Jack Jollyboat went to the Indies

To see him stare when he came back, The girls were so all off the hinges,

His Poll was quite unknown to Jack: Tant-masted all, to see who's tallest, Breast-works, top-ga'ant sails, and a fanMessmate, cried I, more sail than ballast,

Ah still give me my Buxom Nan.
None in life's sea can sail more quicker,
To show her love or serve a friend;
But hold, I'm preaching o'er my liquor,
This one word, then, and there's an end:
Of all the wenches whatsomdever,

I say, then, find me out who can,
One half so tight, so kind, so clever,
Sweet, trim, and neat as Buxom Nan.

*****...

KING DICK;

OR, MORE GHOSTS THAN ONE. Air-" Bow, wow," &c.-(C. F. Barrett.) You all have heard of crook-back'd Dick, who once was England's King, sir,

Who thought by artifice to get the devil in a string, sir;

Being born with teeth, he vow'd to snap at all who came in his way, sir,

And friend or foe, as suited Dick, alike became his prey, sir.

Bow, wow, wow, fal, lal, &c.

'Gainst Clarence, first, he spit his spite, and while he there did dine, sir,

He made him drunk, and then did drown him in a butt of wine, sir;

Then next unto the Tower he went, and with a

furious look, sir,

He stuck King Harry, 'cause he found him reading in a book, sir.

Bow, wow, &c. King Edward dying, he seiz'd the crown, when, like the frog in fable,

He swelled and looked monstratious big as long as he was able;

Then married Lady Ann with speed, but soon, sirs, in a frenzy,

He bade her go, sirs, and be d-d, another took his fancy.

Bow, wow, &c.

WHEN YOUTH HIS FAIRY REIGN BEGAN. (S. T. Coleridge.)

WHEN youth his fairy reign began,
Ere sorrow had proclaimed me man,
While peace the present hour beguiled,
And all the lovely prospect smiled;
Then, Mary, 'mid my lightsome glee,
I heaved the painless sigh for thee.
And when along the waves of woe,
My harassed heart was doomed to know
The frantic burst of outrage keen,
And the slow pang that gnaws unseen;
Then shipwrecked on life's stormy sea,
I heaved an anguished sigh for thee.
But soon reflection's power impress'd
A stiller sadness on my breast;
And sickly hope, with waning eye,
Was well content to droop and die;
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heaved a languid sigh for thee.
And though in different climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would soothe the sense of care,
And lull to sleep the joys that were;
Thy image may not banished be,
Still, Mary, still I sigh for thee.

HASTE, ROSEATE HOUR. [Translated from the Spanish of Juan de Mena.] (Dimond.)

HASTE, roseate hour, that fate ordains,
To end the lover's anxious pains,—
His doubts, his fears, his fond alarms,
And yield a bride to bless his arms.
Haste, roseate hour.
For thee old Time's enamoured hand,
To grains of gold shall change the sand,
With silent fall as moments pass,
And atoms count them in his glass.

Haste, roseate hour!

But when run out, thy perfect pile
Will shine so brightly, Time shall smile,
Deem further cares of office vain,
Stand still, nor turn the glass again.

Haste, roseate hour!

O! PADDY, PADDY WHACK;

OR, A BLACK-AND-BLUE LAMENTATION! Air-" 0! Listen to the Voice of Love." (E. J. B. Box.)

O! Paddy, Paddy Whack,
Where do you stray?
O! when come back
To me this way?
O tell me why
From me you fly,

For if you're false my heart 'twill crack;
Then I must die,
And no more sigh

For Paddy, Paddy, dear Paddy Whack!
O! Paddy, Paddy Whack,
For you my tears

Of love flow black

And blue with fears!

Oft in my arms,

Of such sweet charms

You've sworn you never had a smack; Then why this waste

Of time and taste,

O! Paddy, Paddy, dear Paddy Whack?

PIGGISH PROPENSITIES;

OR, THE BUMPKIN IN TOWN.
(T. Jones.)

A BUMPKIN to London, one morning in spring,
Hey derry, ho derry, fal de ral la,
Took a fat pig to market, his leg in a string,

Hey derry, ho derry, &c.

The Clown drove him forward, while piggy, good lack,

Liked his old home so well he still tried to run back.

SPOKEN.]" Coome, coome," said the Bumpkin to himself," Lunnun is the grand mart for every thing; there they have their Auction-Marts, their Coffee-Marts, and their Linen-Marts: and, as they are fond of a tid-bit of country-pork, I see no reason why they should not have a Pork and Bacon Mart-so, get on (pig grunts). I am glad to hear you have a voice on the subject, though it seems not quite in tune with my

Hey derry, ho derry, &c. It chanced on the road they'd a dreadful disaster, Hey derry, ho derry, &c. The grunter ran back 'twixt the legs of his master, Hey derry, ho derry, &c.

The Bumpkin he came to the ground in a crack, And the pig, getting loose, he ran all the way back!

SPOKEN.] "6 Hollo," said the Clown, scrambling up again, and scratching his broken head, "to be sure I have heard of sleight-of-hand, hocuspocus, and sich like, but, by gum, this here be a new manœuvre, called sleight-of-legs; however, s no boanes be broken between us, I'll endeavour make use on 'em once more in following the gane in view: so, here goes, with a

Hey derry, ho derry, &c. He set off again, with his pig in a rope, Hey derry, ho derry, &c.

Reached London, and now for good sale 'gan to

hope,

Hey derry, ho derry, &c.

behaviour; but, certainly, after a long and fatiguing journey, nothing can be more refreshing than a drap of the cratur; and, deeming this the regular mart for the good stuff, in he bolts, leaving his master to sing, as long as he pleased,

Hey derry, ho derry, &c

Here three snuffy Tabbies he put to the rout,
Hey derry, ho derry, &c.
With three drams to the quartern, that moment
served out,

Hey derry, ho derry, &c. The pig gave a grunt, and the Clown gave a roar, When the whole of the party lay flat on the floor!

SPOKEN.] Yes, there they lay all of a lump; and a precious group there was of them: the old women, well primed with snuff and twopenny, and bang-up with gin and bitters-the fair ones squalled; the Clown growled like a bear with a broken head; the landlord, seeing all that could be seen as they rolled over each other, stared like a stuck pig! while this grand chorus of soit and sweet voices from the swinish multitude was accompanied by the pig with his usual grunt, and a

Hey derry, ho derry, &c.

He set off again, without waiting for Jack,
And, not liking London, ran all the way back!

SPOKEN.] The devil take the pig," said the Bumpkin, he is more trouble than enough." "The devil take you," said Miss Sukey Snuffle, "for you are the greatest hog of the two; I dare say, if the truth was known, you are brothers." "I declare I never was so exposed in all my life," said Miss Delia Doldrum. "There's my beautiful bloom petticoat, that never was rumpled before in my life-I'm quite shocked!" "Never mind," said the landlord," nobody cares about it; though I confess it was a shocking affair!" "I wish he and his pigs were in the horse-pond!" continued she, endeavouring to hide her blushes with her hand, "Oh, my-Oh, my-"

all

Boniface.

"What?" said

"Oh, my elbow!" squalled out Miss Emilia Mumble; " I'm sure I shall never get over it." "Oh, yes, you will," continued he, "rise again, cheer your spirits with another drop of old Tom, and you'll soon be able to sing―

Hey derry, ho derry, &c. By mutual consent, the old women all swore Hey derry, ho derry, &c. a brute, and his pig was a

That the Clown was boar,

Hey derry, ho derry, &c. He paid for their liquor, but grumbled, good lack, Without money or pig to gang all the way back. SPOKEN.] By gum," said he to himself, as he turned from the door, "if the Lunneners likes country pork, country pork doant seem to like they ; and, if this be the success I'm to expect in this mighty great town in search of the Grand Mart, I'll come no more, for I thinks as how it's all a hoax; therefore I'll make myself contented to set at home in my own chimney-corner in the country, and singHey derry, ho derry, &c.

sore,

Turning restive, rushed in at a brandy-shop door.

SPOKEN.] The genteeler and politer part of the world might feel a little inclined to call this piggish

(Shakspeare.)

WHERE the bee sucks, there lurk 1, In a cowslip's bell I lie,

He.-Tell, pretty cousin, tell me true,

Doth Reuben read with scholar's art?
Through woman's eye can he review
Secrets that dwell within her heart?
Tell, cousin, tell!

She.-Fie, roguish kinsman! fie on thee!
To rudely mock a maiden's pain,-
If blushes on this cheek you see,
"Tis modesty that starts the stain.
Fie, kinsman, fie!

Both.--Yet ah! did love's commissioned flame
Two faithful hearts inspire,
Not Virtue's rigid self might shame
To boast so pure a fire.

As lucid gems, in earth deeply laid,
Flash light on caverns round,
So darker passions lose their shade
In hearts where love is found.

I NEVER COULD LOVE TILL NOW. (M. G. Lewis.)

WHEN I gazed on a beautiful face,

Or a form which my fancy approved,
I was pleased with its sweetness and grace,
And falsely believed that I loved.
But my heart, though I strove to deceive,
The imposture it would not allow ;
I could look, I could like, I could leave,
But I never could love-till now.
Yet though I from others could rove,

Now harbour no doubt of my truth,
Those flames were not lighted by love,
They were kindled by folly and youth.
But no longer of reason bereft,

On your hand, that pure altar, I vow, Though I've looked, and have liked, and have left

That I never have loved-till now.

THE HARDY TARTAR'S PRIZE.
(J. P. Kemble.)

WHEN the darkened midnight sky
Howls with wild tempestuous cry,
Then we quit the Tartar plain,
Death and terror in our train,
Where the sweeping vengeance drives,
Hopeless man in horror flies,
Worlds of wealth and worlds of wives
Are the hardy Tartar's prize.

Worlds of wealth, &c.

As the meteors course the sky;
Gleaming swords flash round the throng,
And as through the gloom they fly,
Light the embattled host along;
Firm and close we lead our band
Where the fertile region lies;
Then dispersing, sweep the land
Destined for the Tartar's prize.

Worlds of wealth, &c.
Though we doom the world our prey,
Loyal honour, martial truth,
When our swords have won their way,
Bind the hardy Tartar youth.
Choice of spoil, as first in fight,

With our gallant chieftain lies, Then till honour have her right, Sacred be the Tartar's prize.

Worlds of wealth, &c.

GOD SAVE THE KING.
(H. Carey.)

GOD save great George our king,
Long live our noble king,

God save the king! Send him victorious, Happy and glorious, Long to reign over us,

God save the king!
O Lord, our God, arise,
Scatter his enemies,

And make them fall;
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks,
On him our hearts we fix.
O, save us all.

Thy choicest gifts in store,
On him be pleased to pour,
Long may he reign;
May he defend our laws,
And ever give us cause
To sing, with heart and voice,

God save the king!

TOM AND JERRY.

Of friendship the parent, composer of strife,
The soother of sorrow and blessing of life;
The schools about happiness warmly dispute,
And weary the sense of the phantom pursuit ;
In spite of their maxims, I dare to define-
The grand summum-bonum's a bumper of wine.
To the coward a warmth it ne'er fails to impart,
And opens the lock of the miserly heart,
While thus we carouse it, the wheels of the soul
O'er life's rugged highway agreeably roll,
Each thinks of his charmer, who never can cloy,
And fancy rides post to the regions of joy;
In spite of dull maxims, I dare to define-
The grand summum-bonum's a bumper of wine.
"Tis the balsam-specific, that heals every sore,
The oft'ner we taste it, we love it the more;
Then he who true happiness seeks to attain
With spirit the full-flowing bumper must drain,
And he who the court of fair Venus would know
Undaunted through Bacchus's vineyard must go;
In spite of dull maxims, I dare to define-
The grand summum-bonum's a bumper of wine.

When the charmer cried"Now, vat are you arter?"

La lal, &c.

No," says Nan, "so claws off! Vat the devil's here?

Fellers, keep your paws off."

La lal, &c.

To welcomes and blessings that wait thee at home.

PER OF WINE.

GIVE me wine, rosy wine, that foe to despair,

Whose magical power can banish all care,

free!

An Hebrew maid rests on a far-distant pillow, Where Fancy plays false with the quiet of sleep;

27

DRANK MILK-PAILS AND MEASURE ON
ST. TAFFY'S DAY.

THE sons of Old Albion march on in procession,
United together, so happy and gay,
And part in good humour for home and profession,
And treat all the girls on Saint David's day.
Owen Evan met Winny, a milkmaid so tidy,

ye:

Spangled with gold was the leek that he wore. "Stand treat," she cried, " or I'll never abide When your money is spent, then, lad, we'll have more."

Young Owen, in the humour, he treated his Winny, "Twas the first time that she tippled, 'tis true, On her rounds she got mellow and gave for a penny Milk double measure, and more than that too. Her milk soon exhausted, she sat at her leisure,

If the maid had but money she'd hold out the week;

At length she sold off the yoke, pails, and mea

sure,

And with the last shilling she stuck up the leek. Next morning the milkman reproached his dear Winny,

"Dame, where are my pails, or who came in your way?"

"Owen Evan," she cried, " and I, like a ninny, Drank milk-pails and measure on St.Taffy's day." Come now, jolly Welshmen, replenish your glasses, And toast your brave fathers at Liberty's shrine, Your next be devoted to Cambria's fair lasses, And then to the green leek-our rallying sign.

A PRIEST of Kajaaga, as blind as a stone,
When he took to his bosom a wife,
Cried, "Deary, I never shall see you, I own,
But you'll be the delight of my life."
Then his arm o'er her shoulders he lovingly passed,
And says he, "My love, what is this lump?"
She faltered a little--but told him, at last,
"Please your holiness, only my hump.”
Says the priest, "Then we cannot cohabit, d'ye see,
Though I tenderly love you, indeed,

For I've taken an oath that my children sha'n't be
Of the camel and buffalo breed."

So he married another he fancied would fit-
Coming home, in sweet conjugal talk,

She stopped the blind priest, saying, "Sit down a-bit,

For my legs are too bandy to walk.”

Bandy legs," said the priest, "can't be counted for sins,

So sit there as still as a mouse;
For Mahomet curse me if ever your shins

Shall waddle you into my house."

Then he turned up his eyes, like the white of

boiled eggs,

:

And prayed thus to Mahomet smack "Great prophet, afford me a wife with good legs, And with never a hump on her back!"

Then the voice of the Prophet in thunder was heard,

And rumbled thus over his head :

Far sweeter than those, or its stream-playing fountains,

Is Winny, sweet Winny, the Maid of the Dec. She's gentle and soft as the dove in her nature, And dear of the dearest, in kindness to all; She's chaste, and she's lovely in temper and feature,

And ne'er may rude fortune sweet Winny befall. Her father (the woodman) bequeathed, as a blessing,

"May harm ne'er wander where Winny may be."

And never, no, never, may falsehood distressing Reach Winny, sweet Winny, the Maid of the

Dee.

Oh, green are the meadows, and fertile the vallies
Where Winny, the lovely, is known to reside,
And far be this rose-bud from danger and malice,
The
queen of the hamlet, and villager's pride;
And warm, ever warm, in my bosom I'll hold her,
The fairest, the kindest, and dearest to me;
Oh, yes! and for life to my heart will enfold her,
Sweet Winny, dear Winny, the Maid of the
Dee.

...

BEN BLOCK WAS A SAILOR, AS BRAVE
AS COULD BE.

BEN BLOCK was a sailor, as brave as could be,
And Nan, faithful Nanny, his wife,

And seven fine boys for the ocean had he,
And he loved them as dear as his life;
Then Ben, as he thought, had enough for them all,
Till Fortune, that slippery jade,

One night shipwrecked all he was worth in a squall,
And poor Ben a beggar was made!

Yet think not he whimpered or shrunk from the

man,

No, Ben was as brave as before;
His life was preserved for his true-hearted Nan,
And he scorned what was lost to deplore;
Besides, cried the tar, not a boy have I now
But can die for his country and king;

I can work, so can Nan, and show Fortune as how.
In spite of her frowns, we can sing.

"Twas thus argued Ben, as he sat on a rock,
Near which his trim vessel went down,
And the hand which had snatched from the billows
Ben Block

Determined his wishes to crown;