He liv'd-O! I can't tell you how:

He lodged by an inn, in the street I'm not right,
And the sign it don't matter a button;
But this inn it was haunted, at twelve every night,
By the Ghost of a grim Scrug of Mutton!
O! la, fal de ral, &c.

The landlord was in a most terrible fright,
He'd no peace by night nor by day;
So he sent for this mirror of learning so bright,
To see if the ghost he could lay.
Says the scholar, "I can, for at magic I dash,
Nor e'en for Old Nick care a button;
So don't be in a stew, for I'll settle the hash
Of this Ghost of a grim Scrag of Mutton."
O! la, fal de ral, &c.

He made a great fire, and put on the pot,
Put in turnips, thyme, rsley, and leeks;
The clock it struck twelve is the water grew hot,
And the casement upon its hinge creaks.
The moment was awful-a terrible job!
When, with a long neck like a glutton,
And a grin monstrous ghastly, popp'd in the queer

nob

Of the Ghost of a grim Scrag of Mutton.
O! la, fal de ral, &c.

Says the scholar, "You're welcome, some mutton
I want

For my broth, ere the pot it boils faster, So prithee come in ;" said the mutton, "I sha'n't, For I'm certainly meat for your master."

Then the scholar he caught up a fork in great wrath,

Stuck it under his rib like a glutton,

A ROUND, a round,

A merry laughing round, a round,
While echoes sound;

A round, while echoes sound;

The horn shall give time
With its midnight chime,

To quick-twinkling feet and the gipsy rhyme
Trarah! Trarah!

In night, in night,
In lovely silent night, in night,
When stars are bright,
In night when stars are bright;
Ah! then is the day
When the gipsies play,
So merrily singing their roundel ty.
Trarah! Trarah

Like fays, like fays,
Like merry tripping fays, like fays,
We tread the maze,

Like fays we tread the maze

On midsummer's green,

And where we have been

The prints of our dance in morn shall be seen. Trarah! Trarah!

CHORUS.

Now all that love day-light are sleeping,

Of earth, of the air, of the sea;
But brighter to us is the moonlight,
And sweeter the dance on the lea.
Those stars that are twinkling above us,
They surely for some one must shine;
As none else will claim them, their brightness
Be lit up for love and for wine.

And then, too, they call those bright twinklers
The Dragon, the Dog, and the Bear,
While all the same time, I could swear it,
They're souls of the brave and the fair.

THE CHAIN I GAVE WAS FAIR TO VIEW. (Byron.)

THE chain I gave was fair to view,
The lute I added sweet in sound;
The heart that offered both was true,
And ill deserved the fate it found.
These gifts were charmed by secret spell,
Thy truth in absence to divine;
And they have done their duty well;

Alas! they could not teach thee thine.
That chain was firm in every link,

But not to bear a stranger's touch;
That lute was sweet,-till thou couldst think
In other hands its notes were such.
Let him, who from thy neck unbound
The chain, when shivered in his grasp;
Who saw that lute refuse its sound,

Re-string the chords, renew the clasp.
When thou wert changed, they altered too;
The chain is broke, the music mute :
"Tis past, to them and thee adieu !—

False heart,-frail chain,—and silent lute.

ter;

And, fully accomplished, I set up schoolmaster.
A shop, too, next the street, all in order complete.
Stationery, honey, novels, drugs, and grocery,
Coffee, tea, tobacco, slops, salt, histories, and
ballads;

Pickles, powders, pills, and drops, snuff, cucumbers, and salads.

Rush-light taper, book of wit O!

Foolscap paper, ditto, ditto,

Songs and sentimental strains;

Dean Swift's maw-wallop,

Sighing maids and love-sick swains,

Sugar-plums and julap.

Thus in hurry and bustle I passed my prime,
Resolving to make the best use of my time.
For life, as the poet says, is but a summer's day;
Talking of the poet, reminds me what to say.
Poets say what's ugly produces care and strife;
And talking of what's ugly, reminds me of my
wife.

She teaches girls plain work and knitting,

A room full of scholars all day Her face for the office so fitting,

It frightens young fellows away.

Then so truly blest are we, in a fine large family, Pretty girls and witty boys, daddy's hopes and mammy's joys.

Jeremy, Jackey, and Joey, Humphrey, Harry, and Hugh,

Caroline, Kitty, and Chloe, Cicely, Sally, and Sue, Peggy, Winny, Peter, Poll, Simon, Jenny, Dick, and Doll.

SPOKEN.] At night Mrs. Quotem and I sit by the fire-side, she all snuff and twopenny, I all pigtail and short cut; sniff snuff on one side, piff puff on t'other; sniff snuff, piff puff, all smitch, smoke, and smother, mugging and making mouths at one another!

While Peggy is pettish and frettish, and Polly is prudish and coy,

Blithe Nancy is pleased with a fancy, and Fanny all frolic and joy ;

Droll Dick in the dish he is dipping, and Simon is sucking his thumbs;

Sly Cudden is cribbing the pudding, and Peter is plucking out plums,

While Winny is winking and blinking, and Rachel is rubbing her eyes;

Sweet Polly is dressing her dolly, and Martha is eating minced pies,

My wife she keeps stumping and dumping, and mumping her mouth all awry,

Her thumping rump, up and down lumping, seems bumping and jumping for joy.

While I keep smoking and joking, and brimfull of frolic and gig,

Good humour, and good liquor soaking, we finish the night with a jig.

When father gave consent, I grew
Much stronger and much bolder;
And soon, to go a courting, threw
Shoes and stockings o'er my shoulder.
Barefooted I, so neat and clean,
Would walk to show my manners;
And make me decent to be seen
When safe at Judy Connor's.

Whack, tooral, looral, &c.

My love intentions soon got wind,
And rivals came to meet me;
And swore if I'd not change my mind,
They'd murder me and beat me.
Och! two can play as well at that,
I'll fight for love and honour;
So take one for yourself, dear Pat,
And this for Judy Connor.

Whack, tooral, looral, &c.

Then Larry, coming, said to Pat,
Arrah! what, you elf, now,
I'll wallop you, my darling brat,
And kill him all myself, now.

He knocked Pat down, no time to lose,
Then gave me such a stunner;
A broken head and bloody nose
I got for Judy Connor.

Whack, tooral, looral, &c.

When Phelim came, now there began
A general fight so glorious;

We couldn't tell when off we ran
Which of us was victorious.

We fought, and ran, and didn't stop
Till all and ev'ry runner

Got, safe in Murphy's whiskey shop,
Dead drunk for Judy Connor.

Whack, tooral, looral, &c.

The doctor, who was justice there,
On Judy cast a sheep's eye;
He got his rivals in a snare

All squashed in Murphy's pig-stye.
Then in the stocks he put our legs,
Och! each lover was a groaner!
They pelted us with rotten eggs,
For love of Judy Connor.

Whack, tooral, looral, &c.

My hose and shoes, when I got loose,
I slipped on, nothing daunted;
I went full dressed to Judy's house,
And told her what I wanted.

I softly did my love-tale speak,
And when I thought I'd won her,
I learnt that Casey, just a week,
Had married Judy Connor.

Whack, tooral, looral, &c.

Now jealous Casey, coming in,
Politely said-My jewel,
A trial for crim. con. I'll bring,

But first we'll have a duel.

His tight shellelagh cracked my crown,
As sharp as any gunner;
And said, as I went tumbling down,
Take that for Judy Connor!

Whack, tooral, looral, &c.

Och! murder! that is not well bred,
Said I, in strains that melted;

And have I got a broken head,

Been beaten, drunk, and pelted, For one who's fast in Hymen's link?Och! faith! I'll go and shun her; I'm cured of love, and now I'll think No more of Judy Connor.

Whack, tooral, looral, &c.

HAUL AWAY! YEO HO, BOYS!
(T. Dibdin.)

BRITISH sailors have a knack,
Haul away! Yeo ho, boys!
Of pulling down a Frenchman's jack,
'Gainst any odds, you know, boys;
Come three to one, right sure am I,
If we can't beat 'em, still we'll try
To make Old England's colours fly,
Haul away! Yeo ho, boys!
British sailors, when at sea,

Haul away! Yeo ho, boys!
Pipe all hands with merry glee,

While up aloft they go, boys!
And when, with pretty girls on shore,
Their cash is gone, and not before,
They wisely go to sea for more,

Haul away! Yeo ho, boys! British sailors love their king,

Haul away! Yeo ho, boys! And round the bowl they love to sing, And drink his health, you know, boys. Then, while his standard owns a rag, The world combined shall never brag They made us strike the British flag, Haul away! Yeo ho, boys!

THERE'S SOME SPELL IN THIS HOUR. [Translated from the German Opera of Abu Hassan. Music by Weber.]

How sweetly beams the sunset

O'er lake, and wood, and glades!
One moment, from the mountain
The last pale radiance fades.
On noiseless wings the twilight
Sails over earth and sea;
And nightingales are breathing
Their songs to night and me.
There's some spell in this hour,
That lifts us from the earth :
I weep, yet 'tis not sorrow;
I smile, yet 'tis not mirth.

But brighter now, and, still more bright,
The fire of eve is streaming;

With ev'ry moment some new light
From yon blue sky is beaming.

One star, and now again another,
O'er the water trembles;

Till far and near, and ev'ry part,
A mead of spring resembles.

the cage away,

And little lions, only made for Exeter-'Change. Bill, take that pole, give that kangaroò a knock or two,

This, ma'am,'s a vulture, and that there, ma'am,'s a cockatoo.

I'd sooner see the birds and beasts than have a boat a-Sundays,

Jackalls, panthers, kangaroos, kites, cranes, and cotemondies.

SPOKEN.] Walk up, walk up, just going to be fed, just going to be fed. Pray, sir, are you a

beef-eater? Yes, ma'am, when I can get it. Why do they call you a beef-eater? Because I wears a red coat, and saws the shin-bones for the lions. Trouble you, ma'am, to take off your patterns, tread in the saw-dust, and follow the horgan. Just going to be fed. Here's the four wonderful little hannimals only a fortnight old, and as tame as lambs. Indeed, and pray who were their parents? Hector and Fanny, miss. What Homer's Hector? No, miss, Mr. Cross's, just going to be fed. Fed what? Why

Zebra, nyl-ghau, lamma, lynx, and cassowary; Supper's ready, walk up, walk up, it's nine o'clock.

Now is the hour at which the lion's belly faints, That royal one-stall stable for a horse when he is dead;

And all the pumps are now at work to quench two thirsty elephants,

And twenty are grinding bones to make them bread.

That is the eagle, esteemed the bird of Helicon; Billy, show that creature's bill; this here, ma'am, is a pelican,

That's the Angola goat, and women get their clothing through it, Those are cranes,

(not grocers',) bless you, Noah's ark is nothing to it. SPOKEN.] La, ma, is that the Angola goat that makes the gloves? Yes, miss, he's just finished a pair. Pray, Mr. Keeper, is that a crane? Yes, ma'am. Ah, I suppose you feed him with a load? It's fed at nine, sir, with the rest. Pray do you give him a hogshead? No, sir, we give him a herring. Thank'e, ma'am, to keep that child back from shoving those straws into the monkey's eyes, to make 'em grin. (Beast roars.) Bless my soul, how that leopard roars, he groans as if he had got the tooth-ache. Vhy, sir, his vife's in the straw. In the straw? Yes, sir, in her cage, in the familyway. Dash my wig, if she was to get out she'd be in the way of the family. Family, what family? Why

Zebra, nyl-ghau, &c.

Now, all getting hungry and vociferous to nap a bite,

Vent, vith tongues as big as shovels, all their grief,

The lions valking up and down to get themselves an appetite,

Begin to roll a tender eye towards shins of beef. Pray keep back, that tiger, ma'am, is trouble

some,

He's looking at your fingers, and he's much inclined to gobble 'em;

That leopard, with plum-pudding skin, roars out for ribs of beef to it;

And cubs, in hunger, waddle into milk for a relief

to it.

SPOKEN.] Now then, Alfred, Charlotte, Nico, my boy, nine o'clock, supper's ready. (Beast vars.) Bless my soul, how very wonderful! they quite understand what the keeper says. Pray, Mr. Keeper, do they understand English? That ion does, ma'am, but he's been in England some time. La vich is a lion? Why, don't you know? why, it's that gentleman on all fours, with his head in a muff, that's a lion. Well, it's a great thing to see a lion. Yes, and it's seeing a great hing. Hum! I wish you wouldn't take up all one says so. Well, I sha'n't throw it in the lion's den. Well, Billy, vich do you like best? Oh! I like Hector best. Ah, Hector will domineer. Bless my soul what a play upon words. I'll trouble you, sir, not to make a pun opposite that panther, for

we are just trying to tame him. What's all this food for? Food for, why, for

Zebra, nyl-ghau, &c.

ADELGITHA.

(T. Campbell.)

THE ordeals fatal sounded,

And, sad and pale, Adelgitha came, When forth a valiant champion bounded, And slew the slanderer of her fame. She wept, delivered from her danger! But, when he knelt to claim her glove, "Seek not," she cried, "Oh gallant stranger, For hapless Adelgitha's love;

"For he is in a foreign land

Whose arms should now have set me free; And I must wear the willow-garland

For him that's dead or false to me."
"Nay, say not that his faith is stained!"
He raised his vizor.- At the sight

She fell into his arms and fainted!
It was, indeed, her own true knight.

"TIS_HE, BOYS, IS GOD OF THE BOW. (M'Nally.)

WHEN ruddy Aurora awakens the day,
And bright dew-drops impearl the flowers so gay,
Sound, sound, my stout archers, sound horns, and
away,

With arrows sharp-pointed we go.
See Sol now arises in splendour so bright;
Io Pæan for Phoebus, who leads to delight,
All glorious illumined now rises to sight;

"Tis he, boys, is god of the bow.
Fresh roses we'll offer at Venus' shrine;
Libations we'll pour to Bacchus divine;
While mirth, love, and pleasure, in junction com-

bine

For archers, true sons of the game, Bid sorrow adieu, in soft numbers we'll sing; Love, friendship, and beauty, make the air ring, Wishing health and success to our country and king,

Increase to their honour and fame.

REMEMBER THE DUKE OF ARGYLE. Air-" Fy, let us a' haste to the Bridal." (S. Thomas.)

JOCKEY he lo'ed Annie,

The lass wi' a bonnie black eye, But Annie looked sulky upon him,

Which made the poor laddie to sigh. So, one day, in despair to behold her, Give a frown, sirs, instead of a smile, He listed, and went for a soger,

And marched off wi' the Duke of Argyle. Now the war being ended and over,

He knocked at his Annie's own door, But the de'il himsel couldn't ope it,

For Jockey looked ragged and poor. He then walked away, and looked round him, And, while his poor shoulders a rubbing, Some posts they reached many a mile, Cried, "'od bless the Duke of Argyle!" Now Annie peeped out of the window,

Says she," Pray, are you native here ?" He looked up, with a sigh, and then answered, "Oh, yes, we're a' natives, my dear."

THE ORPHAN'S PRAYER.
(M. G. Lewis.)

THE frozen streets in moonshine glitter,
The midnight hour has long been past,-
Ah me! the wind blows keen and bitter,
I sink beneath the piercing blast!
In every vein seems life to languish,

Their weight my limbs no more can bear, But no one soothes the orphan's anguish, And no one heeds the orphan's prayer. Hark! hark! for surely footsteps near me Advancing, press the drifted snow;

I die for food;-oh, stranger! hear me
I die for food-some alms bestow.
You see no guilty wretch imp.ore you,
No wanton pleads, in feigi ed despair;
A famished orphan kneels before you,-

Oh, grant the famished orphan's prayer. He's gone! no mercy man will show me,

In prayers no more I'll waste my breath; Here on the frozen earth I'll throw me,

And wait, in mute despair, for death. Farewell, thou cruel world! to-morrow No more thy scorn my heart shall tear, will shield the child of sorrow, And Heaven will hear the orphan's prayer

The

grave

GOOD MORROW TO YOUR NIGHT-CAP. (O'Keefe.)

DEAR Kathleen, you, no doubt,

Find sleep how very sweet 'tis ;
Dogs bark, and cocks have crowed out,
You never dream how late 'tis.
This morning gay, I post away,
To have with you a bit of play,

On two legs rid along, to bid
Good-morrow to your night-cap.
Last night, a little bowsy,

With whiskey, ale, and cider,
I asked young Betty Blowsy

To let me sit beside her.
Her anger rose, as sour as sloes,
The little gipsy cocked her nose,

So here I've rid along, to bid
Good-morrow to your night-cap.

A MASON'S LIFE'S THE LIFE FOR ME.
Air-" A Sailor's Life's a Life of Woe."
A MASON'S life's the life for me,
With joy we meet each other,
We pass our time with mirth and glee,
And hail each friendly brother.
In Lodge no party-feuds are seen,
But, careful, we in this agree
To banish care and spleen.

The Master's call we one and all,
With pleasure, soon obey;

With heart and hand, we ready stand,
Our duty still to pay.

But, when the glass goes round,

And mirth and glee abound,

We're happy every soul.