THE BEST BOWER ANCHOR.

I have oftentimes thought it a wondersome thing,
That landsmen should pity we tars:

And talk of the hardships that hurricanes bring,
And quicksands, and tempests and wars;
The idiots forget they're as bad as we,

That they run as much danger or more; In what respect safer, than we are at sea,

No, no, when death comes, we shall all hear him call;

What then? the same providence watches for all.

Mayn't a tile from a house, or a tumble down stairs, Or a fall from a horse, or a blow,

Or a surfeit you know, take him back unawares,
More specious, when groggy, or so;

Mayn't fevers, and agues, and gout and these things
Prove, than battles more worse, or as bad?
We hearties at sea, are as happy as kings;
We've no sickness, besides if we had,

Death will come, when he will come, what then? let him call,

The same generous providence watches for all.

We all, of grim death, shall some time make the port;

He'll be sure to fetch up our lee way;
And little it matters, if life's long or short;
Whether seven years hence or to-day!
We're all born to die; there's no more to be said,
'Tis he who dies best is the thing,

And I ax, which is noblest, to die in one's bed,
Or while fighting for country, and king!

Only just do your duty, you'll find should desth call,

The same merciful providence watches for all.

MISTER O'LIFFERTY.

As grey as a badger, as bald as a Turk,
Was Father O'Lifferty, priest of our kirk,

That's famed Carrickfergus, good luck to the
place!

In preaching he was sure of mighty great note,
In love he was frisky and wild as a goat;
My mother was frail, and the priest, people said,
Put an ugly big horn on my dad's handsome head,

And thus stole the making my beautiful face.

I remember the very first day I was born,
Was at night, as I'm told, just at breaking of morn,
Och the whiskey punch smiled from a brown
earthen jug!

And sure I'm a man of mighty bigh birth,
For I first in a garret drew breath on this earth,
Where our neat feather bed was some straw, to
be sure,

That was neatly shaked up, and spread down on the floor;

Thus popt into the world my sweet good-look

ing mug.

Then my mother, impatient to get me a name, Straight sent for the priest, and, faith, straight the priest came,

With his bandy bent legs and his crooked hunchback!

Said my mother, there's whiskey, sir, tako a amall

sup;

Cried the priest, faith I will, and he drank the

quart up,

With the whisky half-muzzed, and the smoke that

he took,

laking me in his arms, he took out his big book, And he christened me Murphy M'Clahan in a crack.

Said the priest, Now the christening is done 'tis all o'er,

Only just now I'll tack to't a pair of names more,
That's Brien O'Lifferty sure, and here goes;
So fill up more whisky and put round the joke,
For I'll take one more whiff, while I'll take t'other
smoke!

Och!" cried nurse, "you're just like as to peas in a pod,

Cried the priest, "faith, we are, only one thing is odd,

That I squint at each ear, the boy squints at his nose.

Now I've ended I'll tell how my squinting was stopp'd

I was in a tub of fat buttermilk dropp'd,

And sure that put my eyes to this straight forward looking!

And the blood in my bones was turned with the fright,

That my eyes gave a jump, and that jump set 'em right:

And though now you may say I'm an odd sort of fish,

Yet for love I'd have been a most elegant dish, If I had not been cursedly spoil'd in the cool ing.

Sure I've taken a wife as a fixture, d'ye see, And no doubt on't at all a neat mixture 'twill Och of sweet boys and girls sure we'll ha 'em by dozens !

But a mighty odd notion's just took in my head, If I'd thought on it before, I don't think I'd hav

wed,

For our children, (though, faith, the relation ship's new,

Yet as I am Gentile, and she is a Jew,)

'Stead of brothers and sisters, they'll only b cousins!!!

ZENO, PLATO, ARISTOTLE.

Zeno, Plato, Aristotle,

All were lovers of the bottle;
Poets, painters, and musicians,
Churchmen, lawyers, and physicians,
All admire a pretty lass,

All require a cheerful glass,
Every pleasure has its reason,
Love and drinking are no treason.

BLOOMING BACCHUS.

Blooming Bacchus, ever young

Sweet assuager of our care;
When invok'd by flatt'ring tongue
Ever ready thou to hear,

Thou dost make the coward brave,
Thou dost frozen dotage warm,
Thou dost freedom give the slave,
And thy sons protect from harm.
Thou dost in the fair one's breast
Soft desires, kind wishes raise;
When the amorous swain is blest,
Thine the conquest, thine the prize.
To our vows propitious prove,
We by thy assistance may
Triumph o'er the god of love,

Triumph o'er the god of day.

ON, WHAT CAN MATCH THE PLEASURE.
Oh! what can match the pleasure,

A daughter's feelings prove,
When re-obtain'd the treasure,
Of lost paternal love!

Like moon's pale lustre waning,
Her eyes sad grief depart,
And a soften'd sigh regaining,
Gives transport to her heart!

A father long deluded,

Shall hold her doubly dear!
And she, no more secluded,
Forget he was severe.

Like the moon, &c. &c.

JOY AND HEALTH TO EACH ODD FELLOW. On Olympus' high hill, where Jove sat at feast, Merry Momus was there, full of humour and fun!