Ere summer flies, in watry dell,
Between two waves of gentle swell,
We're tripping bound across the deep;
But still our nightly sports we keep,
So merrily, merrily, merrily,
On the smooth rolling sea.

O SAY, SIMPLE MAID.-DUETT.

COLEMAN.

PRESTON, LONDON. ANONYMOUS.

Sung by Mrs S. Kemble and Mr Bannister.

O SAY, simple maid, have you form'd any notion
Of all the rude dangers in crossing the ocean?
When winds whistle shrilly, ah! wont they remind

you

To sigh with regret for the grot left behind you?

Ah! no; I could follow, and sail the world over,
Nor think of my grot, when I look at my lover!
The winds which blow round us, your arms for my
pillow,

Will lull us to sleep, whilst we're rock'd by each billow.

Then say, lovely lass, what if haply espying
A rich, gallant vessel, with gay colours flying?

I'll journey with thee, love, to where the land rar

rows,

And fling all my cares at my back with my arrows.

✪ say then, my true love, we never will sunder, Nor shrink from the tempest, nor dread the big thun

der;

Whilst, constant, we'll laugh at all changes of weather,

And journey all over the world both together.

COLEMAN.

SAVOURNA DELISH.

PRESTON, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Johnstone.

ARNOLD,

OH! the moment was sad when my love and I parted,

Savourna delish shighan oh!

As I kiss'd off her tears, I was nigh broken-hearted, Savourna delish shighan oh!

Wan was her cheek, as it hung on my shoulder,—
Damp was her hand, no marble was colder;

I felt that again I should never behold her,
Savournah delish shighan oh!

When the word of command put our troops into motion,

Savourna, &c.

I buckled on my knapsack to cross the wide ocean, Savourna, &c.

Brisk were our troops, all roaring like thunder, Pleas'd with the voyage, impatient for plunder; While my bosom with grief was nigh torn asunder, Savourna, &c.

Long I fought for my country, far, far from my true, love,

Savourna, &c.

All my pay and my booty I hoarded for you, love,
Savourna, &c.

Peace was proclaim'd; escap'd from the slaughter,
Landed at home, my sweet girl I sought her,-
But sorrow, alas! to her cold grave had brought her,
Savourna, &c.

ANON.

ADDRESS TO THE VIOLET.

PRESTON, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Harrison.

THOUGH from thy bank of velvet torn,
Hang not, fair flow'r, thy drooping crest;
On Delia's bosom shalt thou find

A softer, sweeter bed of rest.

Though from mild Zephyr's kiss no more
Ambrosial balms thou shalt inhale,
Her gentle breath, whene'er she sighs,
Shall fan thee with a purer gale.

Oh! be thou grateful for that bliss,
For which, in vain, a thousand burn;
And, as thou stealest sweets from her,

Give back thy choicest in return.

WEBBE.

TORN FROM MY HEART'S DELIGHT.

PARTIRO MIO CARO BENE.

WALCOTT.CLEMENTI AND CO. LONDON.

Sung at the Public Concerts.

TORN from my heart's delight, my lover,

Ah! what will now become of me?

To grief a prey, a lonely rover,

I pour my soul in sighs for thee! Torn from my heart's delight, &c.

POZZI.

CHERRY.

THE DITTY.

CORRI, LONDON.

Sung by Mrs Mountain.

HEAR me! soldier, hear me !
Just on that fatal ground

My hero dead was found!

Pity! soldier, pity!

Deep in his faithful heart
An Arab fix'd his dart;
And I, his trembling bride,
Beheld the wound, and dy'd!
Pity! soldier, pity!

He lov'd me like his life,

And call'd upon his wife,

Pity! soldier, pity!

As, from the reeking wound,

The blood bedew'd the ground!

Gg

CORRI.

And now my wand'ring ghost
Doth seck him at his post!

Pity soldier, pity!

ONCE HAPPY IN A PEACEFUL HOME.

REYNOLDS.

CLEMENTI, LONDON.

Sung by Mrs H. Siddons.

ONCE happy in a peaceful home,
Of Fortune's gifts I ask no other:
A prison now my father's doom;

And say, O say, where art thou, mother?

If thou hast press'd a luckless bier, .

Of victims, Death, oh! take another;
Or if immur'd in cavern drear,

Boldly I'll fly to save my mother.

-REEVE.

DIBDIN..

THE MISERIES OF WAR.

-DIBDIN, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Dibdin.

WHAT art thou, fascinating War,

Thou trophied, painted pest,

That thus men seek, and they abhor,-
Pursue, and yet detest?

Are Honour and Remorse the same?

Does Murder laurels bring?

DIBDIN.