IN TOWN.

DEAR Cousin, I write this in haste,

To beg you will get for mamma

A pot of best jessamine paste,

pa,

And a pair of shoe-buckles for
At Exeter-change ;-then just pop
Into Aldersgate-street for the prints;
And while
you are there you can stop

For a skein of white worsted at Flint's.

Papa wants a new razor strop,

And mamma wants a Chinchilli muff; Little Bobby's in want of a top,

And my aunt wants six-pen'orth of snuff: Just call in St. Martin's-le-Grand

For some goggles for Mary, (who squints);
Get a pound of bees'-wax in the Strand,
And the skein of white worsted at Flint's.

And while you are there you may stop
For some souchong in Monument-yard;
And while you are there you can pop
Into Mary-le-bone for some lard;
And while you are there you can call
For some silk of the latest new tints
At the mercer's, not far from Whitehall,
And remember the worsted at Flint's.
And while you are there, 'twere as well
If you'd call in Whitechapel, to see
For the needles; and then in Pall-mall,
For some lavender-water for me:

And while you are there you can go
To Wapping, to old Mr. Chint's;

But all this you may easily do

When you get the white worsted at Flint's.

I send, in this parcel, from Bet,

An old spelling-book to be bound, A cornelian broach to be set,

And some razors of pa's to be ground. O dear, what a memory have I! Notwithstanding all Deborah's hints, I've forgotten to tell you to buy

A skein of white worsted from Flint's.

YOUR FROWNS, TOO SURE, WOULD
BREAK MY SINKING HEART.

SINCE then I'm doom'd this sad reverse to prove,
To quit each object of my infant care;
Torn from an honour'd parent's tender love,

And driven the keenest storms of fate to bear: Ah! but forgive me, pitied let me part,

Your frowns, too sure, would break my sinking heart.

Where'er I go, whate'er my lowly state,

Yet grateful mem'ry still shall linger here; And when, perhaps, you're musing o'er my fate, You still may greet me with a tender tear: Ah! then forgive me, pitied let me part,

Your frowns, too sure, would break my sinking heart.

WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO WI' AN AULD MAN? (Burns.)

WHAT can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,

What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man? Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan'!

Bad luck on the pennie, &c. He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin', He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang; He's doylt and he's dozin', his blude it is frozen, O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man! He's doylt and he's dozin', &c.

I never can please him, do a' that I can; He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows,

O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man!
He's peevish and jealous, &c.

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity,
I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan;
I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break
him,
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.
I'll cross him, and wrack him, &c.

"TIS A FOLLY TO TALK OF LIFE'S TROUBLES.

Air-" Away with this pouting and Sadness. "Tis a folly to talk of life's troubles,

There are always two sides of the way,
And if one is in shade, the chance doubles
That t'other is cheerful and gay.
We know it looks sad to be sighing,

Yet there's good in it Wisdom decides,
For the man, who with grief thinks he's dying,
With laughter will ne'er crack his sides.
To be without hands, though no blessing,
Has some good, as economy proves,
For, though awkward we find it when dressing,
We can ne'er be in want of new gloves;
The man without legs, though queer talking,
Will ne'er break his shins it is plain;
And the man who's no feet to go walking
Wo'n't be troubled with chilblains again.

If a man all his teeth chance to lack,
He is sure they can give him no pain
And if a man has no coat to his back,
Why, he's sure it wo'n't spoil in the rain.
If a man has no money to mind

He may save the expense of a purse;
And if a man's perfectly blind,

Why, he's sure his sight cannot grow worse. If a man's but one shirt at the most

He's no trouble to think which he'll use; And if he's as deaf as a post,

Why, he'll never hear unwelcome news. If light-headed, why still you're all right, For there's comfort to think it an't madness; And if a man's drunk day and night, Why, it's clear he can't feel sober sadness. If but little your own you can call,

It's quite certain much you cannot pay, And if you've got nothing at all,

Why, you're sure they can't take it away. Strange stories may find few upholders,

But one thing you'll grant which is that If a man has no head on his shoulders, He'll ne'er know the want of a hat.

THE DEVIL TAKE HIM WHO WOULD
OFFER HER HARM.
(Colman.)

A FOND husband will, after a conjugal strife,
Kiss, forgive,weep, and fall on the neck of his wife,
When he falls on her neck, 'tis to cut off her head.
But Abomelique's wife other conduct may dread,
How many there are, when a wife plays the fool,
Will argue the point with her, calmly and cool;
The bashaw, who don't relish debates of this sort,
Cuts the woman, as well as the argument, short.
But, whatever her errors, 'tis mighty unfair
To cut off her head, just as if 'twere all hair;
For this truth is maintained by philosophers still,
That the hair grows again, but the head never
will.

WE know these troubadours,

Who think themselves so wise;
They are too faithless wooers
Assuming this disguise,
Their persons to endear,

Ah! once they used such arts;
By way of souvenir,

We gave to them our hearts.
Hush! 'twas but a souvenir;

Not a word that you've heard
Us confess-tenderness;
For these men-now and then
May be near;

For these men-now and then
Overhear.

Hush! 'twas but a souvenir, &c.

These swains they laid a snare,

To catch us both they thought;

But, ah! for want of care,

In their own trap were caught. They fled and wandered here, Forgetful of each vow,

By way of souvenir,

We'd punish them just now.

Hush! 'tis but a souvenir, &c.

THE MISERIES OF A QUALITY

FOOTMAN.

(Lawler.)

A FOOTMAN, So dapper,

With a well-powdered napper,

Quite brim-full of pride and frivolity,
What service I've seen,

When footman I've been

To a lady of rank and quality.

Twenty heads, fifty hands,
To obey her commands,

I should need, for they came in a swarm,
And I once was disgraced,

'Cause two words were misplaced

In a message as long as my arm.

SPOKEN, ad libitum.] It was from Lady Howd'ye to my Lady Allnight, and ran thus:-Make my compliments to her ladyship, tell her that a certain person that I know has been speaking to a certain that she knows on a particular subject that person we both know, concerning a private affair of Lady Betty's that all the world knows. So, as I said before, for misplacing a syllable or two, I lost my place.

Such service I've seen,
When footman I've been
To a lady of rank and quality.
With cards, visit, and rout,
Dining home, dining out,
Lap-dogs and beaux all frivolity:
I was never at rest-
So the footman is blest
Of a lady of rank and quality.
Twenty jobs at a time

I found wouldn't chime:

I was just like a slave at his oar:
So, of comfort bereft,

Ladies' service I've left,

And I ne'er mean to take to it more.

SPOKEN, ad libitum.] One morning, said my mistress, "Martin, bring in breakfast, afterwards, attend the young ladies in Hyde-Park-you have only fifty cards to deliver this morning, so you can step to the library, for Miss Flimsey's new novel, and look in at Birenall's for Mr. Humstrum, our music master's new sonata-run to the Morning Post, and bespeak two columns and a half for my rout on Thursday-then call for the puffs at the pastrycook's take a front box at the theatre. When the play is over, I shall go to Lady Dasher's rout, and finish the evening at the Honourable Mrs. Cheatum's card party.

Thank heaven, 'tis o'er,

I'll be footman no more

To a lady of rank and quality.

HAD I A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD

FRAMED.

(Sheridan.)

HAD I a heart for falsehood framed,
I ne'er could injure you;

For though your tongue no promise claimed,
Your charms would make me true;

To you no soul shall bear deceit,

No stranger offer wrong,

But friends in all the aged you'll meet,

And lovers in the young.

But when they learn that you have blest
Another with your heart,

They'll bid aspiring passion rest,

And act a brother's part;

Then, lady, dread not here deceit,
Nor fear to suffer wrong,

For friends in all the aged you'll meet,
And lovers in the

young.

GENTLE LOVE SHALL BE OUR SONG.

(E. M.)

FAIREST maiden, ope thine eyes,
From thy bed of down arise;
See, thy lover here doth wait,
As the dove expects its mate;
Come, together let us rove
Through yon silent, peaceful, grove;
Thither, as we stray along,
Gentle love shall be our song.

Wake, my ever-charming fair,
To yon bower let's repair,
Or to yonder limpid brook,
That I on thy charms may look ;
Else, 'neath yonder spreading yew,
All thy graces I will view;

Whilst genial pleasures round us throng
Gentle love shall be our song.

Through the clouds the moon doth break,
Maiden, rise, its joys partake;
Maiden, by yon moon I swear
I will ever love thee dear;
By yon twinkling stars that shine,
I swear that I am wholly thine;
Come, dearest, as we stray along,
Gentle love shall be our song.

Then, maiden, from thy couch arise,
Cheer thine ardent lover's eyes,
At thy window, sweet, appear,
See thy faithful lover here;
Dearest maiden, from above,
Charm me with thy looks of love,
Whilst your ever syren tongue
Whispers, gentle love, our song.

MISS PATTY PUFF AND HER TWO

SWEETHEARTS;

OR, THE DUEL A-LA-MODE.

Air- The Bold Dragoon."-(C. Dibdin.) THERE was a gay man-milliner, his name was Timmy Twist,

And at making caps and bonnets he'd a mighty pretty fist;

With his snips and shreds, and fitting heads, his gauze, and gimp, long thread, and needle, O, he loved a pastry-cook, and he thought her heart to wheedle!

Whack falare, bow, wow, wow. There was a spruce shoe-maker, a dabster at an awl,

They called him Billy Boot, and he kept a pretty stall;

With his last, and shoe, and lapstone, too, his warend, grinding-strap, and hammer,

O, he loved this pastry-cook, too, and told her many a crammer.

Whack falare, &c.

Whack falare, &c.

The seconds signal gave to fire, when Timmy

swooned away,

And Billy, not observing it, ran off without de. lay,

With his paste, and pegs, and nimble legs, while both the seconds laugh and hoot him; O, he stuck fast in a hedge, and roared lest Tim should come and shoot him.

Whack falare, &c. Now all ye modern heroes, who'd your credit save from fright,

Be sure to tell the constables when challenges you write;

With your guns, and swords, and great big words, that off weak stomachs come so clever,

O, they'll bind you to the peace, and you may brag as much as ever.

Whack falare, &c.

BEN AND SALLY.

(Upton.)

THE waves were hushed, the sky serene, When sailing on the main,

Ben, from the maintop, viewed the scene, And sung, in tender strain ;"Dear Sall, this picture round my neck, Which bears thy likeness true, Shall e'er my faithful bosom deck, Which throbs for only you.

The night was still, when last on shore

We took a parting kiss,

And warm the vows each other swore
To meet again in bliss:

A token then my Sally gave,
"Tis this, which now I view,
And in my heart shall ever live,
Which throbs for only you.

JE NE SCAI QUOI!
(Dimond.)

GIVE me the dear little creatures,
Be they brown, freckled, or fair,
It isn't the form or the features

That alone give of beauty the air.
Only let the eye speak,
Smiles dimple the cheek,

And the tongue prattle good humour's law,
A manner bewitching,

And softness enriching,

O! beauty is-Je ne scai quoi!
When young, I was ever gallanting,
Girls simpered wherever I came,
Coquetting, and ogling, and flaunting,
To trap me was ever their aim;
But a maxim with me
Was still to be free,
For married folks oft clapper claw,
Sweetly courtship is carried,
But when they are married,
They fight for the Je ne scai quoi!
But bachelors, most people scold 'em,
For women are sweet'ners of life,
And as happy I can't live without 'em,
I've a month's mind to get me a wife;
But, though silvered my head,
If ever I wed,

I'll have a tit-bit by the law;
But if I've a chicken,
Wo'n't foxes come picking?
And I feel very-Je ne scai quoi!

HUSHED BE YOUR CARES IN SLEEP.
Air" Is there a Heart that never loved."
(Miss Cole.)

SOFT downy sleep! oh, sooth the soul
That prays to thee for rest!
And whisper other nymphs have charms
To make a lover blest!

Oh! may they never dream of love,
When doomed to hope in vain;
But let the mind soar far above,

And treat it with disdain.

But least some tender thought should rise For her you did adore,

And, in a fancied agony,

You still might suffer more!

Ah! sink in ease your restless frame,
While silent moments creep;

And, undisturbed with anxious dream,
Hushed be your cares in sleep!

THE JOYS OF DRINKING.
(Hudson.)

OH, the joys of drinking!
When the sparkling glass

Makes us bid farewell to thinking,

And proves each man an ass.

"Tis pleasure calls—the sparkling wine
Invites us to partake.

See mirth and jollity combine,

And laughter makes us shake.

SPOKEN. Gentlemen, charge your glasses; The King. I say, Tom, did I tell you what an excellent thing I said at our Punch-Club?-No.I'll tell you; I did not go till late, but that's not to the purpose.-No; nor nothing else you say can be to the purpose.-Ñay, I'll convince you; when I entered the room, I heard the President say, Charge your glasses.'-Now observe-the President, when they were all filled, called the landlord; Come, landlord, charge your glass.'-1 directly replied-now mark- Mr. President, I dare say the landlord will charge enough for the liquor, without charging the glass!'-Now, what d'ye think? Wasn't it an excellent thing?-Why, it was pretty well for you.-Come, gents, in the corner, I can't think how you can sit there, talk, talk, talk, as you do; for my part, I love peace and quietness, and hate a talkative man. Now I never say a word to any one; all my friends say what a quiet man I am. It is a wonder to get more than yes or no from me. I never open my mouth without occasion, and to convince you of it, I'll tell you a story:-You must know there wasSilence-Sir, I was only observing what a very quiet man I am, sir.-Silence!- Song from the President.-Gentlemen, I can't sing, but I'll try, hem, hem

Old wine and young women are all my delight,
So I'll drink and I'll kiss all the day and the night;
To life one and t'other they give such a zest,
I scarcely can tell you which 'tis I love best.
Without them I could not be happy a day,

But with wine I'm content when my fair one's away;

So push round the glasses all you who incline,
And drink to my toast, here's young women, old

wine.

SPOKEN.] Bravo! very good! excellent! This is the feast of reason in a flowing bowl, (as the poet says,) 'tis an excellent toast.-Here's old women and young wine!-Ha, ha, ha.-I say, Bill, there's nothing like drinking, d-me, for making a man sleep, d-me, only it makes us queer and drowsy in the morning, d-me.-I say, how did you feel this morning?-O, middling; a cursed bad head-ache, and very queer, or else I was as well as ever I was in my life.-Ah, I thought so, d-me.-Well, Bob, was you late last night? -No; I was early; for I did not go home till nine this morning. I thought it was a pity to disturb my dear wife, as I was so comfortable; you must know I like rational conversation, and there's nothing rational in my wife, for she will have all the talk to herself.-Come, Mr. President, I'll give you a toast. Here's may the evening's amusement bear the morning's reflection.'