Which made me so mad, I swore away I'd run, sirs; Ribbed stockings, waistcoats pretty, Ta, ra, la, ra, la, ta, ra, la, ra, la, di. Soon as I got there, I run'd about quite silly, At all the shows to stare, In a place called Piccadilly. Oh! such charming sights! Birds in cages thrive, sirs, Coaches, fiddles, fights, And crocodiles alive, sirs. Believe me now, good folk, (To lie I am not willing,) I see'd, without a joke, All Dublin for a shilling; A man com'd by the door, Ta, ra, la, &c. Who call'd me awkward dunce, sirs, And said he paid no more To see the world at once, sirs. Then to the Strand I sped, And there my eyes did feast, sirs, To see a man in red Exhibit the wild beasts, sirs, Saying, "Gentlefolk, walk in— We've apes and monkies plenty." Says I, "For one within, Without-I'll show you twenty." Ta, ra, la, &c. I went one day to spy The gentry in Hyde-Park, sirs, A girl pushed rudely by, To whom I did remark, sirs, "Though your face be mighty fair, Ta, ra, la, &c. GOOD NIGHT! GOOD REST! (Shakspeare.) my share, GOOD night! good rest! ah, neither be To descant on the doubts of my decay! Farewell! (quo' she) and come again to-morrow! Fare well I could not, for I supped with Sorrow! Yet, at parting, sweetly did she smile, In scorn or friendship will I construe whether; It may be, she joyed to jest at my exile, It may be, again, to make me wander thither! FREEDOM AND LIBERTY. HARK! I hear the bugles ring, 'Tis freedom gives the huntsman glee; Woman's wrong to use her spell What patriot heart will ever yield THE DOGS'-MEAT MAN. IN Gray's Inn, not long ago, An old maid lived a life of woe; She was fifty-three, with a face like tan, Every morning when he went by, And cry "dogs' meat," did this dogs'-meat man, man; Then he took up his barrow, and away he ran, He soon saw which way the cat did jump, man. That very evening he was seen, In a jacket and breeches of velveteen, New gown, she went with the dogs'-meat man : He said his customers, good lord! "If I had but the money," says the dogs'-meat He pocketed the money and went away, But he never com'd; and then she began To think she was diddled by the dogs'-meat man; He'd got a wife and seven children-this dogs'meat man. So home she went, with sighs and tears, As much as to say," where's the dogs'-meat man?" She couldn't help thinking of the dogs'-meat man, The handsome, swindling, dogs'-meat man; So you see, just in one day's short span, She lost her heart, a five-pound note, and the dogs' meat man. WHILE THE LADS OF THE VILLAGE WHILE the lads of the village shall merrily, ah, And I say unto thee that merrily, ah, While the lads of the village, &c. Jut then, when the youth who last year won the dower, And his mate shall the sports have begun, When the gay voice of gladness resounds from each bower, And thou long'st in thy heart to make one. Those joys that are harmless what mortal can blame? "Tis my maxim that youth should be free; And, to prove that words and my deeds are the same, Believe thou shalt presently see. my While the lads of the village, &c. The delights that around me hath roved When blessed with my Winny and Wales. But sorrow too quickly appeared, And Winny was ta'en to the tomb, The smile that so sweetly endeared, Was lost in death's pitiless gloom. A wanderer now, sad and forlorn, All hope in this drear bosom fails, And in anguish I ever must mourn For the loss of my Winny and Wales. THE SAILOR'S SHEET ANCHOR IS GROG. (Dibdin.) SMILING grog is the sailor's best hope-his sheetanchor, His compass, his cable, his log, That gives him a heart, which life's cares cannot canker; Though dangers around him Unite to confound him, He braves them, and tips off his grog. "Tis grog, only grog, Is his rudder, his compass, his cable, his log; What, though he to a friend, in trust, Who, to his bond of faith unjust, Of the remainder clears his purse, There, smiling grog, &c. What, though his girl, who often swore He finds, when he returns ashore, What's to be done? he vents a curse, Dances, gets groggy, clears his purse, To crosses born, still trusting there, And stormy perils brave-what then? MY LOVE'S LIKE THE RED RED ROSE. (Burns.) OH, my love's like the red red rose That's newly sprung in June; My love is like the melody That's sweetly played in tune. As far art thou, my bonnie lass, Though a' the seas gang dry. While the sands of life shall run. But scarce was the honeymoon dim When the Devil cried, Flam, come away. Oh! oh! story of woe, when the Devil cried, Flam, come away. How she wish'd that the tear-drop would fall, Oh, oh, story of woe, &c. She thought of her love as she lay, THE WANDERING MAID. Air" Oh, rest thee, Babe." COME hither, poor maiden, and yield not to woe, I am poor, but thou shalt of my bread share a part; My children to thee shall be tender and kind; I've taught them compassion, poor maiden, thou❜lt find. Then, hasten, poor maiden, &c. My dame, worthy creature, will welcome her guest, For tender compassion resides in her breast, Though Fortune her comforts around me has shed, head, We're one by creation, and thou, too, shall share My cottage, my comforts, and my humble fare. Then, hasten, poor maiden, &c. But, as cobbler, in my way of trade Like a husband who's lost a good wife it is; SPOKEN.] That is turning evil into good; it is renovation, resurrection, transubstantiation, reinvigoration,-in short, an old upper with a new sole has all the benefit a new soul could give to an old body! Your parsons are all cobblers, I'll grant; but what are they all to me? they can't make souls, though they pretend to the craft of mending them; now I can both make soles, and mend them afterwards, without half the hammering they make about it! Besides, I never take my money till I have finished the job, while the parsons are always paid beforehand, and never finish the job at all; but make bad worse by their way of mending evils. Cobblers, generally, that is, I mean the fact is, in short, of all trades, Cobblers are knaves?-prone you'll find them, your The lawyer's a cobbler of note, feet. For he notes, while your suit he keeps lin- Where he may, through a hole in You find his prescriptions all gammon are! SPOKEN.] These are both cobblers, who, instead of mending evils, make them greater, the more they cobble them. If the sole of your estate be a little out of repair, put the lawyer to work upon it, and his cobbling will soon destroy the leather of your means, and when he has cobbled you into limbo, he leaves you to cobble yourself out again as you can! In the hands of the doctor, he first cobbles you into sickness, and next into the stall of the undertaker, who finishes the job by cobbling you into your grave! That is a pretty way of mending evils, is it not? bling rogues in all trades, excepting mine;—in short, the fact is, that all There are cob here, To his stall, 'twould be better, forsooth, If the devil would take all together there! SPOKEN.] That is, I mean all, excepting myself only for I am too honest for him! It would be mending the world at any rate; and I dare say he would do us that favour, if a proper application were made to his lowness,-I beg his pardon, his highness, I mean, of course; no offence to his majesty, I hope. But of all the cobblers, I think the lawyers would puzzle him the most; for, being of the same colour, both inside and out, he might sometimes mistake them for himself, and there, as is usual with them every where, they would thus create a great deal of confusion! To this I have only to add a singular fact to the plural number,-. that all Cobblers are knaves;-prone you'll find them, &c. MASONS WILL NOT LIVE THE DUPES TO GOLD. AIR-" Smile, Britannia." ATTEND, attend the strains Your virtues sound on high; Great Solomon, the king, Great architect of fame, Revered a Mason's name : Like him, accepted, free, and bold, Since him, the great and wise Pursued the art sublime; The glorious path of those, With heaven-born wisdom crowned, We every day disclose, And tread on sacred ground; A Mason righteous, just, and free, MY SOLE AMBITION IS TO DRINK. (H. Carey.) BACCHUS must now his power resign, I am the only god of wine. It is not fit the wretch should be In competition set with me, Who can drink ten times more than he. Make a new world, ye powers divine! Let wine be earth, and air, and sea; Let other mortals vainly wear A tedious life in anxious care; TWIST YE! TWINE YE! TWIST ye! twine ye! ever so Dimly seen through twilight bending; Twist ye! twine ye! &c. RUN, NEIGHBOURS, RUN, ALL LONDON IS QUADRILLING IT. Air-" Oh, what a Day." RUN, neighbours, run, all London is quaċilling it, This is the day for toeing it and heeling it, Run, neighbours, run, &c. Dames, cavaliers too, unwilling all to stand alone, Thinking practice requisite to do the thing right, Like Harlequin and Columbine, rehearsing with Lord Pantaloon, Meet slyly in the morning to prepare for night : Paines, first set, invented to delight us, is Danced at St. James', St. Giles', and St. Vitus's: Dandies, turning figurantes, conceive they've made a clever hit; And widows, weighing thirty stone, attempt to pas de Zephyr it. Run, neighbours, run, &c. Now, not inanimate who fatter or who thinner is, So wonderful, so blunderful, is fashion's freak, Baronets at Bootle's, money-lenders from the Minories, Are jumbled antithetically, jowl by cheek. Trade stands still, while tradesmen are chasse-ing it; Brokers from the Stock-Exchange are busy balloteing it; Commodores on timber-toes are driven from thei latitudes, While gawky lady may'resses are sprawling int attitudes. Run, neighbours, run, &c. The three black graces, Law, Physic, and Divi nity, Walk hand-in-hand, along the Strand, humming La Poule ; Trade quits her counter, Alma-mater her latinity, Proud again, with Mr. Paine to go again to school. THE EXCISEMAN. To a village that skirted the sea And where is the head can bear more. The exciseman was deaf to complaint, To the Custom-house, in the next town, 'Twas yet some three furlongs, or more, When, says Michael, pray set your load down, For this here, sir, is my cottage-door; T'other answered, I thank you, friend, no, My burthen just yet I sha'n't quit; Then, says Michael, before you do go, I'll get you to read my permit. Your permit: why not show it before? Because it came into my nob, By your watching for me on the shore, That your worship was wanting a job; Now, I had need of a porter, d'ye see, For the load made my bones fit to crack, THE sailor sighs as sinks his native shore, Or Eve's gray cloud descends to drink the wave, When sea and sky in midnight darkness join, Still, still he views the parting look she gave. Her gentle spirit, lightly hovering o'er, Attends his little bark from pole to pole; And, when the beating billows round him roar, Whispers sweet hope, to soothe his troubled soul. Carv'd is her name in many a spicy grove, In many a plantain-forest, waving wide, Where dusky youths in painted plumage rove, And giant palms o'er-arch the golden tide. But lo! at last he comes, with crowded sail, Lo! o'er the cliff what eager figures bend, And, hark! what mingled murmurs swell the gale In each he hears the welcome of a friend. 'Tis she, 'tis she herself! she waves her hand! Soon is the anchor cast, the canvass furl'd; Soon through the whitening surge he springs to land, And clasps the maid he singled from the world. |