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of care,


Perfum'd-painted-patch'd, and bloom

SONG-Mr. Pyne.

Oh, give me thro' life's rugged journey, Dowagers of fifty, simp'ring,

to know Misses for a lover whimp’ring;

The joys that from friendship and confiCocknies, setting girls a-madding,

dence flow; Wives, for ever fond of gadding;

The charm that relieves half our burthen In Shirley's booth, all so cheerful ! Ancient Ladies-chaste and fearful!

And renders each touch of enjoyment Tents-marquees-beer in flaggon,

more dear. From the Cock, and Royal Wuggon! Thus lighten the load which our sorrows Belles of fashion, rudely staring,

impart, Green Man“post-lads, loudlyswearing!

And shed a bright ray o'er the gloom of Sociables, and horses weary,

the heart. Houses warm, and dresses airy;

So let me, while love in my bosom at: Loudly betting, that's the pleasure!

tends, Winning-losing, without measure;

Still find in my mistress, my dearest of Blacklegs, who the racers follow,

friends! From country flats, the money swallow ! Winners happy-losers surly,

And give me the heart that with sympaSounds of distant hurly-burly!

thy feels Neighing horses-braying asses,

Each hope and each fear that my bosom Noise, that every noise surpasses ;

reveals; All confusion, din, and riot,

The man to whose friendship my spotless While 1, at home, am still and quiet.

renown, August 8, 1815.

T. N. C.

And my honour and fame, shall be dear

as his own;

Thus sharing, tho' evil or good shall SONGS, DUET, &c.

appear, From the new Comic Opera of The

Tho' the cup of my joy should be dash'd

with a tear ; King's Proxy."

Yet let me, while love in my bosom

attends, SONG-Mr. Harley.

Still find in my mistress, my dearest of OH dear, what a dismal misfortune is

friends. mine, Of wolves' heads I've only got ninety and I'm burning with love, and I'm freezing

DUETTO-Mr. Pyne and Mr.T. Cooke. with dread,

Hark! thro' the woods the rising sound For I've lost my poor heart, and I can't Of mellow horn, and cheerful hound! find a head

While thro' the dingle, copse, or brake, What shall I do?

Our course in swift pursuit we take,

And the huntsman's cry, Yet, many a fool, with his stores of rich

As we onward Ay, pelf,

Is shouted by the joyous crew, Has wanted a head quite as much as my Till the woods resound-au loup! au

loup! I'm good in the chase, as a huntsman to lead,

Now, as perchance, our prey shall guide Yet, Lord, what's a huntsman who hasn't Along the sloping mountain's side, a head ?

Onward and onward still we trace
What shall I do?

The sound of the retiring chace ;

And the huntsman's cry, I wish our good King, when he makes a

As we onward fly, new rate,

Tho'shouted by the joyous crew, Would tax all the wolves at the head of

Is faintly heard-au loup! au loup! the state : In that case, perhaps, many high born Then as the wolf attempts in vain, and bred,

The covert of the woods to gain, Like myself would be puzzled--for want He turns, our gallant dogs to bay of a head!

Our staunch dogs seize their destin'd Ilhat shall I do?





And the huntsman cries,

(Speaks). As the monster dies,

Your waist so thick, your eyes so grey, While loudly shouts the joyous crew,

Your voice so shrill, your chin so sharp, And the hills resound-au loup! au Your hand so rough, your face so brown, loup!

Your teeth so black, your hair so red
Your waist, your eyes, your voice, your

SONG- Mr. Hurley.

Your hand, your hair, your teeth, your When the little Miss I courted,

skin, She was charming, lovely, coaxing, win Your neck, your nose, your head, your ning,

heart, Ev'ry day, smiling gay

Your arm, your lip, your shape, your What a life I led!

Then my equipage I sported,

I'm so much by all affrighted,
And of love I made a fierce beginning-

That the faces of the Furies
Tried ev'ry day, ev'ry way,

Seem at once in your's united.
To make my fair one wed.
Then she stammer'd, whisper’d, faulter'd,
lisp'd out,

Sorg-Mr. Higman.
Sir, I cannot think of you !
Then I row'd, I swore-the passions Arm, brothers, arm! the wolf is out,

The country's up, and the bowmen
And said, of life I'd bid adieu,

If she would not hear my suit-

The shepherd leaves his fleecy care,
Then she cries, you teazing brute,

The glorious sport of the day to share!
If you don't desist, what shall I do?

Night is fled, and the morn is grey

Arm, brothers, arm, to the chace away!

Chorus. Arm, brothers, arm, &c.
Your waist so thin, your eyes so blue,
Your voice so sweet, your chin so round,
Your hand so soft, your face so fair,

In yonder thicket, close and dark!
Your teeth so white, your hair so brown, Softly tread, and careful mark !

'Tis there the wolf is wont to prowl; Your waist, your eyes, your voice, your

And hark! I hear the savage howl!

Chorus. Night is filed, &c.
Your hand, your hair, your teeth, your

Often in the dead of night,
Your neck, your nose, your head, your

When to sleep our toils invite,

His horrid yell fond mothers heas,
Your arm, your lip, your shape, your

And closer press their infents dear.
I'm so much with all delighted,

Hence to the field, and the savage soon
That the faces of the Graces

Shall cease to bay the cloudless moon; Seem at once in you united,

No more to range our fields for food,
But when little Miss I married,

Or welter in the traveller's blood.
She was stupid, ugly, squinting, grin

Chorus. Night is fled, &c.
Ev'ry night, sure to fight-
No wife was e'er so bad,

With her tongue all points she carried ;
'Sdeath! I wonder how I kept from sin- Spoken on the opening of the Military

Bachelor's Theatre at Weltevreeden, in For each night, ev'ry fight

the Island of Batavia. Would nearly drive me mad. Then I stammer'd, bawld out, roar’d out, CAN this be real? In this land of call'd put,

death, What a fool to think of you!

Where pale disease assails each gasping I stamp'd, I say'dźmy rage she brav’d,

breath And said, you brute, l'll make you rue. Vhere, tho' plains smile, or glassy seas In passion, rage, and spite,

may Aow, My under lip I bite,

Soft verdure reign, or gentlest zephyrs And thea, says she, be cool, Sir, do.



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Where, tho' green meads enchant the No mighty master here with matchless lingering sight,

skill, Or hills romantic yield a fond delight, Shall snatch your passions when and Yet all in vain hath Heav'n delusive

where he will; blest,

No SIDDONS now commands your tears And 'neath each flower but lurks the

to flow, hydra pest;

With force resistless claims the deep-felt In this fell land which Ravage claims his

woe. own,

Or, as she rears the gleaming sword or Has Mirth-has Frolic dared to raise her

bowl, throne ?

Appals with horror all your shudd'ring And will she try-our sufferings to be

soul, guile

Alas! far other is the art we boast, To raise our sunken cheeks with tran Fearful we shrink before you cțitic host. sient smile?

Feeble our hand, and conscious of our Or does she boldly down her gauntlet

powers, throw,

To ask indulgence, not to vaunt, is our's ; And strive for mastery with this vaunted Nor that sued boon will you to us refuse, foe?

Whose sole, sincerest object 's to amuse. Yes-she denies each foul aspersion cast, That smile's enough-it cheers each Java is her's, -all else was slander's

anxious heart, blast!

And in receiving pleasure--pleasure you Health, beauty, joy, support her nascent

And woe flies fear-struck from this happy

(Pointing to the Ladies.)

But mark yon rows are these Disease's

train ? And do these eyes shine beamless and in AS Hodge from the corn field, with back

against gate vain ?

Stood resting his carcase and rubbing his Are those cheeks flush'd but with a hectic

pate, bloom ?

A neighbour that instant by chance came Do those fine forms inspire a cheerless gloom?

And accosted old Hodge with the news of Or at the sight warms not with joy each breast

How that Bo-Ne was ta'en, to HEL-ENA That sudden thrill-well telt, but ill ex

was going, prest?

And that France was all soldiers, and

strange things a-doing. Yet ah! one thought comes darkling “ Odzooks, my good neighbour, the o'er my brain,

thing is well done, What should our skill, our utmost skill. For if ever man went there, he ought to

be one. Yes-now, methinks, all has not been But methinks, and alas! the though

belied ; This islc is dread--there Płyto's gulf That 'twas through this great rascal we've

so many taxes. Within that space some demons--male- And to me it seems strange, now they've may dwell,

got him in tow, To breathe the hiss, or try the shriller That they don't send him round for a bit yell;

of a show: That thought is death!-yet hence the The money thus tak’n on this curious ocgroundless fear,

casion, Too well we know what generous friends To one's thinking would pay off the debt are here,

of the nation. At insect-prey they will not dart their After this, my good friend, let him go sting,

wbere you said, The will excuse for faulty deed shall To that place where all wicked ones go bring

when they're dead."

that way,

the day :

prove vain ?

often vexes,

yawns wide!



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