
For that's a good time to try him;
For a Justice is good, the haunch of a buck,
With such a good present you buy him:
A fine old woman is good when she's dead,
A rogue's very good for good hanging;
A fool is good by the nose to be led,
My good song deserves a good drubbing.

A glass is good, &c.

SONG.

MY friends all declare that my time is mispent,
While in rural retirement I rove;
I ask no more wealth than dame fortune has sent,
But the sweet littl girl that I love,
The sweet little girl that I love.

[Page 193]

The rose on her cheeks my delight,

She's soft as the down, as the down on the dove

No lily was ever so white

As the sweet little girl that I love.

Tho' humble my cot, calm content glides the scene,
For my fair one delights in my grove;
And a palace I'd quit for a dance on the green,
With the sweet little girl that I love.

No ambition I know but to call her my own,
No fame but her praise wish to prove;
My happiness centers in Fanny alone,
She's the sweet little girl that I love.

SONG.

Delightful source of heart-felt joy
Is Friendship's sacred flame,
A passion pure that ne'er can cloy,
But still remains the same;
Vain is the hope that lustful Love,
That tyrant of the breast,
In constancy can equal prove,
Or bear so strict a test.

[Page 194]
Dear faithful FRIEND whose tender care,
Whose smiles delight impart,
Possessed of every virtue rare
That captivates the heart.
O may we still in bond's entwin'd
Of Friendship firm and true,
Enjoy those pleasures of the mind
Which virtuous souls pursue.

SONG, ERIN'S GREEN LAND. A new patriotic Song. Tune, Logic of Bouchan.

YE Sons of 
Hibernia, assert your birth-right,
For Freedom, for Union, for Liberty fight,
No longer in Erin let bigotry reign,
No longer let factions your Union restrain.

Chorus.

Oh! Erin forever, Oh! Erin's the land

Where freedom and union shall go hand in hand.

Oppress'd by disunion the 
North first unites.
In union fraternal the 
West now delights.
In the 
East like the Sun its radiance you see,
When the 
South shall unite then Erin is free,

Chorus.

Oh! freedom forever, Oh! freedom for me,

May we cease to exist, when we cease to be free.

[Page 195]

Oh, union how social! Oh, union how rare!

In which all religions may equally share:

That unites in one cause the rich and the poor,

Makes the fate of our tyrants decided and sure.

Chorus.

Oh, union forever, Oh, union's a rock,

The force of our tyrants forever shall shock.

Though perjury doom'd thee, Oh, ORR to thy grave,
Thy blood to our union energy gave;
For union's a current, impede but its course,
Far and wide it extends and resistless its force.

Chorus.

Ye sons of Hibernia, then join hand in hand,

To chase your oppressors from Erin's green land.

SONG. PATRICK O'NEAL.

YE sons of Hibernia, who snug on dry land,
'Round your smoaking turf fires and whisky in hand,
Drink kaid-milk full rough, and ne'er think of the boys,
Who are fighting your battles thro' tempest and noise,
Attend to my ditty—'tis true, I declare,

[Page 196]Such swimming and sinking 'twill make you all stare.
For storms, squibs and crackers have sing'd at my tail,
Since the press gang laid hold of poor Patrick O'Neal.

'Twas the first day of April I sat off like a fool,
From Kilkenny to Dublin, to see Lawrence Tool,
My mother's third cousin, who oft had wrote down,
And begg'd I'd come see how he flourish'd in town:
But I scarce had set foot in this terrible place,
'Ere I met with a sharper, who swore to my face,
He beckon'd a press-gang that came without fail,
And neck and heels drag'd off poor Patrick O'Neal.

Then they scamper'd away, as they said with a prize,
(For they thought me a sailor run off in disguise)
But a terrible blunder they made with their strife,
For I'd ne'er seen a ship or the sea in my life:
Away to a tender with me they did steer,
But of tenderness devil a morsel was there,
O! I roar'd and I curs'd, tho' it did not avail,
They down in the cellar cram'd Patrick O'Neal.

We set sail from Dublin the very next day,
I was half starv'd and sea-sick the rest of the way▪

[Page 197]Not a mile-stone I saw, nor a house, nor a bed,
'Twas all water and sky 'till we came to Spithead,
Then they call'd up all hands—hands and feet soon obey'd,
O! I wish'd myself home cutting turf with a spade,
For the first thing I saw made my courage to fail,
'Twas a great floating castle for Patrick O'Neal.

This huge wooden world roll'd about on the tide,
With a large row of teeth stuck fast in each side:
They put out the boat, and they told me to keep
Fast hold with my trotters, for fear I should flip,
I let go with my hands to stick fast by my toes,
The ship gave a roll and away my head goes,
I plung'd in the water and splash'd like a whale,
'Till with boat-hooks they fish'd up poor Patrick O'Neal.
'Midst shouts, jests and laughter, they hoisted me in
To this huge wooden world full of riot and din;
Such ropes and such pullies, such fights met my eye,
And so large were the sheets that they hung up to dry:
It seem'd Noah's ark, stuff'd full of queer guests,
Hogs, pedlars, geese, sailors & other wild beasts,
Some drinking raw gin, others pitchers of ale,
And they sung, curs'd and laugh'd at poor Pa­trick O'Neal.

[Page 198]
All confounded with bother I began to look queer,
When the boatswain's shrill pipe made all hands to appear,
Up the ropes just like monkies, they running did swear,
Then like gibbets and rope-dancers swong in the air:
They clapt sticks in the capstern, as I after­wards found,
A chap sat and fif'd as they turn'd him around,
The ship run her anchor, spread her wings, and set sail,
With a freight of live lumber and Patrick O'­Neal.

Then to go down below I exprest a great wish,
Where they liv'd under water like so many fish;
I was put in a mess with some more of the crew,
And it being ban-jan day they gave me burgue:
For a bed they'd a sack, hung as high as my chin,
They call'd it a hammock, and bade me get in,
I laid hold, took a leap, but my footing being frail,
It swang me clean over!—poor Patrick O'Neal.

With some help I got in, where I cock'd all the night,
The day broke my rest in a terrible fright;
Up hammocks, down chests, was th
 [...] cry from all parts.

[Page 199]'There's a French ship in sight!'—up and down went my heart!
To a gun I was station'd, and bid with an oath,
To pull off his breeches, unmuzzle his mouth,
They took off the apron that cover'd his tail,
And the leading-strings gave unto Patrick O'­Neal.

Our thick window shutters we pull'd up with speed,
And we run out our bull-dogs of true English breed;
The captain cry'd "England and Ireland, my boys,"
When he mention'd old Ireland my heart made a noise!
Our sweet little gun did the Frenchmen defy,
We clapt fire to his back and bid him let fly:
His voice made me leap, tho' I'd hold by his tail,
The beast then flew back, and threw Patrick O'Neal.

Then we lather'd away, by my soul, hob and nob,
'Till the Frenchmen gave up what they thought a bad job:
Then to tie him behind a long cord they did bring,
And we led him along like a pig with a string!
So home to old England we led the French boy,
O the sight of the land made me sea-sick with joy;

[Page 200]They made a new peace when the war was too stale,
And set all hands adrift, and poor Patrick O'­Neal.

Now safe on dry land a carousing I'll steer.
Nor cat-head, nor cat-block, nor boatswain's cat fear;
While there's shot in the locker I'll sing and be bound,
That Saturday night shall last all the year round:
But should peace grow too sleepy and war come again,
By the piper of Leinster I'll venture again.
Returning I'll bring you good folks a fresh tale,
That you'll cry 'till you laugh at poor Patrick O'Neal.

SONG. PATRICK'S DAY.

YE sons of Hibernia give ear to my story,
Without either scoffing or scorning;
I'll tell you 
a-gra about poor Paddy's glory
That happen'd the other morning;
You may bless yourselves over,
Ten thousand times over,
A sight so amazing your eyes to behold;

[Page 201]I swear by the mass of 
St. Patrick's Cross,
Since the days of 
Beneaden, his 
granny or 
grand dad,
With eyes full of 
staring and 
blaring,
I'm a son of a w—e if e're saw before,
Such a Patricks day in the morning.

To St. Patrick's Cathedral we all did assemble,
The heads of the whole Irish Nation,
Like Gods under 
Jupiter we did resemble,
So dress'd out on this grand occasion;
So with hearts full of cheer,
We advanc'd without fear,
Resolving whatever might hapen us there,
To take poor Paddy's part
With a true Irish heart,
And shew to their foes that in spite of their noses,
Tho' H—ll and English power combining,
Our Oak saplin shall fly
Tho' the D—l be by,
On a Patrick's day in the morning,

Old Ireland God bless her for ever and ever,
Ressolved to her cause to be steady,
The 
United Knot, she tied yesterday clever,
In making us all Sons of Paddy,
So let Irish hearts
Now act their own parts,
Who never was counted ungrateful;
But with shouts and huzzas

[Page 202]Give old Ireland applause,
Our glasses we'll trim, flowing high to the brim,
While 
Shamrocks our hats are adorning;
Now my stout Irish boys with a hearty good cheer,

Welcome Patrick's day in the morning.

SONG. None can love like an Irishman.

THE turban'd Turk, who scorns the world,
May strut about with his whiskers curl'd,
Keep a hundred wives under lock and key,
For nobody else but himself to see;
Yet long may he pray with his Alcoran,
Before he can love like an Irishman.

Like an Irishman, like an Irishman,

Before he can love like an Irishman.

The gay monsieur, a slave no more,
The solemn Don, and the soft Signor,
The Dutch mynheer, so full of pride,
The Russian, Prussian, Swede beside;
They all may do what e'er they can,
But they'll never love like an Irishman,

Like an Irishman, like an Irishman,

But they'll never love like an Irishman.

[Page 203]
The London folks themselves beguile,
And think they please in a capital stile;
Yet let them ask, as they cross the street,
Of any young virgin they happen to meet,
And I know she'll say, from behind her fan,
That there's none can love like an Irishman.

Like an Irishman, like an Irishman,

That there's none can love like an Irishman.

Duet IN THE BLUE BEARD. SHACABAC AND BEDA.

Shac.

Yes, Beda—Thus, Beda, when I melancholy grow,

This tinking heart-sinking soon can drive away.

Beda.

When hearing sounds cheering, then we blythe and jolly grow;

How do you, while to you, Shacabac, I play?

Tink, tinka, tinka, tink—the sweet Guittar shall cheer you.

Clink, clinka, clinka, clink—So gaily let us sing!

Shac.

Tink, tinka, tinka, tink—A pleasure 'tis to hear you,

[Page 204]While, neatly, you sweetly, sweetly touch the string!

Both.

Tink, tinka, &c.

Shac.

Once sighing, sick, dying, Sorrow hanging over me,

Faint, weary, sad, dreary, on the ground I lay:

There moaning, deep groaning, Beda did discover me.

Beda.

Strains soothing, Care smoothing, I began to play,

Tink, tinka, tinka, tink—the sweet Guittar could cheer you:

Clink, clinka, clinka, clink, so gaily did I sing!

Shac.

Tink, tinka, tinka, tink,—a pleasure 'twas to hear you,

While, neatly, You sweetly, sweetly touch'd the string!

Both.

Tinka, tinka, &c.

SONG. IN THE SAME.

Beda.
His sparkling eyes were dark as jet;
Chica, Chica, Chica, Cho.

[Page 205]Can I my comely Turk forget?—
Oh! never, never, never, no!
Did he not watch 'till Night did fall,
And sail in silence on the Sea?
Did he not climb our sea-girt wall,
To talk so lovingly to me?
O! his sparkling eyes, &c.

His lips were of the coral hue,
His Teeth of ivory so white:
But he was hurried from my view,
Who gave to me so much delight!
And, why should tender Lovers part!
And why should Fathers cruel be!
Why bid me banish from my heart
A heart so full of Love for me!
O! his sparkling eyes, &c.

SONG. IN THE SAME.

Fatima.
While, pensive, I thought on my Love,
The Moon, on the Mountain, was bright;
And Philomel, down in the grove,
Broke, sweetly, the silence of Night.
O, I wish'd that the tear-drop would flow!
But I felt too much anguish to weep!
'Till, worn with the weight of my woe,
I sunk on my pillow, to sleep.

[Page 206]
Methought that my Love, as I lay,
His ringlets all clotted with gore,
In the paleness of Death, seem'd to say,
"Alas! we must never met more!"
"Yes, yes, my beloved! we must part;"
"The Steel of my Rival was true;—
"The Assassin has struck on that heart,"
"Which beat with such fervour for you."

SONG. IN THE SAME.

Shacabac.
A Fond Husband, will, after a conjugal Strife,
Kiss, forgive, weep, and fall on the neck of his Wife.
But Abomelique's wife other conduct may dread,
When he falls on her neck, 'tis to cut off her head.

How many there are, when a wife plays the fool,
Will argue the point with her, calmly and cool;
The Bashaw, who don't relish debates of this sort,
Cuts the Woman, as well as the Argument, short.

But, whatever her errors, 'tis mighty unfair
To cut off her Head, just as if 'twere all Hair;

[Page 207]For, this truth is maintain'd by Philosophers still,
That the Hair grows again, but the Head never will.
And, among all the basest, sure he is most base,
Who can view, then demolish, a Woman's sweet face,
Her smiles might the malice of Devils disarm;
And the Devil take him who would offer her harm.

CHORUS.
Lowly we bend in duty,
Queen of the peaceful Bowers!
We bow to the foot-steps of beauty,
And strew her path with flowers.
The mellow flute is blowing,
Bounce goes the Tambourin;
Sweet harmony is flowing,
To welcome Beauty's Queen.

GLEE. IN THE SAME.

STAND close!—Our Comrade is not come:
Ere this, he must be hovering near;—
Give him a Signal we are here,
By gently tapping on the Drum.
Rub, Dub, Dub,

[Page 208]
A Comrade's wrong'd: Revenge shall work:
Thus, till our project's ripe, we lurk;—
And still, to mark that we are here,
Yet not alarm the distant ear,
With caution, ever and anon,
The Drum we gently tap upon.
Rub, Dub, Dub.

SONG. IN THE SAME.

Selim.
Hear me, O Fortune, hear me!
Thy aid, O let me prove!
Now in this struggle cheer me,
And crown the hopes of Love!

Then Vice no more shall revel;
Yes, Tyrant, we shall meet;
A Soldier's Sword shall level
Oppression at my feet.

SONG. IN THE SAME.

Irene.
Moving to the melody of music's note,
Observe the Turkish fair advance,
Lightly as the Gossamer she seems to float,

[Page 209]Thro' mazes of the Dance.
Sportive is the measure,
Thrilling is the pleasure,
While in merry glee, the Sexes join:
Deeper blushing roses,
Ev'ry cheek discloses,
Eyes with Lustre shine.
Moving to the melody, &c.

When the Lover takes her glowing hand,
With manly grace and ease,
Can the dancing female, then withstand
His gentle squeeze?
No—She gives him then so languishing a glance,
Grown tender, soft, and melting with the dance.
Cupid, Cupid, God of Hearts,
Dancing sharpens all your darts!
Moving to the melody, &c.

SONG. IN THE SAME.

Ibrahim.

Major Domo am I
Of this grand Family;
My word through the Castle prevails;
I'm appointed the Head
That must keep up the dread,
And the pomp of my Son-in-Law's Tails.

[Page 210]
I strut as fine as any Macaw,
I'll change for down my bed of straw,
On perquisites I lay my paw,
I pour wine, slily, down my maw,
I stuff good victuals in my craw.
'Tis a very fine thing to be Father-in-Law
To a very magnificent three-tail'd Bashaw!

The Slaves, black and white,
Of each sex own my might;
I command full three hundred and ten,
The Females I'll kiss,
But it won't be amiss
To fright them, with thumping the Men.
I strut as fine, &c.

At the Head of Affairs,
Turn me out, then who dares.—
Let them prove the Head pilfersand steals:
No three-tail'd Bashaw
Kicks his Father-in-Law,
And makes his Head take to his Heels.
I strut as fine, 
 [...]tc.

[Page 211]

CHORUS. IN THE SAME.Monsters of Hell, and noxious Night,
Howl your songs of wild-delight!
To your gloomy caves descending,
His career of Murder ending—
Now the Tyrant's spirit flies;
Bathed in a flood
Of guilty blood,
He dies! He dies!
How great is the transports, the joy how com­plete,
When raised from despair, thus Love's votaries meet!
Sweet the delight that Lovers prove!
Sweet, when Fortune, tired of frowning,
Hymen comes, with pleasure crowning
Happy Love!

SONG.

WELL met, jolly fellows, well met:
By this bowl you're all welcome, I swear;
See where on this table 'tis set,
And design'd for the grave of our care.
From this social convention,
'Twill drive all contention,
Save only who longest can drink;
Then fill up your glasses,
And drink to your lasses,
The head-ach take him that shall shrink,

[Page 212]
Do but look at this glass! here boys, hand it around:
Why it sparkles like Philis's eyes;
But 'tis better by far, boys; for when her eye, wound,
This balm to the wound will supply;
Then a fig for this thinking,
Fill, fill, and be drinking,
Let us drown all cares and our sorrows:
Come, the toast, boys, the toast!
There's no time to be lost,
For our cares will return with to-morrow.

SONG THE GALLEY SLA [...]E.

OH! think on my fate, once I freedom enjoy'd'
Was as happy as happy could be:
But pleasure is fled, even hope is destroy'd,
A captive, alas! on the sea.
I was taken by a foe, 'twas the fiat of fate
To tear me from her I adore;
When thought brings to mind my once happier state,
I sigh—I sigh, as I tug at the oar.

Hard, hard is my fate, oh! how galling my chain,
My life's steer'd by misery's chart.
And tho' against my tyrant I scorn to complain,
Tears gush forth to ease my sad heart;

[Page 213]I disdain for to shrink, tho' I feel sharp the lash,
Yet my breast bleeds for her I adore;
While around me the merciless billows do dash,
I sigh—I sigh, and still tug at the oar.

How fortune deceives! I had pleasure in tow,
The port where she dwelt was in view,
But the wish'd nuptial morn was o'er clouded with woe,
And, dear Anna, I was hurri'd from you.
Our shall'd was boared! I was torn away,
To behold my dear Anna no more;
But despair wastes my spirits, my form feels decay
He sigh'd—He sigh'd, and expired at the oar!

SONG. The way-worn Traveller.

FAINT and wearily the way worn traveller
Plods, uncheerily, afraid to stop;
Wand'ring, drearily, afraid to stop;
Of the mazes towards the mountain's top.
Doubting, fearing while his course he's steering,
Cottages appearing as he's nigh to drop:—
Oh! how briskly then the way worn traveller
Treads the mazes toward the mountain's top.
Oh! how briskly, &c.

[Page 214]
The so melancholy day has pass'd by,
'Twou'd be folly now to think on't more;
Blithe and jolly he the can holds fast by,
As he's sitting at the goatherd's door.
Eating, quaffing, at past labor laughing,
Better far by half in spirits than before:—
Oh! how merrily the rested traveller
Seems while sitting at the goatherd's door.
Oh! how merrily, &c.

SONG. POOR TOM BOWLING.

HERE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
The darling of our crew;
No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
For death has broach'd him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty,
His heart was kind and soft,
Faithful below he did his duty,
And now he's gone aloft, And now he's gone aloft.

Tom never from his word departed,
His virtues were so rare;
His friends were many, and true hearted,
His Poll was kind and fair:
And then he'd sing so blythe and jolly,
Ah! many's the time and oft!

[Page 215]But mirth is turn'd to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft, for Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When he who all commands,
Shall give, to call life's crew together,
The word to pipe all hands.
Thus death, who kings and tars dispatches,
In vain Tom's life has doff'd;
For tho' his body's under hatches,
His soul is gone aloft, his soul is gone aloft.

SONG.

SAY, have you in the village seen
A lovely youth, with pensive mein;
If such a one has passed by
With melancholy in his eye,
Where is he gone? ah! tell me where,
'Tis Allen Brooke, of Wyndermeer.

Last night he sighing took his leave,
Which caus'd my tender heart to grieve;
And many maids I know there be,
Who try to wean his love from me;
But heaven knows my heart's sincere,
To Allen Brooke of Wyndermeer.

My throbbing heart is full of woe,
To think that he should leave me so;
But if my love should anger'd be,
And try to hide himself from me;
Then death shall bear me on a bier,
To Allen Brooke of Wyndermeer.

[Page 216]

SONG. The little Sailor Boy.

The sea was calm, the sky serene,
And gently blew the eastern gale,
When Anna, seated on a rock,
Watch'd the Lovina's less'ning sail.
To heav'n she thus her pray'r address'd:
"Thou who can'st save, or can'st destroy,
From each surrounding danger guard
My much lov'd little Sailor Boy.

When tempests o'er the ocean howl,
And even sailors shrink with dread,
Be some protecting Angel near,
To hover round my William's head:
He was belov'd by all the plain,
Hi
 [...] father's pride, his mother's joy,
Then safely to their arms restore
Their much lov'd little Sailor Boy.

May no rude foe his course impede,
Conduct him safely o'er the waves,
O may he never be compell'd
To fight for pow'r, or mix with slaves.
May smilling peace his steps attend,
Each rising hour be crown'd with joy,
As blest as that when I again
Shall meet my much lov'd Sailor Boy.

[Page 217]

SONG.

HE that will not merry, merry be
With a gen'rous bowl and toast,
May he in bridewel be shut up,
And fast bound to a post.

Let him be merry, merry there,
And we'll be merry, here:
For who can know where we shall go
To be merry another year?

He that will not merry, merry be,
And take his glass in course,
May he be oblig'd to drink small beer,
With ne'er a penny in his purse,
Let him be merry, &c.

He that will not merry, merry be,
Mith a company of jolly boys,
Way he be plagu'd with a scolding wife,
To confound him with her noise.
Let him be merry, &c.

He that will not merry, merry be,
With his mistress in his bed,
Let him be bury'd in the church-yard,
And me put in his stead,
Let him be merry, &c.

[Page 218]

SONG. THE JOYS OF SLEIGHING.

WHAT pleasure can compare,
To a sleighing with the fair,
In the ev'ning, the ev'ning, in cold and frosty weather?
When rapidly we go,
As we 
gingle o'er the snow,
And tantarra, huzza! and tantarra, huzza!
and tantarra sings ev'ry brave fellow.

When to 
Hookstown we do get,
And the turkey's on the spit,
And we dance, boys, we dance, boys, and drive away all sorrow,
'Tis then your milk and tea
Gives place to "strong sangree,"
And we banish, huzza! and we bannish, huzza!
and we banish the cares of to-morrow.

When the turkey's roasted brown;
To supper we sit down,
And, keep it up, and, keep it up, sings ev'ry jovial fellow,
With the wine glass in his hand,
He never makes a stand,
But 
guzzles, huzza! but 
guzzles, huzza! and 
guzzles, it away until he's mellow.

[Page 219]
Now for 
Balt'more we prepare,
And the night is cold and clear,
And we're 
stowing close, we're 
stowing close, be­cause 'tis chilly weather—
O then what FUN we feel,
And we're 
huddl'd, huzza! and we're 
huddl'd,
huzza! & we're 
h
 [...]ddl
 [...]d, huzza! altogether.

'Tis then the ladies cry,

O lud!—O dear!—O my!
And we 
scrabble, boys—we 
scrabble, boys, all
from the snowy weather:
Then in the sleigh again,
Do we 
scamper o'er the plain,
And tantarra, huzza! and tantarra, huzza! and
tantarra sings ev'ry brave fellow.

SONG.

A Courting I went to my love,
Who is sweeter than roses in May;
And when I came to her by love,
The devil a word could I say,

I walk'd with her into the garden,
There fully intending to woo her!
But may I be ne'er worth a farthing,
If of love I said any thing to her.

[Page 220]

I clasp'd her hand close to my breast,

While my heart was as light as a feather;

Yet nothing I said, I protest,

But—madam, 'tis very fine weather.

To an arbor I did her attend,
She ask'd me to come and sit by her;
I crept to the furthermost end,
For I was afraid to come nigh her.

I ask'd her which way was the wind,
For I thought in some talk we must enter;
Why, sir, (she answer'd, and grinn'd)
Have you just sent your wits for a venture?

Then I follow'd her into the house,
There I vow'd I my passion would try;
But there I was still as a mouse:
Oh! what a dull booby was I!

SONG. MARY'S DREAM.

THE moon had clim'd the highest hill,
Which rises o'er the source of Dee;
And from the Eastern summit shed
Her silver light on tow'r and tree;
When Mary laid her down to sleep,
Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea,

[Page 221]Then soft and low a voice was heard
Say, "Mary, weep no more for me"

She from her pillow gently rais'd,
Her head, to ask who there might be,
And saw young Sandy shiv'ring stand,
With pallid cheek and hollow eye:
"O Mary, dear, cold is my clay,
It lies beneath a stormy sea:
Far, far from thee I sleep in death:
So, Mary, weep no more for me.

"Three stormy nights and stormy days,
We toss'd upon the raging main,
And long we strove our bark to save,
But all our striving was in vain,
E'en then, when horror chill'd my blood,
My heart was fill'd with love of thee:
The storm is past, and I at rest.

 [...]o, Mary, weep no more for me.

"O maiden dear, thyself prepare;
We soon shall meet upon that shore,
Where love is free from doubt or care,
And thou and I shall part no more."
Loud crow'd the cock, the shadow fled;
No more of Sandy could she see,
But soft the passing spirit said,
"Sweet Mary, weep no more for me."

[Page 222]

SONG. The Maid of the Mill.

WILLIAM.

I'VE kiss'd and I've prattled with fifty fair maids,

And chang'd them as oft d'ye see;

But of all the fair maidens that dance on the green

The maid of the mill for me.

PHOEBE.

There's fifty young men have told me fine tales,

And call'd me the fairest she:

But of all the gay youths that sport on the green,

Young Harry's the lad for me.

WILLIAM.

Her eyes are as black as the sloe in the hedge,

Her face like the blossoms in May,

Her teeth are as white as a new shorn flock,

Her breath like the new made hay.

PHOEBE.

He's tall and he's straight as the poplar tree,

His cheeks are as fresh as the rose;

He looks like a squire of high degree

When drest in his Sunday's clothes.

[Page 223]

SONG. OWEN.

Tho' far beyond the mountains that look so dis­tant here,
To fight his country's battles last May day went my dear!
Ah! well shall I remember with bitter sighs the day:
Why Owen did'st thou leave me? at home why did I stay?

Ah! well shall I remember, &c.

O cruel were my parents who did my flight re­strain,
And I was cruel hearted who did at home remain;
With him I love contented I'd journey far away,
Why Owen did'st thou leave me? at home why did I stay?

With him I love contented, &c.

To market at Llangevillen, each morning do I go,
But how to st
 [...]ke
 [...] bargain no longer do I 
 [...];
My Father chides at ev'ning my Mother all the day:
Why Owen did'st thou leave me? at home why did I stay?

My Father chides at ev'ning, &c.

[Page 224]
When thinking of my Owen my eyes with tears they fill,
And then my mother chides me because my wheel stands still;
How can I think of spinning while Owen's far away?
Why Owen did'st thou leave me? at home why did I stay?

How can I think of spinning, &c.

O should it please kind Heaven to shield my love from harm,
To clasp him to my bosom would ev'ry care disarm;
But ah! I fear far distant will be that happy day.
Why Owen did'st thou leave me? at home why did I stay?

But ah! I fear far distant, &c.

SONG. THE PRETY BRUNETTE.

DEAR Nancy I've sailed the world around,
And for seven long years been a rover,
To make for my charmer each shilling a pound,
But now my fond toils are quite over:
I've sav'd from my toils many hundreds in gold,
The comforts of life to beget;
I've borne in each climate the heat and the cold▪

[Page 225]And all for my pretty Brunette.
Then say, my sweet girl, can you love me?

Tho' others may boast of more riches than mine,
And rate my attraction
 [...] e'en fewer,
At their jeers and ill-natured scorn to repine,
Can they boast of a heart that is truer?
Or will they for thee plough the hazardous main,
Brave the seasons both stormy and wet?
If not, why I'll do it again and again!
And all for my pretty Brunette.
Then say, my sweet girl, can you love me?

When order'd afar in pursuit of the foe,
I sigh'd at the boadings of 
 [...]ancy,
Which feign would persuade me I might be 
 [...].

And never again see my Nancy;
But hope like an angel soon vanish'd the tho
 [...]
And bid me such nonsense forget▪
I took the n
 [...]ice, and undauntedly 
 [...]:
'Twas all 
 [...] my pretty Brunette.
Then say, my dear girl, can you love me?

SONG.

WHEN I had scarcely told sixteen,
My flatt'ring tell tale glass,
Told me there seldom could be seen,
A blither, bonnier lass.

[Page 226]Full twenty lovers round me bow'd,
But high my head I carried,
And with a scornful air I vow'd,
I never would be married.

Young Harry warmly urg'd his suit,
And talk'd of wealth in store,
While Jemmy thought to strike me mute,
And told his conquests o'er.
Each youth a diff'rent art essay'd,
And still their arts I parried;
Believe me, sirs, I laughing said,
I never will be married.

Then five revolting summers past,
While I the tyrant play'd,
Ah then I fear'd 'twould be at last,
My fate to die a maid.
Of all the lovers in my train,
There was but one that tarried,
I thought 'twas time to change my strain,
And we this morn were married,

SONG.

WHEN gen'rous wine expands the soul,
How pleasure hovers round the bowl,
Avaunt, avaunt ye cares of fancy's crew,
And give the guilty wretch his due;
Avaunt ye cares of fancy's crew,
And give the guilty wretch his due, &c. &c.

[Page 227]

But let the juice of sparkling wine,

My grosser sense to love refine;

As Jove his nectar drinks above,

I'll quaff whole goblets full of love. I'll quaff, &c.

Then why should I at life repine,
Bring me Venus, bring me wine,
Fill the ever flowing bowl,
In circles gay and pleasures roll;

Ever open, ever free,
Hail thou friend to jolity,
My brows with Bacchus chaplets crown'd,
I live to love, my cares are drown'd.

SONG.

WHAT virgin or shepherd in valley or grove,
Will envy my innocent lays,
The song of the heart, and the offspring of love,
When sung in my Corrydon's praise,
O'er brook and o'er break, as he hies to the bow'r
How blightsome my shepherd can trip,
And sure when of love he describes the soft pow'r
The honey-dew drops from his lip.

How sweet is the primrose, the violet how sweet.
And sweet is the eglantine breeze,
But Corrydon's kiss, when by moonlight we meet
To me is far sweeter than these.

[Page 228]I blush at his raptures, I hear all his vows,
I sigh when I offer to speak,
And oh! what delight my fond bosom o'erflows,
When I feel the soft touch of his cheek.

Responsive and shrill be the notes from the spray,
Let the pipe thro' the village resound,
Be smiles in each face, oh! ye shepherds to day,
And ring the bells merrily round:
Your favors prepare my companions with speed,
Assist me my blushes to hide,
A twelve month ago on this day I agreed,
To be my lov'd Corydon's bride.

SONG. Within a mile of Edinburgh.

'TWAS within a mile of Edinburgh town,
In the rosy time of the year,
Sweet flowers bloom'd and th
 [...] grass was down,
And each shepherd woo'd his dear:
Bonny Jockey, blithe and gay,
Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay;
The lassie blush'd and frowning cry'd, no, no, it will not do,
I cannot cannot, wonnot wonnot, mannot buckle to.

[Page 229]
Jockey was a wag that never would wed,
Tho' long he had follow'd the lass:
Contented she earn'd and eat her brown bread,
And merrily turn'd up the grass:
Bonny Jockey, blithe and free,
Won her heart right merrily:
Yet still she blush'd and frowning cry'd, no, no, it will not do,
I cannot cannot, wonnot wonnot, mannot buckle to.

But when he vow'd he would make her his bride,
Tho' his flocks and herds were not few,
She gave him her hand and a kiss beside,
And vow'd she'd ever be true;
Bonny Jockey blight and free,
Won her heart right merrily,
At church she no more frowning cry'd, no, no it will not do,
I cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot, buckle to.

SONG.

COLD blew the wind, no gleam of light,
When Ellen left her home,
And brav'd the horrors of the night,
O'er dreary wilds to roam:

[Page 230]The lovely maid, had late been gay,
When hope and pleasure smil'd;
But now, alas! to grief a prey
Was Ellen, sorrow's child.

She long was William's promis'd bride,
But ah! how sad a doom:
The gentle youth, in beauty's pride,
Was summon'd to the tomb!
No more those joys shall Ellen prove,
Which many an hour beguil'd,
From morn to eve she mourns her love,
Sweet Ellen, sorrow's child.

With fault'ring step, away she hies,
O'er William's grave to weep,
For Ellen, there, with tears and sighs,,
Her watch would often keep;
The pitying angel saw her woe,
And came with aspect mild,
Thy tears shall now no longer flow,
Sweet Ellen, sorrow's child.

Thy plaintive notes were heard above,
Where thou shalt soon find rest,
Again thou shalt behold thy love,
And be forever blest:
Ah! can such bliss be mine, she cry'd,
With voice and looks so wild;
Then sunk upon the earth and dy'd—
Sweet Ellen, sorrow's child!

[Page 231]

SONG.

JOHNNY trip'd up stairs at night,
Heigho! to Betty got;
Johnny tript up stairs by night,
Slily without candle light;
Cries Bet, "Who's there?"
"'Tis I, my dear,
"Johnny with his shoulder knot."

What did foolish Betty do?
Heigho! she knew not what;
What did foolish Betty do?
Lift up the latch—and in he flew;
When he kiss'd,
Could she resist,
Johnny with his shoulder knot,

Madam Maudlin soon found out,
Heigho! poor Betty's lot.
Madam Maudlin soon found out,
"What's this, says she, you've been about?"
Betty cries,
And wipes her eyes,
The deuce was in his shoulder knot."

[Page 232]

SONG. DICKEY GOSSOP.

WHEN I was younker, I first was apprentic'd
Unto a gay Barber so dapper and airy,
I next was a Carpenter, then turn'd Dentist,
A Barber good Lord—then an Apothecary.

CHORUS.

But for this trade or that, they all came so smart,

They all came as pat as they can;

For shaving and 
 [...]oth drawing, bleeding, cabbaging and sawing,

Dickey Gossop, Dickey Gossop was the man, &c.

Tho' Taylor and Dentist, but aukwardly tether,
In both my vocations I still have my saving;
But two of our trade couples rarely together,
For Carpenter and Barber they both deal in shaving.

But for this trade or that, &c.

But blunders will happen in callings so various,
I fancy they'd happen to some that are prouder,
I once gave a patient who's health was precarious,
A terrible dose of my best shaving powder.

But for this trade or that, &c.

[Page 233]

SONG.

TO Anacreon in Heav'n, where he sat in full glee,
A few sons of Harmony sent a petition,
That he their inspirer and patron would be;
When this answer arriv'd from the jolly old Grecian:—
"Voice, fiddle, and flute
No longer be mute:
I'll lend you my name, and inspire you to boot:
And, besides, I'll instruct you, like me, to en­twine
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine!"

The news through Olympus immediately flew;
When Old Thunder pretended to give him­self airs—
"If these mortals are suffer'd their scheme to pursue,
The devil a goddess will stay above stairs.
Hark! already they cry,
In transports of joy,
Away to the sons of Anacreon we'll fly;
And there, with good fellows, we'll learn to entwine
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine.

[Page 234]
The yellow hair'd god, and his nine fusty maids,
From Helicon's banks will incontinent flee▪
Idalia will boast but of tenantless shades,
And the biforked hill a mere desert will be!
My thunder, no fear on't,
Shall soon do its errand;
And, dam'me! I'll swinge the ring leaders, I warrant;
I'll trim the young dogs, for thus daring to 'twine
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine."

Apollo rose up, and said, "Prythee, ne'er quarrel,
Good King of the Gods, with my vot'ries below:
Your thunder is useless"—then, shewing his laurel,
Cry'd, 
"Sic evitabile fulmen, you know!
Then over each head
My laurels I'll spread:
So, my sons from your crackers no mischief shall dread;
Whilst snug in their club room they jovially 'twine
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine."

Next Momus got up, with his risible phiz,
And swore with Apollo he'd cheerfully join,
The tide of full harmony still shall be his,

[Page 235]But the song, and the catch, and the laugh shall be mine.
Then, Jove, be not jealous
Of these honest fellows."—
Cry'd Jove, "we relent since the truth you now tell us;
And swear by Old Styx, that they long shall entwine
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine."

Ye sons of Anacreon, then, join hand in hand;
Preserve unanimity, friendship, and love!
'Tis yours to support what's so happily plan'd;
You've the sanction of Gods, and the 
fiat of Jove!
While thus we agree,
Our toast let it be,
May our club flourish happy, united and free!
And long may the fons of Anacreon entwine
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine.

SONG. THE ROVER'S CHOICE.

THRO' City, Town & Village—I every where have rov'd,
A Chloe and a Phillis—I every where have lov'd;

[Page 236]Now tired of variety—to marriage I'm inclin'd,
Would fortune only grant me—a partner to my mind;

CHORUS.

I would go no more a roving,

But constant as a dove,

With such a lass—my days I'd pass

In harmony and love, &c.

I care not for complexion—she may be brown or fair,
If she has but discretion—and meaning in her air,
Her shape I would have graceful, to pride and folly blind;
But most I'd wish her to possess—a cultivated mind.

Then I'd go no more a roving, &c.

A sense of chaste decorum—should in her acti­ons shine,
A temper condescending—that ne'er would ruf­fle mine,
A cheerful disposition—but never vainly gay,
And sometimes an amusing song to pass an hour away.

I would go no more a roving, &c.

I'll court no wealthy fair one, because of her rich purse,
Altho' with that ingredient, I should not like her worse;

[Page 237]Industry and contentment, give happiness and health,
If she possess those virtues rare I prize them more than wealth.

And I'd go no more a roving, &c.

All trifling affectation—her mind should be above,
And truth and innocence should join with ten­derness and love;
From slander and rude language—her tongue I would have free,
Her house, her family, herself—still neat and clean should be.

Then I'd go no more a roving, &c.

For such a wife most freely—my raking I'd re­sign,
Our hearts combin'd in mutual love, would taste of joys divine,
No Monarch on his throne then, could half so happy be,
For home would be a Paradise with such a girl as she.

Then I'd go no more a roving,

But constant as a dove;

With such a lass—my days I'd 
 [...]ass,

In harmony and love.

&c. &c. &c.

[Page 238]

SONG. SA VORNIEN DEILISH. Tune.—ERIN GO BRAH!

OH the moment was sad, when my love and I parted,

Sa vournien deilish Ellen Aug.
As I kissed of her tears, I was nigh broken hearted,

Sa vournien deilish Ellen Aug.
Wan was her cheek, that hung on my shoulder,
Damp was her hand, no marble was colder,
I felt that again, I ne'er should behold her.

Sa vournien deilish Ellen Aug.

When the word of command, put our men into motion,

Sa vournien deilish Ellen Aug.
I buckled on my knapsack to cross the wide ocean,

Sa vournien deilish Ellen Aug.
Brisk were our troops, all roaring like thunder,
Plea
 [...]ed with the voyage, impatient for plunder,
My poor heart with grief, was almost torn as­sunder.

Sa vournien deilish Ellen Aug.

Long I fought for my country, far, far, from my true love,

Sa vournien deilish Ellen Aug.

[Page 239]All my pay and my bounty, I hoarded for thee love,

Sa vournien deilish Ellen Aug.
Peace was proclaimed, escaped from the slaughter—
Landed at home, my sweet GIRL I sought her;
But sorrow alas! to her cold grave had bro't her.

Sa vournien deilish Ellen Aug.

SONG.

ADIEU! ye verdant lawns and bow'rs,
Adieu, my peace is o'er:
Adieu, ye sweetest shrubs and flow'rs,
Since Delia breathes no more.

Adieu ye hills, adieu ye vales,
Adieu ye streams and floods:
Adieu sweet echo's plaintive tales,
Adieu ye meads and woods.

Adieu ye flocks, ye fleecy care,
Adieu yon pleasing plain!
Adieu thou beauteous blooming fair,
We ne'er shall meet again.

[Page 240]

SONG.

'TWAS near a thicket's calm reateat,
Under a poplar tree,
Maria chose her wretched seat,
To mourn her sorrows free.
Her lovely form was sweet to view
As dawn at op'ning day;
But. ah! she mourn'd her love not true▪
And wept her cares away!

The brook flow'd gently at her feet,
In murmurs smooth, along:
Her pipe, which once she tun'd most sweet,
Had now forgot its song.
No more to charm the vale she tries,
For grief has fill'd her breast;
Those joys which once she us'd to prize—
But love has robb'd her rest.

Poor hapless maid! who can behold
Thy sorrows so severe,
And hear thy love lorn story told,
Without a falling tear?
Maria, luckless maid! adieu!
Thy sorrows soon must cease;
For Heav'n will take a maid so true
To everlasting peace!

[Page 241]

SONG.

LOOK, dear Ma'am, I'm quite the thing,
Natibus hey, tipity ho.
In my shoe I wear a string,
Plaidy my Tartan ho:
Cards and dice I've monstrous luck;
Tho' no dr
 [...]ke, yet keep a duck;
Tho' no Nimrod, yet I'm a buck.
Lantherum swash kickee.

I've a purse well stock'd with— brass,
Chinckily hee, chinckily ho;
I've good eyes yet cock my glass,
Stare about squintum ho.
In two boots I boldly walk,
Pistol, sword, I never baulk,
Meet my man and bravely talk,
Peppilus, pop, coupee.

Sometimes I mount a smart cockade,
Puppydum hey, struttledom ho,
From Hyde Park to the parade,
'Cockmacary kee:
As I pass a centry box,
Soldiers rest their bright firelocks,
E
 [...]ch about his musquet knocks,
Rattledum slap to me.

[Page 242]
In the mall miss gives her card,
Cashady me, kissady she,
Set before the palace ya
 [...]d,
Leggerum lounge a row:
Prettiest things I softly say,
When I'm ask'd our chairs to pay,
Yes, says I, and walk away.
Pennybus, farthing ho.

SONG.

THE fields were green, the hills were gay,
And birds were singing on each spray,
When Colin met me in the grove,
And told me tender tales of love:
Was ever swain so blithe as he,
So kind, so faithful, and so free,
In spite of all my friends can say,
Young Colin stole my heart away:

Whene'er he trips the mead along,
He sweetly joins the wood-lark's song;
And when he dances on the green,
There's none so blithe as Colin seen:
If he's but by, I nothing fear,
For I alone am all his care;
Then spite of all my friends can say,
He's stole my tender heart away.

[Page 243]
My mother chides whene'er I roam,
And seem surpriz'd I quit my home;
But she'd not wonder that I rove,
Did she but feel how much I love;
Full well I know the generous swain,
Will never give my bosom pain:
Then spite of all my friends can say,
He's stole my tender heart away.

SONG.

MY Jockey is the blithest lad,
That ever maiden woo'd:
When he appears my heart is glad,
For he is kind and good.
He talks of love whene'er we meet,
His words with rapture flow;
Then tunes his pipe, and sings so sweet,
I have no pow'r to go.

All other lasses he forsakes,
And flies to me alone;
At ev'ry fair, and all the wakes,
I hear them making moan:
He buys me toys, and sweetmeats too,
And ribband, for my hair;
No swain was ever halt so true,
Or half so kind and fair.

Whene'er I go, I nothing fear,
I
 [...] Jockey is but by,
For I alone am all his care,

[Page 244]When any danger's nigh.
He vows to wed next Whitsun day,
And make me blest for life;
Can I refuse, ye maidens, say,
To be young Jockey's wife?

SONG.

LORD, what care I for mam or dad?
Why let 'em scold and bellow,
For while I live I'll love my lad,
He's such a carming fellow.

The last fair day on Gander green,
The youth he danc'd so well O,
So spruce a lad was never seen,
As my sweet charming fellow.

The fair was over, night was come,
The lad was somewhat mellow;
Says he my dear, I'l see you home—
I thank'd the charming fellow.

We trudg'd along, the moon shone bright,
Says he, if you'll not tell O,
I'll kiss you here, by this good light—
Lord what a charming fellow.

You rogue, says I, you have stopped my breath,
Ye bells ring out my knell O,
Again I'd die so sweet a death,
With such a charming fellow.

[Page 245]

AN ODE. ON THE DEATH OF GEN. GEO. WASHINGTON.

MOURN! mourn Columbia, mourn your Chief!
Ah! mourn forevermore!
Tell to the world thy tale of grief—
Thy Washington's no more!

Our father and protector's dead!
The statesman is no more!
A deadly gloom is round us spread,
And darkness veils our shore.

Ye stars, withdraw your feeble rays;
Ye rivers cease to flow!
Ye bards, who often sung his praise,
Now join the song of woe!

Ye nations, drop a friendly tear,
And mourn Columbia's chief!
ye neighb'ring tribes, with hearts sincere,
Partake our load of grief!

He's gone! he's gone! to realms above—

To realms of pleasure, peace and love.

[Page]

INDEX.

Assemble in our country's cause Folio. 43
Arrah! Paddy, dear boy, my heart, &c. Folio. 58
A kernel from an apple's core, Folio. 85
A plague of those musty old lubbers, Folio. 94
A tinker I am Folio. 97
Away, pale fear and ghastly terror! Folio. 103
As wit and beauty, for an hour Folio. 142
A while in every nation Folio. 153
A watchman I am, and I knows &c. Folio. 162
A beautious sterling late I saw Folio. 181
Attention pray give, while of Hobbies &c. Folio. 186
As musing I rang'd in the meads &c. Folio. 188
Alas! they've torn my love away Folio. 189
A glass is good and a lass is good, Folio. 191
A fond husband will after a conjugal strife Folio. 206
A courting I went to my love Folio. 219
Adieu ye verdent lawns and bow'rs Folio. 239

Brave countrymen both great and small Folio. 40
By roguery 'tis true, Folio. 88
Blest friendship hail! thy gifts possessing, Folio. 117
Beauty I sell who'll buy, who'll buy? Folio. 119
Bleak was the ma [...] when William left &c. Folio. 129

[Page]Come, hail the day ye sons of mirth Folio. 3
Columbia's bald eagle displays in his claws, Folio. 18
Columbia's greatest glory Folio. 25
Come all ye gem'men volunteers Folio. 78
Come, every man now give his toast, Folio. 79
Cotchlen sat all alone, Folio. 101
Cursed be the sordid wretch of yore, Folio. 106
Come all hands ahoy to the anchor, Folio. 140
Cupid, cried Vulcan, 'tis no jest, Folio. 149
Cold blew the wind no gleam of light Folio. 229

Dear John prithee tell me, cried Ruth, Folio. 123
Delightful source of heart-felt joy, Folio. 193
Dear Nancy I've sailed the world around Folio. 224

From the soil our fathers dearly bought, Folio. 17
Fly ye traitors from our land, Folio. 33
Forc'd from home, and all its pleasures Folio. 46
Freshly now the breeze is blowing Folio. 108
Far remov'd from noise and smoak Folio. 113
For I am the girl that was made for my Joe Folio. 135
Faint and wearily the [...]ay-worn traveller Folio. 213

God save the United States Folio. 15
Green were the fields where my fore-fathers dwelt O Folio. 37
Go on brave prince, increase your debts Folio. 48
Grand juries those time serving knaves Folio. 50
[Page]Good people I pray you attend to me, Folio. 53
Gallant nation foes no more, Folio. 56
Go, proud lover, go! Folio. 149
Gay Bacchus, and Mercury, and I, Folio. 151

Hail Columbia, happy land, Folio. 5
How blest the life a sailor leads, Folio. 12
Hibernia's sons, the Patriot band, Folio. 42
Hibernia's sons, with hearts elate, Folio. 61
Hail! undaunted Hibernians true offspring &c Folio. 63
How kind and how good of his dear majesty, Folio. 86
How happy she, who ne'er can know, Folio. 167
His sparkling eyes were dark as jet, Folio. 204
Hearme, O fortune, hear me! Folio. 208
Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, Folio. 214
He that will not merry be, Folio. 217

In what history can you find, Folio. 45
In concert join each soul that loves, Folio. 67
Indeed, miss, such sweethearts as I am, Folio. 76
I lock'd up allmy treasure, Folio. 81
Is't my story you'd know? &c. Folio. 90
If, my hearty, you'd not like a lubber appear, Folio. 105
I be one of the sailors who thinks 'tis no lie, Folio. 106
I, that once was a ploughman, a sailor am now, Folio. 120
In the motley feather'd race, Folio. 130
I am a chairman, my name is Mc. Gee, Folio. 136
If ever a sailor was fond of good sport, Folio. 155
Inspir'd by so grateful a duty, Folio. 167
[Page]In one thou'd'st find variety, Folio. 170
I never shall survive it, cried Lumkin &c. Folio. 178
I've found my fair, a true love knot, Folio. 190
I've kiss'd and I've prattled &c. Folio. 222

Jack dances and sings, and is always content, Folio. 116
Johnny trip'd up stairs at night, Folio. 231

Lovely woman, pride of nature, Folio. 110
Ladies and gentlemen I'm a beau, Folio. 120
Love's a cheat; we over rate it. Folio. 148
Life's as like as can be to an Irish wake, Folio. 187
Look, dear ma'am, I'm quite the thing Folio. 241
Lord, what care I for mam or dad, Folio. 244

My name is freedom new come o'er. Folio. 65
Madam, you know my trade is war, Folio. 80
My name's Ted Blarney, I'll be bound, Folio. 87
My friends all declare that my time is mispent, Folio. 192
Moving to the melody of music's note, Folio. 208
Major Domo am I, Folio. 209
My Jockey is the blithest lad, Folio. 243
Mourn! mourn Columbia &c. Folio. 245

Now Hibernians bold and brave, Folio. 60

Oh why should weak deluded man, Folio. 31
Our fathers left a race of kings, Folio. 72
One negro wi my banger, Folio. 112
[Page]Oh the camp's delightful rigs, Folio. 114
Of Columbia's boast the praise be mine, Folio. 184
Oh! think on my fate, once I freedom enjoy'd, Folio. 212
Oh! the moment was sad &c. Folio. 238

Pray ladies think not I presume, Folio. 136

Sainted shades, who dar'd to brave. Folio. 29
Sure, master John Bull, I shan't know &c. Folio. 69
Sing the loves of John and Jean, Folio. 73
Say Fanny, wilt thou go with me, Folio. 99
Spanking Jack was so comely, so pleasant &c. Folio. 127
Sweetly, sweetly, let's enjoy, Folio. 152
Sweet is the ship that under sail, Folio. 168
Say soldier which of glory's charms, Folio. 169
Stand close! our comrade is not come: Folio. 207
Say, have you in the village seen, Folio. 215

To Columbia, who gladly reclin'd at her ease, Folio. 9
There was a miller's daughter, Folio. 75
The world's a strange world, child it must &c. Folio. 77
the ladie's faces, now a da [...], Folio. 92
The younker, who his first essay, Folio. 100
This life's a days journey, we rise in the morn, Folio. 104
The wind was hush'd the storm was o'er, Folio. 109
Time was, for oh there was a time. Folio. 114
The passing bell was heard to t [...]ll, Folio. 138
Tell me neighbour, tell me plain, Folio. 152
[Page]The breeze was fresh, the ship in stays, Folio. 153
The auctioneer mounts, and—first heming &c. Folio. 157
The village was jovial, the month was May, Folio. 160
Tom Turnwell is my name, my boys, Folio. 165
Turn, O turn, relentless fair, Folio. 166
'Twas a hundred years ago, Folio. 174
'Twas post meridian, half past four, Folio. 176
Trust not man for he'll deceive you, Folio. 182
Trust not woman, she'll beguile you, Folio. 183
The turban'd turk, who scorns the world, Folio. 202
The sea was calm, the sky serene, Folio. 216
The moon had clim'd the highest hill, Folio. 220
Tho' far beyond the mountains that looks so &c. Folio. 223
'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town, Folio. 228
To Anacreon in heav'n, where he sat in full glee, Folio. 233
Thro' city, town and village &c. Folio. 235
'Twas near a thicket's calm retreat, Folio. 240
The fields were green, the hills were gay, Folio. 242

When Britain with despotic sway, Folio. 7
When freedom fair, freedom, her banner display'd Folio. 20
When our great fires this land explor'd, Folio. 22
While o'er Europe's fa [...]est regions, Folio. 26
When serjeant Belswagger, that masculine brute, Folio. 82
Women are Will o' th' Wisps, 'tis plain, Folio. 84
While up the shrouds the sailor goes, Folio. 85
When faintly gleams the doubtful day, Folio. 91
What naughty things we women are, Folio. 93
What argufies pride and ambition? Folio. 96
Wounds, here's such a coil! &c. Folio. 1 [...]
[Page]Why dont you know me by my scars? Folio. 111
When I comes to town with a load of hay, Folio. 132
While fancy, as she rules the mind, Folio. 147
When up to London first I came, Folio. 189
While, pensive, I thought on my love, Folio. 205
Wellmet, jolly fellows, well met, Folio. 211
What pleasure can compare, Folio. 218
When I had scarcely told sixteen, Folio. 225
When gen'rous wine expands the soul, Folio. 226
What virgin or shepherd in valley or grove, Folio. 227
When I was a y [...]mker, I first was apprentic'd, Folio. 232

Ye sons of Columbia, unite in the cause, Folio. 13
Ye vile swinish herd, in the sty of taxation, Folio. 53
Ye sons of Hibernia, assert your birth right, Folio. 194
Ye sons of Hibernia, who snug on dry land, Folio. 195
Ye sons of Hibernia, give ear to my story, Folio. 200
Yes, Beda—thus Beda &c. Folio. 203

FINIS.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

The American songster; or, Federal museum of melody & wit. In four parts. : Containing a collection of much admired songs, selected from the writings of various English and American authors.

2009-04

PART. I. American Patriotic Songs.

SONG.

SONG. HAIL COLUMBIA. TUNE—PRESIDENT'S MARCH.

SONG. Tune—RULE BRITANIA.

SONG.

SONG. AMERICA, COMMERCE AND FREE­DOM.

SONG.

SONG.

SONG. Tune—VICAR OF BRAY.

SONG.

SONG. TRUXTON's VICTORY.

SONG. Tune—RULE BRITANIA.

SONG. COLUMBIA's GLORY. Tune.—A TRIP TO HARFORD.

SONG. Tune.—CEASE RUDY BOREAS.

SONG. Tune.—HAIL COLUMBIA.

SONG. COMMON SENSE. Tune,—"GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME."

SONG. FLY YE TRAITORS.

PART II. Irish Patriotic Songs.

SONG. ERIN GO BRAH! TUNE.—SAVOURNA DEILISH.

SONG. THE HAPPY REFORMATION. Tune—MAGGY LAUDER.

SONG. THE GREEN FLAG. Tune—THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.

SONG. SEE YOUR COUNTRY RIGHTED. Tune "MAGGY LAUDER,"

SONG. THE IRISH VOLUNTEERS. Tune, "VOLUNTEER'S MARCH,"

SONG. THE NEGRO's COMPLAINT. Tune, "HOW PERFECT IS EXPRESSION."

SONG. THE GRAVE-DIGGER'S ADDRESS. TO THE PRINCE OF WALES. Tune, "MERRILY DANC'D THE QUAKER."

SONG. THE UNION OF PARTIES, Tune "THE CUDGEL."

SONG. THE PLACEMEN AND PENSIONERS' ADDRESS TO THE SWINISH MULTITUDE Tune "DERRY DOWN."

SONG. THE TRUMPET OF FAME. Tune, "PLANKSTY CONNOR."

SONG. THE PATRIOT YOUTH. Tune,—"DONALD BRANN."

SONG. THE TRIUMPH OF TRUTH. Tune, "MORGAN RATLER."

A CALL TO IRISHMEN▪ Tune, "WOLF AT QUEBEC."

SONG. HONEST PAT. Tune, "GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME."

SONG. THE VIRTUOUS WARRIORS. Tune, "ROSSIN CASTLE."

SONG. LIBERTY's ADDRESS TO HER FRIENDS IN IRELAND. Tune, "REJECTED MASON."

SONG. PADDY AND NO MORE!

SONG. THE RED NIGHT-CAP. Tune, "DERRY DOWN."

SONG. THE RACE OF KINGS. Tune, "YE GODS, YE GAVE TO ME A WIFE."

PART. III. DIBDEN's SONGS.

BALLAD—IN THE CHELSEA PENSIONER.

BALLAD—IN THE DESERTER.

BALLAD—IN THE WATERMAN.

BALLAD—IN THE SERAGLIO.

BALLD—IN POOR VULCAN.

BALLAD—IN POOR VULCAN

BALLAD—IN POOR VULCAN.

BALLAD—IN THE QUAKER.

DUET.

SONG—IN THE QUAKER.

BALLAD—IN THE QUAKER.

BALLAD—IN THE FRIENDLY TARS.

BALLAD—IN THE OLD WOMAN OF EIGHTY.

BALLAD—IN THE TOUCHSTONE.

BALLAD—IN THE REASONABLE ANIMALS. —A Wolf who had been a Lawyer.—

BALLAD—IN THE REASONABLE ANIMALS. A bull who had been an Irishman.

BATLAD—IN LIBERTY-HALL.

BALLAD—IN THE ISLANDERS.

BALLAD—IN PANDORA.

BALLAD—IN THE BENEVOLEFT TAR.

BALLAD—IN THE BENEVOLENT TAR.

BALLAD.

DUET—IN CLUMP AND CUDDEN.

BALLAD—IN TOM THUMB.

BALLAD.

BALLAD—IN HARVEST HOME.

SONG—IN HARVEST HOME.

BALLAD—IN THE ISLANDERS.

BALLAD.

BALLAD.

BALLAD—IN THE WAGS.

BALLAD.

BALLAD—IN THE WAGS.

BALLAD—IN THE WAGS.

BALLAD—IN THE WAGS.

RONDEUA—IN THE WAGS.

BALLAD—IN THE WAGS.

VAUXHALL BALLAD—IN THE WAGS

RONDEAU—IN THE WAGS.

BALLAD—IN THE WAGS.

SONG. AMERICA, COMMERCE AND FREEDOM.