Navigators, novices, the poor, the peer, the lily white, The single-hearted waterman, and double-fisted gas, All are so busy at it, each man gets his share of his Next-door-neighbour's knuckles, and a handsome face and pair of eyes. A man is morning, noon, and night, with Belcher, at his sporting-house; While sweet attractive attitudes are striking us and courting us. Oh, what a sight is a dainty bit of pugilism! All mankind are tucking-up their fingers for a fight. Rings now are made at Moulsey-Hurst and Twickenham, At Crawley-Downs, at Teddington, at Shepperton, and there Skulls get of pepper-mint a dose enough to sicken em; Collar-bones and claret-mugs are worse for wear; Stakes, ropes, and water-bottles, saw-dust, seconds, fighting-men, Tradesfolk, and showfolk, London-men, and Brighton-men, Waggons, whips, and gin, and bets, with some to lose, and some to win 'em, Nonpariels, and brandy, nuts, and carts, with twoand-twenty in 'em. Oh, what a sight is a dainty, &c. Whips are at work, sticks follow, legs and all annoys, Silence is entreated, with an oath or knock; "Pray, who is that?"" That's Randall, in the corderoys;" "And that is Mr. Richmond, in the white smockfrock." Sights to astonish us! there, that young man a dicer is; Hush! or else he'll rattle out his bones upon your ivories! White feathers waving, when courage has evaporated, Men with heads beneath their arms, like walking Charles decapitated. Oh, what a sight is a dainty, &c. Such is the rage for squaring now in rounds, that all Walk about in gouty gloves, in striking streets; Sparring's grown so impudent, she really knows no bounds at all, But thrusts her leathern knuckles into every face she meets; Little ragged boys, in courts, are flushing it, and flooring it; Brothers and their sisters' heads are fibbing it, and boring it; Clerks in public offices, assail with fist the first Was formed, in a frolic, by old Madam Nature. And as bachelors, stupid, our streets daily crowd, For one evil treads fast on the heels of another. Was formed, in a frolic, by old Madam Nature. I SING OF MIRTH-AND JOLLITY'S MY WHEN fumes of wine ascend into my brain, FROM Brighton two Paddies walk'd under the cliff, For pebbles and shells to explore; When, lo! a small barrel was dropp'd from a skiff, Which floated at length to the shore. F Says Dermot to Pat, we the owner will bilk, I know it as well as my own mother's milk, Says Pat. I'll soon broach it, O fortunate lot! "Twas said, and 'twas done-the barrel was bor'd, With sudden explosion, he flew o'er the ocean, Yet instinct prevails, when philosophy fails, But Dermot bawl'd out, with a terrible shout, If you do not come down, I'll run into the town, OH! be some signal vengeance found, Who dares his fellow man around Who, with remorseless bosom, parts Who breaks, between two faithful hearts, His country's scorn, in lasting shame,Oh! let the demon dwell, Who thus, degrading manhood's name, Would turn our earth to hell! THE VILLAGE CRIM. CON. OH! ye lads and ye laddesses gay, The envy and pride of the lads; Though some said 'twas 'cause of the brads. Now, once for all, Snob thought to marry, And having seen plenty of life, Not wanting the stuff, would not tarry, But heel-piece his cares with a wife; He met with a damsel named Nancy, Who lived at a dairy hard by, And being the cream of his fancy, He met of a night on the sly. Her love Snob thought firm as lump butter, As he press'd the doe-skin of her flesh. The day when the license was bought, He had just taken measure of Snob, He would any time do, if Snob called. Soon proved that the spirit was frail; This dairy-maid, buxom and fair, Thinking next day the fond bliss to share. But finding her not come to meet him, Yet quickly thought Snob, since the license There's skim-milk enough for the rest. LOVE AND LAURA. ON a bank, where circling trees The archer chose, and laugh'd the while; Awoke and saw the urchin's guile. THE NAVAL SUBALTERN. (Collins.) BEN BLOCK was a vet'ran of naval renown, And renown was his only reward; For the Board still neglected his merits to crown, my And the scuppers were streaming with gore! Nor could a lieutenant's poor stipend provoke And drown care in a jorum of grog. Thus year, in a subaltern state, year after Poor Ben for his king fought and bled; When, on humbly saluting, with sinciput bare, Since I last had a peep at your sconce." While a bald pate I long have stood under, There have so many captains walk'd over my head, That to see me quite scalp'd 'twere no wonder." THE PRIEST OF BALLINACASEY. IN Ireland, the dear land, when I was a boy, I tumbled, and touzled, and pull'd them about; By the fair sex of Ballinacasey. For he was the doctor, schoolmaster, and judge, 'Gainst my manifold sins would he preach and About tumbling, and pulling, and teazing the fair, To the priest of Ballinacasey. And so is that Norah-why didn't you bring her?" You can't be forgiven, but-bring one more slice- snout; He suspected my faith, so had followed me out Then he preach'd of Beelzebub, devils, and flames; Till time had unroofed all the thatch from his pate, And must excommunicate me, skin and bone, From the chapel of Ballinacasey. Hear me she's a Protestant, father, said I, Och! St. Roke assist your holy plan, Och! bring her to me in the morning to mass, In the chapel of Ballinacasey. The place that I'd got, I detarmined to keep, And their ladies were all so bewitching! When I thought to be droll, I was always struc: mute, As the bacon-rack hangs in our kitchen; They axed me to say how the coach was at the door,' When were seated above and below folk! Now work her conversion, and mind what I've Feggs! I was so sheamfaced, I flopped on the spoke, Then bring her to me and I will, by St. Roke! Give to her salvation a finishing stroke In the chapel of Ballinacasey. HAIL, BACCHUS, HAIL! FAREWELL TO LOVE. A PARODY. (W. H. Ireland.) BEGONE, I'll hear no more of love, There will I climb amongst the rocks, No more I'll weave thee wreaths of roses, I will not pluck the lamb's soft wool; Away, straw-belts and ivy-buds; KNOWING JOEY. (Cross.) I WAS called knowing Joe by the boys of our town, Old dad taught me wisely to know folk; Cod! I was so sharp, when they laughing came down, I axed how do'st do?' to the show-folk; I could chaunt a good stave, that I knowed very well No boy of my age could talk louder, Crack a joke, tip the wink, or a droll story tell; Of my cleverness, too, none were prouder; So, thinks I, it's better nor following the plough, To try with these youths to queer low folk; Their master I met, so I made best bow, my SPOKEN.] How do ye do, sir? says I, I'ze a mighty notion of turning actor-man; I be main lissome-boxes and wrestles vary pretty-dances a good jig—and can play-the vary devil! Axed a place, and so joined with the show-folk. floor! SPOKEN.] A kind of a sort of giddiness seized me all over the candles danced the hays!'twere as dimmish as a Scotch mist! I dropp'd down dead as a shot! And swounded away 'mong the show-folk. They laughed so, and jeered me, as never wur seen! All manner of fancies were playing; One night I was sent for to wait on a queen, SPOKEN.] I believes it were Queen Hamlet of Dunkirk ! (Not thinking the plan they were laying.). My leady she died on a chair next her spouse, While with pins me behind they were pricking; All at once I screamed out; lent her grace such a douse! That alive she was soon-aye, and kicking! The people all laughed at, and hooted poor I, And the comical dogs did me so joke! That I made but one step, without bidding good bye SPOKEN.] From their steage, cod! I never sc much as once looked behind me! tumbled over a barrel of thunder-knocked down a hailstormrolled over the sea-darted like lightning through the infarnal regions. And so I took my leave of the show-folk. ONE NATION, ONE PEOPLE; THE BRAVE AND THE FREE. (Captain Morris.) IT has long been agreed by all persons of learning, Who in stories of old have a ready discerning, That in every country which travellers paint, There has always been found a protector or saint. Derry down, &c. Saint George for Old England; with target and lance; Saint Andrew for Scotland; Saint Denis for Saint David for Wales, who on goats used to ride; Saint Denis gives soup, and Saint George the Sir While Saint Andrew on oatmeal will frequently dine, With leeks the fair boards of Saint David are crowned, And Patrick for rivers of claret's renowned. United with Britain Hibernia shall be, One nation, one people, the brave and the free, Then in vain shall the thunders of Denis be hurled, And Saint George and Saint Patrick give laws to the world. Derry down, &c. STEADY SHE GOES, ALL'S WELL! (Morton.) THE British tar no peril knows, But, fearless, braves the stormy deep; The ship's his cradle of repose, And sweetly rocks him to his sleep. He, though the raging surges swell, In his hammock swings, When the steersman sings, Steady she goes, all's well! While to the main-top yard he springs, An English vessel heaves in view; He asks but it no letter brings From bonny Kate or lovely Sue. Then sighs he for his native dell, Yet to hope he clings, When the steersman sings, Steady she goes, all's well! WHEN TIME, WHO STEALS OUR YEARS AWAY. (Moore.) WHEN time, who steals our years away, The memory of the past will stay, Then, Chloe, when thy beauty's flower Then talk no more of future gloom, For hope shall brighten days to come, drink to love and thee: Then fill the bowl, away with gloom, But mark, at thought of future years, How like this bowl of wine, my fair, Our loving life shall fleet! Though tears may sometimes mingle there. Then fill the bowl, &c. THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. (Dibdin.) THE martial pomp, the mournful train, The awful knell sounds low and lorn, An ever-living laurel round his sacred tomb. The plaintive fife, &c. WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE? Air-"The Sutor's Dochter."—(Burns.) WILT thou be my dearie ? When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, swear and vow that only thou Lassie, say thou lo’es me; |