Thus, of three hundred, I alone am left,

To tell our hopes, our fears, and perils dire,To paint a seaman's anguish, when bereft

Of friends and messmates by consuming fire.

CHERRY.

TOM, DEATH, AND MARY.

-PRESTON, LONDON.

Sung by Mrs Mountain.

POOR Tom his wife, fair Mary, lov'd,
But Tom was old and sickly;
To him his Mary loving prov'd,
His laws obeying strictly;

For if Tom's head but chanc'd to ache,
(Such was his wife's quandary)

If Death should come my Tom to take,
I'd beg him to take Mary!

Two babes had Tom and Mary blest,
A sister and a brother;

By Tom and Mary both caress'd,
And lov'd by one another.
Now Tom an envious ague shakes,
And Death stalks in so airy;
And at his nod as Tommy quakes,
Here's Death, my dear, cries Mary!

O Death, I've oft cry'd, Mary said,
But now I do relent it,

And when a vow too rash is made,

We should of course repent it,

HOOKE.

That I for Tom would be thy prey;

But 'twas a strange vagary.

O! call again another day,

And let Tom keep his Mary!

Now Death had heard of Mary's vow,
And on her face did stare he;
No other day, he cry'd, but now,
I'll gripe thee fast, false Mary!
O Tom, I know thou'lt be forgiven;
Thy looks are wild and glarey!
Dear Tom, she cry'd, pray go to heav'n,
And leave behind your Mary!

CHERRY..

LOVELY JANE.

-PRESTON, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Incledon.

'TWAS where sweet Shannon's silver tide
Oft wash'd the flow'ry green,

Where cowslips spring in modest pride,

And drooping lilies lean,

Like Sol's bright beam that gilds the east,
And cheers us from his fane,
To give my panting bosom rest,
Appear'd my lovely Jane.

Her eye was like a wat❜ry sun,
And glisten'd with a tear;

The accents trembled on her tongue,
Her heart beat hard with fear.

SHIELD.

O check, I cry'd, these heaving sighs,
That falling tear restrain;
For I am come to dry the eyes
Of faithful, lovely Jane.

I know thy father for thee sought
A youth of wealth and fame;
I come with both, and honour fraught,
His daughter now to claim.

Her sparkling eyes, of heav'nly blue,
Now joyful torrents rain;

And I am blest, for she is true,
My faithful, lovely Jane.

ROMER.

THE LOYAL SOLDIER.

BLAND, LONDON. AND THE ON F. LINLEY.
Sung by Mr Page.

NED oft had brav'd the field of battle,

Had oft endur'd the hardest woe,

Had been where deep-mouth'd cannons rattle,
And oft been captur'd by the foe.
His heart was kind, to fear a stranger;
The name of Briton was his pride;
He nobly scorn'd to shrink from danger,
And on a bed of honour dy'd.
"For," says Ned, "whate'er befals,

"A Briton scorns to flinch or whine;
"He'll chearful go where duty calls,
"And brave all ills, but ne'er repine."

Ec

Ned lov'd sincere the charming Kitty;
She saw, with tears, her soldier go,
And pray'd kind Heav'n to grant her pity,
And shield her Edward from the foe.
"My love," he cry'd, "thy grief give over;
"Those tears disgrace a soldier's bride."
But hapless Kitty lost her lover,-
Who on a bed of honour dy'd.
"For," says Ned, &c.

T. DIBDIN

HUNTING SONG.

-DALE, LOND.

Sung by Mr Incledon.

-DAVY.

IN Britain, the soil which true liberty yields, Where the lads of the chase leave repose for the fields, The hunter, so happy, bestrides his gay steed,— While distance and danger but add to his speed; Who, dashing along,

Gives Echo the song:

She blithely returns it the whole of the day,
With hark! the merry horn calls us away.

By exercise brac'd, every bosom must warm,
And health, joy, and mirth, cach assume a new charm;
Dian, Bacchus, and Venus, by turns take a place,
And day and night's joys are the fruits of the chase.
Whilst dashing along,

Gives Echo the song, &c.

DUDLEY.

THE GIRL OF MY HEART.

PRESTON, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Blancbard.

SHIELD.

IN the world's crooked path where I've been,
There to share of Life's gloom my own part
The bright sunshine that soften'd the scene
Was a smile from the girl of my heart.

Not a swain, when the lark quits her nest,
But to labour, with glee, will depart,
If at eve he expects to be bless'd

With a smile from the girl of his heart.

Come then crosses and smiles as they may,
Let my mind still this maxim impart,
That the comfort of man's fleeting day
Is a smile from the girl of his heart.

TRUE GLORY.

DIBDIN.

-DIBDIN, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Dibdin.

WHAT is glory, what is fame ?
That a shadow, this a name,

Restless mortals to deceive.

Are they renowned, can they be great,

Who hurl their fellow-creatures' fate,

DIBDIN.

That mothers, children, wives may grieve?