MISS BRIDGET ADAIR.

MISS BRIDGET ADAIR liv'd up one pair of stairs, In a street leading out of Soho;

And though lovely and fair, had seen thirty years, Without being blest with a beau.

But it happen'd one May-day, the morning was fine,

She heard in the passage a tread;

It was just as the clock of St. Ann's had gone nine,
Miss Bridget was just out of bed.

The tread it grew nearer, the knocker it stirr'd,
And a rapping did gently ensue;

Who's there? cried Miss Bridget;-a whisper was heard,

Of, madam, I dye for you!'

What! for me does he die?-cries the love-stricken maid,

To the glass, as she bustled in haste;

OH, an Irishman's heart, to give it its due,
Is a thing that is noble, right virtuous, and true;
He fights for his country, or fights at a fair,
And, when he's knock'd down, cries-the devil
may care!

With a smilliloo, dideroo, filliloo, la, &c. He's always the same both by land and by sea, So, long life to old Ireland, for ever, huzza! If a man's in distress, faith, Paddy will stand, And is ready to give the poor creature a hand; And, though others cry out-we don't know who they are,

An Irishman cries out-the devil may care! With a smilliloo, dideroo, &c. He loves all the ladies he happens to meet,

Pit-a-pat went her heart, as she open'd the door,
And a stranger appeared to her view;
Stepping in with a smile, and a bow to the floor,
He said, Madam, I dye for you.'

If she liked his demeanour, so courteous and meek,
Yet his looks were enough to amaze her;
For his face was as black, as unwash'd for a week,
And his beard cried aloud for a razor!

At length he address'd her, in this killing strain,
Miss Bridget, I dye for you;

And here are the silks, which you sent me to stain,
Of a beautiful mazarine blue.'
Ah, me! disappointed and nearly in tears,
Standing still,-with a gape and a stare;
You'd hardly have thought, had you known her

for years,
"Twas lovely Miss Bridget Adair.

They drive into battle wherever they are, And, when they are kill'd, cry-the devil may care!

With a smilliloo, dideroo, &c.

Here's long life to the heroes who drive from the west,

And cheer up the hearts of poor nations opprest; For, if tyrants presume, they their feelings declare,

For they bother their gigs with-the devil may

care!

With a smilliloo, dideroo, &c. Oh, success to the island that grows in the sea, Where its children are boys to support liberty, For its men are so brave, and its women so fair, And their motto was always-the devil may care! With a smilliloo, dideroo, &c.

LOVE IN THE HEART.
(S. J. Arnold.)

WHAT is it that drives the red rose from the check,
Or the lily displaces with blushes that speak;
That dims the bright beam by a tear in the eye;
That checks a young smile by a murmuring sigh-
"Tis love, 'tis love in the heart.

And what bids the soul the emotion declare,
By the glance of an eye when the lips do not dare,
And what, when its meaning another can guess,
Emboldens the tongue the fond thought to express,
"Tis love, 'tis love in the heart.

OR, THE COCKNEY BEAU. Air-" Nothing at all.”—(T. Jones.) My name's Jemmy Green; many wisits I've paid To the ballses, and playses, and gay masquerade; At Tattersall's, too, I am werry vell known, 'Cause I bought there a norse, and I call'd him mine hone;

I thought him a nunter, he ad sich an Heye;
At kicking and prancing I found im so sly;
I rode im avay, and I thought im no dregs,
But, before I got home, he had only three legs.
Sing tooral lall, looral lall, looral lall la.

I vent out a sliding von day on the hice,
The wind it was keen, but the hexercise nice;
I slided so far, and the hice vas so thin,

I slipped into the water, and hung by my chin;
I bawl'd for assistance both lusty and loud,
Ven there came round about me a norrible crowd;
Some laugh'd, and some jeer'd, some look'd on

vith a grin,

To see Jemmy Green (they said) slide on his chin. Sing tooral lall, &c.

My life being saved, though my fortune look'd

Yet a a'nell of a'nobble I got into there;

And as in all countries I found 'tras the same,
I sat off in the packet and home again came;
Resolving no more to go gadding about,
Lest in seeing of life I should see my life out;
For if they should catch me among them again,
Perhaps they mought vant me to fight against Spain.
Sing tooral lall, &c.

Now to Hingland returned, as the place of my birth,
I confess it's the best place I've found upon earth;
So frogs and soup maigre, for ever adiew,
I'm a'Ninglishman born, and I hates parlez vous;
For my own native land I would fight till I die,
Though at fighting I own I am not werry fly;

I invite you,-come often, and hear Jemmy Green Sing his tooral lall, &c.

CHERRY CHEEK PATTY.
(C. Dibdin.)

Down in yon village I live so snug,
They call me Giles, the plowman's boy;
Through woods and o'er stiles, as I trudge many
miles,

I whistle, I whistle, and whoop gee woo, Jerry,
I cry;

My work being done, to the lawn then I fly,
Where the lads and the lasses all look very sly.

And I'ze deeply in love with a girl, it is true, And I know what I know, but I munna tell you. But I'll whistle, I'll whistle, for of all the girls I ever did see,

O cherry cheek Patty for me.

Though the squire so great, so happy mayn't be,
As poor simple Giles, the plowman's boy;
No matters of state ever addle my pate,

But I whistle, I whistle, and whoop gee woo,
Jerry, I cry.

Now cherry cheek Patty, she lives in the vale,
Whom I help o'er the stile with her milking pail;
And Patty has a like notion of me, it is true;
And I know what I know, but I munna tell you;
But I'll whistle, I'll whistle, &c.

I'ze able and strong and willing to work,
And when the lark rises off trudges I;
The cows up I call, and harness Old Ball,
I whistle, I whistle, and whoop gee woo, Jerry,
I cry.

Then I'ze fifty good shillings, my luck has been such,

And a lad's not to be grinned at that's gotten so much;

And when that I'm married to Patty so true,
I know what I know, but I munna tell you.
But I'll whistle, I'll whistle, &c.

In his pilgrimage past who for ever hath lain In Slumber's dull arms,

While Morn's holiest charms
For him were unfolding and wooing in vain.

Then, sportsmen, away,
While breaketh the ray,

And the dew-drop each flower and wild hedge adorn,
No longer delay;
But-Tantivy!-Huzza!-

And bid the woods echo the sound of your horn

THE BEADLE OF THE PARISH.

I'm a very knowing prig,
With my laced coat and wig,
Though they say I am surly and bearish.
Sure I look a mighty man,
When I flourish my rattan,
To fright the little boys,

Who in church time make a noise,
Because I'm the beadle of the parish.

Here and there-Every where;
Holloa, now!-What's the row?
Fine to do-Who are you?

Why, zounds! I'm the beadle of the parish.

SPOKEN.] Coming out of church last Sunday, there was a couple of blackguards playing at marbles. "Knuckle down," says one: "Let's have no funking," says another; but they put me in a terrible funk. Turned my eye round to the right --there was a barber and chimney-sweep playing at pitch at the bob. "Pitch 'em up," says the barber; but I played at pickings up. The barber skulked off, but the clergy wanted to show fight. Do know who I am, sir? says I. "No, sir, says he. "Who are you?" Who am I? Why, zounds! I'm the beadle of the parish.

you

Wherever I come nigh,
How I make the beggars fly,

My looks are so angry and scarish:
Like other city folks,

I do business in the stocks:
When whatever is lost I tell,
For you know I bear the bell,
Because I'm the beadle of the parish.
Noise and clatter-What's the matter?
Holloa, fellow!-You are mellow :
Look at me-Don't you see:

Why, zounds! I'm the beadle of the parish.

SPOKEN.] Crossing over Blackfriars-bridge the other day, there was a ma'am seated across a jackass, dressed out in white ribbons. What's all this for? said I. "Ax my donkey," says she and then I turned my eyes to the left, and there was a couple of ma'ams with their fish-baskets. Come, ma'am, says I, you must be off with your stinking fish. By Jasus," says the other, I wish he'd lend me his cocked hat and laced coat, and I'd not be long putting them up the spout.' You put my cocked hat and laced coat up the spout! Do you know who you are talking to, ma'am? " No, sir, "Who are you?" Who am I? Why, zounds! I'm the beadle of the parish.

66

says she.

I'm an officer, don't laugh,
But indeed I'm on the staff;

And all say I do pretty fairish:
On a Sunday strut about,
And keep the rabble out;
The churchwardens march before,
Just to open the pew-door,

Because I'm the beadle of the parish.

Stuff away-Merry day;

Drink about-See it out;

There will be-Snacks for me, Because I'm the beadle of the parish.

Go to "Alas!

SPOKEN.] I have often been called on by the neighbours to drive away a little girl, who used to sing- I cry my matches all round the mews,' &c. Come my girl, says I, you must go home. "Alas! sir," says she, "I have none.' your father and mother then, says I. sir," says she, "I have none. What, no home! no father nor mother. I put my hand in my pocket, and I lugged out a jolly tizzy. There, says I, girl, now go home. "Thank you, sir," says she, "do take some matches." No, my girl, I won't. " Why won't you?" Why won't I?

"

Because I'm the beadle of the parish.

ALFRED AND ELLEN.

(Parry.)

RECITATIVE.

WHEN war o'erwhelm'd the nations round, And gallant youth to battle pressed; Young Alfred heard the clarion sound, And weeping Ellen-thus addressed.

AIR.

"We'll rove at break of day, And we'll rove at silent eve,For soon I must away,

And my lovely Ellen leave. But though I must depart,

And in distant climates roam, Yet thou shalt own my heart, And thy bosom be my home;

Then prithee don't despair,

Nor my absence thus deplore, "Twill make me, I declare,

Only love my love the more."

"But will you, when afar,
To your Ellen faithful be?
Amid the din of war-

Oh! you cannot think of me."
"Oh! doubt me not, I pray,
May misfortune be my lot,
If (while abroad I stray)

For a moment thou'rt forgot.

Then prithee don't despair, &c.

MY NAME IS FOND DESIRE.
(Earl of Oxford, 1560.)

COME hither, shepherd-swain;
Sir, what do you require ?
I prithee show to me thy name?
My name is fond desire.
Tell me who was thy nurse?

Fresh youth in sugar'd joy;
What was thy meat and daily food?
Sad sighs with great annoy.
What lulled thee asleep?

Sweet speech, which likes me best : Tell me where is thy dwelling-place? In gentle hearts I rest. Doth either time or age

Bring thee unto decay?

No, no! desire both lives and dies
Ten thousand times a day.
Then fond desire farewell!

Thou art no mate for me;

I should be loth, methinks, to dwell
With such a one as thee.

THE MARGATE LIBRARY. Of all your modish kill times Sure reading is the best,

For when we have the ennui,

A novel lulls to rest;

To the library then we'll go, we'll go, we'll go,
To the library then we'll

go. SPOKEN.]" Mr. Finikin, what subscribers have you?" "There's the book, madam." "Benjamin Burlyface, Esq.; Miss Lydia Tabitha Lavinia Prudie; Mons. Point D'Argent; Alderman Calapash and Lady; Mr. Billy Gimp ;-no names that I know! Isn't it dull here ?" "Why, madam, it has been dull-most deplorably, lamentably, detestably dull; but company now pours in fast-not a lodging to be got, I assure you, madam; the town fills amazingly, madam; hope I shall have the honour of your name as a subscriber, madam; exceedingly proud, I assure you, madam; choice

And dandies who on airy tales of folly daily feed. To the library then we'll go, &c.

SPOKEN.] O, have you read Kenilworth? Isn't it exquisite ?" "Ha! how de do? how long have you been at Margate ?" "Came yesterday." "I see you've subscribed to the library." "Yes; I'm always reading: deprive me of deardear books, and I should expire!" "So should I: Pa and Ma bring home large volumes of history, and such dry stuff! but I never look into them; I confine myself to novels, and sweet poetry." "Apropos I understand you are a child of the Muses!" "O, sir, you flatter me!" To the library then we'll go, &c. Now, of all the watering-places, sure Margate bears the bell,

And Margate's famous library all others must excel;

For reading learned authors requires a bit of brain, But the shelves of Margate library your reading butchers drain.

To the library then we'll go, &c. SPOKEN.] "I say, Mister What'sit, I wants the Venters of Robertson Cruser!" "Tis out,

"

sir." "Well, the Zeven Champins of Grizzledom, or the Newgate Calendar, or Mother Shiptun. "Have not got either, sir." "No! why yours is a pretty sort of a liberrary! I wouldn't give a rump-steak for all your stock! well, let us have summut howsundever, and 'tis no matter what stuff it is, so long as it is a book."

To the library then we'll go, &c. The mistress of a gin-shop, who lives in Tooley

street,

To give her two spruce daughters a summer fortnight's treat,

All flounced and furbelowed, came down to Margate t'other day,

And at the public library these ladies dash away. To the library then we'll go, &c. SPOKEN.] Vell, I pertest it is wery pleasant to come to these here watering places; it makes a body seem quite another sort of a body." Quiet donkies, ladies." Becky, shall us take a ride? Ve may as vell: maw, vont you ride too?" "Now, go along gently!" (Squalling.) “O, lud! I shall be upset!-Drive us to that there shop, vhere they lends books. "To the liber-rary, ladies?" 66 Aye, aye! to the what d'ye cal! it; make haste!"

To the library then we'll go, &c. A dealer in marine stores, whose sign is a black doll Left Who being heddicated at a genteel boarden school, To jeer at maw's wulgarity makes it a constant rule.

spouse to sell old iron, and to Margate brought Miss Moll;

To the library then we'll go, &c. SPOKEN.] "La, maw, how you do talk! I'm quite put to the blush when I hear you in jinteel company; it may do well enough in the rag-shop,

but we are ladies here, you know." "A fig for ladies! I shan't hold my tongue for nobody." Well, maw, then I won't walk with you to the library." "Vell then, go vhere thee be'st going, and I'll pop into this here public-house and take a drop, and wait for thee." "O, shocking! shocking? maw, I never can polish you."

To the library then we'll go, &c. But did a library depend on readers' help alone, The keeper of a knowledge-shop would seldom pick a bone;

Intrigue and scandal, therefore, oft come timely to his aid,

And the circulating library is a place for Cupid's trade.

"Thank

To the library then we'll go, &c. SPOKEN.] "Who is that young lady in the skyblue spencer?" "O, sir, she is the ward of that rich nabob; her fortune, they say, will be twenty thousand a-year.” "Indeed!-umph! (whispering) Miss, you've dropped your glove.' you, sir, you are very polite." Charming creature!" "O, sir!" Hard-fated youth that I am!" "Heigh ho! sir." The air of this sweet morning invites to love." (Spoken.) "Come, Miss Malapert, let us be going; I've read the newspaper. "Adieu, charmer, adieu! By Jupiter, she casts a favourable glance behind!" Really,

"

Mr. Gimp, I must compliment you on your extreme gallantry, sir; hope it may turn out to your mind, sir." Have you heard the news of the day, madam?" No, madam." "Why then, madam, to the confusion of our sex, (with shame I say it,) Miss Lydia Tabitha Lavinia Prudie, in her forty-first year, is discovered to be with"O shocking! O monstrous! O fie, fie, fie!" “Then, madam, there has been an elopement." "" Indeed!" "Yes; and who do you think? Mr. Gimp, the haberdasher, has actually carried off the rich heiress a moment ago." "So you see, my friends, there are fine doings."

To the library then we'll go, &c.

.....

WHEN BACCHUS, JOLLY GOD, INVITES. (P. Whitehead.)

WHEN Bacchus, jolly god, invites
To revel in his evening rites,

In vain his altars I surround,

Though with Burgundian incense crowned,
No charm has wine without the lass,
'Tis love gives relish to the glass.
Whilst all around, with jocund glee,
In brimmers toast their favourite she,
Though every nymph my lips proclaim,
My heart still whispers Chloe's name,
And thus with me, by amorous stealth,
Still every glass is Chloe's health.

Awak'd, the keen sportsmen arise,

And each mounts his high-mettled steed, The hounds fill the air with their cries As through the wide welkin they speed, Tang, tang, tang, de rang, tang, The stag now leads its lengthen'd way, Through dell and lake,

O'er bush and brake,

The chase ne'er lags till close of day; The game full in view, hark, the woodland rebounds

With the sportsmen's huzza, and the cry of the hounds,

Tantivy, huzza, boys, huzza!

Behold, the poor stag stands at bay,
No longer its fleet course avails,
The hounds having seized on their prey,
His freedom with tears he bewails,

Tang, tang, tang, de rang, tang;
The horn then sounds its swelling note,
The cheerful strain,

Through wood and plain,

On the soft wings of Echo float;

Return'd from the chase, hark, the hall it resounds

With the sportsmen's regale, and the praise of the hounds,

Tantivy, huzza, boys, huzza!

THE POOR SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER. Air-" Aid a Sailor, kind Sirs."-(Tapsell.) SOME pity afford to a poor soldier's daughter, Deluded away by man's artful smiles,

Who, with many an oath, ah! daily he sought her,
And she fell a victim-a prey to his wiles.
I once had a father, who brav'd ev'ry danger
In defence of his king and his country dear,
Who tenderly loved me, to guile was a stranger,
Ah! reflection how keen how scalds the salt
tear

Which bedews my wan cheek, as friendless I wander

Through London's proud city. Oh! pray give relief

To a poor famish'd girl! and on my woes ponder,
My heart it is breaking with sickness and grief.

Ah! why did I listen, by falsehood deluded,
To the tale of the wretch who poisoned each